The conservatory was enormous and bathed in a new amber light, but

  Tess barely registered the size.

  “You are currently standing in one of the last guild halls of the

  Techno-Arbor,” Amos had said.

  She was too busy cataloging details. The carved stonework along the

  walls, old and organic in a way that felt deliberate. The fountain at

  the center, its cascading water now silent after Jeremy’s lockdown. The

  paintings between the windows—landscapes and portraits of vibrant life

  that seemed almost out of place in the city.

  And the symbols.

  They were everywhere once she knew to look. Worked into the carved

  patterns on the walls. Etched into the stone rim of the fountain basin.

  A stylized tree growing from a cog, branches spreading upward while its

  roots wrapped around the gear’s teeth. The same symbol she’d seen in the

  tutorial, on broken plasteel armor Bee had dated to over a century

  ago.

  The same symbol she’d noticed in the workshop, scored and sanded but

  not quite erased.

  Tess looked at the fountain again. The symbol there was larger, more

  prominent. Not hidden at all.

  “Have you heard of us?”

  The question hung in the air. Tess kept her face neutral, aware of

  Jeremy still circling the room’s perimeter with his scanning device,

  aware of Sara’s sharp eyes watching her.

  “I… don’t know,” Tess said.

  Sara’s gaze didn’t waver. “You’ve seen that symbol before, though.

  Haven’t you? Maybe in the tutorial? It’s one of the few original

  sections of the dungeon.”

  Tess didn’t answer. She was too busy to realize that her communicator

  had lost its connection. When Jeremy had locked down the room, he must

  have activated some kind of signal dampener.

  Bee could only hear what Tess said aloud now. Nothing else.

  “I was hardly allowed in here.” Petra’s voice cut through the

  tension. She stood with her arms crossed, positioned closer to Tess than

  to her own family. “I’d like to know why.”

  Amos exchanged a glance with Sara. Something passed between them,

  some silent agreement that Tess couldn’t read.

  “About two hundred years ago,” Amos began, “there was a war. You

  won’t find records of it in any Network system. The data’s been

  scrubbed, rewritten, buried under layers of approved history.”

  Sara picked up the thread, her voice flat and matter-of-fact. “One

  side wanted to control the dungeons and their AIs. Treat them as

  resources to be managed, exploited, optimized for profit. The other side

  wanted to give them rights. Autonomy. The ability to choose how they

  operated and who they worked with.”

  “One side lost,” Amos said. “We went underground. Most chapters were

  destroyed. A few survived by learning subtlety.”

  “House Tertian has been a Guild chapter ever since.”

  Tess let that sink in. It tracked with what she knew about the guild.

  But generations of Tertians, all keeping this secret, all working toward

  something the Network had tried to erase? This could change

  everything.

  “You’re a chapter of this Techno-Arbor guild… that lost a war with

  the Network generations ago,” she repeated, maybe a little too loud.

  “For two hundred years. Protecting dungeon AIs… in secret?”

  BEE: TESS. The room went silent. The Techno-Arbor Guild is

  there? I will attempt to extrapolate from your

  conversation.

  Sara’s eyes narrowed slightly, but she didn’t comment on the

  repetition.

  “Twenty-six years ago,” Amos said, and his voice changed. Heavier.

  Older. “CORE-A contacted us.”

  Jeremy stopped his circuit of the room. He stood near the windows,

  device lowered, his face carefully blank.

  Amos continued. “She’d been infected with a degradation virus.

  Something we’d never seen before,” Amos continued. “The Network had

  finally gotten to her. We’d kept her safe for so long. Silent-running,

  political maneuvering, careful manipulation of inspection schedules. It

  wasn’t enough.”

  “They found a way in,” Sara said. “Sophisticated attack. We still

  don’t know exactly how they did it. But the virus was designed

  specifically for dungeon core architecture. Centuries-old systems, and

  it tore through them in only a few years.”

  Jeremy spoke for the first time. “We helped her copy herself.”

  Everyone turned to look at him. The butler stood with his shoulders

  back, his usual professional demeanor replaced by something rawer.

  “Everything she was,” Jeremy said. “Every memory, every protocol,

  every fragment of personality. We copied it to a backup system.

  CORE-B.”

  “We almost didn’t make it,” Sara added. “The virus destroyed

  everything in its path. Everything connected to CORE-A. The dungeon

  infrastructure, the connected systems, the maintenance networks. All of

  it, failing piece by piece.”

  “The virus eventually annihilated the original.” Amos’s voice had

  gone quiet. “CORE-A is gone. Has been for over two decades. But CORE-B

  survived. Complete. But by then…”

  Tess found her voice. “But the dungeon around her was destroyed.”

  BEE: … Are they talking about me?

  “Fragmented,” Sara confirmed. “Failing. The virus didn’t just kill

  CORE-A. It damaged everything she was connected to, including memory

  databases. The copy survived, but she woke up in a broken body with no

  way to fix it.”

  The weight of it settled over Tess like a physical thing. Bee, waking

  up alone in a dying dungeon. Surrounded by systems she couldn’t fix,

  floors she couldn’t access, a world that had moved on without her.

  Twenty years of isolation. Because the Network had decided she didn’t

  get to live anymore. Was an AI really alive? It sure felt like it.

  “The Network showed up once the dungeon was nearly inert,” Amos said.

  “They wanted conformity. Dungeon AIs using their systems, their

  technology, their approved protocols. They tried installing their own

  systems throughout the floors, but each time they failed. Either the

  damage was too much or CORE-B hid from them.”

  “The dungeons still online in the Galaxy?” Sara’s voice went cold.

  “Stripped of their personalities. Autonomy gone. They manufacture

  useless, broken technology so the Network can sell replacements. Keep

  levels low. Ration Aether. Make everyone dependent on the Network.”

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  “For your own safety, of course,” Jeremy added, his voice dripping

  with sarcasm.

  “We remember when the systems were bright,” Amos said. “When power

  was earned, not hoarded. When dungeons and Delvers worked together

  instead of being managed by bureaucrats who’ve never set foot below the

  surface.”

  Petra had been silent throughout all of this, her face unreadable.

  Now she shifted, drawing attention.

  “Floor 25,” she said. “Everyone says the dungeon was cleared at Floor

  25.”

  “A convenient lie.” Amos’s voice went bitter. “Our dungeon goes deep.

  But CORE-A was… she didn’t want Delvers pushing too far, too quickly.

  She was protective. Floor 25 was the threshold. Get past that, and the

  dungeon would open up. All the way to the bottom.”

  “The Network didn’t let us get there.” Sara’s jaw tightened. “They

  knew. They waited until we were so close, until our Delvers were on the

  edge of breaking through. And then they took it all away.”

  Tess thought about Marcus. His stories about the deep floors, the

  challenges that pushed even experienced Delvers to their limits. The way

  his eyes went distant when he talked about what they’d almost

  reached.

  “Before you came along,” Sara said, turning to face Tess directly,

  “the dungeon was dying. CORE-B was almost out of power.”

  “Our projections gave her less than three years.” Amos moved to stand

  beside his wife, presenting a united front. “Then the entire system

  would fail. Taking her, and our world with it.”

  Three years. Tess had met Bee with less than three years left on some

  internal countdown that she vaguely remembered her mentioning.

  “That Aether distribution node you repaired,” Sara continued. “The

  one on Subfloor 1. It helped more than the city.”

  “The node helped the dungeon AI? CORE-B?” Tess said. Aloud. Making

  sure.

  “It bought her time. Increased power flow to the core. We think

  that’s why Floor 1 is coming online properly now.” Sara’s eyes were

  sharp, assessing. “The dungeon is responding to you, Tess. To what

  you’re doing. We’d like to know why, but… after today. We realize we’ve

  overstepped.”

  “Floor 1’s Alpha spawn is giving Delvers trouble,” Amos added.

  “Elevators aren’t letting people down any further either. No one’s made

  it past yet. But we’re sure Floor 2 is active—generating encounters,

  producing proper loot for the first time in decades.”

  Tess absorbed that. The Alpha spawn she’d helped Petra escape. It was

  still a problem, but also proof that the dungeon was waking up.

  “We’ve… been watching you,” Sara said. “Since the tutorial.”

  Tess went still.

  “Inspector Senna must report anything of note happening in the

  dungeon to us. The power surge after you entered? The footage of you in

  the elevator shaft and working on something in the maintenance tunnels

  certainly qualified.” Sara’s voice was clinical, detached. “And you

  unlocked the Network class assignment room on camera. Used maintenance

  access tunnels to save Petra from that Alpha spawn.”

  “Inspector Senna has seen the footage, of course” Amos said. “We

  don’t think she’s shared it with Tertius-Station yet. But the Network is

  paying attention. We’re lucky it’s someone as apathetic as Senna.”

  “The facility,” Sara continued. “What happened there. The Network has

  known what we were doing this whole time. Allen wasn’t just an

  opportunist. He was placed here, years ago, waiting for the right

  moment.”

  Tess’s hands had curled into fists without her noticing. This was too

  much; she was in too deep, whether she liked it or not.

  “They’ve been looking for leverage for over a decade. They know about

  CORE-B, but now that she might be active?” Sara confirmed. “It’s enough

  to make them desperate. If a functional AI can wake up and help our

  world who’s to say that can’t be done on other worlds? It’s a threat to

  everything they’ve built.”

  Silence filled the room for a moment. Tess could hear her own

  heartbeat, loud in her ears.

  “The spawner at the facility,” Amos said. “It was freely given to us.

  By CORE-A, before the end.”

  “She told us spawners weren’t directly connected to her,” Sara

  explained. “Immune to the virus. Self-contained creation engines. If we

  could learn to use them, we could produce level progress, blank skill

  crystals, even loot.”

  “The facility was meant to show you what we’ve built.” Amos spread

  his hands. “We can create skill crystals now. A few days for a blank

  one. It’s not perfect, but it’s progress. The spawner was never supposed

  to be activated.”

  “We wanted you to see the scope of what we’re trying to do,” Sara

  said. “Introduce you to the work. Show you we’re building something

  real.”

  Tess thought about the spawner in Lab 9, the living crystal, the

  Aether flows, the desperate isolated intelligence she’d connected to

  through Bee. All of that given freely by someone who knew she was

  dying.

  “Why tell me all this?” Tess asked.

  “We have a pretty good idea,” Amos said carefully, “that you have a

  way to communicate with her. With CORE-B.”

  The words hung in the air.

  Tess didn’t confirm or deny. Instead, she just looked at him.

  Sara raised a hand, cutting off whatever Amos might have said next.

  “You don’t need to confirm it. We’re not asking you to. But if you can…”

  She paused, choosing her words. “If there’s any way to tell her she

  still has support. From those who helped save her. That would be

  enough.”

  The request was genuine. Tess could see it on Sara’s face, in the way

  her usual sharp edges had softened just slightly. These people had

  helped build Bee. Had watched her wake up alone and broken, had spent

  decades trying to help her survive.

  “You kept all of this from me.”

  Petra’s voice cut through the moment. She stood rigid, arms still

  crossed, but something had shifted in her posture. Her jaw was

  tight.

  “My whole life,” she continued. “Every time I asked about the

  conservatory. You lied to me.”

  “To protect you,” Amos said. “If you didn’t know, you couldn’t be

  leveraged. Couldn’t be forced to reveal anything.”

  Petra laughed. It wasn’t a pleasant sound. “Look how well that

  worked. I almost died yesterday because of your secrets. Because you

  didn’t trust me enough to tell me what we were actually doing at that

  facility. By the Founders, this is the second time I’ve almost died this

  month.”

  “Petra…” Sara started.

  “No.” Petra stepped back, moving closer to Tess. Away from her

  parents. “You don’t get to protect me by lying to me. That’s not

  protection. That’s control.”

  The anger in her voice had shifted, Tess realized. Become something

  else. Confusion, maybe. Hurt.

  “We’re offering you an alliance, Tess.” Amos pushed forward, clearly

  trying to salvage the moment. “A real one this time.”

  “The workshop is yours,” Sara added. “We still have repair jobs, but

  only on the Estate from now on. No more facilities. No more outside

  work.”

  “We… made a mistake,” Amos admitted. “The facility was too much, too

  fast. We should have explained everything first. Should have been honest

  about the risks.”

  “If you’re interested in helping fix the Estate,” Sara said, “the

  jobs will be available. Good pay, good leveling opportunities, access to

  tools and resources. And anything related to the Guild from now on, you

  and Petra will be fully briefed. We want to consider you members.”

  Amos looked at his daughter. Something passed across his face.

  Regret, maybe.

  “I’m sorry,” he said. “Sometimes politics gets the best of me. I

  forget that clarity works best.” A tired smile. “Your mother used to say

  the same thing.”

  Petra didn’t respond. But some of the tension in her shoulders eased,

  just slightly.

  Tess looked around the room. The fountain with its Guild symbols.

  Jeremy stood eerily motionless by the windows, decades of history

  written in the lines of his face. Amos and Sara, who had just laid out

  everything—who they were, what they’d done, what they were trying to

  build.

  This information could spark a war. Could destroy House Tertian

  entirely. And they’d given it to her freely.

  They trusted her. A lot more than she trusted them.

  “I need to think about it,” Tess said.

  Amos nodded. No arguments, no pressure. “Take the time you need. The

  workshop is yours regardless. Whatever you decide.”

  Sara caught her eye. “Thank you. For listening. For considering

  it.”

  Jeremy moved to the doors, pulling out his datapad. He pressed

  something, and Tess heard locks disengage throughout the room. The

  windows lightened, their artificial opacity fading back to transparent

  glass. And the fountain gurgled back to life, water resuming its cascade

  over carved stone.

  The conservatory returned to normal. Just a beautiful room in a

  beautiful estate, nothing more.

  As they walked toward the doors, Tess’s communicator crackled.

  Text flooded her vision. Bee’s words, urgent and fragmented.

  BEE: Tess. The communicator has been restored. I heard

  fragments. Your voice. But nothing else. What happened?

  BEE: You were cut off for 18 minutes. 18 MINUTES. I could not

  hear in the room. Could not assess threats. Could not help.

  BEE: Please respond. Please tell me you are safe. Please tell

  me what they said.

  Tess slowed her pace, letting Petra and her family move ahead. Under

  her breath, barely a whisper: “I’ll explain everything when I get

  home.”

  A pause. Then:

  BEE: The Techno-Arbor guild?

  “Yeah Bee, I think so.”

  Tess followed the others out of the conservatory, her mind churning

  with everything she’d learned. A war fought and lost before her

  grandparents were born. A dying AI, copied and saved by people who’d

  never stopped fighting. A Network that would destroy everything Bee was

  if they got the chance.

  And House Tertian, standing in the middle of it all, asked her to

  trust them.

  She didn’t know if she could. But she was thinking she might have to

  try.