The Pentagon's secure bunker level smelled of recycled air, burnt circuits, and aging secrets. Monitors flickered with fragmented satellite feeds. Algorithms scrolled data faster than a human eye could track. And at the center of the command circle stood Director Evelyn Vane, her steel-gray suit pristine even as she paced like a caged predator.
On the screen before her, four global pins blinked in crimson: Mojave, Greenland, Amazon, and… "Unknown Eastern Hemisphere."
"Is it confirmed?" she asked.
"Confirmed," said Dr. Calvin Marris, lead analyst. "The fourth anchor has gone active. We've got subharmonic resonance data, tectonic spike, and temporal displacement within a 5-kilometer radius. It's worse than the Greenland event."
Vane turned toward Vox, her AI war strategist, who manifested in the air beside her like a ghost in a storm—white, humanoid, emotionless.
"Execute Protocol Kassandra," Vane said. "Engage all surviving Containment Cells. Find the Nexites. Bring me the Vaultborn."
Vox's eyes blinked once. "Acknowledged."
---
Nate stared into the fire. The jungle behind them crackled with soft motion. The shard was gone, fused into the anchor. His body still vibrated with alien awareness.
Mallory sat across from him, sharpening her blade—not because it needed it, but because it calmed her.
"You sure you're alright?" she asked.
"I saw everything," he said. "Not just past or future… but beneath. There's something underneath all of this."
Iris crouched nearby with her interface, sketching the patterns she'd picked up from the jungle. The local language, woven into leaf textures, wind paths, and birdcalls. "There's a logic to it. The jungle was warning us. Or testing us."
Tuck returned from patrol. "Nothing but trees and paranoia out there." He dropped his gear. "What's our move?"
Nate stood. "The fourth anchor is in Southeast Asia. We get there before anyone else does. Or we burn it down."
Mallory raised an eyebrow. "You finally believe me?"
He nodded. "After what I saw? I believe everything."
---
Elsewhere…
In an underground vault beneath Istanbul, an ancient machine hummed to life. The last of the Custodians stood beside it—an old man named Halim with a silver cybernetic eye and arms marked by prophecy tattoos.
A messenger entered, breathless. "They've found the fourth anchor."
Halim touched the machine gently. "Then the Nexites will awaken."
---
The team traveled by stealth aircraft, courtesy of Iris's off-the-record connections. The pilot was an ex-NASA test flyer named Rosco, who said little and flew like he had a death wish.
Over the comms, he muttered, "The place you're heading? Locals call it 'The Hollow Garden.' Used to be a temple there. Now it's a dead zone."
"Sounds fun," Tuck said.
---
The Hollow Garden
The land was warped—trees grown in spirals, time-thinned air humming like a plucked string. Their gear blinked with static interference the moment they stepped onto the jungle floor.
Iris whispered, "This isn't just a field anomaly. This is engineered."
Mallory scanned the terrain. "Defenses?"
"No. A lure."
They pushed forward.
The fourth anchor was buried inside a ruined ziggurat, black stone etched with sigils from forgotten languages. Nate's chest burned as they approached.
The fourth shard had already been activated.
---
Inside the ziggurat, they found the remains of a research crew—bodies frozen mid-scream, eyes wide and burned out.
Tuck swore. "This wasn't a battle. It was a broadcast."
Nate felt the weight of the space—like the air around the anchor bent reality.
Then the voice came:
"Four opened. One remains. The Warden stirs."
The stone beneath their feet cracked.
The walls glowed with pulsating light.
And something huge moved in the dark.
---
They ran.
But not before Nate saw it—a shape forming inside the anchor. Humanoid, vast, cloaked in lightning and sorrow.
It looked at him.
And smiled.
---
Rosco's plane lifted them into the air with seconds to spare. The jungle below collapsed inward as if sucked through a cosmic drain.
In the back of the plane, Nate sat, trembling.
"I saw the Warden."
Iris paled. "What is it?"
He answered, voice shaking.
"Not a god. Not a demon. A prisoner. One who remembers everything."
---
In Langley, Director Vane watched satellite footage of the ziggurat implosion.
She turned to Vox. "Prepare for Stage II. Activate the Dead Language Archives."
Vox blinked. "It will cost lives."
Vane looked cold. "Then take them."
---