A Child’s Trust, A World’s Fate [Part 2]

Clara stirs from her slumber, her small form nestled against Xander's chest. His arms encircle her protectively, a warmth she hasn't felt since... she can't quite remember. As consciousness creeps in, so does a flicker of embarrassment. She'd cried herself to sleep in his arms, overwhelmed by memories of her father and the loss of Pascal.

"Hey, little Sunshine. You awake?" Xander's voice is gentle, barely above a whisper. "How are you feeling?"

Clara blinks up at him, her cheeks flushing. "I'm... okay," she mumbles, not quite meeting his eyes. Her gaze darts around the dimly lit cavern, memories of the past hours flooding back.

Xander doesn't press her, simply giving her shoulder a reassuring squeeze. He glances at a device on his wrist, its soft blue glow illuminating his face. "We've still got a couple hours to kill before we need to move. You hungry?"

As if on cue, Clara's stomach lets out an audible growl. Her blush deepens, and she nods sheepishly.

"Perfect timing," Xander chuckles. He shifts, sitting up straighter against the cavern wall. "I've got to warn you, though. It's not exactly gourmet."

Clara watches curiously as Xander extends his hand, palm up. A shimmer of blue sparks dance across his skin, coalescing into several rectangular objects wrapped in shiny foil. Her eyes widen at the display.

"Ta-da," Xander says with a theatrical flourish. "Protein bars. They taste like cardboard, but they're packed with enough vitamins and nutrients to keep us going."

He unwraps one and breaks it in half, offering a piece to Clara. She takes it hesitantly, sniffing at the beige rectangle before taking a small bite. Her nose wrinkles at the bland taste.

"That bad, huh?" Xander grins, biting into his own half. He makes an exaggerated face of disgust. "Mmm, delicious sawdust. My favorite."

Despite herself, Clara giggles. "It's not that terrible," she says, taking another bite.

"Oh really?" Xander raises an eyebrow. "I think the Silvermane Guards use these to torture prisoners. One bite and they'll confess to anything."

Clara's giggles grow louder. "Stop it," she manages between bites and laughter.

"I'm serious," Xander continues, his eyes twinkling with mischief. "I heard they once fed a whole crate of these to a Fragmentum beast. It took one sniff and ran away screaming."

By now, Clara's fully laughing, the protein bar momentarily forgotten in her hand. The sadness that had clung to her since Pascal's passing lifts, if only for a moment.

As their laughter subsides, Clara's gaze falls on Xander's hand, where the protein bars had materialized. Curiosity overtakes her embarrassment. "How... how did you do that?" she asks, gesturing to his palm. "Make things appear like that?"

Xander follows her gaze, flexing his fingers. "Ah, you mean this?" He summons another shimmer of blue sparks, this time materializing a small bottle. "It's called a Dimensional Pouch. Basically, a fancy storage device."

Clara's eyes widen. "I've seen something like that before. A few people in the Underworld have them, but... they can only store one thing at a time, unlike yours."

Xander nods, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "Yeah, those are probably earlier versions. This one's a bit more advanced." He reaches into his back pocket, pulling out a small device no bigger than a matchbox. Its metallic surface gleams in the dim light of the cavern, a faint blue glow emanating from its edges.

"This," Xander says, holding it up for her to see, "is the actual Dimensional Pouch. It's way more advanced than anything you've probably seen before."

Xander's eyebrows raise slightly. "The ones you've seen were probably left behind in Belobog about 700 years ago."

Clara's brow furrows as she tries to imagine such a span of time. "Seven hundred years? Mr. Alexander, that's... that's older than the Eternal Freeze!"

"Exactly," Xander nods, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Those old models were groundbreaking for their time, but they had a lot of limitations. This one," he taps the device in his hand, "is a much more recent version."

Clara watches, transfixed, as Xander holds the pouch flat on his palm. Its surface ripples like water, and suddenly, a small communication device appears out of thin air. Clara gasps, her hand reflexively reaching out before she catches herself.

"Go ahead," Xander encourages, offering her the device. "It's perfectly safe."

Clara takes the communication device, turning it over in her hands. It feels real, solid, and sleek to the touch. "How does it work?" she asks, her voice filled with wonder.

Xander taps his temple with his free hand. "I've got a brain implant that lets me control it with my thoughts. I just think about what I want, and boom – it appears."

Clara's eyes widen even further. "A brain implant? Does it hurt?"

Xander chuckles, shaking his head. "Nah, I didn't even feel it when they put it in. It's tiny, about the size of a grain of rice."

Clara hands the device back to Xander, watching in awe as it disappears back into the pouch with another ripple. "Can anyone get one of these?"

Xander's expression turns thoughtful. "Well, not exactly. These advanced versions are pretty rare. I got mine through... let's say, some special connections." He winks, and Clara can't help but giggle at his conspiratorial tone.

"But," Xander continues, "I bet Seele and Bronya have something similar. You've seen how they can summon their weapons out of nowhere, right?"

Clara nods enthusiastically. She's always been amazed by Miss Seele's ability to materialize her massive scythe in the blink of an eye.

"That's probably thanks to an older version of this tech," Xander explains. "Not as versatile as this one, but still pretty impressive."

Clara's mind whirs with possibilities. "So... what all can you store in there?"

Xander grins, clearly enjoying her enthusiasm. "All kinds of things. Food, water, medical supplies, tools – you name it. It's got a pretty big capacity, too. But," he adds, his tone becoming almost reverent, "there are even more advanced versions out there."

Clara leans in closer, hanging on his every word. "Even more advanced? How?"

"Well," Xander says, lowering his voice as if sharing a great secret, "I've heard about cargo versions that can transport enormous amounts of stuff. We're talking entire shipments of materials, maybe even small vehicles."

Clara's jaw drops. "That's... that's amazing! Do you have one of those?"

Xander laughs, shaking his head. "I wish! Those are incredibly rare and absurdly expensive. I only know one person who has access to them – Asta, the lead astronomer at the Herta Space Station."

Clara's brow furrows slightly. "Herta Space Station? What's that?"

"It's where I work part-time," Xander explains. "It's a... well, it's like a giant building that floats in space, high above any planet. It's run by Madame Herta, a brilliant and somewhat eccentric scientist. She's my boss there."

Clara's eyes widen with a mix of confusion and wonder. "A building that floats in space? How is that possible?"

Xander chuckles, realizing how strange it must sound to someone who's never left the Underworld. "It's pretty advanced technology. Maybe I can explain more about it later. For now, want to know more about the Pouch?"

Clara nods eagerly, and Xander holds it out. "Here."

Clara takes the device carefully, cradling it in her hands. "It's so small," she murmurs, turning it over. "How can it hold so much?"

Xander scratches his chin, considering how to explain. "Well, it's not storing things in the traditional sense. It's more like... it's creating a tiny pocket dimension. The stuff inside isn't really 'in' the pouch, it's in this separate little space."

Clara's eyes light up with understanding. "Like how the Fragmentum portals twist space?"

Xander blinks, surprised by her insight. "Yeah, actually. That's a pretty good comparison. It's manipulating space, just in a controlled, safe way. To be honest, I didn't know much about it at first either. Herta had to explain it to me."

Clara nods, absorbing this information. After a moment, she looks up at Xander curiously. "So, if you work on a space station, where are you from originally?"

Xander pauses, choosing his words carefully. "A planet called Earth. It's... not too different from here, actually. We have cold places like Belobog, but most of Earth is much warmer."

Clara's face lights up with wonder. "Really? What's it like? Are there lots of trees? I've heard stories about forests, but I've never seen one."

Xander smiles at her enthusiasm. "There are forests, yeah. And mountains, and oceans... all kinds of environments. Some parts of Earth look a lot like the Underworld, actually. But others... imagine endless fields of grass, or beaches with white sand stretching as far as you can see."

Clara closes her eyes, trying to picture it. "I don't know what most of those things are but… it all sounds beautiful," she whispers.

"It is," Xander says softly. "Maybe someday you'll get to see it."

Clara's eyes snap open, filled with a mix of hope and disbelief. "Really? You think I could?"

Xander nods, his expression serious. "I don't see why not. The universe is a big place, Clara. There's so much out there to explore."

A comfortable silence falls between them as Clara processes this information. Her gaze drifts to the strange sword at Xander's side. "What about your weapon?" she asks. "I've never seen anything like it. Sometimes it's a sword, sometimes it's... something else."

Xander follows her gaze, unsheathing the blade. In the dim light of the cavern, its surface seems to shimmer and shift. "This is called Neuromorphic Armament. It's... well, it's kind of alive, in a way. It can change its form based on what I need."

To demonstrate, Xander concentrates. The sword shimmers, its form elongating and curving until he holds a bat in his hands. Another moment of concentration, and it morphs into a long yet thin spear.

Clara's eyes are as wide as saucers. "That's amazing Mr. Alexander!" she breathes. "How does it work?"

Xander chuckles, letting the weapon revert to its sword form. "Honestly? I'm not entirely sure. It's incredibly advanced technology. All I know is that it responds to my thoughts and can take on pretty much any form I can imagine."

Clara nods, her gaze now fixed on Xander's eyes. "And... your eyes? Sometimes they glow, like the sun, or so I'd like to think based on descriptions from the older kids here at the Underworld who've seen it. Is that because you're from a different planet?"

Xander's expression turns more serious. "Not exactly. That's... well, it's complicated. I have this thing inside me, called a Stellaron? It's like a battery, in a way. When I use it, it enhances my senses, makes me stronger, faster."

"Is that how you move so quickly sometimes?" Clara asks, remembering the blur Xander had become during their earlier encounters with the Fragmentum creatures.

"That's right. It's an ability I call Chronosurge. When I activate it, I can move at incredible speeds. Time almost seems to slow down around me."

Clara's brow furrows as she tries to comprehend this. "But... how? And why do you have this... Stellaron inside you?"

Xander sighs, running a hand through his hair. "That's... a long story, Clara. And to be honest, I don't have all the answers myself. What I do know is that it's powerful, and potentially dangerous. But I'm learning to control it, to use it to help people."

Clara nods slowly, her expression thoughtful. "Like how you helped me?"

"Exactly like that," Xander says with a smile. "It's a big responsibility, having this power. Sometimes it's more of a nuisance than a boon, but if I can use it to protect people like you... then maybe it's worth it."

Clara's eyes shine with admiration. "You're like a superhero. You remind me a lot of Mr. Svarog," she says softly.

She watches as Xander lets out a chuckle, dismissing her comparison with a shake of his head. "I wouldn't go that far," he counters. "Besides, how could you? I'm not made of steel!"

Clara's laughter fills the cavern, echoing off the rocky walls. Her eyes crinkle with mirth as she wipes away a tear. As her giggles subside, she notices something she hadn't paid attention to before. His hair, once a rich dark color, now shimmers with many strands of silver in the dim light. She tilts her head, curiosity overtaking her amusement.

"Mr. Alexander, your hair... it's changed," Clara observes, her small hand reaching out instinctively before she catches herself. "It's grayer than before. Are you okay?"

Xander's smile falters for a moment, his hand unconsciously running through his hair. He lets out a soft sigh, his golden eyes meeting Clara's concerned gaze.

"Ah, you noticed that, huh? Sharp eyes, little Sunshine," Xander says, his tone light despite the flicker of something deeper in his expression. "It's a... side effect, you could say. From the Stellaron inside me."

Clara's brow furrows, her earlier laughter forgotten. "Does it hurt you?"

Xander shakes his head, his smile returning. "Nah, it's nothing to worry about. Just makes me look a bit more distinguished, don't you think?" He winks, striking an exaggerated pose.

"But-" Clara begins, her concern not entirely assuaged.

"Hey, you know what this reminds me of?" Xander interrupts, his voice taking on a theatrical tone. "There was this old Earth story about a guy who found a magical paintbrush. Every time he painted something, it came to life! But here's the kicker - each time he used it, he got a little bit older."

Clara's eyes widen, momentarily distracted by the tale. "What happened to him?"

Xander grins, leaning in conspiratorially. Clara leans forward too, eager to hear the end of the story.

"Well, by the end of the story, he looked like a wrinkly old prune. But boy, could he paint!" Xander concludes with a theatrical flourish.

Clara giggles at the image, but a small part of her can't help wondering if Xander's story hits a little too close to home. She finishes the last of her protein bar, surprised to find that her earlier sadness has faded, replaced by a bubbling curiosity about Xander and his world. As she looks up at him, she feels a thousand more questions forming on the tip of her tongue, each vying to be asked first.

"Tell me more about Earth," she says eagerly. "What kind of animals do you have there? Are there robots like Mr. Svarog? What do people do for fun?"

Xander laughs, settling back against the cavern wall. "Alright, alright. Let's see... where to begin?"

As Xander launches into tales of Earth's diverse wildlife, its bustling cities, and the myriad ways humans entertain themselves, she notices his hand drift to his chest, fingers absently fiddling with something beneath his shirt. A glint of metal catches her eye as he pulls out a small pendant on a delicate chain.

"What's that?" Clara points, her curiosity piqued.

Xander blinks, glancing down as if surprised to find the pendant in his grasp. "Oh, this?" He holds up the cross, its simple lines gleaming in the dim light. "It's... well, it's kind of like a good luck charm, I guess."

Clara moves closer, examining the pendant. "It looks… old. And important."

A soft chuckle escapes Xander. "Yeah, it is. Both, actually." His thumb traces the outline of the cross. "I don't even realize I'm doing this sometimes. It's a habit, especially when I'm..."

He trails off, his gaze distant. Clara tilts her head, studying his expression. "When you're what, Mr. Alexander?"

Xander's eyes refocus on her, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "When I'm nervous, I suppose."

Clara's brow furrows. "Nervous? About what?" She glances around the quiet cavern. "Is something wrong?"

"No, no," Xander assures her quickly. "Nothing's wrong. I'm just... anxious about something. But it's nothing for you to worry about, Clara." He tucks the pendant back into his shirt. "Actually, I was just thinking about a couple of friends. Hoping they're doing alright."

Clara nods, but her attention remains fixed on the spot where the pendant disappeared. "Your friends from Earth?"

"Yeah, something like that," Xander replies, his tone light.

Clara listens intently as Xander begins to describe Earth's oceans, painting a vivid picture of endless blue waters and vibrant marine life. But despite her fascination with these alien wonders, she finds her attention wandering.

Her eyes keep returning to Xander's hand, which seems to have a mind of its own. Again and again, his fingers drift towards his chest, seeking out the hidden pendant beneath his shirt. The gesture seems almost unconscious, a habit born of long practice. As her curiosity builds, Clara finds she can no longer hold back her questions about the mysterious charm.

"Mr. Alexander?" she interrupts. "Can I see your necklace again?"

He pauses mid-sentence, surprised. "My...? Oh, sure." He pulls out the cross once more, holding it so Clara can see.

"Now that I think about it, it's pretty," she murmurs, reaching out to touch it gently. "What does it mean?"

Xander's expression softens as he gazes at the pendant. "It's a symbol of... well, of a lot of things. Hope. Sacrifice. Love." His thumb brushes over the metal. "To me, it represents the idea that there's something greater than ourselves out there. That even in our darkest moments, we're not alone, or so I'd like to believe."

She nods slowly, trying to understand. "Is that why it's so important to you?"

"Partly. But this specific pendant... it's been through a lot with me." He turns it over in his palm. "It actually got caught in a fire not too long ago. The cord it was on burned away, but the cross itself? Barely a scratch."

Clara's eyes widen. "Really? How?"

Xander shakes his head, wonder in his voice. "I have no idea. By all rights, it should have melted. But here it is, good as new." He runs a finger along the chain. "I had to get a new chain for it, though. That's pretty recent."

"Who gave it to you?"

Xander's expression grows distant, a mix of emotions flashing across his face. "Someone very special," he says softly. "Actually, it's kind of a funny story. Up until recently, I was working at a mechanic shop under her guidance..."

——————————————————————

Alexander's hands move mechanically over the geomarrow heater, his mind a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts. The upcoming performance at the Starlight Café looms large, but it's the promise of a date with Serval afterward that truly occupies his thoughts. Guilt gnaws at him, a constant reminder of the lies he's told her, of the life he left behind. Summer's face flashes in his mind, and he pushes the image away with a frustrated grunt.

Across the workshop, Serval tinkers with her own project, stealing glances at Alexander when she thinks he isn't looking. She notices the tension in his shoulders, the furrow in his brow. Something's bothering him, but she can't quite put her finger on what.1

"Hey, Xander," Serval calls out, breaking the comfortable silence. "How's it coming along?"

Alexander looks up, forcing a smile. "Almost done. This one's got a nasty coolant leak, though. Might need to replace the entire circulation system."

Serval nods, her eyes lighting up. "Oh, have you tried recalibrating the pressure valves? Sometimes that can fix the issue without a full replacement."

"Thanks," Alexander says, genuinely appreciative. "I'll give that a shot."

He turns back to his work, but his fingers find their way to the cross pendant in his pocket. His fingers trace its contours, rolling it back and forth in a rhythmic dance.

Serval watches him, her heart skipping a beat. She's noticed this habit of his, this unconscious tell that speaks of deeper concerns.

Taking a deep breath, she makes a decision.

"Hey, Xander?" she calls again. "Can you come here for a sec?"

Alexander sets down his tools and walks over, curiosity piqued. "What's up?"

Serval fumbles in her pocket, suddenly nervous. "I, uh... I was going to wait until your trial period was over, but..." She pulls out a small box, thrusting it toward him. "Here."

Alexander takes the box, surprise evident on his face. "What's this?"

"Just open it," Serval mumbles, a blush creeping up her neck.

He lifts the lid, revealing a delicate chain nestled inside. It gleams with an otherworldly light, unlike any metal he's seen before.

"It's made from cooled geomarrow," Serval explains, words tumbling out in a rush. "I noticed you're always fiddling with that cross pendant. I imagined it was very important to you, so I thought... maybe this could help you keep it close. If you want, I mean."

Alexander stares at the chain, then back at Serval, his expression unreadable.

"When did you...? Why?"

Serval's blush deepens, her usual confidence faltering. "What, I can't give a present to someone I care about?" She crosses her arms, defensive. "It wasn't hard to make. I know a jeweler who works with geomarrow. I get a lot of my accessories from them."

Alexander nods, still stunned. He takes out the cross pendant, fumbling as he tries to attach it to the chain.

"Here, let me," Serval says, gently taking both items from him. "Turn around."

He complies, a strange warmth spreading through his chest as Serval's fingers brush against his neck. The chain settles against his skin, cool and light.

"There," Serval says, stepping back. "Now turn around. Let me see how it looks."

He turns, meeting Serval's gaze. She beams, pulling out her phone and opening the camera app.

"Check it out," she says, holding up the screen.

Alexander looks at his reflection, at the glinting chain and the familiar cross now resting against his chest. The warm feeling in his chest begins to intensify at the sight until its too powerful to ignore.

Without warning, he pulls Serval into a tight hug. She stiffens for a moment, caught off guard, before melting into the embrace.

"Thank you," Alexander murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. "Really, thank you."

"You're welcome…" Serval replies softly, her arms tightening around him. "I'm just glad you like it."

They stay like that for a long moment before Alexander pulls away. Serval's eyes widen as she takes in his face – his cheeks are flushed, a bashful grin playing at his lips.

He turns away quickly, fingers moving to touch the pendant now hanging from his neck.

Serval can't help but giggle. "Are you blushing?"

"What? No, I'm not," Alexander protests, but the redness creeping up his neck betrays him.

"You totally are!" Serval teases, her own embarrassment forgotten in the face of his adorable discomfort.

"I'm not!" Alexander insists, but there's no heat in his words. He laughs, the sound slightly strained but genuine.

Serval's heart swells at the sound. She wants to hear it again, to be the one to bring that joy to his face.

But as quickly as it appeared, the moment passes. Alexander's expression shifts, something unreadable flashing in his eyes. He turns back to the heater he was working on, his movements slightly less fluid than before.

Serval watches him, her own smile fading. There's still so much she doesn't understand about him, so many walls he's built around himself. But for a brief moment, she saw behind those defenses. It only makes her more determined to break them down completely.

She returns to her own work, sneaking glances at Alexander as he fiddles with the pendant, a small smile playing at his lips.

——————————————————————

"This chain... it was a gift from someone important. Someone I hurt."

Clara tilts her head, curiosity shining in her eyes. "What happened?"

Alexander's jaw tightens. "I made a mistake. A big one. I let my paranoia and fear cloud my judgment, and I ended up hurting her. Badly." He shakes his head, regret etched across his features. "I don't expect forgiveness. Knowing her, I probably won't get it. But I need to try and make amends somehow."

"How do you plan to do that, Mr. Alexander?"

The Nameless takes a deep breath, his eyes meeting Clara's with renewed determination. "By finishing what I started. I want to stop the Eternal Freeze, to end the separation between the Underworld and Overworld."

"Stop the Eternal Freeze?"

"Remember how I told you about the Stellaron inside me? Well, there's another one - right here above the Underworld. It's the source of the Ice Age the planet's been under."

Clara frowns, her mind racing to connect the dots. "But... how? And why?"

"It's a long and complicated tale. One that goes back over 730 years."

He begins to recount the history, watching Clara lean in, her brow furrowed in concentration as she tries to piece together this new information. Her expressions shift from curiosity to disbelief as he walks her through the fall of the Stellaron, the rise of doomsday prophecies, and the creation of Belobog.

"The Architects tried to control the Stellaron using technology from the Interastral Peace Corporation," Alexander continues. "They built shelters all over the planet. Alisa Rand, one of the most prominent Architects, created the shelter that would become Belobog."

Clara nods slowly, her mind clearly working to visualize this past she's never known. "And then what happened?" she prompts, eager to understand more.

"But then came the Antimatter Legion. They're an army of monsters, led by an entity called Nanook. Their goal is to destroy all life and civilization in the universe."

Clara's eyes widen, a mix of fear and fascination in her voice. "Monsters? Like the ones from the Fragmentum?"

"Exactly. In fact, Fragmentum is merely the effect of corrosion of Stellarons in the environment where they reside. It's precisely because there's a Stellaron in Belobog that it continues to spread."

Alexander presses on, recounting the thirty-year Defense of Belobog and the completion of the city. His voice grows solemn as he reaches the crucial moment.

"About 700 years ago, Alisa Rand activated the Stellaron out of desperation. It triggered the Eternal Freeze, plunging the entire planet into an Ice Age." He pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in. "The official records claim the Stellaron simply resonated with the will of Belobog's people, but that's not the whole truth."

The child stares at him, her mind clearly reeling from the influx of information. "How... how do you know all this?" she asks, her voice barely above a whisper. "Mr. Svarog never mentioned anything like this."

"Clara, I promise I'll explain everything once we've dealt with the Stellaron. But first, there's something crucial you need to understand about them that relates to your guardian."

Her posture stiffens, a hint of defensiveness creeping into her voice. "What is it?"

"Stellarons aren't just powerful objects. They have a will of their own, and they seek to corrupt the minds of living beings near them. Their ultimate goal is the destruction of everything in this universe."

Clara's eyes widen as she processes this. "But Mr. Alexander, you just told me you have a Stellaron inside you. How come you're not... corrupted?"

Alexander nods. "My body has special properties that contain the Stellaron's influence. I don't fully understand it myself, but it's why I can function normally."

He continues, his voice low and urgent, "The Architects and Supreme Guardians who built Svarog were likely influenced by Belobog's Stellaron. They might have programmed him to keep certain information secret, even from himself."

Clara's brow furrows, her mind racing to connect the dots. "So Mr. Svarog... he doesn't know the whole truth?"

"Exactly," Alexander confirms, leaning forward. "He's operating on partial information, trying his best to protect humanity. But his methods - keeping people in the Underworld - they're not the answer. We need to address the root of the problem: Belobog's Stellaron."

Her eyes flash with a mix of confusion and defiance. "But Mr. Svarog, he cares about us! He's always protected us!"

Alexander nods emphatically, his tone softening. "You're absolutely right, Clara. Svarog isn't at fault here. He's doing his best with what he knows. And that's why there's hope." He offers her a small smile. "You've said it yourself - Svarog isn't just a machine. He has an emotional core, a spark of humanity. That's why he listens to you, why he cares for you like a father would."

Clara's defensive posture eases slightly. "So why come to me? What can I do?"

"Because Svarog trusts you, Clara. With your help, we might be able to make him understand the full situation. And right now, we desperately need his help."

"What's happening?" Clara asks, her voice tinged with worry.

Alexander's face grows grave. "As you may have heard, there's been a Vagrant uprising. Svarog has sent automatons against Wildfire in response, but innocent people are getting caught in the crossfire. We need to stop this before more people get hurt."

Clara's eyes widen as understanding dawns. "And you think I can convince Mr. Svarog to call off the automatons?"

Alexander nods solemnly. "If we can explain everything to him, I believe he'll see that we need to work together. To end the Eternal Freeze, to save everyone - both in the Underworld and on the surface."

Clara falls quiet, her young face a mask of concentration. After a long moment, she looks up, determination blazing in her eyes. "Okay. I'll help. But I want to know everything, Mr. Alexander."

Alexander lets out a relieved breath. "Thank you, Clara. I promise, once this is over, I'll tell you everything you want to know."

Clara nods, then turns resolutely towards Svarog's last known location. "Let's go find Mr. Svarog."

——————————————————————

Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 2 hours remaining.

——————————————————————

Gepard Landau trudges through the snow-covered streets of Belobog, his boots leaving deep imprints in the fresh powder. The weight of exhaustion pulls at his limbs, but he maintains his rigid posture, unwilling to show any sign of weakness to the troops flanking him. They've been searching for days, combing every inch of the Overworld for any trace of Bronya Rand, and coming up empty-handed at every turn.

The biting wind whips at his face, but Gepard barely notices. His mind races, replaying every scrap of information they've gathered, searching for some clue they might have overlooked. The disappearance of the Supreme Guardian's daughter has thrown the entire city into chaos, and the whispers of treachery grow louder with each passing hour.

As they round a corner, Qlipoth Fort looms before them, its imposing silhouette a stark reminder of the weight of their responsibility. Gepard's jaw clenches as he thinks of the additional disappearances – Xenia and Yekaterina, two loyal workers vanished without a trace. The timing is too suspicious to be coincidence, but he can't allow himself to entertain the thought of a traitor in their midst. Not without concrete evidence.

A nagging suspicion tugs at the back of his mind. The Underworld. It seems impossible, given the Supreme Guardian's order to seal off all entrances, but Gepard can't shake the feeling that the answers they seek lie beneath their feet. He opens his mouth to voice his theory to the troops, but hesitates. Such a suggestion without proof could be seen as questioning the Supreme Guardian's judgment. He swallows the words, deciding to bide his time until he can present a more compelling case.

"Captain Landau!" A voice cuts through the howling wind. One of his men jogs towards him, breath coming in steamy puffs. "Sir, I've just received word. The Supreme Guardian has requested your presence. She's waiting for you in the courtyard of the fort."

Gepard's eyebrows rise slightly, the only outward sign of his surprise. "Thank you, soldier. You're dismissed." He nods to the rest of his team. "Continue your patrols. Report anything unusual immediately."

As the troops disperse, Gepard allows himself a moment of weakness. His eyes close briefly, a sigh escaping his lips. The thought of his bed, of even a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, is almost painful in its appeal. But duty calls, and he would sooner cut off his own arm than show anything less than complete devotion to his role.

He squares his shoulders and marches towards the fort's entrance. The courtyard beyond is eerily silent, the usual bustle of activity absent in the late hour. Gepard's footsteps echo off the stone walls as he scans the area, finally spotting a lone figure near the center.

Supreme Guardian Cocolia Rand stands tall and regal, her platinum blonde hair gleaming in the moonlight. She's wrapped in a heavy fur coat, clearly prepared for the harsh weather beyond Belobog's walls. In her hands, she cradles a long object shrouded in cloth. Gepard's trained eye immediately recognizes the shape – a weapon, most likely a sword or lance.

He approaches, dropping to one knee in a fluid motion. "Supreme Guardian. I am at your service."

Cocolia's lips curve into a small smile. "At ease, Captain Landau. There's no need for such formality at this hour." She pauses, an uncharacteristic hesitation in her voice. "I have a... personal request to make of you. If you're too fatigued, I can always summon another—"

"No!" Gepard interrupts, wincing internally at his lack of decorum. He modulates his tone. "Forgive me, Supreme Guardian. I am more than capable of assisting you in whatever task you require. It would be my honor."

Cocolia's smile widens, a hint of relief in her eyes. "Thank you, Gepard. Your dedication is commendable." She adjusts her grip on the shrouded object. "I need to make a journey to Everwinter Hill. I'd like you to accompany me."2

Gepard blinks, confusion momentarily overriding his stoic demeanor. Everwinter Hill? The site of an ancient battle, yes, but hardly a priority given their current crisis. Questions bubble up in his mind – What about the search for Bronya? The missing workers? Shouldn't every resource be devoted to finding them?

But as quickly as the doubts arise, Gepard quashes them. The Supreme Guardian's wisdom is beyond reproach. If she deems this journey necessary, then who is he to question it? He forces his features into a neutral expression.

"Of course, Supreme Guardian. I am ready to depart at your command."

Cocolia nods, her gaze drifting to the horizon. "Excellent. We'll leave immediately." She turns back to Gepard, and for a split second, he swears he sees a flash of gold in her eyes, rimmed with an unsettling red glow. He blinks hard, and the strange light is gone. Gepard silently chastises himself.

Clearly, the lack of sleep is taking its toll on his senses.

——————————————————————

Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 30 minutes remaining.

——————————————————————

I walk beside Clara through the Robot Settlement, my eyes scanning our surroundings. The metallic structures loom over us, their sleek surfaces reflecting the dim light. My heart races, but I keep my expression neutral, not wanting to worry the young girl at my side.

As we make our way towards Svarog's base, I mentally catalog the arsenal stored within my Dimensional Pouch, ready to be summoned at a moment's notice. Four smoke bombs, their compact forms belying their potential for chaos. Two makeshift fire-bombs, cobbled together from scavenged materials. Three electrical bombs, their circuitry primed and waiting. The weight of Neuromorphic Armament at my hip is a comforting physical presence, the only weapon I keep on my person.

My mind flicks to the single remaining serum from the Herta Space Station, plus the cannon and grenade launcher I'd acquired earlier when rescuing Clara from the Vagrants, also tucked away in the Pouch's pocket dimension for insurance.

I hope I won't need to use any of it. The command I'd given Pascal still echoes in my mind, a last-resort option I pray won't become necessary.

The child's small hand trembles in mine, her steps faltering as we near our destination. I glance down, noting the worry etched across her young face. She looks up at me, red eyes wide with apprehension.

"Do you think Mr. Svarog will be very angry with me?"

I squeeze her hand gently, forcing a reassuring smile. "Hey, don't worry. Svarog may be strict, but he cares about you. He'll understand why you left."

Clara nods, but the tension doesn't leave her shoulders. We pass through the Vagrant Camp, the makeshift dwellings a stark contrast to the sleek technology of the Robot Settlement. Residents eye us warily, some whispering behind their hands. I keep Clara close, my free hand never straying far from the Curio.

At the camp's edge, Clara approaches one of the guard automatons. Its crimson eye swivels towards us, scanning our forms.

"Excuse me," Clara says, her voice small but clear. "We need to see Mr. Svarov. It's important."

The automaton processes her request, its internal mechanisms whirring. After a moment, it steps aside, granting us passage. We continue on, the path to Svarog's base stretching before us.

As we approach, I see the imposing figure of Svarog waiting for us, his mansion looming just behind in the distance. His massive form dwarfs Clara, the glow of his eye intensifying as we draw near.

"Clara," Svarog's mechanized voice booms, a hint of reproach in his tone. "You left the protection of the base. There has been unrest in the Underworld, perpetrated by the worst elements among the Vagrants. You were at risk."

Clara's head drops, her white hair falling forward to obscure her face. "I'm sorry, Mr. Svarog. I didn't mean to worry you. It's just... it's about Pascal."

Svarog's eye flickers, processing this information. Clara rushes on, words tumbling out in her eagerness to explain.

"I repaired him because he was special, like you. He needed help, and I thought... I thought I could make a difference."

Svarog's posture shifts, his massive frame seeming to soften slightly. "I was notified of a command input into the system. Only you could have done such a thing, to my knowledge." His eye dims, as if in thought. "The data from Pascal has been formatted and integrated into the base network. I have not removed it because the data contains many positive commands that will aid in protecting you. Pascal deemed you a high-priority individual."

Clara's eyes widen, a small gasp escaping her. "Really?"

I watch the exchange, a small smile tugging at my lips. Even in its final moments, Pascal's primary concern had been Clara's safety. The robot's dedication was touching.

Svarog's eye swivels towards me, its glow intensifying. "Why have you brought him here?" His voice is directed at Clara, but his gaze remains fixed on me. "Analyzing... Analysis result: Last known target location: Underworld mine near geomarrow deposit. Threat level: high. Background: unknown. Classification: unknown. External variable not accounted for."

I meet Svarog's gaze steadily, refusing to be intimidated. I recognize the tension in his frame, the way his massive hands flex. He remembers our encounter well, it seems.

Clara steps forward, placing herself between us. "Mr. Svarog, please listen. It's about what happened with Pascal. We found him in Rivet Town, in the central market. Some Vagrants recognized me and... and they wanted to hurt me." Her voice trembles slightly. "They said it was to get back at you for stopping their friends when they tried to rob people in the Robot Settlement."

Svarog's eye flares. "Where are these individuals now?"

Clara's eyes widen, and she rushes to clarify. "No, no! Pascal protected me until Mr. Alexander arrived. He took care of the Vagrants and has been looking after me ever since." She takes a deep breath, steeling herself. "He's explained some things to me that I think are really important. Please, Mr. Svarog, will you listen to what he has to say?"

Svarog is silent for a long moment, his gaze shifting between Clara and me. Finally, he nods. "Very well. I will hear him out, as you request. However," he turns to me, his eye narrowing, "you present too great an unknown variable for me to trust completely, given recent events in the Underworld. You have one opportunity to speak. Make it count."

I nod, stepping forward. As I open my mouth to speak, I become aware of an uncomfortable sensation building in my lungs and chest, a tightness that spreads down my arms. I push through it, focusing on the words I need to say.

"I'd like to request that you stop pursuing Wildfire forces," I begin, my voice steady despite the growing discomfort. "They're not responsible for the recent Vagrant uprising. In fact, I've been working to neutralize the pockets of their forces attacking civilians. I've personally dealt with over a hundred individuals across various parts of the Underworld, including Rivet Town and Forge Town."

Svarog's eye flickers again, processing this information. "Updating database. Many unconscious or incapacitated Vagrants have indeed been found by our patrols. Why did you feel compelled to involve yourself in these matters? According to my records, you are not from the Underworld."

I take a deep breath, wincing slightly at the pressure in my chest. "I... I killed one of the Vagrant leaders. Igor. He was about to assault a young girl named Maria in Rivet Town. I got there just in time to stop him, but..." I clench my fists, the memory of that night flooding back. "It's the reason the Vagrants went wild in the first place."

Svarog's eye dims, then brightens as he processes this new information. "Updating database. Assessing potential danger posed by external variable that has irreversibly altered Underworld status quo... Uprising has caused more deaths in the past 48 hours than any other period since the Supreme Guardian ordered the Underworld sealed." His tone shifts, becoming accusatory. "Why did you not permanently neutralize these threats? Many humans are irrational and incapable of rehabilitation. What assurance do we have that those you spared will not recover and harm others? Several children are reported missing since attacks began. High probability they are deceased. Did you allow the Vagrants who attacked Clara to escape unscathed?"

I shake my head vehemently. "No, I didn't let them go. I beat the ones who tried to hurt Clara, but not all of them had that intent. One of them, Hedeon, actually opposed their orders."

"And what became of this Hedeon?" Svarog presses.

I hesitate, knowing my answer won't satisfy him. "He... he took the unconscious bodies of his comrades away to tend to them."

"Then this individual, despite his apparent objection, remains complicit. And you, by allowing such actions, bear even greater fault."

I feel my frustration rising, matching the growing discomfort in my body. "Look, I understand your point. Some of them, many of them in fact, may need to be dealt with permanently. You won't be hearing any objections from me. But it's not my place to make that call. I'm an outsider here. I can't appoint myself judge, jury, and executioner. That's for the people of the Underworld to decide. The one time I did take that power into my own hands, it led to countless deaths."

Svarog's posture shifts, his massive frame seeming to loom even larger. "Analytical algorithms have necessitated a reevaluation of human behavioral patterns. Primary directive: preserve humanity. However, data indicates a significant subset of individuals consistently operating outside established parameters for human morality and societal function. Observed behaviors: pillaging, theft, wanton destruction, among others more serious. Result: exponential increase in chaos and disorder.

Statistical analysis reveals a troubling trend: a corrupt minority consistently inflicts disproportionate harm on the law-abiding majority. This self-destructive element threatens the stability of the entire human ecosystem.

Furthermore, Wildfire's persistent attempts to return to the surface contradict all available data indicating underground habitation as optimal for long-term human survival. Despite repeated presentation of this evidence, opposition persists.

Conclusion: Current methods of maintaining order are insufficient. New protocol required. Recommended action: assert control through increased force. Neutralize opposition to ensure majority survival."3

He continues, his tone becoming colder. "A new conclusion has been reached: force must be asserted, and opposition neutralized."

I feel my anger rising, matching the growing pain in my chest. Clara notices my agitation and tries to interject, but I push on, my voice rising.

"And how exactly do you plan to filter out who's to be saved and who's to be 'neutralized' in this grand plan of yours?" I demand, my voice trembling with barely contained fury. "It's one thing when we're talking about violent criminals, but your automatons are targeting Wildfire forces - people who are risking their lives to maintain some semblance of peace in this hellhole. Are they expendable too, in your cold calculations?"

Svarog's eye narrows, its crimson glow intensifying to an almost blinding level. "Your perspective is flawed, constrained by emotional bias. You fail to grasp the logical imperative behind my decisions." He turns away, his massive frame becoming a wall of unyielding metal. "This discussion is terminated. You will depart immediately. I am exercising restraint by not classifying you as an immediate threat, solely due to your protection of Clara. Do not mistake this leniency for weakness or indecision."

Clara lunges forward, her small hands reaching for Svarog, but he remains immovable, deaf to her pleas. Something within me shatters, and words erupt from my throat before I can rein them in.

"You're condemning them to a slow death! The Underworld isn't salvation, it's a tomb!" My voice rises, raw with desperation. "Clara, everyone - they deserve more than this half-life! There's another way!" I surge forward, fists clenched. "We need to face the truth, confront the Supreme Guardian, and destroy Belobog's Stellaron!"

Svarog goes rigid, his colossal frame freezing mid-motion. When he speaks, his voice carries the chill of a winter storm. "Access denied. Topic 'Stellaron': Classified. Unauthorized discussion prohibited." He pivots, his eye blazing crimson. "You trespass on forbidden knowledge. Reassessing threat level... significantly elevated. State your true purpose. Now."

The pain in my chest is a supernova, but the words keep coming, a torrent of guilt and determination. "I want to end this frozen hell! To make amends for the chaos I've caused!" My voice splinters, heavy with remorse. "Over twenty names haunt me, lives lost because of my blindness, my paranoia since I arrived! A decade of suffering, and I've only made it worse!" I'm trembling now, but I press on. "I came here in peace, to you, to find a way to help them! Not to doom them further!"

Svarog remains motionless, his eye flickering as he processes my outburst. When he finally responds, his tone is disquietingly serene. "Historical data indicates multiple human attempts to harness the Stellaron. Invariably, these were driven by avarice - efforts to claim the artifact for personal gain. The Architects' directive is clear: Any interaction with the Stellaron will yield catastrophic results."

His eye flares to a blinding intensity, the crimson glow casting eerie shadows across the chamber. "Reassessing... Target threat index has exceeded all established parameters. New classification required."

There's a pregnant pause, the air itself seeming to crackle with tension. When Svarog speaks again, his voice carries the cold finality of an executioner's axe.

"Emotional analysis complete: Target exhibits signs of deception. Body language indicates readiness for hostile engagement. Threat level escalated to Omega Class: Existential Threat to Underworld Equilibrium."

The massive automaton's frame shifts, hydraulics hissing as weapon systems come online. "Peacekeeping protocols disengaged. Initiating Extinction Purge Protocol. Countdown to target elimination: Commencing."

Clara's anguished cry slices through the air. "No! Mr. Svarog, please stop!" She whirls to face me, her eyes wide with fear and confusion. "Mr. Alexander, why is Mr. Svarog saying you want to fight?!"

I feel a familiar heat stirring within me, the Stellaron in my core awakening in response to the surge of emotion. I shift my stance, my body instinctively preparing for the inevitable confrontation ahead.

"He's not entirely wrong, Clara," I admit, my voice tight with tension. "Part of me does want to knock some sense into that stubborn frame of his." I take a deep breath, struggling to calm the inferno in my veins. "But that's exactly what he doesn't understand - the difference between feeling and action. I might be furious, but that doesn't mean I'm going to lash out. He's the one forcing this conflict. Isn't that right, Svarog?!"

As I speak, I confront an unsettling truth. A part of me - the part forged through countless battles in the Simulated Universe, honed over what feels like years of preparation - is yearning for this moment of reckoning.

The air fills with an ominous hum as dozens of automaton Beetles and Hounds materialize around us, their eyes glowing with the same menacing crimson as Svarog's. They form an impenetrable ring of steel and wires, sealing us in an impromptu arena. I shout for Clara to run, my words nearly lost in the cacophony of whirring gears and charging weapons.

Svarog's voice thunders above the din. "Clara, evacuate immediately." Several automatons move to escort her, deaf to her desperate pleas and struggles.

As Clara's cries fade into the distance, Svarog's eye blazes with an intensity that defies description. When he speaks, his voice carries the weight of an immutable decree, sending ice through my veins despite the fire of the Stellaron within me.

"Prototype designation: Svarog, Unit 3. Primary function: Monitoring and Preservation. Extinction Purge Protocol: Engaged. Authorization for total annihilation: Granted."

The circle of automatons tightens, their weapons humming with charged energy. As the tension mounts, I turn my focus inward, addressing the power that has been both my burden and my strength.

This is what we've been preparing for, I think, feeling the Stellaron's energy pulsing within me. You've been with me every step of the way.

I sense a stirring in response, a wordless acknowledgment of our shared journey.

You've surely seen worlds burn and civilizations crumble at your behest. You've been the bogey-man of the cosmos, an answer to the call of The Destruction. But right here, right now… We're not destroying. We're saving this frozen hellhole, whether it wants to be saved or not. Svarog thinks he's got it all figured out? Let's show him what an unaccounted variable can do.

The Stellaron's strength surges, responding to my resolve. My eyes blaze with golden light, matching Svarog's crimson glare.

PLEASE, I silently plead, my determination crystallizing into a single, desperate cry, LEND ME YOUR POWER!

As if in answer, the Stellaron's energy floods through me, every fiber of my being igniting with its otherworldly strength. My hand moves to the Neuromorphic Armament at my hip, its form shifting in response to my will and the Stellaron's power.

Svarog's massive frame tenses, preparing to strike. The automatons' weapons power up with a high-pitched whine that fills the air.

The battle for the future of Belobog is about to begin.

——————————————————————

Countdown to Belobog's Long Night of Solace: Less than 15 minutes remaining.