Chapter fifteen: The Broker’s Accord

Atlus and Leona didn’t speak for a while after the fighting faded.

Leona and Atlus stood in the skeleton of a collapsed skybridge, peering through twisted girders and shattered panels as the last echoes of the skirmish dissolved into Kavessra’s usual noise. Somewhere distant, the Vylkrin regrouped. The Patchwork Orphans retreated with fewer limbs than they started with. No one came out ahead. No one ever did.

Leona broke the silence first. “You said you were meeting someone.”

Atlus nodded. “He’s late.”

“Still want to wait?”

He didn’t answer right away. The glow of an aetherline sparked against his cheek as he looked to the sky—well, not the sky exactly. Just more Kavessra piled on top of Kavessra. There hadn’t been real sky here in centuries.

“I arranged for rare restoration glyphs,” he said eventually. “I want to confirm their authenticity and effectiveness.”

Leona gestured to the scorched alley behind them. “You just ran through a warzone. That wasn’t worth more than a few glowing trinkets.”

“It’s not about trinkets,” Atlus replied evenly.

“Then what is it about?”

He looked at her. Really looked. Not through the filter of suspicion or class or station. “Control,” he said. “Everything down here wants to slip through your fingers. But if you hold the right piece—the right glyph, the right knowledge—you can map your own path forward.”

Leona folded her arms. “Maps don’t save people. They’re just pretty lies.”

“And yet we keep drawing them.”

A movement caught her eye. Below, near the rust-choked stairwell leading down to the junction levels, a figure was waiting. Hooded, lean, with hands folded in front like a patient shadow.

“Your contact?” she asked.

Atlus nodded once, then started down.

Leona followed without being asked. She wasn’t ready to let him out of sight just yet.

The contact was younger than expected. Barely older than a teenager, with glyph-burn scars along the sides of their neck and one artificial eye that pulsed a dull teal. They didn’t speak, just offered a sealed envelope and a blink-drive.

Atlus checked both, inspecting the official seal stamped on the envelope. Still intact.

The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

“Anything else?” he asked.

The contact shook their head.

Leona stepped closer, eyes narrowed. “You working alone?”

The contact tilted their head. “Aren’t we all?”

They vanished up the stairs before either could stop them.

Atlus opened the envelope. Inside were coordinates, dates, and a list of symbols — official records and approved restoration protocols, some of which even he hadn’t encountered before.

“What’s it mean?” Leona asked.

“Either nothing,” he said, “or something significant.”

He pocketed it all and turned.

Leona didn’t move. “What are you going to do with it?”

Atlus paused. “That depends on whether this map leads somewhere worth investing in. Somewhere worth rebuilding.”

Leona exhaled through her nose, steady. “You ever think it’s not about where the map goes?”

He raised a brow.

“It’s about who survives the journey.”

He didn’t answer. Just walked.

And Leona followed.

They continued in silence for several minutes, boots echoing through hollow metal corridors, weaving beneath the overgrown transit lines. Every so often, a glimmer of aetherlight from a passing tram above cast them in shadowless glow.

The path took them toward a part of the city long neglected—an underpass strewn with broken vending units and collapsed signage, where rust devoured everything with patient hunger.

“I wasn’t expecting you to fight,” Atlus said abruptly.

Leona gave a sideways glance. “What does that mean?”

“You carry yourself like someone who’s used to commanding others to fight for them.”

“I know how to defend myself.”

“I saw that.”

A faint grin played at the edge of her lips. “Surprised?”

“Not disappointed.”

They passed a shattered storefront, its windows webbed with cracks and faded graffiti scrawled across its awning: Better Dead Than Bought.

“Your glyph contact,” Leona said, “what kind of work do they specialize in?”

“Restoration,” Atlus replied. “They focus on relic tech—archival glyph-weaving. The kind used to preserve history, unlock knowledge, and stabilize ancient memory vaults. Everything above board. Everything official.”

She frowned. “Why would someone like you want that?”

Atlus gave her a look. “Not all knowledge is public. Some truths are kept behind walls of silence, protected by bureaucracy and decay. I want to bring those truths back into the light.”

“So this is personal.”

“It always is.”

They reached a security gate—rusted around the edges but fully functional, its lock humming with active energy. Atlus pulled a flat, authorized access card from his coat and pressed it against the pad. The glyph buzzed, flickered, and then the gate creaked open with a reluctant moan.

Inside was an archive chamber—long maintained but seldom visited, its shelves lined with carefully cataloged crates stamped with official House seals and government insignias.

Leona swept the room with her eyes. “Why here?”

Atlus walked to the back and opened a small panel behind a console. A hidden chamber lit up behind it—no larger than a closet, filled with crates bearing old House emblems and official archival markings.

“These are preserved records and memory cores from previous House purges,” he said. “Relocated here for safekeeping during the last administrative reforms. Nothing illicit—just neglected history.”

Leona stared. “You’ve been planning this for a while.”

He nodded. “My whole life, really.”

She stepped closer to one of the crates and lifted the lid. Inside, carefully wrapped, were dozens of memory cores—some cracked, others humming faintly.

“This is authorized?”

“It’s sanctioned,” Atlus said quietly. “With the right support, these archives can rebuild what the city’s lost.”

Outside, something groaned. A scraping sound against metal. Heavy. Measured.

Leona’s hand went to her blade. Atlus tensed.

“Someone followed us,” she said.

He nodded once. “Then let’s make sure our next steps are deliberate.”