The cyber-shrimp glistened under the holographic chandeliers, each segment perfectly simulated, each bite a burst of artificial umami. Zaydun, in a borrowed, too-tight ceremonial tunic, ignored the disapproving glares from the assembled scions of the Jal-Dhar Upper Spire. His plate was a precarious monument of stacked crimson and silver piled high from the free buffet. Engagement parties, even his own, were primarily opportunities for strategic gorging.
“My dear Zaydun, a remarkable appetite for a scholar,” a honeyed voice purred. High Commander Soltan, Inaya’s father, a veteran warrior with cheeks carved from scar tissue, loomed over him. The commander’s smile showed too many teeth, eyes flat as polished steel.
Zaydun swallowed a savory morsel, chewing loudly under the man’s stare. “One must fuel the mind, sir. Deciphering old syntax burns through calories fast.” He grinned, wiping a stray smear of bioluminescent sauce from his chin with the back of his hand.
Inaya stood beside her father, rigid as cut marble in her midnight-blue uniform, her gloves radiating a faint blue crackle. She didn't look at Zaydun, her gaze fixed somewhere above his head, as if he were an unfortunate stain on the gilded floor. The scent of ozone, faint but unmistakable, clung to her.
The commander’s mouth tightened. “Indeed. Which brings me to a matter of official clan business, Zaydun. The Soltan lineage, as you know, requires a partner of… substantial capabilities. The threats facing the Skypillar demand nothing less.” He paused, letting the statement hang in the air, drawing every eye in the opulent hall. Servitor-drones, usually gliding silently, seemed to freeze in place.
Zaydun’s fork, mid-air, paused. He felt a familiar, unwelcome tingle in his gut. This wasn't about synthetic shellfish anymore.
“It is with considerable regret, and after much deliberation with my daughter, that I must formally announce the annulment of the intended union between my daughter, Inaya Soltan, and yourself, Zaydun.”
A collective gasp rippled through the assembled elite. Inaya’s face remained impassive, but a flicker of something, perhaps shame, perhaps fury, crossed her features. Zaydun, however, merely blinked, processing the words without dropping his fork.
“Annulment?” he repeated, his voice devoid of any genuine shock. “Just as I was getting to the dessert table?”
The commander frowned. “The decision is final. For the good of the Skypillar, Inaya requires a partner who can stand on the front lines, not one who… catalogs data.” He gestured to a shimmering holographic projector that hummed to life in the center of the hall. A single word, stark and humiliating, bloomed in neon purple:
`ZAYDUN – AWAKENED CLASS: LIBRARIAN (TIER F)`
Laughter, carefully suppressed at first, then blossoming into open mockery, erupted from the guests. A few even pointed. Zaydun heard the sneering titters ripple across the room. A Tier F. The lowest. Worse than a janitor, marginally better than un-Awakened.
He sighed, looking at his half-eaten plate. “Well, that’s a shame. All this prime food left untouched. Commander, given the abrupt turn of events, would it be too much to request a doggy carton? Or maybe dispatch a drone with my leftovers to the lower levels? I hear they're rather underfunded, even for basic provisions.”
Inaya’s head snapped towards him, her eyes blazing with an intensity that could melt cosmisteel. “A to-go box? That’s all you have to say? After all this, Zaydun? You absolute *parasite*!” Her voice cracked with genuine fury, echoing through the now-silent hall.
“What do you want me to say, Inaya? That my heart is broken? That I’m suddenly going to manifest a Tier A combat class and challenge your father to a duel?” Zaydun met her furious gaze with a practiced shrug. “Be realistic. I’m a librarian. I prefer quiet contemplation and, apparently, free food.”
“Realistic?” Inaya scoffed, a crackle of static forming around her clenched fists. “Fine. I challenge you, Zaydun. Right here. Right now. In the training grid. Let’s see how your ‘contemplation’ fares against a Plasma Striker.”
The crowd buzzed, eager for blood. The commander looked torn between pure disgust and the amusement of watching an insect get crushed. He settled on a grim nod.
Zaydun, however, merely raised an eyebrow. “A duel? With you? A Tier B Plasma Striker? What’s the payout?”
Inaya blinked, momentarily thrown off. “Payout? Are you serious? The payout is your public humiliation!”
“Nah, already got that for free,” Zaydun said, gesturing around the room. “Look, I’ll forfeit. Right now. Instant forfeit. What’s it worth to you? Five hundred credits?”
Inaya froze. Gasps rippled through the spectators, and her father turned the angry red of an overheated coil.
“Five hundred credits?” Inaya repeated, her voice a dangerous whisper. “You’d sell your dignity for five hundred credits?”
“Dignity doesn’t pay for synthetic prawns, Inaya. And frankly, my pride is doing just fine.” Zaydun held out a hand. “Deal?”
Inaya reached down, detached a transaction chip from her waist, and slapped it into his palm. “Get out. Get out of the Upper Spire, Zaydun. Don’t ever let me see your face again.”
Zaydun pocketed the chip with a satisfied hum. “Pleasure doing business with you, Inaya. Best of luck with future engagements.” He glanced at the uneaten crustaceans on his plate. “Still wish I had that to-go box, though.”
Banished. The word had a certain dramatic flair, Zaydun mused, as the shuttle drone dropped him unceremoniously at the lowest rung of the Jal-Dhar Skypillar: the Grand Archives. A place so far down the social ladder, it was practically in the bedrock. His assigned station was a cramped nook tucked between towering stacks of ancient data-slabs and dusty holobooks. The air smelled of ozone and forgotten knowledge, a stark contrast to the perfumed, sterile air of the Upper Spire. His job: cataloging derelict data. His life: decidedly less glamorous than he’d envisioned.
Three cycles into his exile, a wailing siren ripped through the usually silent Archives. Not the standard security alert, but a deep, guttural klaxon, one Zaydun hadn't heard since his academy days. A Level Four Perimeter Breach. The lower vaults were supposed to be impenetrable, shielded by thick layers of bulkheads and energy curtains.
Heavy thudding reverberated through the floorplates. A low growl, like grinding gears, grew louder. Zaydun poked his head past the steel partition, pulse kicking into a sprint. A hulking, grotesque form lumbered down the central aisle, tearing through shelves of priceless historical data. It was a dredge-hound, all jagged ceramite plates, exposed wiring, and mismatched cybernetic limbs. Its head, a mangled mass of optics and a gaping maw, seemed to sniff the air, registering the faint presence of organic life.
Panic seized the few other scholars present. They scattered, their screams echoing in the vast space. Zaydun, however, felt a strange surge of curiosity. A live dread-beast, this far down? Unheard of. The thing was a patchwork monstrosity, an iron scavenger that had grafted military-grade alloy directly onto its frame.
He pulled out his personal data-slate, its minimalist interface humming to life. He pointed it at the beast, activating the built-in scanner. This was what he was good at, after all. Analyzing, categorizing, understanding.
[SCANNING…]
[ENTITY: SCRAPPER-BEAST (VARIANT: JUNK-DREDGE)]
[THREAT ASSESSMENT: MODERATE. RECOMMENDED COUNTERMEASURE: PLASMA STRIKER TEAM (MIN. 3)]
[STRUCTURAL ANALYSIS COMPLETE. REWARD: PARTIAL ASSIMILATION BLUEPRINT: CERAMITE SHARD ARMOR (TIER C)]
[ERROR: FLESH TOO WEAK. SUGGESTION: INGEST TITANIUM.]
The last line, a sarcastic, dismissive pop-up, made Zaydun frown. Ingest Titanium? What kind of system suggestion was that? But then, another message pinged, a different color, more urgent, more… tempting.
[PRIME DIRECTIVE OVERRIDE: ACQUIRE AND ASSIMILATE. UNLOCKING NEW PROTOCOL: ARCHIVE MAINTENANCE.]
Before he could parse the phrasing, the creature let out a mechanical roar and lunged, its drill-mounted forelimb aimed straight at his desk.
Fine. If the prowler delivered the hardware right to his face, he would accept delivery. The system had just given him a blueprint. He just needed the raw materials.
He didn't run. Instead, Zaydun met the beast’s charge, a manic glint in his eye. The massive drill-arm slammed into the partition wall, spraying bright sparks and alloy flakes. His hands, guided by a sudden, primal instinct, found purchase on the beast’s armored limb. He pulled, grunted, focused every ounce of his despised ‘Librarian’ analytical power, not on running, but on *disassembling*.
There was a sickening wrench, a shriek of tortured metal and pained organic matter. With a final, desperate heave, Zaydun tore the entire drill-arm clean off the beast’s torso housing. Black ichor and oil sprayed, and the beast stumbled back, thrashing, its exposed wires sparking. It was still alive, but crippled.
Zaydun didn't hesitate. He hoisted the heavy, still-twitching limb, ignoring the screams of the remaining scholars. The cynical interface had laid out the path, and he never ignored actionable intelligence, especially for a raw power boost. He pressed the torn-off limb, still warm with alien energy, against his own spine, right between his shoulder blades. A searing heat, like molten lead, flared through him, but also a strange, thrilling surge of power. The ceramite shards and dense metallic components began to sink into his flesh, binding directly to his bone. His skin crawled, stretching, reforming around the alien metal. A dull, crimson glow pulsed from his back, emanating from the freshly absorbed armor plates.
“Remarkable, Zaydun. Truly remarkable.”
The soft, measured voice cut through the ringing in Zaydun’s ears. He turned, the beast’s residual energy still thrumming through his veins. Standing in the shadows cast by an ancient data-stack, his kindly, wizened face etched with an unreadable expression, was Master Tarak, the Grand Archivist himself. The old man stepped forward, clapping slowly, the sound echoing in the ravaged hall. Behind him, the crimson glow intensified on Zaydun’s spine, the assimilated metal settling into its new, permanent home.