The night was long, dark, and oppressively cold. The snow fell in a thick, blinding sheet that made it hard for Tsen to see any further out than he could hold his arm. He shivered against the wind’s icy chill, pulling his hood tighter over the wrappings covering his face that offered very little real protection.

“Arlin, are you sure we need to be out here?” Tsen shouted to be heard over the howling of the wind.

“Aye. You think the drones will stay back just because we’re cold and a little wet? And your tracking skills are still completely rubbish!” The older Warden and Tsen’s mentor said with a hearty laugh.

This was Tsen’s second expedition into the wildlands beyond the protection of Uretzu’s walls, far south of even the perpetually wintry canton of Arde, in the frigid Vallée de Glace. The icy region was only habitable, and that was a stretch of the word in Tsen’s mind, during the summer, an even larger stretch.

But Arlin had insisted on this location. He'd said Isernia's centuries-long ice age was ending, and it would open up ruins not seen since the Shattering. Ruins whose remnant guardians would soon be waking up, their Psionite hearts ripe for salvaging.

Building-sized machines, Titans, the corrupted remnants of long-dead AI gods fueled by Psionite, roamed the wildlands beyond the few settlements that had survived the shattering of the world. They stayed away from the cantons, preferring to stay near the ruins of the cities they once stood sentinel over.

That they were basically walking fists with “fuck you and everywhere you think you can hide from me” as their only response to seeing a human made them a little more than terrifying and was more than reason enough for Tsen to want to avoid them. Arlin had told Tsen it was important to kill one once it spotted you as it would pursue nothing else until only one of you still lived.

And to Tsen’s dismay, that was exactly what he and Arlin were hunting for. He would have been content with the scholar’s life like his good friend, Milani, but exploration was in his blood and these hunts were the only times he ever got to leave Uretzu.

 They were hunting a far smaller remnant, a Drone not much larger than a man, but still just as dangerous as one of the larger remnants. Possibly even more dangerous since the tinier size meant greater speed and agility.

 The Psionite hearts powering Titans and Drones were potent sources of energy, energy which Uretzu needed to survive. It was true that other city-states used them, but the Wardens of Uretzu lived off them. Every aspect of their society ran on them, including their weapons, the sigils that powered the augmentations all Wardens underwent and allowed them to continue living.

“My tracking’s just fine. Anyone would have trouble finding anything out here, especially if they were cold and dead,” Tsen muttered to himself.

“You younglings don’t know how good you have it. Back in my day…” Arlin’s loud words trailed off and he drew his sigil, a sword which crackled and glowed with soft yellow energy. He crouched low, assuming a defensive stance.

Pulse quickening from the adrenaline rushing through Tsen’s veins, he drew his own sigil and mirrored his mentor’s stance. Their day had been long, cold, and uneventful and he welcomed the excitement this moment offered as his blade extended to its full length, a little more than half as long as Tsen was tall. A blue, gently curved, single-edged blade, it was perfect for the slashing sword-style Tsen preferred.

The older Warden gestured for Tsen to come to him and he did so. Looking at the ground, where Arlin pointed, Tsen’s stomach began to twist.

At the base of a stone rise, a man in scavenger’s garb, lay frozen and dead in a pool of his own blood. That blood hadn’t yet been buried by the snowfall, which means he hadn’t been dead long.

Arlin bent down and pulled a broken crossbow bolt from the man’s chest. It bore the insignia of a pirate band Tsen had know recollection of the name of.

Neither Warden had much to worry about from a single crossbow bolt. It would take far, far more to put them down and yet even more to make them stay down. Even Tsen, at his sixteen years of age, had undergone the infusion of Psionite that granted his body increased strength, stamina, and damn near immortality.

Piracy was frowned upon in just about every canton, and even the Wardens needed to make a little cash when outside of Uretzu. Bounties on unsavory types were the most lucrative of the odd jobs a Warden took up when roaming.

“Alright, show me your tracking skills. Find those who killed this man,” Arlin said with a smile that mirrored the doubt in his tone.

Tsen brushed his mentor aside. “Watch and learn, old man.”

That earned a chuckle from Arlin.

Tsen bent low and studied the body. Right away he noticed something was off about the body. He glanced back towards Arlin. “His neck’s been slit.”

Arlin stifled a snort. “Did you really believe all this blood came from that bolt to the chest alone?”

“A simple ‘I know’ would have sufficed,” Tsen huffed.

“You’re on the right track, now ask the most important question,” Arlin prodded.

“He was shot after his neck was slit, right? Why?” Tsen asked, following Arlin’s lead.

“To send a message.”

“What message?”

“Find the ones who killed him and ask them yourself,” Arlin said simply.

Tsen rolled his eyes at Arlin’s nonanswer, but went back to looking around the area surrounding the body. There weren’t any obvious tracks despite the intimate nature of the killing. But upon closer examination, he noticed the splatter of the blood on the ground wasn’t quite right.

He looked up and noticed a metal platform roughly ten meters up just barely sticking over the edge of the cliff overhead. Attached to his belt was a zipline and hook ordinarily used for getting onto the bodies of larger remnants, but also for making traversing difficult terrain far simpler.

He tossed the hook, listened for the soft clank of it hitting something, and pulled until it caught. He gave a testing tug to be sure whatever the hook bit into would take his weight, then glanced at Arlin, who simply nodded in approval before mirroring Tsen’s actions.

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The top of the platform was actually an ancient walkway embedded in the ice, leading to the entrance to an ice cave. There were miscellaneous items; furs, bedding, cookware, and other such items tucked well inside and away from the cold to suggest someone was using the space. The ice cave itself bore the signs of recent excavation; fresh melt and temporary support poles erected.

Tsen turned to Arlin. “A new ruin?”

“Seems like we've found the reason for the man below’s murder,” Arlin nodded. He took a flashlight from his bag, shook it on, and clipped it to the strap by his chest. “Let's see if whatever’s inside was worth it.”

Arlin led the way, the only sound their breathing and the soft crunch of the ice beneath their boots. There was light at the end of the tunnel, right where the ice transitioned to concrete surrounded by broken glass leading to a room.

They had definitely found a Ruin. The room bore a pre-Shatter utilitarian design, in that there was none. No paintings, dull grey flooring, and furniture that would have been uncomfortable before the cloth and padding had rotted away over the course of a thousand years.

They made it to the opposite side of the building, where they found their second body. This one had been shot from behind, no theatrics this time, just a single bolt through the back of his head.

A chain ladder, thrown out the window, had been tied off around a pole beside the body. Judging by the sniper rifle beside him, he'd been in charge of covering the retreat of those who'd gone down to explore the ruin.

Poor bastard, too bad nobody was covering you, Tsen thought.

“We’re going to make for the Archive,” Arlin said. “Uretzu's scholars will want whatever information it holds. Lucky for the pirates who killed these two, that's worth far more than the bounty on them. But we need to get to it before them, and do so quietly. Come, we're going to find another way down.”

They had to backtrack several times as many floors had collapsed and been filled in by glacial ice, but they finally succeeded in finding a path into the city proper.

They walked quietly along the dark streets, the only light coming from their flashlights. The lack of a sky overhead, even one that was just clouds and snow, bothered Tsen. It was unnatural.

There was also another sensation. It started as a dull throb in the back of his head, but slowly grew the deeper they went.

Arlin stopped and opened a window. He motioned Tsen inside before following behind him.

“Do you feel that?” Arlin asked.

“I think I'm getting a headache,” Tsen answered.

“Psionite. And a lot of it. That is what you are feeling. Wardens are resistant to its effects, but we are not immune. You need to remember this as you never want to stay around too much for too long. Especially if a corrupted AI still haunts this city. Spend too long and you could find yourself corrupted as well.”

Tsen knew some of the science behind Psionite as the old AI gods used it. Psionite tech was what allowed the AI to function and grow in the first place. They used humans and anything with a complex enough brain to “borrow” some of their processing power to fuel its own increasing intelligence.

Initially, a sort of symbiosis had arisen. The AI became smarter with more people under its influence, and in return, the AI advanced the lives of the people, suggesting new and improved methods for farming and energy creation, capture, and storage.

Tsen was told it was a utopia for a time. But as more AI networks came online, they began to grow jealous of each other and of the human processing power they had access to.

The AI fought each other and humanity was caught in the middle as the conscripts in those wars. That had brought about the Shattering, when mankind used the distraction of the war between their AI gods to free themselves from their influence. They left the cities, and killed those who wouldn't come with them, leaving the AI to wither and die the Titans and Drones without masters.

But many persisted and it was feared that they might one day return if they ever got enough humans back under their control.

That was why Wardens were largely feared by those with more superstition than, in Tsen’s estimation, brains. The Wardens were the very ones who slew the first AI gods, it was that lineage that had enabled them to gain resistance and even dominance over Psionite. A thousand years the Wardens have existed within Uretzu and never have they threatened the peace between the other pockets of humanity. More often, they helped them.

The headache at the back of Tsen’s head grew. Arlin said he'd be able to resist the effect more with age, but that it was good to know the pain now. To welcome it as his Warden blood teaching him his limits. Tsen didn't think he'd ever welcome the idea of some ancient malevolence trying and failing to worm itself into his brain.

The Archive was the same nondescript building as everything else they passed. Arlin broke a window and led them inside.

“We're looking for a computer. It'll be large and likely surrounded by Psionite. You'll know you're getting close to it by feeling,” Arlin said. “Don’t approach it. Just let me know where the sensation grows strongest and I will come.”

“We're splitting up?” Tsen asked.

“You're going left, I'm going right. We'll go one floor at a time and meet on that walkway between the halves.” Arlin pointed up to where a bridge connected the two halves of the building within the atrium they were standing in. He then began winding his watch. “Twenty minutes should be enough. If you're not there by then, I'll assume you're in trouble and I'll come get you.”

“I'm the one who should be worried for you. You've added some greys where you've still got hair left since our last expedition together,” Tsen said, making a show of ruffling Arlin’s balding head.

Arlin gave a snort and pushed Tsen away. “Save the cracks for when you stop getting embarrassed by this old man in a duel.”

And with that, Arlin disappeared within the darkness, his flashlight's light getting swallowed by the black in front of him.

Tsen turned and entered his side of the building. The first through fourth floors held nothing of note for neither him nor Arlin. That left the basement level.

Tsen went into the basement, and though he still didn't find the computer Arlin mentioned, he did find a collection of books that had already been laid out on a table.

The book showed a map of what looked like pre-Shatter Isernia. None of the cantons were listed, but many of the known ruins were. There was even one to the north of Uretzu. Tsen hadn't known of anything that far north. The written language was indecipherable, Tsen hadn’t paid enough attention during his schooling to pick up on it. He stuffed the book in his pack, Milani loved these sorts of things and would no doubt be able to quote it to him cover to cover.

Thirty minutes passed while Tsen waited in the atrium. It was quiet except for the slow, mechanical ticking of his watch. Tsen gave it another five minutes before going after.

That throbbing at the back of his head grew with each step downward he took. He wondered if this meant Arlin had found the Archive.

When he reached the final step, he stumbled, losing his steps as he tripped over his feet. It took intense concentration just to get one foot to go in front of the other. The headache he felt was now maddening, worse than anything he'd ever felt before.

That's when he saw the soft glowing purple light. The Psionite growing around the computer Arlin said he'd find. It hurt to maintain his gaze on it and he could feel… something… a wordless voice gnawing at the back of his mind, demanding he let it in. Let it control him.

Tsen fell on all fours and turned away from the Archive. That's when he noticed Arlin.

Arlin sat slumped beside the door, the shaft of a crossbow bolt sticking out of his left eye. His right eye held only the cold, distant stare of death.

“Arlin!” Tsen shouted, forgetting about everything else in the world. About the pain that made it near impossible to move. Each move of his joints was agony as he dragged himself to his older mentor’s side and checked for a pulse he knew he wouldn't find.

“Ah, another one. So he was lying,” came a cold, raspy voice.

Tsen turned and saw a man with a mechanical prosthesis replacing his left arm, its mismatched bulk giving him a lobster-like appearance enhanced by the sinuous, organic helmet covering everything but his mouth.

“Fortunately for you, I have no need of you. But I know someone who might,” he opened his mouth in a toothy grin before his boot came down on Tsen’s head and he saw nothing but black.