Carson followed Bowie through the narrow aisle between towering shelves, hyperaware of the subtle click as the older man disengaged a hidden mechanism. The public portion of the shop—already impressive with its curated Earth artifacts—had merely been the facade. What lay beyond promised something far more significant.

  "Watch your step," Bowie cautioned, sliding aside what appeared to be an ordinary storage cabinet.

  Carson's pulse quickened as the hidden doorway revealed itself. He'd suspected Bowie's collection extended beyond what TITAN permitted, but this level of secrecy suggested something far more dangerous than simple regulation violations. Link shot him a questioning glance, but Carson gave an almost imperceptible nod. They'd come too far to turn back now.

  "Security sweep," Bowie announced, running a handheld device over each of them. The scanner emitted a soft blue glow as it searched for tracking implants or surveillance tech. "TITAN's gotten sneakier with their monitoring. Had three collectors arrested last month for possessing 'culturally sensitive materials.'"

  "Meaning anything that contradicts their version of history," Wind murmured.

  The scanner beeped green for each of them. Bowie pocketed the device and ushered them through the concealed entrance.

  Carson's breath caught as they entered. The room stretched far deeper into the station than should have been possible given the official floor plans. Preservation lighting cast thin beams through the space, illuminating countless artifacts arranged with museum-like precision. The air felt noticeably cooler, his exhaled breath forming small clouds in the temperature-controlled environment.

  "How did you manage all this?" Carson asked, taking in the impossible scope of the collection. "TITAN's spatial allocations for civilian quarters are strictly enforced."

  Bowie's eyes twinkled. "Let's just say the station's original architects left a few spaces off the official blueprints. My collection has a way of growing despite TITAN restrictions."

  Link whistled softly as he examined a display case containing what appeared to be pre-Collapse military insignia. "This stuff would get you executed on some stations."

  "Or canonized on others," Bowie countered. "Theists pay handsomely for certain artifacts. Their historians believe Earth's destruction was foretold in ancient texts."

  Carson moved deeper into the room, drawn to a glass case containing small technological devices. Unlike the ceremonial or artistic pieces that dominated the collection, these items appeared functional—if incomprehensible. Their design followed no TITAN, Theist, or Heran engineering principles he recognized.

  "What are these?" he asked, leaning closer. The preservation field hummed softly, keeping dust particles suspended in perfect stasis around the objects.

  "Excellent question." Bowie approached, his voice dropping. "Found in excavations of pre-Collapse sites that TITAN subsequently classified. Notice anything unusual about them?"

  Carson studied the objects—small metallic components with flowing, organic designs that seemed to shift subtly as he changed viewing angles. "They don't look manufactured. More like they were grown."

  "Precisely." Bowie nodded approvingly. "And they're composed of alloys that shouldn't exist according to our current understanding of metallurgy."

  Wind had moved to Carson's side, her shoulder nearly touching his as she peered at the artifacts. "On Hera, we have similar objects in the Matriarchal Archives. They're called Architect Seeds."

  Carson felt the hair rise on his arms. The term triggered something in him—a recognition that went beyond mere intellectual curiosity. He carefully controlled his breathing, maintaining his practiced mask of detached interest despite the excitement coursing through him.

  "Over here," Bowie called, leading them deeper into the collection.

  The next section contained display cases arranged in chronological order, telling Earth's history through objects spanning thousands of years. Carson noticed Link's genuine fascination—his friend rarely showed interest in historical matters, preferring practical concerns over ancient mysteries.

  "Most collectors focus on technological artifacts," Bowie explained, "but the truly valuable pieces are these." He gestured toward a case containing what appeared to be ancient manuscripts and stone tablets. "Records of human encounters with beings they couldn't comprehend."

  Carson approached the case, his trained eye noting security measures far beyond what a simple shop owner should possess. Quantum locks, biometric scanners, and what appeared to be a localized EMP shield protected these particular artifacts.

  "These symbols," Carson said, pointing to recurring patterns etched into several items from wildly different time periods and geographical regions. "They're identical despite originating centuries and continents apart."

  "Good eye." Bowie's approval seemed to carry weight beyond simple praise. "Most people miss that connection."

  The symbols resembled those from Carson's dreams—concentric circles surrounding a flame-like center, with a key-shaped figure prominently featured. His heart hammered against his ribs as recognition flashed through him. He fought to keep his expression neutral.

  "The ancients believed these symbols represented pathways between worlds," Bowie continued. "Portals that could be opened by those who understood their meaning."

  Wind's eyes met Carson's, a silent communication passing between them. She'd recognized the connection to their earlier conversation about Amundsen's theories.

  "Your security seems excessive for historical curiosities," Carson observed, deliberately shifting the conversation to give himself time to process.

  Bowie's smile didn't reach his eyes. "Let's just say some artifacts have properties that defy explanation. TITAN would rather destroy them than admit gaps in their understanding of physics."

  Link had wandered to another section, examining what appeared to be navigational instruments. "These look like star charts, but the constellations don't match any system I recognize."

  "Because they're not mapping our space," Bowie said. "At least, not as we perceive it."

  Carson cataloged each revelation, his analytical mind forming connections between these historical artifacts and current political tensions. The Theists' obsession with prophecy, TITAN's rigid control of information, Hera's isolation—all might be responses to knowledge too dangerous to acknowledge openly.

  Bowie moved toward the back of the room, approaching what appeared to be a vault door disguised as ordinary shelving. "I've saved something special for last. Few living humans have seen what I'm about to show you."

  Carson exchanged glances with Wind and Link as Bowie began the elaborate security sequence to access his innermost sanctum.

  The vault door swung open with a whisper of perfectly calibrated hydraulics. Carson followed Bowie into a chamber that shouldn't have existed within the confines of a merchant's shop on an ordinary mining station. The ceiling arched overhead in a perfect dome, its surface embedded with thousands of tiny lights that mimicked a starfield. The temperature dropped several degrees, raising goosebumps along Carson's arms.

  Unlike the cluttered displays of the outer shop, this sanctum contained a single pedestal at its center. A preservation field shimmered around it, casting prismatic reflections across the polished obsidian floor.

  "Few living souls have laid eyes on this," Bowie said, his usual shopkeeper's patter replaced by reverent solemnity.

  Carson barely registered the words. His attention fixed on the object within the preservation field—a key-shaped crystalline pendant suspended on a chain of unfamiliar metal. Golden-white light pulsed within its core, creating patterns that seemed to shift and flow like liquid.

  He'd never seen it before. Yet he knew it.

  The exact shape had appeared in his dreams for years—the dreams he'd dismissed as meaningless, the ones he'd never mentioned to anyone, not even Link. The key that unlocked doorways between stars.

  "What is it?" Link whispered from somewhere behind him, but Carson couldn't tear his gaze away to look at his friend.

  "The ancients called it the Light Stone," Bowie answered. "Legends say it chooses its bearer rather than the other way around."

  Carson took an involuntary step forward. The ambient sounds of the room—the soft hum of the preservation field, Link's breathing, Wind's whispered exclamation—all faded to background noise. A new sound emerged, audible only to him: a melodic resonance that vibrated through his bones rather than his ears.

  "I wouldn't get too close," Bowie cautioned, but his voice seemed distant, unimportant.

  The preservation field rippled as Carson approached, responding to his proximity in ways it hadn't for the others. The Light Stone's glow intensified, its golden radiance casting Carson's shadow in sharp relief against the far wall.

  "Carson?" Wind's voice held concern, but he couldn't respond.

  His entire life had been built around caution—deliberately underperforming, avoiding attention, making safe choices. Now something deeper than conscious thought drove him forward. His hand rose toward the field, fingers trembling not with fear but with anticipation.

  "I wouldn't—" Bowie began.

  Carson's fingers pierced the preservation field. It parted like water around his hand, offering no resistance where it should have delivered a deterrent shock. The air around the pedestal crackled with static electricity. The Light Stone's glow pulsed in perfect synchronization with Carson's heartbeat.

  His fingertips touched the crystalline surface.

  The world stopped.

  Tendrils of golden light erupted from the Stone, wrapping around his fingers, tracing the paths of veins beneath his skin. They crawled up his arm, a living lattice of radiance that burned cold rather than hot. Carson wanted to pull away but found himself incapable of movement, locked in place as the light spread across his chest and up his neck.

  The Stone lifted from the pedestal of its own accord, the chain uncoiling like a living thing. It rose to eye level, suspended in air before him, the golden light now blinding in its intensity.

  Carson saw colors that had no names, heard music composed of mathematics rather than notes. The boundaries between senses dissolved—he tasted light, felt sound, saw emotions as tangible patterns in the air around him.

  The chain lunged forward, encircling his neck. The pendant settled against his chest with the weight of inevitability. The moment it touched his sternum, the golden light exploded outward, engulfing the entire chamber.

  In that flash, Carson saw them—dozens, perhaps hundreds of figures stretching backward through time. Men and women of all ages and appearances, linked by a single common element: each wore the Light Stone. Their eyes, regardless of original color, glowed with the same golden radiance that now poured from his own.

  They reached toward him across the gulf of centuries, their voices merging into a single proclamation that echoed not in his ears but in his mind:

  Keeper.

  The light collapsed inward, condensing back into the Stone. Carson gasped, drawing his first breath in what felt like hours though only seconds had passed. His knees buckled, and he would have fallen if Wind hadn't caught his arm.

  The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement.

  "Carson!" Link's voice penetrated the ringing in his ears. "What happened? Are you alright?"

  The Stone rested against his chest, its glow now subdued but unmistakably present. Carson raised a shaking hand to touch it, expecting it to burn, but it felt cool against his fingertips. The chain had somehow fused seamlessly, with no clasp or opening visible.

  "I think," Carson managed, his voice hoarse, "it just chose me."

  Carson's body went rigid as the Light Stone settled against his chest. The shop's dim lighting gave way to a blinding radiance that seemed to originate from inside his own skin. He tried to speak, to call out to Link or Wind, but his voice had abandoned him. His consciousness split—part of him remained rooted in Bowie's shop, aware of hands gripping his shoulders, of voices calling his name—but the larger part of him hurtled through a tunnel of golden light.

  The air around him crackled with energy. The preservation fields containing Bowie's other artifacts flickered and failed, one after another, as if the Stone was drawing power from the surrounding technology. The scent of ozone filled Carson's nostrils, sharp and electric, mingling with the musty smell of ancient objects suddenly exposed to open air.

  His veins glowed beneath his skin, tracing luminous patterns up his arms and across his chest. Sweat beaded on his forehead despite the chill that swept through him. The Stone pulsed in time with his heartbeat—or perhaps his heart had synchronized with the Stone. He couldn't tell where his body ended and the artifact began.

  A kaleidoscope of faces flashed before him—men and women spanning centuries, all connected by the golden light in their eyes and the key-shaped pendant at their throats. Their memories crashed into his consciousness like waves against a shore, fragmentary and overwhelming.

  A woman raising the Stone before a wall of advancing shadows, golden light erupting to create a barrier between dimensions.

  A man standing before a massive stone doorway inscribed with symbols Carson somehow recognized yet couldn't read, the Stone's light revealing hidden patterns in the rock.

  A child clutching the Stone while floating above a burning city, tears streaming upward as gravity reversed around her.

  Carson gasped as knowledge poured into him—too much, too fast to process. The Stone was ancient, far older than humanity. It had been created as one of seven keys, each representing a fundamental aspect of consciousness. The Light Stone embodied illumination through transcending fear—the first step on a journey Carson couldn't yet comprehend.

  "—happening to him?" Link's voice penetrated the visions momentarily, distant and distorted.

  "Don't touch him!" Bowie's voice, uncharacteristically urgent. "The bonding must complete."

  Bonding. Yes, that's what this was. The Stone wasn't simply attaching to him; it was integrating with his nervous system, rewriting the fundamental patterns of his consciousness. Carson felt himself stretched across time, simultaneously present in his own body and experiencing the lives of countless previous Keepers.

  One face lingered longer than the others—a man with Carson's eyes and jawline, surrounded by complex technology. Dr. Craft. The name surfaced in Carson's mind without context. The man looked directly at him across the gulf of time, his expression both sad and hopeful.

  "Find the others," the man whispered. "Before he does."

  Reality fractured further. Carson found himself standing on a red plain beneath twin moons, then in a chamber of living crystal, then aboard a ship unlike any he'd ever seen. In each location, he glimpsed other key-shaped artifacts—blue, green, pink, amber, silver—each pulsing with its own rhythm yet somehow harmonizing with the golden light of his Stone.

  The visions collapsed inward as suddenly as they had expanded. Carson fell to his knees, the shop's metal floor cold against his palms. The Stone's light dimmed to a subtle glow, though thin golden traceries remained visible beneath his skin, following the paths of major blood vessels before fading.

  He raised a trembling hand to his throat, fingers searching for the chain to remove the pendant. There was no clasp, no seam—the metal had fused into a seamless circle. The Stone had become part of him, as inseparable as his own heart.

  "Carson?" Wind knelt beside him, her face pale with concern. "What did you see?"

  He opened his mouth to answer, but how could he possibly explain? The knowledge that had seemed so clear during the visions now scattered like mist, leaving only fragments and impressions behind. One certainty remained, burning in his mind with the same golden light that had coursed through his veins:

  "I'm not who I thought I was."

  Carson's head still swam with fragments of visions as Bowie helped him to his feet. The shop's familiar clutter now seemed alien, each artifact pulsing with history he could almost—but not quite—perceive. The Stone at his throat hummed against his skin, its warmth spreading through his chest like brandy on a cold night.

  "You need to rest," Link said, gripping Carson's elbow to steady him. "Whatever just happened—"

  The security alarm cut him off, its shrill wail piercing Carson's heightened senses like a needle. The preservation fields around the remaining artifacts flickered and died completely as emergency lights bathed the shop in alternating red and white flashes.

  "Someone's breached the outer lock," Bowie muttered, moving toward his security panel. "That's impossible without—"

  The rear wall exploded inward. Carson registered the sequence with unnatural clarity: first the sound—a controlled detonation designed to disable rather than destroy—then the spray of component fragments, then the smoke billowing through the newly created aperture. His mind cataloged these details with a precision that felt foreign to him.

  Through the smoke stepped a figure in sleek black armor, face obscured behind a helmet with an opaque visor. Female, Carson noted with certainty, though he couldn't have explained how he knew. She moved with liquid precision, scanning the room before locking onto Carson—no, not onto him, but onto the Stone at his throat.

  "Down!" Wind shouted, shoving Carson sideways as the intruder fired a pulse weapon.

  The energy blast scorched the wall where he'd been standing. Carson stumbled against a display case, artifacts clattering to the floor around him. The Stone flared in response to the danger, sending tendrils of golden energy skittering across his skin.

  "The Stone," the woman demanded, her voice distorted through her helmet. "Remove it. Now."

  Carson's fingers instinctively rose to the pendant, but the moment he touched it, knowledge flooded him: The Stone chooses. Once bonded, separation means death for the Keeper.

  "I can't," he gasped, the certainty burning in his mind.

  The attacker advanced, weapon raised. "Then I'll take it from your corpse."

  Link hurled himself at her from behind, but she pivoted with inhuman speed, catching him with an armored elbow that sent him crashing into Bowie's workbench. Bowie himself had disappeared—fled or hiding, Carson couldn't tell.

  Carson tried to stand but his legs betrayed him, still weak from the bonding. The woman closed the distance between them in two swift strides and grabbed his throat, fingers digging into flesh as she pinned him against the wall. Her other hand closed around the Stone.

  Pain exploded through Carson's chest—not from her grip on his throat, but from her attempt to separate the Stone from him. Golden light erupted between them as the Stone responded, sending a pulse of energy that threw the attacker backward.

  For a split second, her visor cracked, revealing a flash of features—dark eyes, high cheekbones, a small scar above her right eyebrow. Princess, whispered a voice in Carson's mind, though he'd never seen the Theist royal's face.

  Before he could process this, Wind appeared behind the attacker. She moved with a fluid grace Carson had never seen in the singer, her hands striking pressure points with surgical precision. The armored woman staggered, momentarily paralyzed by whatever technique Wind had employed.

  "Run!" Wind shouted, grabbing Carson's arm. "She won't stay down long!"

  The Stone pulsed again, strength flooding back into Carson's limbs. He stumbled forward as Wind pulled him toward the shop's main entrance, the taste of smoke and adrenaline sharp on his tongue.

  Behind them, the attacker was already recovering, her helmet now fully shattered to reveal a face contorted with fury and determination. She raised her weapon again, but Bowie reappeared from behind a hidden panel, throwing something that burst into blinding light, buying them precious seconds to escape.

  Carson couldn't tear his eyes away from Wind. The soft-spoken singer had vanished, replaced by a combat specialist whose every movement spoke of years of disciplined training. She flowed around the attacker's strikes like water around stone, her body a precision instrument.

  The Stone pulsed against his chest, its warmth spreading through his veins in irregular waves. Carson pressed his back against the wall, legs still unsteady from the bonding. His vision sharpened then blurred at the edges, the world around him seeming to slow and accelerate in unpredictable bursts.

  Wind ducked under a vicious swing and countered with three lightning-fast strikes to the attacker's midsection—pressure points, he realized. Not random attacks but calculated disruptions to nerve clusters, techniques he’d only seen referenced in TITAN security briefings about elite fighters.

  "She's trained," Carson whispered to Link, who had positioned himself protectively at Carson's side despite his own injuries. "Those are advanced combat forms."

  Link's eyes widened, shock flickering across his face. "The singer?"

  The attacker recovered and lunged forward, weapon raised. Wind twisted, impossibly fast, catching the woman's wrist and redirecting the momentum. A small device slipped from Wind's sleeve into her palm—some kind of neural disruptor that Carson recognized from restricted tech catalogs. She pressed it against the attacker's armor at the junction of her helmet and shoulder plate.

  The armor sparked and seized momentarily. The attacker staggered back, her visor completely shattered now. Carson caught a glimpse of her face—aristocratic features, a distinctive tattoo at her temple partially concealed by makeup.

  The Stone flared in response to Carson's recognition, sending a surge of golden energy across his skin. The sensation burned like static electricity but left no pain, only heightened awareness.

  "Who is she?" he whispered, stirring unease within his mind.

  Wind glanced back at him, confusion flashing across her face before she refocused on the fight. She moved with a fluid economy that spoke of countless hours of training—not the movements of a mere singer but of a highly specialized operative.

  The attacker recovered quickly, drawing a secondary weapon from her belt. This one emitted a low hum that made Carson’s teeth ache. The Stone responded with another pulse, strong enough to manifest as visible light that rippled outward from his chest.

  "The Stone can't be taken by force," Wind called out, her voice steady as she issued her challenge. "Stand down before you harm yourself."

  The attacker hesitated, her gaze calculating as she assessed the Stone's reaction. The weapon in her hand trembled slightly, its hum intensifying as she aimed it at Carson.

  "That's a neural separator," Wind warned, speaking directly to Carson now. "She thinks it will sever your connection to the Stone."

  The taste of dust and ozone filled Carson's mouth. Bowie's artifacts lay shattered around them, preservation fields flickering weakly. The Stone grew hotter against his skin, not burning but preparing, gathering energy for something.

  With a determined surge, the attacker lunged toward Carson, separator extended. Wind intercepted her with a spinning kick that should have been impossible in the cramped space. Their bodies collided in a blur of precise violence.

  Carson watched Wind's techniques with growing certainty—the way she used her opponent's momentum, the specific hand formations, the breathing pattern—all unmistakably signs of a martial discipline honed to perfection. Not something anyone outside an elite cadre would master.

  The Stone flashed brilliantly as the attacker broke free and made one final attempt to reach Carson. This time the energy didn't just flare—it expanded outward in a perfect sphere, pushing the attacker back without touching Wind or Link.

  The attacker's face contorted with frustration as she realized the futility of her assault. The Stone had chosen Carson; it couldn't be taken by force. She backed toward the breach in the wall, eyes never leaving the Stone.

  "This isn't over," she said, her tone laced with both threat and reluctant acknowledgment. Then she was gone, slipping into the smoke-filled corridor beyond.

  Carson turned to Wind, seeing her completely anew. "Who are you really?"

  Carson slumped against the wall in Bowie's living quarters, the Stone pulsing gently against his chest in rhythm with his heartbeat. His body felt both leaden and impossibly light, as though gravity couldn't quite decide how to treat him anymore. The herbal salve Bowie had applied to his cuts stung, but the pain helped anchor him to reality when everything else felt like it might dissolve into chaos.

  "Hold still," Bowie muttered, passing a handheld scanner over the Stone. The device hummed softly, its blue light casting strange shadows across the cluttered room. "I've never seen anything like this. The integration is happening at a cellular level."

  Carson tried to focus on the old man's face, but his vision kept shifting—sometimes crystal clear, sometimes blurring at the edges with golden halos surrounding every light source. "What's happening to me?"

  Link paced nearby, his worried gaze never leaving Carson. "Can you remove it?" he asked Bowie.

  "Removal would likely kill him now," Wind said before Bowie could answer. She sat cross-legged on a worn cushion, watching Carson with an unsettling intensity. "The Stone has chosen."

  Carson's eyes narrowed. "And how exactly would you know that?"

  Wind held his gaze without flinching. "There are stories."

  Bowie's scanner beeped, drawing everyone's attention. The old collector's eyebrows shot up as he studied the readout. "Fascinating. The Stone isn't just attached to you—it's reading your genetic signature. There's a compatibility pattern here that goes beyond coincidence."

  "What does that mean?" Carson asked.

  "It means," Bowie said slowly, "that you were meant to find this. Or perhaps it was meant to find you."

  The Stone warmed against Carson's skin, and for a moment, he felt something—a presence, a consciousness—brush against his mind. Without thinking, he reached for it, trying to establish a connection. The Stone flared in response, a brief surge of golden light that illuminated the room before subsiding.

  "Did you do that on purpose?" Link asked, eyes wide.

  Carson nodded, surprised. "I think I did."

  Bowie's security monitors flickered, showing TITAN security patrols moving through the commerce district. "They're searching methodically," he observed. "Won't be long before they reach this sector."

  "That woman will have reported the bonding," Wind said, rising to her feet with fluid grace. "She'll return with reinforcements."

  Carson closed his eyes, suddenly overwhelmed by a flash of memory—except it wasn't his. He saw hands, older than his own, working with the Stone. A laboratory filled with equipment he didn't recognize. A voice speaking urgently about "the keeper lineage" and "genetic markers." The vision vanished as quickly as it had come, leaving him gasping.

  "Carson?" Link was at his side instantly, gripping his shoulder.

  "I saw something," Carson whispered. "Someone else's memory. A man working with the Stone in a lab."

  Bowie exchanged a meaningful look with Wind. "The previous keeper, perhaps."

  "Or your ancestor," Wind suggested quietly.

  Carson stared at her. "What do you know about my family? I don't have any. I'm an orphan."

  "Everyone comes from somewhere," Wind replied. "The Stone wouldn't have chosen you without reason."

  The monitors showed the patrols moving closer. Bowie began gathering supplies into a worn backpack. "We need to move. There's a maintenance tunnel behind the recycling units—leads to the outer docking ring."

  Carson pushed himself to his feet, the Stone's warmth spreading through his chest, lending him strength. "Where exactly are we going?"

  "Off-station," Bowie said simply. "The Stone can't stay here. Neither can you, now."

  Carson looked at Link, saw the determination in his friend's eyes. Then at Wind, with her secrets and combat skills. Finally at Bowie, who seemed unsurprised by any of this.

  "You've been waiting for this," Carson realized. "All those artifacts, the stories. You knew about the Stone."

  Bowie smiled thinly. "Let's just say I've been preparing for possibilities. Now come on—the tunnel entrance is coded to my biometrics. It's our only way out."