“You’re asking for an open source of wisdom, linked directly to this library, capable of revealing the answers to your questions?” The Warden asked.


    “Yes,” Eden admitted. “At this stage of my existence, the cost of entry is more than I can afford if I intend to visit every night. More importantly, leaving my body defenseless while I’m here is a risk I can’t take. If I could study in my astral form while remaining near enough to watch over my body, that would be the perfect solution.”


    "For a fragment of a concept such as yourself to devise a plan like this is highly commendable. However, I cannot accept your terms," the Warden rippled. "Not because your existence does not interest me, but because you have already made this deal with me once before. This existence of yours is several lifetimes too late."


    Eden tensed. "What do you mean? Has another fragment of myself—or perhaps my higher self—already struck this bargain with you?"


    "Precisely," the Warden confirmed. "And while I understand that your existence as this fragment suffers from a severe split in consciousness, I strongly advise you to stop resisting yourself. Waging an internal war for something you don''t understand will only weaken you. I have seen the future of this existence of yours, and I can assure you—it is a short-lived one."


    "Then please summon another Librarian to speak with me. If you are not interested, I will make the deal with them instead." Eden struggled to hold back his fury.


    "There is no other Warden but me. No matter how many separate beings you perceive—we are all one and the same."


    What the... How can this be?


    . . .


    The three days had passed quickly, with Eden spending more than half of them asleep. Partly because he was exhausted, but mostly because he was angry. How could the librarian tell him his existence was short-lived?


    Refusing to make the deal was one thing, but this—telling someone they wouldn’t outlive the moon—was something else entirely. Then again, "short" was a relative term, so he shouldn’t dwell on it too much.


    Still, it did nothing good for his mental state. And now was time for the ceremony to take place.


    The Hall of the Vaultbreakers was vast, its ceiling swallowed by darkness. Eden and the others stood at the center of the grand chamber, encircled by veterans of the order. Their imposing, suited forms cast long shadows across the polished obsidian floor.


    Banners of past conquests lined the walls, each depicting a legendary Vault or battle they had conquered. Today, after years of rigorous study and training, the new recruits would take their oath in front of their family, friends, and superiors.


    The air shimmered with anticipation as Ceremonial Instructor Varros stepped forward. His sleek, dark silver suit was lined with circuitry that pulsed dimly in the low light. In one hand, he held the first-ever obtained item—a ceremonial blade, a curved dagger recovered from the very first Vault that had appeared.


    The weight of history pressed upon the recruits’ shoulders. Yet Eden stood unshaken.


    "Step forward, Eden del Richo," Varros intoned when Eden’s turn came, his voice reverberating through the hall.


    Eden took a steady breath, studying the blade with more interest than the ceremony itself.


    He had passed the trials—the grueling tests of skill, intellect, and endurance. He had deciphered ancient Vault scripts, survived simulated entrapments, and emerged victorious from the solo test. Now, all that remained was the vow.


    Varros extended the blade. "Kneel."


    Eden dropped to one knee.


    "Do you swear upon the Vaultbreakers'' Creed?"


    Meh, if necessary…


    "I do," Eden said, his voice firm.


    "Do you swear to break into the Vaults and rescue those trapped inside? To place your life on the line to stop whatever lurks within from escaping? To travel to other planets and bring back resources for the future of our nation? To slay the beasts that threaten civilians and defend our land from all enemies, foreign and domestic?"


    I swear to always do whatever benefits me the most.


    "I swear it."


    "Do you swear never to use what you find for selfish gain, nor allow such knowledge and artifacts to fall into unworthy hands?"


    I swear to always do whatever benefits me the most.


    "I swear it."


    "Then rise, Eden del Richo. From this moment on, you are a Vaultbreaker."


    Eden stood. The moment the words left Varros’ lips, a thunderous cheer erupted through the chamber. Veteran Vaultbreakers clashed their fists against their chests in a resounding chorus of approval.


    Maria and Paulo shed tears of joy and pride for their son’s achievement. His sister clapped her small hands, beaming as her brother approached.


    Once the last recruit had sworn their oath and the formalities concluded, the newly inducted Vaultbreakers gathered before Varros.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    A rare smile crossed the instructor’s face. "Now, come. You must be equipped."


    The words everyone had been waiting to hear.


    . . .


    The armory was unlike anything Eden had ever seen. Rows of suspended armor pieces floated in containment fields, bathed in the cold blue glow of stabilizing energy. Engineers moved between them, tuning interfaces, running diagnostics, and preparing the gear that would soon belong to the newest members of the order.


    Varros led Eden deeper into the chamber, past rows of conventional armor, past suits equipped with built-in gravity stabilizers and thermal regulators, until they reached a raised platform at the very end of the hall.


    There, suspended in containment fields, were the Skyborn Exo-Rig armors.


    Eden’s breath hitched.


    The armor before him was unlike anything he had ever seen—sleek and imposing, a fusion of matte black plating and luminescent energy veins that pulsed like a living entity. The segmented plates allowed for full mobility, while micro-thrusters lined the back, shoulders, and calves, promising speed and agility beyond human limits.


    A thin, transparent visor extended from the helmet, feeding a live stream of environmental data, tactical overlays, and biometric readings.


    Varros gestured toward it. “This,” he said, “is the pinnacle of our craft. The Skyborn Exo-Rig is reserved only for those who endure the most grueling trials. It is not merely armor—it is an extension of your will, designed to adapt to your unique specifications and capabilities. From this batch, only you and one more person had been chosen as fit to wear this armor.”


    Eden took a hesitant step forward, and the armor responded.


    The containment field flickered off, and the suit unfolded with a mechanical whisper, its sections shifting like clockwork gears, revealing the hollow space within.


    “Step in,” Varros instructed.


    Eden obeyed.


    The suit sealed around him seamlessly, locking into place with a faint hiss as pressure equalized. And then—


    A surge of information flooded his mind.


    The Rig’s onboard AI synchronized with his neural pathways in an instant, the connection so smooth it was as if the armor had always been a part of him. Eden wasn’t just wearing it—he was it. Diagnostics scrolled across his visor in crisp, efficient lines.


    <hr>


    Systems Online.


    Flight Stabilizers Engaged.


    Energy Shields: Full Capacity.


    Weapon Modules: Standby.


    <hr>


    Then, one final message blinked into existence.


    <hr>


    Welcome, Skyborn.


    <hr>


    Eden flexed his fingers. The armor responded with perfect precision—no delay, no resistance, just raw, effortless power.


    This thing isn’t like a suit. It’s… alive.


    He rolled his shoulders, testing the range of movement. The plates adjusted accordingly, shifting with a near-organic fluidity.


    Varros smirked. “Try it out.”


    Eden didn’t hesitate. With a single thought, the thrusters ignited.


    A rush of energy surged through him as he launched into the air. The force of acceleration should have knocked the breath from his lungs, but the Rig compensated instantly, dispersing inertia and stabilizing his body in mid-flight.


    He twisted, banked, then dove, the motion as natural as if he had been flying his entire life.


    “This is incredible!” he shouted over the comms.


    Varros chuckled. “You haven’t even unlocked half of its capabilities yet.”


    Eden executed a tight roll before descending. The moment his boots touched the ground, the thrusters cut off with impeccable timing. Engineers watched from the sidelines, murmuring their admiration—another Vaultbreaker had taken to the sky.


    Varros stepped forward and clapped a hand on Eden’s shoulder. “Welcome to the Skyborn Division.”


    Eden’s brow furrowed slightly. Skyborn?


    Varros continued, “Only a handful of Vaultbreakers have the honor of joining this division. With this armor, you’ll be able to travel anywhere—no aircraft required. Even crossing the nexuses into other worlds will be possible. But,” he added, his tone firm, “you won’t be given permission to do so anytime soon, so you don’t need to worry about leaving your home planet just yet.”


    I wasn’t planning to leave now anyway. But…


    “What do I have to do to receive permission to enter the gates?” Eden asked.


    Varros met his gaze, eyes sharp with expectation. “Experience,” he replied. “And achievements. In other words, successful missions that will build the foundation of your Vaultbreaker career.”


    Eden nodded slowly. “I see. Can I request specific missions, or are they assigned?”


    Varros folded his arms, regarding Eden with a measured look. “You have the freedom to choose your missions. Why? Do you have something specific in mind?” He paused before adding, “I should also warn you—if you remain inactive for more than a year for reasons unrelated to health, your certification will be revoked. And if that happens, you’ll still be forced to participate in missions, but without the privileges of a Vaultbreaker.”


    Eden met his gaze without hesitation. “That won’t be a problem. But thanks for the warning.” His voice carried quiet certainty. “And yes, I do have something in mind—Kew Dew. I want it to be my first mission.”


    Varros raised an eyebrow. “The wild zone?” His tone was laced with both curiosity and mild disbelief. “For your first mission?” He exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “That’s ambitious—but I’m afraid you won’t be allowed to take it on alone. Kew Dew is classified as high-risk, even for experienced Vaultbreakers.”


    Eden didn’t flinch. He had expected resistance.


    Varros continued, studying him for a moment before relenting. “That being said… we do have a group scheduled for deployment there. Most of them are part of the Unions, but there are a few freelancers among them. If you''re serious about this, I can have your name added to the list.”


    "Please do."


    . . .


    [ Kew Dew: The Wild Zone Metropolis ]


    Once a beacon of progress, Kew Dwe now lay in the grasp of nature’s relentless reclamation, its towering spires half-shrouded in creeping vines and shattered glass. Neon signs flickered feebly, their messages distorted by time, while cracked holo-billboards displayed fragmented ghosts of forgotten advertisements.


    The roads, once slick with the hum of hover traffic, had become a labyrinth of crumbling asphalt and root-choked overpasses. Skyscrapers, built to defy gravity, sagged under the weight of ivy and moss, their skeletal remains housing things far less human than their architects had intended.


    Through this eerie expanse, a group of Vaultbreakers advanced—shadows against the storm-lit skyline. Their reinforced boots crunched over glass and brittle bones alike as they moved in formation, rifles humming with stored energy, visors scanning for movement.


    They were trespassers in a world now ruled by the feral and the forgotten.


    Low growls echoed from the darkness between ruined alleys. Red-glowing eyes flickered from within shattered apartment complexes. The city had new occupants now—beasts twisted by the vegetation that swallowed Kew Dew.


    Hulking forms slinked through the ruins, some draped in bio-luminescent fur, others armored in crystalline scales that refracted the dim glow of malfunctioning streetlights.


    The Vaultbreakers stopped at an intersection where a collapsed mag-rail train lay half-submerged in a sea of foliage. The scent of damp earth and rust filled the air. Overhead, the sky, once dominated by sleek drones and blinking planes, stretched vast and empty, punctuated only by the distant cry of unknown predators residing atop the skyscrapers.


    This was no longer a city. This was a hunting ground.