A steel-and-glass dome sat at the center of Levi’s one-hectare plot. It served as a surface lookout, giving a full 360-degree view of his crops and perimeter fence. The low-ceilinged intake room inside let him kick off his boots and check soil diagnostics before opening the hatch below.

Beyond the blast door, a circular staircase wrapped around an industrial elevator platform.

Sub-level one (B1) was his living space. Descending into B1 cut the suffocating heat, replacing it with cool, recycled air. The layout housed a compact kitchen, a modest living area, a repair bay, and a soil lab with wall monitors tracking farm data.

Directly below lay B2—a deep, chilled vault packed with seed banks and harvested crops.

Tucked into the far rear of B2 sat the low-yield Aura Engine Core, wired directly to the solar units on the surface dome. The core sat submerged in a tank of harvested rainwater, humming with a quiet pulse. Thick tubes pumped purified drinking water to the kitchen and plasmatic water to the fields.

It was built for one man. With six people inside, it felt crowded.

“Pardon the tight space. Let me get you something to eat,” Levi said, stepping onto the lift to fetch extra chairs and a table from storage. “Make yourselves comfortable.”

He paused as the lift lowered. “I need to run a manual check on your tags. May I know where you guys come from?”

“We are Centrals as well,” Aira replied pleasantly. “But, uhm, we don't use bio-inputs. Just traditional tags.”

“Centrals?” Levi recalled logs about different underground citadels. “What city?”

“Ever heard of The Sanctum?” Aira puffed her chest out. “Directly east. It takes months on foot. Our transport broke down on day one.”

The Teacher cleared his throat with a polite cough, remembering how Aira had slammed the accelerator through the floorboards in her excitement.

Aira flushed, staring at her gauntlet.

Levi didn't press further. He descended to B1, pulled out food supplies, and slotted the tags into his desktop diagnostic scanner.

[SCANNING . . .]

[TIME TO COMPLETE: 05:36]

Waiting on the timer, Levi caught his own scent and sniffed his armpit. He washed his face, wiped away sweat, and threw on a clean shirt.

[SCAN COMPLETE]

[HUD DIAGNOSTIC // SCAN RESULTS]

SUBJECT 01: AIRA BENJAMIN — GUARDIAN | PALADIN

ORIGIN: SANCTUM [C-NEUTRAL] | SYSTEM CONCORDANCE: NULL

THREAT INDEX: HIGH [088 / 100]

SUBJECT 02: M_____ L____ [DATA CORRUPTED]

ORIGIN: SANCTUM [C-NEUTRAL] | SYSTEM CONCORDANCE: [CLASSIFIED]

THREAT INDEX: UNDETERMINED

Levi stared at the readout. They were Central tags. He understood Aira’s high threat rating given her gear, but what did Classified mean for the old man?

His name can’t even be read? What kind of encryption is that?

He tapped his temple interface. "Cricket... connect me to command."

His retinas projected a heads-up display beside a black box reading [CONNECTING...].

Static cleared. A heavy, bearded, bald man appeared on the feed, puffing a tobacco pipe in an unbuttoned polo shirt straining across his chest.

“Yo, Levi! Long time no hear.”

“Cap, I’ve got guests.”

“Ha! Hostiles or friendlies?”

“Classified.”

Cap squinted into the feed. “Are you joking? Do I need to call maintenance for your nano-counts?”

“No, Cap. Here’s the gist. Five people at the perimeter. Two females, and—”

“So you locked 'em up and found yourself two wives?”

“No! Look,” Levi took a breath. “This girl pops up with a sword and shield, points it at my face, and... she’s totally my type. Like your wife.”

“You want to sleep with my wife?” Cap flexed his shoulders, popping a button clean off his shirt. It slammed into the lens, tilting his feed sideways.

“No! Cap, no! I respect her like an aunt!” Levi waved his hands frantically. “Point is, she’s a paladin traveling with an old man called Teacher. His tag registered as classified.”

Cap straightened his camera, taking a slow drag from his pipe. “So you need booze to impress a paladin and her teacher.”

“Yes! Exactly!”

“And you want to officially report it as classified. Got it. I’ll notify HQ to launch a bunker buster.”

“WAIT—CAP, NO!”

***

Upstairs, the three refugees collapsed onto the floor, spent.

“Rest your legs,” the Teacher said softly to the survivors, staying upright beside Aira.

“No, Teacher, you two take the seats,” one survivor said, shaking his head. “We owe you everything.”

Aira gestured toward a chair for her master.

“Child,” the Teacher said gently, “when people are in need, what do we do?”

“Help them, Teacher.” Aira bowed to the survivors. “Sit. Rest first.”

She stepped back near the door. Five-foot-six, with fair skin, long golden braids, and a thin chestplate over a slate-blue dress. She set her sword and shield by the panel, unlacing her boots and gauntlets.

“Teacher, may I remove your sandals?”

The tall, grey-haired man unclasped his robe. He held up a gentle hand, nudging his sandal toe against the floor to show he was fine.

His gaze drifted to the messy stack of papers on Levi's desk. Stepping forward, he began organizing them neatly.

“Teacher, let me help,” Aira offered.

“Start with those instead,” the Teacher pointed toward a crate of cleaning supplies.

Aira’s eyes lit up. “Understood! I shall make this room sparkle!”

The refugees scrambled to their feet. “No, please! Let us clean!”

“Nonsense! We will do it together!” Aira declared, throwing a fist in the air.

By the time Levi stepped off the lift carrying a tray of food, the room was spotless. His jaw dropped.

“Hey, wait—you should be resting!” Levi stammered, rushing to set down the tray.

“It’s the least we can do,” a female survivor said softly, offering a grateful bow.

“A little work is nothing,” the eldest refugee chimed in.

“I’m a fisherman, but I know some farming.”

The youngest raised his hand. “I’m a certified mechanic! I can fix broken tech!”

Levi pulled up the background files he’d downloaded downstairs. The other three scanned normally—standard bio-inputs verified:

SUBJECT 02: MARA TURING — FORAGER | THREAT: MINIMAL

SUBJECT 03: TOMAS VERA — MASTER FISHERMAN | THREAT: MINIMAL

SUBJECT 04: KIAN BALTAZAR — SALVAGE MECHANIC | THREAT: MINIMAL

They gathered around the table. Vegetable salad, baked bread, and hot soup filled the air with a rich aroma.

Aira’s eyes widened as Levi poured sparkling soda into her glass.

Before anyone touched their food, the Teacher clasped his hands and bowed his head.

“A friend loves at all times, and a brother is born for adversity,” he prayed softly.

“We give thanks for this humble grace.”

Levi froze in confusion. The refugees clasped their hands, following the routine.

“God is good, bless the food,” the Teacher concluded.

“Amen!” Aira and the survivors chorused.

“A-amen?” Levi muttered.

Aira stood straight as a board, slamming her right fist over her chest.

“Exalted Paladin Aira of House Benjamin!”

Levi snapped a military salute.

“Levi, Tag 0035. Guardian Cadet, Central Citadel 01, District 30.”

He extended a hand to her. “Pleasure to meet you.”

Aira shook his hand, sat down, and took a deep sip of soda. “Ooh, this tastes so good!”

“Thank you for the warm meal, Brother Levi,” the Teacher said.

“What happened out there?” Levi asked the refugees.

Mara and Tomas stiffened. Kian raised his hand.

“Do you have a charger? Our bio-inputs are dead. Our aura reserves are dangerously low.”

“Oh! Right!” Levi slapped his forehead.

He had completely forgotten how standard network transfers worked.

The heavy mood vanished into warm conversation.

Then, a sharp siren shattered the room. Red warning lights flashed across the walls.

[WARNING: INCOMING BUNKER-BUSTING MISSILES DETECTED]

[IMPACT ETA: 45 SECONDS]

Levi went pale.

[IMPACT ETA: 30 SECONDS]

The refugees scrambled for cover. Aira and the Teacher stayed completely calm, sipping their drinks.

Levi tapped his temple, dialing the Citadel network.

“CAP! WHY?! What did I do?!”

On his retinal display, Cap blew a lazy ring of cigar smoke.

“You asked for booze, didn't you?”

[IMPACT IN 3… 2… 1…]

Zero. No explosion hit.

Aira looked through the glass skylight. Descending through the air was a heavy supply crate under a tactical parachute.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing at a crate slowly drifting down.

Cap’s voice turned cold over the feed.

“The package is for your guests. Platoon is en route. Keep them entertained.”

He leaned close to the camera lens.

“Do not let them leave your bunker, Farmer. Is that clear?”

“Yes, Captain,” Levi squeaked.

The line went dead. Levi and the refugees let out a long, collective sigh of relief.