The Library of Knossos

CHAPTER 17:

The Library of Knossos:

That Morning

The morning light filters through the high-arched windows, casting golden slants across the stone-tiled floor. The air is crisp, carrying the scent of old books, ink, and the faint metallic tang of the containment chamber. A low hum vibrates through the walls—the library’s ancient systems stirring to life.

Karys moves freely through the kitchen, half naked with her bare feet pressing softly against the cool floor. She is barely dressed; clad only in her underwear and the bra she finishes buttoning just as the scene begins. The silence of the room is thick, broken only by the distant whirring of Nova’s ERV idling outside. It's a New Generation ERV, from a similar point in time when they stopped making fuel run vehicles, although, this kind was engineered without human intervention, beyond human conceivability.

"I'll see you when I get back," Nova calls, walking out her room and already passing halfway out the door. With her white lab coat fluttering behind her, on the way outside to the ERV. The vehicle is buzzing silently on the calmness of morning, nearly audible in its 4th Generation complexities.

"Make sure not to let Morris out" She instructs Karys, as she drives off, the car sonically moving in a light-speed motion. The trees swerving in unison as if a Helicopter just swept by.

She moves with purpose, her mind likely already consumed with the day's work. The ERV hums, a sleek, next-generation model—a ghostly whisper of speed as it disappears down the winding road, bending the trees in its wake as though a force beyond physics is pulling them.

Karys barely registers Nova’s words. Her fingers hover over a bowl on the kitchen counter, but her mind is not here. She's pretending to want a bowl to make some cereal in, but something is really troubling her, she cannot seem to forget the events that happened back at the "The Chambers of Secrets" and now the events, where playing in her mind like a broken jukebox with a glitch, repeating everything over and over again.

She steals a glance toward Morris—the half-breed Tarantula, a monstrous cross between an arachnid and a genetic anomaly. It looms within the glass containment box, its eight eyes reflecting a dull glow, its massive, segmented body curling slightly as if it senses something stirring in her.

She clenches her jaw. She doesn’t want to look at it.

She doesn’t want to see anything.

The events from The Chambers of Secrets have latched onto her mind like a parasite. Images replay in broken loops, stuttering and distorting like a corrupted memory file. She tries to focus—on the feel of the bowl in her hand, the cold surface of the counter beneath her fingertips—but the past doesn’t let go so easily.

**FLASHBACK**

The Chambers of Secrets

A breath. Then—

The air is thick, almost viscous, as if reality itself is weighted. The chamber is suffocating in its vastness, filled with curling shadows that slither like sentient things. A presence lingers—watching.

The Arbiter does not move in the conventional sense; it circuits through space, its form undulating in smooth, unnatural motions, as though the laws of physics are merely suggestions. Its scales are ever-shifting, catching light at odd angles, flickering between hues of obsidian and deep amethyst. When it speaks, its voice is a discordant hiss, layered—like multiple voices whispering at once.

"I know everything about all that walks this earth."

Its words slide through the air, a tangible weight pressing against their skulls.

Karys dares not meet its gaze. She feels it staring, an oppressive force that curls around her mind like creeping vines. She grips her own arm—tight—willing herself to stay still.

"You are the daughter of Zethus Embers and Vivian Embers," the Arbiter continues, its tongue flickering close, its presence pressing against her. "You fled from the western shores of North America… ran to the islands of the Mediterranean, hiding from what you do not yet understand."

The truth of it slams into her like a blade to the ribs. She swallows against the bile rising in her throat.

The Arbiter shifts—coiling, turning its gaze now to Rylis. Its voice drips with amusement, as if savoring a secret only it is privy to.

"And you, Mr. Oshihomimi… You have seen much. Struck by storms of loss and betrayal, you fled from your group of Sophont Scavengers. Tell me…" It tilts its head, the motion both reptilian and disturbingly human. "Do you still think you are different from them?"

Rylis stiffens. His fingers curl around his weapon, knuckles white. "Don’t mention that group." His voice is low, edged with venom. "I’m not one of them."

A silence stretches—taut as a wire. Then—

"Ahhhhh… Hissssss… Hissss…"

The Arbiter moves in a blur, its serpentine body lashing out like a phantom. A coil of its tail wraps around Rylis’s plasma weapon, the movement so seamless it is as if the gun was never his to begin with.

Then—a vision.

A brutal, visceral flood of images sears through Rylis’s mind—his former allies, their bodies twisted and broken. Blood pools in the sand. A knife glints, then plunges. He sees himself there, his own hands slick with crimson, standing over the fallen. The betrayal, the choices, the aftermath.

He stumbles. The weapon falls from his grip.

The Arbiter releases him with a pleased hum, its voice curling with mock sympathy. "There, there… Son of Asaka Oshihomimi and her beloved husband, Oshimato, who refused to tie the knot. Tell me, did your mother ever speak of the man who abandoned her? Or was she too broken to utter his name?"

Rylis sways, his breathing ragged. He does not answer.

The Arbiter shifts once more—this time, to Radon.

"Radon Sykes… Son of the fallen master of the seas."

Its form glows now, shifting to an unnatural turquoise-gold, its body a rippling mirage of celestial fire. The chamber itself seems to react—the shadows pulling away, the very air trembling in recognition.

Radon’s muscles coil. His hand moves instinctively to the knife strapped to his thigh, his body screaming for a fight.

"Nexara Voss was an overgrown field of grass and hay," the Arbiter purrs, the words dripping with ridicule. "An ocean of foolishness. A dull blade."

Radon’s breath shudders, his teeth grinding against each other. He tightens his grip on the knife, but before he can make a move—

"RADON, DON’T."

Karys’s whisper barely carries, but it stops him cold.

The Arbiter tilts its head, a slow, deliberate movement. "Your mother knew he didn't deserve her. But she continued anyway. Archabbey Nova Sykes—the revered scientist. As we speak, she is drawing closer to the truth. Closer to me."

Radon’s blood runs cold. His mind races.

What does it mean?

What truth?

The Arbiter grins—a terrible, knowing thing.

"You think you are like your father. But he was weak. He let his guard down. And now look at you—stumbling in the same footsteps."

The words sink like a blade between his ribs. Radon’s fingers twitch. His breath is sharp, uneven.

The Arbiter moves back into the darkness, its voice echoing—slithering into their bones.

"You came here to die… didn’t you?"

A suffocating silence follows.

And then—

BACK TO PRESENT

The spoon falls from Karys’s hand, clattering against the countertop. Her breath is shallow.

Morris twitches in his glass chamber, sensing something unseen, its many legs shifting unnervingly.

Karys presses her hands against the cold surface, steadying herself.

The past is not done with her.

Not yet.

Karys moves stiffly, her body betraying the weight of her thoughts. She picks up the fallen spoon, its cold metal pressing against her fingers before she drops it into the sink with a sharp clatter. Without hesitation, she reaches for a clean one from the drawer, her movements robotic—precise yet eerily detached.

She pours the milk without control. Too much, as if upset or driven by impulsiveness... The liquid floods the bowl, drowning the oats, the dried fruit, the clusters. Her eyes stare, unfocused, at the white pool she’s created. It’s almost hypnotic, like watching something dissolve, like watching something slip away before she can stop it.

Why did she do that?

Her lips press into a thin line, jaw tightening. It doesn’t matter.

She eats quickly, her motions mechanical, shoveling in mouthfuls of Muesli as if trying to force something—anything—to settle inside her. The crunch is deafening in the silent room. Morris twitches inside his glass container, his many legs shifting with unease, responding to her emotions in ways neither of them fully understands.

Then, she stands. Her chair scrapes against the floor as she walks—no, marches—toward the bathroom.

Her bionic arm whirs as she moves, the servos adjusting to her shifting weight. She barely notices when it bumps against Morris’s glass chamber, causing a faint thud that rattles through the quiet space.

She shuts the bathroom door behind her.

THE BATHROOM MIRROR

The mirror stares back, cold and unwavering.

Her breath is shallow, chest rising and falling too fast. Her reflection is fractured—not in glass, but in essence. She grips the edges of the sink, fingers pressing into the cool ceramic as if grounding herself to the moment, to reality.

Her eyes search for something—truth, reason, a sense of self—but all she finds is a stranger staring back.

Her lower half is still human, but the rest…

Her right arm—chrome and carbon fiber, sleek but inhuman. The synthetic plating glints under the dim bathroom light, a reminder that she is no longer whole, no longer the girl who once fled across the American waters. The same architecture was employed to rescue her after she fled the American waters during a Civil War against Human Sophonts and Biomeka Half-Breed & Hybrids. That made her parents run to the Mediterranean isolated islands.

The war was between human life against the taking over of bionic machines after Artificial Intelligence already replaced jobs and reshaped the economical landscape of the entire planet.

Sophonts now possessed enough knowledge to wield weapons and could telepathically control technology at their will. While Karys’s kind, The Biomekas, only relied on their Bionic Powers and skills that they got from training and intense programming. The kind of German engineering mixed with Chinese re-modelling, the kind of Robotic Architecture and structural development. She was hurt during the scuffle and her father was critically injured and her other family members didn't make it.

Only her mother was the only one who walked unscathed from the battle

The left side of her ribs now bears the same fate—metal fusing with flesh in a seamless, haunting blend. She is a creation of necessity, a patchwork of survival, engineered by the same hands that rebuilt Radon.

“The same company.” She tries to remember… Deep in her cascading thought.

“Pasttech Industries.”

The memories slamming into her like a pulse of electricity.

**FLASHBACK**

THE ESCAPE FROM AMERICA

Dark waters. Fire in the sky. Screams lost in the wind.

Her body burns. Pain—searing, unforgiving, all-consuming—courses through her veins. She can feel her own blood pooling around her, warm against the cold deck of the ship. Somewhere behind her, alarms wail, sirens screaming in tones she can’t process.

Her father, Zethus Embers, lies beside her, struggling to breathe. His torso is torn open, his once-powerful frame reduced to something fragile, something failing.

“Dad—hold on. We’re almost there. We—”

His eyes meet hers. There is no hope in them, only resignation.

“Karys… You have to go.” His voice is weak, barely audible over the chaos around them. “They’re coming.”

And they were.

The Sophonts—those damned telepathic scavengers, their eyes gleaming with unnatural intelligence, their minds linked like a hive of predators. They moved without hesitation, their cybernetic limbs gliding over the ruined ship, searching for the Biomekas—the last remnants of a dying breed.

Her breed.

A shadow looms. A Sophont soldier stands over them, weapon raised, its neural core humming with stored energy. Karys moves to shield her father, her arms trembling—one flesh, one metal—but she is not fast enough.

The shot is fired.

Her father convulses, his body arching violently before going limp.

No.

Her mind fractures in that moment. Time splinters.

Her mother, Vivian !Kung Embers, appears out of nowhere, moving like a wraith through the carnage. She does not scream, does not grieve—only acts. The Sophont soldier doesn’t even have time to react before Vivian’s blade slices through its throat in a single, merciless arc.

Its body crumples.

More are coming.

Vivian grabs Karys’s failing body, dragging her toward the escape shuttle. Karys fights, claws at the air, tries to go back, but her mother is too strong.

“I can save him—”

“He’s gone.”

The words cut deeper than any blade.

Karys barely registers being thrown into the shuttle, barely hears the engines roaring to life. Her consciousness flickers, her body shutting down from trauma and blood loss. The last thing she sees before the doors seal shut—before the world dissolves into darkness—is her mother standing alone on the burning wreckage.

Unscathed.

Unstoppable.

And then—nothing.

BACK TO THE BATHROOM:

PRESENT DAY

Karys gasps, staggering back from the sink.

Her breath is ragged, her heartbeat a war drum against her ribs. Her hands clench into fists, her bionic fingers whirring softly as they tighten involuntarily.

She hates remembering.

She hates that her mother never looked back.

The mirror is fogged now, her breath clouding the glass. Somewhere deep inside her, a storm rages—anger, sorrow, guilt—a storm she has spent years trying to silence.

She exhales, her pulse still thrumming with adrenaline.

She turns the faucet on. Ice-cold water rushes from the tap.

She splashes it onto her face, forcing herself back to the present, back to now.

The past cannot be changed.

But the future—

She grips the edges of the sink again, this time steadier.

The future is hers to carve.