Chapter 1. The Last Bastion (Part 2)

The night before it happened, Bertram stood with Maximus in the lobby, the new portrait behind them. The old man adjusted the boy’s collar, a rare breach of his usual hands-off discipline.

“Do you understand, Maximus,” he said,

“that preparedness is not merely skill? It is posture. It is the refusal to be caught with your guard lowered. A Braun is never unprepared. Remember that, even when I am gone.”

“You’re not going anywhere,” Maximus said, almost sharply.

Bertram’s expression didn’t change.

“Sleep well, sir.”

It was the last thing he ever said to him.

Maximus woke to silence.

Not the usual hush of Ophis 56, filled with the low hum of servers and the distant sigh of climate vents, but a silence so complete it felt wrong.

The morning lights hadn’t risen to their usual brightness. The corridors, when he stepped into them, felt heavier—like the air itself knew something he didn’t.

He found Bertram in his room.

The butler was sitting in his chair by the window, still in his nightclothes, hands folded loosely in his lap. His head had tilted slightly to the side, eyes closed as if mid-thought. The soft spill of dawn through the window gave him an almost peaceful frame.

For a moment, Maximus stood in the doorway, certain Bertram would stir. That he’d open his eyes, lift one brow, and ask why Maximus was lingering instead of beginning his morning drills.

But the stillness never broke.

ELI’s voice came from the ceiling, softer than he had ever heard it.

“Sir… I believe Protocol Omega must be enacted.”

Maximus didn’t respond. He took two steps into the room, close enough to see the fine lines around Bertram’s eyes, the way his fingers had relaxed. The man who had raised him, drilled him, shielded him from the outside world, was gone.

The air pressed down on him. He didn’t cry—not then. He only nodded once.

“Confirmed,” ELI said.

“Omega Protocol active.”

Everything after that happened with mechanical inevitability.

Maximus was guided to the dining room for one last breakfast in Ophis 56. ELI’s voice followed him through every hall, issuing instructions in that calm, maternal tone she used when she didn’t want him to feel the sharp edges of a situation.

“Your belongings are already prepared. Wardrobe minimal—Selvarra will provide uniforms. Personal effects limited to approved items.”

“What happens to Bertram?” Maximus asked.

“Arrangements will be made. You need not be present.”

He hated that answer, but he said nothing.

By midmorning, the house began to change.

Security shutters, sealed for as long as Maximus could remember, retracted from the windows. Sunlight—real, unfiltered sunlight—poured into the halls, revealing specks of dust in the air. Automated cleaning units glided along the floors, wiping away years of closed-system monotony.

The locks on the front gates disengaged with a sound like a vault opening.

For the first time in his life, Maximus saw beyond them.

It wasn’t much at first—just the sweep of the driveway curving out of sight, the suggestion of green beyond the high perimeter walls. But it was enough to make his chest tighten. Outside was real. Outside moved.

The vehicle waiting for him was a matte-black sedan, unmarked, its surface absorbing light. The driver’s seat was empty—Selvarra preferred autonomous transport.

“Board when ready,” ELI instructed.

Maximus stood at the threshold, one hand resting against the cool frame of the open door. He looked back into the manor. The lobby was exactly as it had been yesterday: the marble floors, the crest above the mantle, the portrait of Elihu and the boy who never was.

For a moment, he thought about running back inside. About locking the gates again and pretending nothing had changed.

But Bertram’s voice came back to him, firm and absolute:

A Braun is never unprepared.

He stepped into the car.

The door closed with a hiss, sealing him in the quiet cocoon of climate-controlled air. The engine hummed, barely audible, as the car began its slow roll down the drive.

Through the tinted glass, Ophis 56 receded. The gates swung wide, revealing the road beyond—an expanse of light and movement that Maximus had only imagined in fragments.

The house disappeared behind the curve of the hill. The last bastion was gone from view.

Maximus sat back, hands resting on his knees, eyes fixed forward.

Selvarra awaited.

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