The silence after the transmission wasn't peace.
It was residue — the kind that clings to air after thunder, the ghost of sound refusing to fade.
The fractured horizon still shimmered with the static of human speech.
Aiden stood at its center, motionless, golden eyes half-lidded.
His reflection trembled in the void beneath his feet — a faint human outline flickering under the armor of code.
He could still hear it.
That voice. The human one.
Not the Architect's cold perfection or the Admin's mechanical threats — but a living pulse wrapped in fear.
> "Aiden Cross."
His name.
It wasn't supposed to exist anymore.
He turned his head slightly, as though the sound were a scent he could trace.
But the connection was gone; the channel severed. The world was once again his alone — his domain of silence, order, and control.
And yet, something moved in the silence now. Something fragile. Something alive.
He opened his hand.
