The silence after the blast felt wrong.
Not empty — hollow, like the pause between two heartbeats that might never resume.
Aiden stood in what remained of his throne room, though "room" no longer fit. The once-endless cathedral of light now hung suspended in fractured layers — pieces of geometry drifting through an ocean of pale static.
The walls that once obeyed him flickered between worlds: one moment digital gold, the next, rusted metal and concrete.
Between those flashes, he caught glimpses of the other side.
The real world.
It came in stuttering frames — a hallway lined with servers; human shapes running through smoke; a single, broken monitor still alive, showing his symbol in infinite loop.
And over it all, a whisper:
> "Reality integrity at ninety-two percent... falling."
He recognized the voice — the Architect's residual echo. It no longer spoke like a god, just a dying warning.
> "Containment breach confirmed."
"External synchronization rising."
