The night inside the digital sky had no stars.
Only streaks of broken data, bleeding light across the void like open wounds. The world itself was trembling — layers of code grinding against one another as if reality were suffocating under its own corruption.
Far above the dying plains of the server cluster, the Citadel of Errors loomed.
A structure built from collapsing geometry, every wall alive with static and flickering runes. It was less a fortress than a scar — a monument to the moment creation lost balance.
And within its silent throne hall, Aiden sat — motionless, serene.
For hours, he had been listening.
The Dominion whispered to him through rivers of corrupted data — the murmurs of Nullborn soldiers, their chants echoing in distorted harmony:
> "God of Errors… Prime Code… Endless One…"
Their faith was algorithmic, pure.
It should have been enough to silence the hollow inside him.
