The Architect's Eye, cool and heavy in Jaden's palm, hummed with a truth that vibrated through his very bones. The golden aurora outside, once a symbol of Genesis's rebirth, now felt like the shimmering threads of a vast, invisible puppet master. The Architects weren't benevolent creators; they were cosmic gardeners, pruning humanity when it grew too wild, too independent. And his own system, his very power, was merely a more sophisticated tool in their grand design.
Guilt, sharp and acrid, clawed at his throat. Every structure he'd raised, every life he'd saved, every hope he'd ignited—had it all been within the confines of a pre-ordained cage? Had he been a fool, a pawn, building a gilded prison for the very people he swore to free? The alternate Jaden's haunted plea, "Stop the Conflux. You're not ready," resonated with terrifying clarity now. He hadn't been ready for this truth.
