They followed the pulse.
Not by sound.
By feeling.
Every few steps the concrete throbbed underfoot, faint but certain, like Yunhwa had grown a second heart somewhere below its ribs.
Azari led this time.
Jung Min let her.
The tunnel narrowed into an old service corridor lined with pipes that hadn't carried water in years. Dust hung untouched in the air. No glyphs. No gold. No Choir residue.
That scared him more.
This was clean.
The pulse grew stronger.
Ahead, a maintenance hatch stood slightly open. Not forced. Not broken.
Opened.
Azari pushed it with two fingers.
Inside was a small chamber filled with obsolete control panels and torn wiring. In the center of the room sat a cracked monitor, its screen dark.
The pulse came from it.
Jung Min stepped closer.
The monitor flickered.
Once.
Twice.
Then lit up without power.
Not with light.
With text.
Azari read it first.
Her voice barely worked.
"It says… 'continue.'"
Jung Min felt the cold settle into his spine.
The Choir had written in symbols.
In hymns.
In geometry.
This was words.
Plain.
Human.
Azari swallowed. "It learned our language."