Brasswick's streets burned with light not born of fire.
It began with whispers in the night — artisans sketching designs not their own, engineers waking to blueprints etched on their walls in soot. Then came the machines: lanterns that glowed without flame, furnaces that fed on silence, automata that rose from rust and walked. None built by human hand. All shaped by the shard's command.
By the time the council convened, the city was already turning.
Mistress Dour slammed her fist on the council table. "This is no rebuilding — this is infestation! Brasswick does not need another Sanctum!"
Across from her, Valenne Greaves smiled with glassy eyes. "You speak of infestation, yet what I see is perfection. No more hunger. No more error. The Phantom offers a world without flaw."
Murmurs rippled, but too many heads nodded. Too many eyes gleamed faintly, as though a mirror shone behind them.
Elric stood in the gallery above, cane clenched tight. His heart hammered as he watched the chamber sway toward surrender. The city he had fought to save was bowing not to tyranny of men but to the ghost of a machine.
Beside him, Selene hissed. "It's spreading faster than we thought. Half the council's already his."
"And the rest will follow," Elric murmured, "unless we break the shard."
Evangeline staggered forward, pale, her arms twitching as faint glyphs burned across her skin. "It's not just them," she whispered. "It's in me too. Every night, every dream — he shows me equations. He wants me back. Wants me to finish him."
Elric gripped her trembling hands. "Then we go to him. We end this in the cavern where it began."
The council chamber erupted into shouts, but Elric heard none of it. For beneath the din, beneath the human clamor, came a steady rhythm that chilled his blood.
Tap. Pause. Tap. Pause. Tap.
The gear had begun to turn again.