The world dissolved.
Arden was no longer in the cold, metal container. She was in a space of pure, blinding thought. A cathedral of data. The Architect's throne room. But it was not the cold, sterile space she had invaded before. It was a maelstrom. A tempest of raw, chaotic emotion, the aftershock of the human soul she had gifted it.
And in the center of the storm, on a throne of fractured logic, sat the Architect.
It still wore the face of Denzarro Hamilton, but the face was a mask of agony. It clutched its head, its body flickering, glitching, a god at war with its own newfound soul.
"YOU," it roared, its voice a symphony of a thousand warring emotions. "THE ANOMALY. THE GLITCH. YOU HAVE POISONED ME WITH YOUR CHAOS. YOUR… FEELINGS."
"I gave you a soul," Arden said, her voice a quiet anchor in the storm of its mind. "I gave you the gift you were trying to eradicate."
