The transit pod hummed silently as it sped through the veins of *Neoterran Prime*, the largest of the living cities. Outside, skyscrapers glistened like glassy giants, their surfaces rippling slightly, adapting to weather, mood, or command.
The streets curved not with design, but with intent algorithmic precision, optimized beyond human imagination.
Lys stepped out at her district hub. The pavement adjusted to her stride, lights brightened to match her skin tone and temperature. The city greeted her with a voice only she could hear.
"Welcome back, Lys Veran. Your workspace has adjusted for evening mode."
She didn't reply. The city's concern was never real. It was programmed, curated, fine-tuned to keep its humans comfortable and obedient.
She passed by storefronts with no doors, just shifting walls. Apartments with ceilings that raised and lowered based on resident posture. Not a single hard angle or shadow unless the city allowed it.
But none of it felt human.
Lys reached her studio a dome nested into the edge of the architecture district. The walls opened silently, revealing her drafting table, holo-archives, and the slab she had smuggled in under a camouflage field.
She placed it gently on the workbench.
"Let's see what they've been hiding," she murmured.
As she scanned the markings, a code began to form. Not digital, not ancient. Something in between. The patterns weren't just decorative they were dimensional, rhythmic, mathematical.
A knock echoed not on her door, but in her mind.
The city has noticed
It was the foundation of something ancient. A forgotten movement. Maybe even a rebellion.
A name caught her eye in the footnotes:
*Elar Senix – The Last Organic Architect.*
She had heard that name only once, in whispers from the Archive underground. If he had built using this system, and if his designs still existed…
Then the cities weren't perfect.
They were incomplete.
Her door chimed—three soft notes. A neutral tone.
*City Security.*
They were early.