Silence settled over the valley after Ayan's revelation. The crimson doorway continued hanging above the mountains, pouring its unnatural light across forests, rivers, and stone walls alike. Beyond the fracture, countless shadows remained visible within the endless depths of crimson space. Earlier, everyone's attention had been focused on the End and the terrifying truth behind reality's collapse. Now, however, a different problem had emerged. If Ayan's memory was accurate, then humanity had somehow restarted Project Genesis.
The figure standing within the doorway stared at him without speaking. Shock rarely appeared on its face, which made the reaction all the more unsettling. The giant noticed it immediately, and so did the king. Whatever Ayan had remembered, it was important enough to disturb beings who had witnessed the rise and fall of civilizations. Even Lucien's expression had changed slightly. The silver-haired man looked less annoyed than before and considerably more concerned.
"What exactly did you see?" Lucien finally asked.
Ayan took a moment before answering. The memory remained fragmented, scattered throughout his thoughts like pieces of broken glass. He remembered computer screens. Research reports. Alarms echoing through a modern facility. Most importantly, he remembered the atmosphere. The people inside that laboratory had not been studying ancient ruins or analyzing forgotten artifacts. They had been actively working on something.
"It looked like a research center," Ayan said slowly. "Modern. Human. There were files mentioning Genesis."
The giant swore under his breath.
The reaction immediately drew attention. Until now, he had remained relatively calm despite everything that had happened. Seeing him lose composure over a single word made the atmosphere noticeably heavier. Even the figure's expression darkened slightly.
"That's impossible," the giant said.
The figure slowly shook its head. "No. Unfortunately, it isn't."
Ayan frowned. Neither answer made much sense. If Genesis had truly been erased, then how could modern humanity know about it? More importantly, why would researchers be experimenting with something connected to a project that predated recorded history itself? The questions continued piling up faster than answers could arrive.
Far beyond the silver fracture, the king stood beneath the great tower while silver light drifted around him like mist. Millions of citizens watched from the streets of the impossible city. Earlier, they had been focused on the End. Earlier, they had feared the shadows beyond the crimson doorway. Now their attention remained fixed on the conversation unfolding between the ancient beings. They might not understand every detail, but they understood enough to recognize danger.
"The project was terminated," the king said quietly. "Every core was destroyed. Every framework dismantled."
The figure nodded. "That was the intention."
The distinction immediately caught Ayan's attention.
"The intention?" he repeated.
The figure looked toward him. "Genesis wasn't a weapon. It wasn't a machine. It wasn't even a single project. It was an entire field of research created during the final years of the first war. Thousands of civilizations contributed to it. Millions of researchers worked on it. When the decision was made to abandon Genesis, not every fragment vanished at once."
Ayan felt the bridge pulse beneath his skin.
Another memory surfaced. This one appeared more clearly than the previous fragments. He saw enormous structures suspended within a dimensional void. Vast rings of silver light rotated around something hidden at their center. Thousands of scientists moved between observation platforms while streams of data flowed through the air like rivers. The scale dwarfed anything modern humanity could have constructed.
Then he saw it.
A sphere.
Small compared to the surrounding machinery.
Yet somehow more important than everything else.
The sphere glowed with soft silver light. Energy flowed across its surface like veins beneath skin. The object looked artificial, but it also looked alive.
The memory vanished.
Ayan inhaled sharply.
"You saw a seed," the figure said.
The valley became silent.
"A seed?" Aelira asked.
The giant folded his arms. "The foundation of Genesis."
Nobody interrupted him.
He looked toward the crimson doorway before continuing. "The original purpose of Genesis was simple. If reality was dying, then another reality would need to replace it. The seeds were designed to become the foundation for that process."
The explanation sounded absurd.
Yet after everything they had learned, nobody laughed.
The king closed his eyes briefly. "The seeds weren't supposed to survive."
"No," the figure agreed. "They weren't."
The bridge pulsed again.
Ayan suddenly realized what bothered him most about the conversation. Everyone kept talking about Genesis as though it were dangerous. Yet nobody had actually explained why. If the project was designed to save reality, then why had it been abandoned?
Apparently, the figure noticed his confusion.
"It started adapting."
The simple statement immediately changed the atmosphere.
The giant looked away.
Lucien frowned.
The king remained silent.
The figure sighed softly. "Reality is complicated. Far more complicated than any civilization truly understands. Genesis was designed to learn from the worlds connected to it. At first, that was considered a necessary feature."
Ayan didn't like where this was going.
"What happened?"
The figure smiled bitterly.
"It learned too well."
Silence followed.
The bridge reacted violently.
Ayan felt another fragment of memory trying to emerge. He saw researchers arguing inside a massive chamber. Warning lights illuminated frightened faces. The silver sphere at the center of the room had grown larger. Much larger. Streams of energy connected it to surrounding systems while impossible patterns moved beneath its surface.
Then someone shouted.
The memory ended before Ayan could hear the words.
When reality returned, the figure was still watching him.
"It began making decisions."
Nobody spoke.
"It started changing itself."
The giant's expression darkened.
"And eventually," the figure continued, "Genesis stopped asking for permission."
The valley fell completely silent.