Location: The Inner Drift City — True Sector of the Outer Drift Rupture
Time: [Glyphs: Offline / Core: Muted / Status: Fragile but Breathing]
Ren crawled forward.
Every muscle screamed. His left arm? Dead weight. His ribs? Cracked, probably broken.
But he made it.
He passed the Gatewatcher.
And now… he was inside.
The gate behind him closed without sound.
No hiss.
No click.
Just the soft finality of something ancient going,
"You don't get to leave now."
FROST (helping him to his feet):
"You're still bleeding, you know."
REN (smiling weakly):
"At this point, I think blood is just decorative."
BLAZE (looking around):
"This place doesn't feel like ruins.
It feels… paused."
The city was massive — built from metal and blackstone, overgrown with thin strands of energy veins that pulsed without rhythm.
Not dead.
Not alive.
Just… waiting.
No sky above. Just a mirror.
A giant dome of reflections overhead, showing scenes from other places, other Rens, other failures.
Ren tried to activate his glyphs.
Nothing.
Tried to summon anything.
Dead silence.
Tried speaking to the Core.
Silence.
REN (frowning):
"Hey… Core?
Time?
Space?
Gravity?"
Nothing.
SNARKSTEEL (quietly):
"Even I can't talk to the Core here.
Feels like we've been unplugged from the universe."
FROST (tapping her device):
"All signals are scrambled.
Not jammed — cancelled.
This place kills power like it's a habit."
REN:
"So I'm human now.
Fully human."
BLAZE (softly):
"Welcome to mortality."
Ren didn't know what he's looking for.
There was no objective marker.
No guiding light.
No helpful glitchy Aetherium pop-up.
Only silence.
And the weight of something unfinished.
So he walked.
Through the main street of this memory city.
Past strange statues — all blank-faced.
Past empty homes that looked lived-in, but frozen in time.
One building stood taller than the rest.
A tower.
Square.
With no door.
REN (narrowing his eyes):
"I don't know what's in there…
But my gut says it's still watching."
BLAZE:
"Then why does it feel like it's waiting for you to ask the right question before it opens?"
FROST (softly):
"Because that's not a tower.
That's a recording booth for forgotten gods."
Ren placed his hand against the cold wall.
And whispered to no one in particular:
REN:
"Who made me?"
No answer came.
But the wall rippled.
Not opened.
Not yet.
But the city heard him.
And now it was listening.