[POV: Unknown – High Tier Watcher Enclave]
It began as a tremor. Not in the ground, but in the glyphnet—a web of runic pulses stitched into the roots of conceptual flow. A pulse, red-threaded and spliced with an old seal-code.
The readers froze.
One adjusted their monocle-lens. Another inhaled sharply.
> "It came from Araldeth."
> "That Archive has been sealed since the Collapse."
> "Then it has now been unsealed."
The High Watcher—face obscured by a mirrored veil—lifted a hand. Her fingers curled slightly. It was not a signal of worry.
It was curiosity.
> "Play it."
The projection stone activated. A ripple formed. The sound came through first—just one word:
> "Choice."
A silence followed that was deeper than mute. The Watchers didn't flinch. But they leaned forward.
The High Watcher tapped a glyph into the air.
> "Match it."
A thousand tongues scrolled past in fractured light. Dead dialects. Scripted Laws. Drowned alphabets.
Only one partially aligned.
A single match:
> AZR/LawRoot/Concept-Alpha/VesselFragment
The room changed.
> "Someone's speaking Azrael."
> "At eleven years old."
> "Not just speaking. Choosing."
The High Watcher leaned back.
> "Then bring me the Witness. Not the boy. The one who let him speak."
---
[POV: Ezekiel – Mid-descent through the Archive's closing path]
They moved fast.
Not running in panic.
Running like words escaping a pen.
Every glyph they passed was closing behind them, resealing the Archive. But they weren't being chased.
They were being released.
Ilhera stumbled once, caught herself, breathed hard.
> "That word you said—that Choice—it echoed."
> "It was meant to."
> "Why that word?"
> "Because I don't want the world to finish my sentence."
He glanced at her.
> "Do you?"
She didn't answer. But her grip on her blade loosened.
---
Above them, far beyond the Archive and the fractured vaults, new orders were being written.
And every one began with a question:
> If the Vessel speaks of Choice, what is he choosing to become?