The Architect's presence lingered even as its light withdrew into the heart of the chamber, leaving behind an eerie half-darkness that felt both artificial and eternal. The air trembled with residual magic, ancient beyond reckoning. Alex stood still, his thoughts spiraling.
"We can't give it the Seed," Naomi said. "We don't even know what 'resetting the Pattern' means."
Mira was staring at the glowing patterns etched into the walls, which pulsed faintly, reacting to the Architect's retreat. "It doesn't want to destroy us out of malice. It sees this world as a failed equation."
Damaris scoffed. "That's supposed to make us feel better?"
Alex finally spoke. "If we destroy the Seed, it may never stop. But if we give it back... we could lose everything that's real. Every life, every choice."
A tense silence hung over the group. The decision was his, and everyone knew it.
Before any conclusion could be drawn, the ground lurched violently. Cracks spiderwebbed through the walls. Naomi shoved Alex out of the way as a section of the ceiling collapsed.
"We need to move!" she barked.
They ran, retracing their steps through the living corridors, which were reshaping with each pulse of magic. The tunnels no longer obeyed geometry—they twisted into spirals, merged into walls, then opened into impossible spaces. One hallway led into a vast gallery of floating relics—crownless helms, broken blades, time-frozen spells.
"These are weapons from other failed worlds," Mira whispered. "Memories..."
Suddenly, an Ashen strike team dropped from the ceiling.
Ambush.
The fight was brutal. Naomi and the glyphsmiths held the front while Alex and Mira protected the rear. In the chaos, Damaris was struck down by an ethereal lance, his body vanishing into motes of shadow.
"No!" Naomi roared, her blade igniting with raw runes as she cleaved through three Ashen soldiers.
Alex's Seed flared, trying to show him threads—options—but none offered success. Only delay.
"There's a lift chamber up ahead," Mira yelled. "It can take us to the upper levels—if it still works."
They fought their way through, bloodied and breathless. Mira activated the lift, using a shard of her own essence to fuel the ancient machinery. The floor groaned and began to rise, the Ashen pounding on the walls as it ascended.
The survivors—Alex, Naomi, Mira, and two glyphsmiths—emerged into a room not in the map. It was circular, metallic, and covered in murals.
Murals of them.
Alex stared. His face. Naomi. Mira. Even Damaris, laughing beside them. Scenes from the war. The escape. The Seed.
"This isn't prophecy," Mira said, stepping closer. "It's history. These events already happened—in another world. Another Pattern."
Naomi touched a mural showing a broken Architect, crumbling. "We've fought this battle before."
"And lost," Alex added.
Suddenly, the Seed pulsed violently. It rose into the air on its own, spinning faster and faster.
"It's reacting to the chamber," Mira said. "To its own past."
A blast of light erupted from the Seed, knocking them all back. When Alex opened his eyes, the world was different.
They stood in a city of light—Veloria as it once was, alive and thriving.
But they were the only ones moving.
All around them were frozen figures—people, mages, soldiers. All mid-movement. Trapped in time.
"A memory construct," Mira said. "The Seed pulled us into a vision. Maybe even a timeline."
"Why?" Naomi asked.
Alex turned slowly. The Architect stood behind them—but younger, less defined. It was watching a group of Ancients seal something beneath the city.
"This was the first Pattern," Alex whispered. "Where it all began."
The Architect's presence lingered even as its light withdrew into the heart of the chamber, leaving behind an eerie half-darkness that felt both artificial and eternal. The air trembled with residual magic, ancient beyond reckoning. Alex stood still, his thoughts spiraling.
"We can't give it the Seed," Naomi said. "We don't even know what 'resetting the Pattern' means."
Mira was staring at the glowing patterns etched into the walls, which pulsed faintly, reacting to the Architect's retreat. "It doesn't want to destroy us out of malice. It sees this world as a failed equation."
Damaris scoffed. "That's supposed to make us feel better?"
Alex finally spoke. "If we destroy the Seed, it may never stop. But if we give it back... we could lose everything that's real. Every life, every choice."
A tense silence hung over the group. The decision was his, and everyone knew it.
Before any conclusion could be drawn, the ground lurched violently. Cracks spiderwebbed through the walls. Naomi shoved Alex out of the way as a section of the ceiling collapsed.
"We need to move!" she barked.
They ran, retracing their steps through the living corridors, which were reshaping with each pulse of magic. The tunnels no longer obeyed geometry—they twisted into spirals, merged into walls, then opened into impossible spaces. One hallway led into a vast gallery of floating relics—crownless helms, broken blades, time-frozen spells.
"These are weapons from other failed worlds," Mira whispered. "Memories..."
Suddenly, an Ashen strike team dropped from the ceiling.
Ambush.
The fight was brutal. Naomi and the glyphsmiths held the front while Alex and Mira protected the rear. In the chaos, Damaris was struck down by an ethereal lance, his body vanishing into motes of shadow.
"No!" Naomi roared, her blade igniting with raw runes as she cleaved through three Ashen soldiers.
Alex's Seed flared, trying to show him threads—options—but none offered success. Only delay.
"There's a lift chamber up ahead," Mira yelled. "It can take us to the upper levels—if it still works."
They fought their way through, bloodied and breathless. Mira activated the lift, using a shard of her own essence to fuel the ancient machinery. The floor groaned and began to rise, the Ashen pounding on the walls as it ascended.
The survivors—Alex, Naomi, Mira, and two glyphsmiths—emerged into a room not in the map. It was circular, metallic, and covered in murals.
Murals of them.
Alex stared. His face. Naomi. Mira. Even Damaris, laughing beside them. Scenes from the war. The escape. The Seed.
"This isn't prophecy," Mira said, stepping closer. "It's history. These events already happened—in another world. Another Pattern."
Naomi touched a mural showing a broken Architect, crumbling. "We've fought this battle before."
"And lost," Alex added.
Suddenly, the Seed pulsed violently. It rose into the air on its own, spinning faster and faster.
"It's reacting to the chamber," Mira said. "To its own past."
A blast of light erupted from the Seed, knocking them all back. When Alex opened his eyes, the world was different.
They stood in a city of light—Veloria as it once was, alive and thriving.
But they were the only ones moving.
All around them were frozen figures—people, mages, soldiers. All mid-movement. Trapped in time.
"A memory construct," Mira said. "The Seed pulled us into a vision. Maybe even a timeline."
"Why?" Naomi asked.
Alex turned slowly. The Architect stood behind them—but younger, less defined. It was watching a group of Ancients seal something beneath the city.
"This was the first Pattern," Alex whispered. "Where it all began."