The home of the Rotcastors was not what I had expected. It was like stepping into a hidden oasis. The plants and trees here were alive in a way I hadn't seen in any other Cradle—lush, vibrant, untouched by decay. A tiny village bloomed in a space no bigger than a single house back in my home Cradle. The buildings were stacked and smashed together, some balanced half-on-top of others, like a precarious sculpture born of desperation.
Several people came to greet us. Their faces lit up when they saw Rebel—then shifted quickly to concern when they saw me.
"She's okay, she's with me," Rebel kept assuring them. People clapped him on the back, exchanged high-fives, relief mixing with celebration. None of them were older than Rebel, and none were as old as my parents. It was a village of survivors—young adults, hardened and scarred. Many bore wounds from encounters with monsters.
I saw a girl with lilac hair, one eye missing and a deep scar running through what would have been a flawless face. She caught me looking and scowled, ducking behind her hair.
"That's Lyric," Rebel whispered. "She gets self-conscious."
I nodded numbly. My senses felt overwhelmed, like I'd wandered into a dream that didn't quite fit the rules.
We reached the center of the village, where a small crowd had gathered around something—or someone. My gut twisted when I realized what it was.
A girl sat rigid on a stool, tears slipping down the intact side of her face. The last quarter of her features had been eaten by corruption—glitched, melted, breaking apart. I could almost taste the decay as her code unraveled in slow-motion, piece by shimmering piece.
"What happened?" I asked without thinking.
The girl's eyes darted to me. She tried to speak.
Rebel gently hushed her. "I got it back, Priya. It's going to be okay."
He took her hand and squeezed it. Her expression shifted—something soft, vulnerable. Something I had only seen in fleeting moments between my parents.
"This is my wife," Rebel said, voice heavy. "Priya Ray."
He hugged her gently, careful of her wounded side. Then he took out the canister he'd stolen from Hexa and opened it. Inside, a pale wisp flickered—barely there.
"What are you doing?" I gasped.
"Saving her," he said through clenched teeth, already concentrating.
Without thinking, I dropped to the ground and plunged my mind into cyberspace.
There they were—Rebel, semi-transparent, and Priya, her code unraveling like a tapestry burning at the edges. Chunks floated off into the digital void.
Rebel worked fast. The code in his hands was crude but new—patched-together hope. Every time he inserted a piece, light sparked, and the decay slowed.
But he was doing it wrong.
He'd missed a vital line. If he stitched her up now, the corruption would catch and surge. She'd die in agony.
He was breaking a cardinal rule: patching corrupted Architect code. It was dangerous. Reckless.
I forced myself beside him. Carefully, I began to unweave and rethread. The system groaned under my will, but I held steady. I reached into the abyss, pulling back missing lines one by one—mending, restoring.
Then I felt it.
Something cold passed over me. A presence.
I froze.
Rebel did too. His code flickered—then a piece of him broke off and drifted into the void.
No. No no no.
I scanned the space, searching.
Bright white eyes emerged from the dark. They looked directly at me.
I could feel them peeling me apart, starting to unmake me.
"We weren't trying to break the rules!" I shouted. "I never touched your system—I was just fixing what was already broken."
To prove it, I gently reinserted another fragment of Architect code into Priya. Her form stabilized. I reached into her again, this time pulling out the flawed line Rebel had created.
She became whole—glowing, stable.
Only two traces remained now: hers and mine.
Rebel's was gone.
I reached toward the being, holding out the line of code that had belonged to him. The numbers scrambled and vanished—eaten out of existence.
"Where is my friend?" I whispered. "Where is he?"
No answer. Just that pressure. That unfathomable age. That presence.
I did the only thing I could think of.
I bowed.
When I snapped back into the Cradle, chaos erupted.
People screamed.
Priya sat on the ground, staring at a spot that now only held the empty canister.
"Where is Rebel?" I demanded.
"He was melted," someone choked out.
I stared down at the canister.
"He sacrificed his life to save hers," I murmured.
Priya sobbed openly, body trembling with grief. I felt nothing but a heavy, aching pity.
"You're a Codewright?" someone asked, accusing.
"I didn't hurt Rebel," I said. "He saved me first. There was... something else. I think it took him."
I knelt beside Priya and wrapped my arms around her shaking form. She cried into my shoulder until my clothes were soaked through—and I cried too.
Because maybe... maybe that thing had taken Vivid too.