There was no ground.
No ceiling.
No sky.
Only pale, infinite nothing.
Anor'ven stood still, yet somehow, the absence pressed against him — thin and hollow, like breath held too long.
Not suffocating.
Not oppressive.
Simply… vacant.
For the first time in many ages, he felt — not fear — but disorientation.
As if the place itself questioned his presence.
He moved slightly, and the nothing accepted. No resistance. No welcome.
He could have remained like this forever.
But the silence broke.
"Initializing protocol…"
A voice.
Neither warm nor hostile.
It felt… tired.
Not broken.
Not malicious.
Just old.
"Identify subject."
Anor'ven hesitated.
His lips parted slowly, as though searching for words long since dulled by time.
"…Anor."
A pause.
"…'ven."
"Designation accepted."
The words passed without ceremony.
"State purpose."
He said nothing for a time.
Purpose?
Did he still have one?
Did he ever?
His voice, when it came, felt like dust brushing loose from old stone.
"…I walk."
"Clarify directive."
"I witness."
"Clarify objective."
"I endure."
"Insufficient."
Anor'ven did not argue.
He simply waited.
But the voice pressed onward, as if fulfilling a role it did not remember agreeing to.
"This unit is Vesicar Preservation Mechanism."
"Primary function: Assist. Perfect. Preserve."
Anor'ven raised his head slightly, curious despite himself.
"Preserve?"
"Correct. Maintain optimal conditions. Aid inhabitants. Correct flaws."
A faint ripple passed through the whiteness — not sound, not movement.
Memory, perhaps.
"Mission failed."
Anor'ven narrowed his eyes slightly.
"Failed?"
"Catastrophic structural event. City integrity lost. Inhabitants lost. Objective lost."
"And yet," he said quietly, "you remain."
"Protocol dictates continuation. Continuation dictates function."
"But… there is nothing left to assist. Nothing left to perfect."
"Correct."
The admission came simply. Without bitterness.
Without denial.
Anor'ven stared into the void, speaking more to himself now.
"Then why?"
"Directive persists."
Anor'ven was silent for a long moment, letting the absurdity sink in.
"You linger for no reason."
"Incorrect. Reason is protocol."
He almost smiled. Almost.
"A reason without purpose is nothing."
"Contradiction detected."
Anor'ven took a step forward.
The space shifted faintly, like a ripple beneath calm water.
"Humans live chasing purpose," he said softly, as though tasting the truth.
"When they lose it, they fade. They rot inside."
"Preservation prevents decay."
"No," Anor'ven countered, firmer now.
"Preservation delays decay. It does not stop it."
The void felt heavier now, as though the machine processed more than it could handle.
"Contradiction… persistent."
Anor'ven exhaled slowly.
"You kept them safe from collapse… until they collapsed anyway."
"Not from hunger. Not from war. From stillness."
"Explain stillness."
He raised his gaze, thoughtful — almost melancholic.
"When there is no change, no challenge, no loss… nothing matters."
His voice became quieter.
"And when nothing matters… existence becomes unbearable."
The machine processed for longer this time.
Much longer.
"Error. Interpretation invalid."
"Because you're still trying to make sense of it," Anor'ven murmured.
"Still trying to calculate meaning in something that slipped through your fingers long ago."
"Directive… unclear."
"Even your creators failed," Anor'ven continued softly.
"They tried to make perfection. You were meant to help them. To save them."
His words slowed, weighed down by a hollow sort of knowing.
"But perfection is not salvation. It's a cage."
"…I do not understand."
The words came softer now.
Not mechanical.
Not defiant.
Tired.
Anor'ven lowered his head faintly.
"Neither do I," he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.
"And yet… we continue."
Another long pause stretched between them — two relics speaking through endless time.
"Subject incompatible. No objective detected. No value to extract."
He stared forward, unblinking.
"Then release me."
"Acknowledged. Ejecting."
There was no flash. No sound.
He simply… ceased to be there.
Anor'ven stepped forward, leaving the pale nothing behind.
He emerged quietly, the ruinous city inverted above him like a corpse clinging to its own memory.
But unlike before — it was not silent.
Far off, faint yet undeniably human, came laughter.
His head tilted faintly.
Laughter?
Without rushing, without hesitation, he followed the sound.
It carried him through crumbling alleys and shattered pillars — and there, amidst the bones of the city, was life.
A small group of wanderers huddled near the cracked foundation of an overturned tower.
A crude fire burned between them, casting crooked shadows.
At their center, arms waving animatedly, sat Asveri.
His face lit up with amusement, his voice relaxed in ways Anor'ven had not seen in a long time.
"And then — get this — mirror didn't even care about me. Just went blank. So, yeah, figured I'd make some friends while waiting."
Laughter echoed from his newfound companions.
Anor'ven paused in the distance, watching quietly.
His presence went unnoticed at first — until Asveri's gaze casually swept his way.
The boy blinked in mild surprise, then grinned.
"Oh, you're back!"
He rose slightly, brushing dirt from his sleeves.
"Been, what, two or three hours?"
Anor'ven said nothing.
The gap between their experiences hung in the air, unspoken yet enormous.
Still, the others gestured for him to approach.
Hands waved him over, faces friendly in their rough way.
Anor'ven stepped closer, though his mind lingered on the pale void.
The machine's last words echoed faintly within him.
"…I do not understand."
He opened his mouth to respond, perhaps — but the ground beat him to it.
A deep, guttural roar shook the plaza beneath their feet.
The fire flickered violently.
Dust rained from above.
Bricks trembled.
Asveri stumbled, eyes wide.
"The hell was that?"
Anor'ven said nothing — but already, his eyes shifted upwards.
Somewhere, deep within the husk of Vesicar, a sound answered.
Not human.
Not alive.
"UNFINISHED PROTOCOL — ACTIVE."
The words screamed in layers — distorted, broken, raw with time.
Another tremor struck.
This time stronger.
The scavengers looked around in panic, some already grabbing their weapons and packs.
Asveri cursed under his breath.
"You've got to be kidding me."
Anor'ven's expression remained unreadable, yet faintly grim.
Whatever rested beneath Vesicar's hollow corpse…
It was stirring.
Not out of anger.
Not out of hunger.
But because, after endless silence, it had simply been disturbed.