The hall digested their words. The council turned their faceless heads. For a moment it looked like a machine considering whether compassion was an allowed economy.
Then the Council’s mirrored member spoke, its voice a prism.
> “You are three variations on a vector. The Furnace generated you to stabilize flow. Yet here you stand—agents outside instruction.”
Aksara pleaded. “We can control, we can educate, we can integrate—”
Another council figure—older, slower, with gears like moons—interjected.
> “Integration means scale. Scale risks divergence.”
Vishvanatham felt the breath leave him. The laws were taut; they feared the unknown more than they feared the violence of suppression.
Aksara’s eyes burned. “If mercy is a risk, what is cruelty? What is the cost of erasing a sentient
