The silver sprout did not just sit in the soil. It pulsed. It was a rhythmic, artificial beat that synced perfectly with the lingering echoes of the palace’s destroyed logic. Elara watched, frozen, as the tiny blade of metal-leaf unfurled, its edges serrated and sharp as surgical steel. It was an anomaly, a persistent line of corrupted code that had managed to root itself in the very earth she had fought so hard to liberate.
Julian shifted, his hand moving to the hilt of his nonexistent sword. The instinct to strike was there, but he hesitated, his brow furrowed. I thought the throne room collapse had wiped the sector clean, he murmured, his voice tight. This isn't just a remnant. It is a signature.
He leaned down, his fingers hovering millimeters above the silver leaf. The sprout recoi
