Stepping inside the pyramid was like stepping out of time itself. The freezing, salt-heavy air of the canyon was replaced instantly by an atmosphere that was thick, warm, and heavy with the scent of ozone and ancient, sun-dried parchment. There were no wires snaking across the floors, no flickering holographic screens, and none of the cold, sterile chrome that defined the Architects' modern technology. Instead, the obsidian walls themselves were alive. They were covered in "living murals"—fluid, moving images etched in liquid light that shifted and flowed, telling the true, unredacted history of the Silver Gene.
I stood frozen as the walls began to breathe with light. I saw the first mercury ships descending through a sky that was still green and vibrant eons ago. I saw the Architects, t
