The scratching grew methodical, a metallic grating that bypassed the physical walls and echoed directly against the metaphysical core of their existence. It was not the frantic, mindless clattering of the hive-swarm. This sound carried the weight of intelligence, a deliberate pace that mocked the frantic thinning of their vigil. Malphas felt a cold shiver of non-existent skin. The intelligence on the other side of the gate was not just waiting. It was calculating.
"It knows," Malphas projected, his consciousness straining to hold the structural integrity of the Northern Ward. "It knows we have expended our reserve of memories. It knows we are becoming brittle."
Lyra’s essence flared, a desperate spark in the gloom. "We cannot afford to react to every stimulus, Malphas. If we continue to
