The golden light inside the Core did not move like shadows. It moved like water under ice, thick and purposeful. Within the heart of the spark, the physical reality of Malphas and Lyra had dissolved into a shared geography of visual markers. They were no longer flesh. They were coordinates in a sea of amber currents. Above them, the dome of the Core displayed the progress of the purge across the stars. Tiny red pinpricks of data represent the Masters' influence, each one blinking with a rhythmic, mechanical precision that sought to overwrite their newly established silence.
Malphas reached out his awareness. He felt the cold iron of the tower floors beneath his phantom feet. He saw the way the amber conduits branched out into the earth below, feeding warmth into the petrified roots of the
