The spire of Sector 8 pulsed like an exposed nerve. Every beat sent a shockwave of violet light rippling across the valley, and with each pulse, the reality of the landscape stuttered. A rusted crate would solidify, then dissolve into a swarm of data-flies, only to reform as a pile of ancient, moldy bones. The barrier between memory and matter was thinning to the point of transparency.
"We have to reach the primary pylon," Elian shouted over the growing cacophony of voices. A billion whispers from the archive flooding the air. "That’s the ground point for the entire array. If we bring those down, the rift loses its anchor."
"Look at the Curators, Elian!" Sarah pointed toward the perimeter.
The machines were no longer merely standing guard. They were fused to the pylons, their obsidian
