The Weaving of a Shattered Soul
The high-pitched shriek of clashing essence was gone, replaced by a profound and absolute silence that settled over the Vanguard Core chamber. It was the kind of silence that only follows a cataclysm, a terrifying and holy quiet. The green tendrils, once a pulsating symbol of malice, were now nothing but a fine, black dust that coated the cold, sterile floor. Aris Thorne’s holographic form, a fleeting image of a shattered god, was gone. The Second Architect, defeated not by a fist or a blade, but by a force of unadulterated purity, was no more.
But the price of victory was still unknown.
Kieran rushed to Rhys, his heart a frantic drum against his ribs. Lyra was at his side, her face pale, her eyes wide with a mixture of hope and profound fear. Rhys lay
