The scroll in Lucien’s hand felt heavier than the mountain of stone they had just launched into orbit. The ink was still wet, shimmering with a malice that seemed to leach the warmth from the surrounding air. Lucien stared at his own name. The first entry, and felt a sickening resonance in his blood.
"A replacement," Lucien whispered, his voice catching in his throat. He looked at Vane, whose gray cloak fluttered in the artificial wind of the flagship's dying engines. "You aren't trying to destroy the city. You’re trying to find a vessel. The Architect’s logic requires a mind capable of holding it, and you’ve grown too brittle to be the host anymore."
Vane smiled, a jagged expression that lacked any hint of humanity. "Brittle? No, Lucien. I am simply tired. For five centuries, I have bee
