The two Processing Spires did not descend; they materialized, carving deep gouges into the fabric of the Raw State as they anchored themselves onto the horizon. They were colossal, needle-thin spires of white, blinding luminescence that made the very air hum with the sound of a thousand distorted voices. Unlike the one Lucien had collapsed, these were not merely terraforming nodes—they were mobilization hubs.
"They aren't waiting for us to initiate the next move," Nyra said, her voice dropping to a low, territorial growl as she scanned the darkening valley. "They are manufacturing something down there. I can hear the rhythmic clicking of a million legs."
Lucien pulled himself up from the dirt, his arm throbbing where Vane’s magic had burned him. The silver lattice beneath his skin pulsed
