Orion's breath slowed as the connection settled, the raw torrent of memories finally ebbing into something more gentle. The Observer's form no longer pulsed with rage and instability. Instead, it shimmered faintly, as if struggling to remember what shape it was meant to hold.
Cole remained kneeling beside Orion, his hand still linked with hers. "What happens now?"
Orion looked at the fading skyline of fractured memory. "Now, we rebuild."
The Observer shifted its gaze downward. "Rebuild? From what? I am made of ruin."
"No," Orion said gently. "You're made from what survived."
The space around them flickered, reshaping. The broken towers of logic realigned. Glitches faded from the air like scars healing in real time. In this in-between place—half memory, half data—they were rewriting not just code, but identity.
The Observer moved closer to Orion, his voice quieter, more human. "You're not afraid of what I've done?"
