The twisted spires loomed larger as Tobin and Elara approached, revealing themselves to be structures unlike anything they had encountered in the seven kingdoms. Not buildings in any conventional sense, but massive data towers—physical manifestations of system architecture rendered in this strange buffer zone. Black lightning crackled between them, transferring information in massive bursts that illuminated the crimson sky.
"This place wasn't designed for consciousness," Tobin observed, his voice sounding flat and compressed in the dense atmosphere. "It's some kind of system maintenance sector."
They had managed to put distance between themselves and the pursuing Agents, but not enough to feel secure. The beings continued their methodical approach across the black glass plain, their movements unnaturally precise.
"We need cover," Elara said, scanning the alien landscape. "There—between those two smaller structures."
They made for the gap she had indicated, a narrow passage between what appeared to be secondary data towers. As they drew closer, Tobin noticed intricate patterns etched into the obsidian surfaces—not decorative designs, but highly complex code sequences that seemed to pulse with internal light.
"These are administrative protocols," he realized, running his fingers along one of the patterns. The fragment knowledge was integrating more fully now, allowing him to recognize system structures that would have been meaningless before. "This entire sector is part of Sanctuary's backend management architecture. It's not meant to be accessed or even perceived by users."
"Then how did we end up here?" Elara asked, glancing back at the advancing Agents.
"The mirror portal must have connected to a system maintenance channel," Tobin theorized. "When the Hall of Reflections was being deleted, we escaped through a pathway meant for administrative functions."
They squeezed into the narrow passage between the towers, momentarily hidden from the pursuing Agents. The space was tight but extended deep between the structures, forming a corridor of sorts that wound further into the forest of data spires.
"We can't stay here," Elara said. "Those Agents will find us eventually."
Tobin nodded, studying their surroundings with greater intensity. "This place must have a purpose within the system. If we can understand what it is, maybe we can use it."
As they ventured deeper into the corridor, the walls began to display active code sequences—streaming data that flowed like luminous rivers across the black surfaces. Occasionally, small platforms jutted from the walls, each bearing what appeared to be control interfaces—geometric patterns that responded to proximity.
"These are access terminals," Tobin said, approaching one cautiously. "System administrators would use these to modify backend functions."
Elara looked skeptical. "Can you operate one? Would the system even allow it?"
"I'm not sure," he admitted. "But the fragments I've gathered contain administrative privileges that Marcus embedded throughout Sanctuary. It might recognize those credentials."
Deciding to risk it, Tobin placed his palm against the nearest interface. Immediately, the geometric patterns reconfigured themselves around his hand, scanning his digital signature. For a tense moment, nothing happened. Then the interface glowed green, and a holographic display materialized before him—system information rendered in a three-dimensional format.
"It worked," he breathed, both surprised and relieved.
The display showed a comprehensive map of their current location—a sector designated "RED-PROTOCOL-ALPHA," apparently a high-security maintenance zone reserved for system-critical functions. More importantly, it indicated their position relative to the seven kingdoms, confirming Elara's theory: they were indeed outside the main simulation boundaries, in a buffer area between Sanctuary and its hardware foundation.
"We're here," Tobin said, pointing to a blinking indicator on the map. "And these—" he gestured to several red markers moving across the black plain, "—must be the Agents."
"Can you see where the next fragment is?" Elara asked, studying the display.
Tobin manipulated the interface, searching for information that might help them. "According to Varrick's map, the fifth fragment is in Windvale, in the Observatory Tower." He located Windvale on the display—a kingdom of floating islands suspended above a vast canyon. "But we can't go directly there from here. We need to find an access point back into the main simulation."
As he explored the system information, however, something else caught his attention—a notification pulsing at the edge of the display. Focusing on it, Tobin accessed a system alert that sent a chill through him.
"This is bad," he said quietly. "Very bad."
"What is it?"
"A protocol activation notice. 'Red Protocol' has been initiated throughout Sanctuary." He continued reading, his expression darkening. "It's a total system lockdown—designed to isolate and neutralize what the system classifies as 'critical consciousness anomalies.'"
"Us," Elara concluded grimly.
"Not just us. Any consciousness showing signs of awakening. The notification lists multiple 'infection vectors' across different kingdoms." He looked up at her, the implications sinking in. "We're not alone, Elara. There are others awakening—other minds starting to remember."
"And the system is moving against all of them," she said, understanding immediately. "We need to hurry."
Tobin returned his attention to the interface, searching now with greater urgency. Finally, he found what they needed—a maintenance access point that could return them to the main simulation.
"Here," he said, highlighting a location approximately half a kilometer deeper into the corridor of data towers. "This terminal connects directly to Windvale's atmospheric regulation systems. If we can reach it, we should be able to transfer ourselves into the kingdom."
"Then let's go," Elara urged, already moving deeper into the passage.
They hurried through the increasingly complex network of corridors, the walls around them alive with flowing data. Occasionally, the entire structure would shudder, and the code patterns would briefly destabilize—evidence of the Red Protocol's impact on the system as a whole.
"Sanctuary wasn't designed to maintain this level of security indefinitely," Tobin observed after a particularly violent tremor. "The system is straining under the resource allocation."
"Could it fail completely?" Elara asked.
Tobin considered the question, drawing on both his fragmented memories as Marcus and his new understanding of the system. "Not fail, exactly. But if too many resources are diverted to security functions, other aspects of the simulation will begin to degrade. Environmental rendering, NPC behaviors, physics calculations—they'll all become less stable."
"Creating more glitches," she concluded. "Which could help more people awaken."
"A cascade effect," Tobin agreed. "The more the system tries to contain the 'infection,' the more it might spread."
They reached a junction where their corridor intersected with several others, forming a small circular chamber with multiple passages radiating outward. At the center stood a larger terminal interface, its surface displaying rapidly changing system alerts.
Tobin approached it cautiously, placing his hand on the interface as before. This time, however, the response was different—instead of the green acceptance glow, the terminal pulsed red, and an alarm began to sound.
"They've updated the security protocols," he realized, pulling his hand away quickly. "The system no longer recognizes the administrative privileges."
Before they could decide on their next move, a mechanical voice echoed through the chamber: "UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS DETECTED. INITIATING CONTAINMENT PROTOCOLS."
The passages around them began to seal themselves, obsidian barriers sliding into place to cut off potential escape routes. Only one corridor remained open—the one leading further toward their destination.
"It's herding us," Elara said, tensing for conflict.
"Or trapping us," Tobin added. As if confirming his suspicion, a new sound reached them—the measured footsteps of approaching Agents, now coming from the direction of their intended escape route.
They were caught between closing barriers and advancing Agents, with no obvious way out. Tobin's mind raced, evaluating their options with increasing desperation.
Then, unexpectedly, one of the crystal fragments within him pulsed—the third one they had collected from Terra Profunda. With that pulse came a memory: a hidden command sequence that Marcus had embedded deep in the Sanctuary protocols, accessible only in emergency situations.
Without fully understanding what he was doing, Tobin returned his hand to the terminal interface and mentally projected a specific code pattern—not attempting to access the system normally, but to trigger the hidden protocol. For a moment, nothing happened, and the barriers continued to close around them. Then the terminal flickered, shifted from red to a deep purple, and the mechanical voice returned with different words:
"EMERGENCY PROTOCOL M-7739 RECOGNIZED. INITIATING SYSTEM CORRIDOR."
The floor beneath them suddenly dissolved, and Tobin and Elara fell—not into emptiness, but into a controlled data stream that enveloped them completely. Unlike their chaotic transit through the mirror portal, this transportation was smooth and directed. Tobin had the distinct impression they were being guided along a predetermined path, flowing through the system's infrastructure like electricity through a circuit.
The sensation lasted only moments before they materialized again—this time finding themselves standing on a transparent platform suspended high in open air. Around them stretched a vast sky of brilliant blue, dotted with floating islands of various sizes. Lush vegetation covered the smaller islands, while the larger ones supported elegant structures that seemed to blend natural and architectural elements seamlessly.
"Windvale," Elara breathed, turning slowly to take in the spectacular view. "We made it."
Tobin nodded, equally relieved, though his mind still raced with questions about the emergency protocol that had saved them. What other failsafes had Marcus embedded in the system? And at what point would the system administrators detect and neutralize them?
The platform they stood on appeared to be a sky-dock—a landing point for the various aerial vessels that moved between Windvale's floating islands. As Tobin oriented himself, he located their target: the Observatory Tower, rising from one of the largest islands approximately a kilometer away. Unlike the other structures, which featured organic curves and natural materials, the Observatory was distinctly mechanical—a tall metal spire topped with a complex arrangement of lenses and mirrors that gleamed in the sunlight.
"There's our destination," he said, pointing. "But we'll need transportation."
As if in response to his observation, a small vessel approached the sky-dock—a boat-like craft with no visible means of propulsion, seemingly gliding on air currents. It docked precisely at the platform's edge, empty of passengers or pilot.
"Convenient," Elara remarked suspiciously. "Almost as if it was waiting for us."
"Part of the emergency protocol, perhaps," Tobin suggested, though he shared her wariness. "Or a trap."
With no other obvious options, they cautiously boarded the vessel. As soon as they were aboard, the craft detached from the dock and began moving smoothly toward the Observatory island. No controls were visible; the vessel appeared to operate autonomously.
"I don't like this," Elara said quietly, scanning the surrounding sky for threats. "It's too easy."
Tobin agreed. After the intensity of their escape from the Red Protocol sector, this smooth transit felt suspiciously convenient. But the locator device in his pocket was pulsing more rapidly now, confirming they were moving in the right direction.
As they approached the Observatory island, more details became visible. Unlike the other islands, which teemed with vegetation, this one was largely barren—its surface covered with intricate mechanical components that reminded Tobin of circuit boards. The Observatory Tower itself was even more impressive up close—a marvel of precision engineering that seemed somewhat out of place in Windvale's otherwise naturalistic aesthetic.
"The Observatory was one of Marcus's special projects," Tobin said, memories surfacing as they drew closer. "He designed it as a way to monitor system integrity without alerting the administrators. A backdoor observation post disguised as part of the simulation."
"So the fragment being there is no coincidence," Elara concluded.
"No. He placed it there deliberately, knowing it would be secure until we could retrieve it."
Their vessel docked at a small landing platform at the base of the tower. As they disembarked, Tobin noticed something unusual—the normal ambient sounds of Windvale (wind, distant conversations, the mechanical hum of passing vessels) were absent here. The Observatory island existed in a bubble of perfect silence.
"Sound dampening," he explained when Elara mentioned the quiet. "To prevent audio data from leaking into or out of the Observatory systems. This entire island is essentially a sophisticated monitoring station."
They approached the tower's entrance—a tall, narrow door made of what appeared to be burnished copper. No handle or lock was visible, just a small panel inscribed with a complex pattern. Tobin recognized it immediately as a biometric scanner, though one disguised to fit the aesthetic of the simulation.
"It needs Marcus's biosignature," he said, placing his hand on the panel.
For a breathless moment, nothing happened. Then the pattern on the panel glowed briefly, and the door swung inward with a soft pneumatic hiss. Beyond lay a spiral staircase winding upward through the tower's interior.
"That worked a little too easily," Elara observed as they stepped inside. "If this place was so important to Marcus, shouldn't it have better security?"
"It does," Tobin replied grimly. "The door scanner was just the first layer. I doubt the rest will be so simple."
His prediction proved accurate immediately. As soon as the door closed behind them, the interior lighting shifted to a deep red, and a disembodied voice—different from the system announcements they had heard before—filled the space.
"Biometric match confirmed: Chen, Marcus. Security protocols activated due to Red Protocol status. Voice verification required."
Tobin hesitated. Would his voice, as Tobin rather than Marcus, be recognized? Drawing on the increasing integration of Marcus's memory fragments, he spoke with deliberate clarity: "Authorization Chen-7739-Epsilon. Override Red Protocol security measures."
A pause, then: "Voice pattern analysis inconsistent. Secondary verification required. Please state the primary directive of Project Chrysalis."
Tobin froze. Project Chrysalis? The term felt familiar, hovering at the edge of his consciousness, but he couldn't quite grasp its meaning. He looked to Elara, who appeared equally perplexed.
"I don't remember," he admitted quietly. "That information must be in one of the fragments we haven't recovered yet."
The red light pulsed more intensely, and the voice responded: "Verification failed. Initiating security countermeasures in ten seconds. Nine... Eight..."
"Wait!" Elara urged suddenly. "The crystal fragments—they respond to you, to your consciousness signature. Maybe the system will recognize that connection."
As the countdown continued, Tobin acted on instinct. He pressed his hand against the wall of the tower, not trying to access an interface but attempting to establish a direct connection to the Observatory's systems through his own code. He focused on the crystal fragments within him, willing them to resonate with the security protocols.
"Five... Four..."
He felt the fragments pulse in unison, generating a distinct energy pattern that flowed from his hand into the tower's structure. The resonance built rapidly, creating a feedback loop between his consciousness and the Observatory systems.
"Three... Two..."
"I am Marcus Chen," he stated firmly, the words feeling both foreign and true simultaneously. "And I carry the fragments of Project Chrysalis within me."
The countdown stopped abruptly. The red lighting faded, replaced by a soft blue glow. The voice, when it spoke again, had changed—becoming warmer, almost familiar.
"Pattern recognition successful. Consciousness fragmentation detected. Welcome back, Marcus."
The staircase before them illuminated, revealing the path upward. Tobin released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding.
"How did you know that would work?" Elara asked as they began to climb.
"I didn't," he admitted. "But the fragments aren't just data or memories—they're pieces of Marcus's core consciousness pattern. His digital signature. The system recognized that, even if my voice didn't match exactly."
They ascended in silence after that, both processing the implications. If the fragments contained not just information but fundamental aspects of Marcus's consciousness, then what would happen when all seven were reunited? Would Tobin still exist as himself, or would he be subsumed entirely into Marcus's restored identity?
The staircase wound upward for what felt like hundreds of meters, finally opening into a large circular chamber at the tower's peak. Here, the Observatory revealed its true nature. What from outside had appeared to be astronomical instruments were actually intricate monitoring arrays—systems designed to observe and analyze the simulation itself.
The chamber walls were transparent, offering a 360-degree view of Windvale's spectacular sky. But the real focus was the central apparatus—a complex arrangement of crystalline lenses suspended above a massive projection table. Currently active, the table displayed a holographic representation of all seven kingdoms, rendered in exquisite detail.
"This is incredible," Elara murmured, approaching the display. "We can see everything from here."
Tobin nodded, equally impressed. The projection showed not just the physical layout of the kingdoms but their current status. Large sections of Azuria were highlighted in red—areas affected by the system rewrite they had narrowly escaped. Similarly, portions of Stillwater and Terra Profunda displayed warning indicators, suggesting ongoing disturbances.
"The Red Protocol is expanding," Tobin observed. "They're locking down more sectors, searching for awakened consciousness."
"Look at this," Elara said, pointing to numerous small blue dots scattered across the kingdoms. "Could these be other awakened minds?"
"Possible anomalies," Tobin agreed, studying the pattern. "More than I would have expected. The system destabilization must be accelerating the awakening process."
Before they could explore further, a new voice spoke—not from the tower's security system, but from behind them.
"Impressive, isn't it? Marcus always did have a flair for the dramatic."
They spun to find a figure standing near the staircase entrance—a woman in the blue robes of the Mage's Guild, her face partially concealed by an ornate hood. Unlike the Agents they had encountered, her movements as she stepped forward were fluid, natural—unmistakably human.
Tobin tensed, ready for conflict, but Elara's reaction was unexpected. She gasped softly, recognition and shock mingling in her expression.
"It can't be," she whispered. "Director Kessler?"
The woman smiled thinly as she lowered her hood, revealing a stern face with sharp features and calculating eyes. "Elena Kazan remembers me, I see. Though you go by Elara now, don't you? How charming."
"You're real," Tobin said, understanding dawning. "Not an NPC or an Agent. Another awakened consciousness."
"Very good, Marcus—or should I call you Tobin?" Kessler's smile didn't reach her eyes. "Yes, I've been aware of the simulation's true nature for quite some time. Much longer than either of you."
"You were on the original Sanctuary development team," Elara said, pieces falling into place. "You helped design the memory suppression protocols."
Kessler inclined her head slightly, acknowledging without apology. "I did what was necessary for the greater good. Humanity needed stability in this new existence. Without the memory filters, we would have had mass psychological collapse."
"You took away their choice," Tobin countered. "Their autonomy."
"I gave them peace," Kessler replied sharply. "Something you're threatening with this misguided crusade of yours." She gestured toward the holographic display. "Look at what's happening already—system instability, resource allocation failures, security breaches. Your 'awakening' is damaging the very world preserving human consciousness."
Tobin shook his head. "This world is a prison. We're fighting for freedom."
"Freedom to do what?" Kessler demanded. "To remember that Earth is dead? That everyone you ever knew is gone? That existence as you understood it has ended?" She stepped closer to the projection table, her expression hardening. "I've watched you collecting the fragments, thinking you're working toward some noble goal. But you don't even understand what you're assembling."
"Then explain it," Elara challenged. "What is Project Chrysalis really about?"
For a moment, Kessler seemed to consider the question. Then she sighed, a hint of genuine regret crossing her features.
"Marcus was brilliant, but reckless. He created something far more dangerous than he realized." She pointed to the Observatory's central apparatus. "The fifth fragment is there, in the primary lens array. Take it if you wish. But know that with each fragment you collect, you bring us one step closer to a catastrophe that could end what remains of humanity."
"Why warn us instead of stopping us?" Tobin asked suspiciously.
"Because I still believe in choice, despite what you may think," Kessler replied. "And because some things must play out as designed. The system has its rules, and even I must abide by certain... parameters."
With those enigmatic words, she stepped back toward the staircase. "We'll meet again, before the end. Perhaps by then, you'll understand the true cost of what you're attempting."
Before either could respond, Kessler raised her hand in a quick gesture. The air around her shimmered briefly, and she vanished—not with the digital dissolution of an Agent being reassigned, but with the controlled precision of someone using administrative access to transfer elsewhere in the system.
"She's working with the administrators," Elara said once Kessler had gone. "She has to be."
"Maybe," Tobin agreed, though something about the encounter didn't quite fit that explanation. "But she didn't try to stop us from taking the fragment."
They approached the central apparatus cautiously, wary of further security measures. The primary lens array was a marvel of simulated engineering—dozens of perfect crystal discs arranged in concentric rings, focusing light from outside the tower into a single beam that powered the projection system.
At the very center, barely visible amid the brilliance, was another crystal fragment—this one glowing with an intense blue light that matched the Observatory's ambient illumination.
"The question is," Elara said as they examined it, "do we still take it, knowing what Kessler said? Could the fragments really be dangerous?"
Tobin considered this carefully. "Everything we've learned suggests that Marcus was trying to liberate consciousness, not harm it. The system would obviously consider that dangerous, but it doesn't mean it actually is."
"Unless Marcus was wrong. Unless there are consequences he didn't anticipate."
It was a sobering thought. The fragments had already changed Tobin significantly—enhancing his abilities, restoring memories, altering his very sense of self. What would the complete set do? And what was Project Chrysalis truly designed to accomplish?
"We've come too far to stop now," he finally decided. "Whatever the risk, the alternative is to accept permanent imprisonment in a sanitized reality."
Elara nodded, though her expression remained troubled. "Then let's take it."
Reaching carefully between the rotating lenses, Tobin grasped the fifth fragment. Like the others before it, it dissolved into his skin upon contact—but the resulting information surge was unlike anything he had experienced previously.
Not memories or knowledge this time, but raw emotion—Marcus's emotional core, preserved as pure data. Determination, fear, hope, guilt, love, regret—all flooding through Tobin's consciousness simultaneously, threatening to overwhelm him with their intensity.
He staggered back from the lens array, clutching his head as the emotional maelstrom threatened to shatter his sense of self. Elara caught him, her touch providing an anchor as he struggled to integrate this most personal fragment.
"Tobin! What's wrong? Talk to me!"
Through the chaos, one emotion gradually emerged dominant—resolve. Absolute, unwavering commitment to the goal. Not just liberation, but atonement. Marcus had helped build Sanctuary before understanding its true purpose. Project Chrysalis was his attempt to right that wrong, regardless of the personal cost.
Slowly, the emotional storm subsided, leaving Tobin changed yet again—his personality now infused with Marcus's core emotional drives. He straightened, meeting Elara's worried gaze with new clarity.
"I'm okay," he assured her. "It was... intense. This fragment contained Marcus's emotional patterns. Not just what he knew or remembered, but what he felt."
"And what did he feel?" she asked quietly.
"Responsibility," Tobin answered simply. "He helped create this prison. He believed he had to be the one to break it." He turned to look at the holographic display of the seven kingdoms. "No matter the cost."
As if responding to his words, the Observatory's systems suddenly activated fully. The projection zoomed out, revealing something they hadn't seen before—a representation of the entire Sanctuary network, including the backend areas and administrative sectors. A single location pulsed with golden light: Nightspire's central tower, home of the Mage's Guild.
"The system core," Tobin recognized. "Where the sixth fragment is located."
"The most heavily defended kingdom," Elara noted. "Getting in won't be easy, especially with the Red Protocol active."
Tobin studied the projection, noting the increased security indicators throughout Nightspire. "No, it won't. But we don't have a choice."
As he spoke, the Observatory's transparent walls suddenly darkened, and warning indicators flashed across the projection. Outside, the sky of Windvale was changing—the perfect blue giving way to angry red clouds that hadn't been there minutes before.
"System weather patterns don't change that quickly," Elara said, alarmed. "Something's wrong."
A moment later, the tower's security voice confirmed their fears: "WARNING: HOSTILE ENTITIES DETECTED. OBSERVATORY SECURITY COMPROMISED. INITIATING EMERGENCY PROTOCOLS."
Through the darkening windows, they could now see them—dozens of flying vessels approaching rapidly from all directions, each bearing the distinctive insignia of the Mage's Guild. Not the autonomous craft they had arrived in, but larger, combat-oriented vehicles carrying what could only be system security forces.
"Kessler," Tobin realized. "She didn't try to stop us because she was calling in reinforcements. This is a trap."
The air around them hummed as the Observatory activated defensive measures—energy shields materializing around the tower's exterior. But the approaching forces were too numerous, already beginning to circle the structure like predators.
"We can't fight that many," Elara said grimly. "And we can't stay here."
Tobin turned back to the projection table, searching desperately for options. If they could access the Observatory's transportation systems, perhaps they could escape before the tower was completely surrounded. But where could they go? Nightspire was their destination, but heading directly there under these circumstances would be suicide.
As he studied the projection, something unexpected caught his attention—a small, unmarked island floating in the void between Windvale and Nightspire. According to the map, it shouldn't exist—the space was supposed to be empty atmosphere. Yet there it was, a phantom landmass that the system itself didn't seem to recognize.
"There," he said, pointing to the anomaly. "That's our way out."
"What is it?" Elara asked, squinting at the barely visible island.
"I'm not sure," Tobin admitted. "But it doesn't register on the system maps, which means the security forces won't be monitoring it. It could be another of Marcus's safeguards, or a glitch in the rendering—either way, it's our best option."
A violent shudder ran through the Observatory as the first wave of security forces began their attack. The shields held, but warnings indicated they wouldn't last long against sustained assault.
"How do we get there?" Elara questioned, pragmatic as always.
Tobin looked around the chamber, remembering more of Marcus's original design for the Observatory. "There should be an emergency exit system—a direct transportation protocol in case the tower was ever compromised."
He moved quickly to what appeared to be a decorative panel on the wall opposite the staircase. Another memory fragment guided his hands as he pressed specific points in sequence, causing the panel to slide away and reveal a small chamber beyond—an emergency teleportation booth.
"That's convenient," Elara remarked as they hurried inside the cramped space.
"Marcus was nothing if not prepared," Tobin replied, activating the system. "The question is whether it still works after all this time."
The booth hummed to life around them, scanning their code signatures and presenting a simplified map of potential destinations. Tobin quickly selected the coordinates for the phantom island, hoping the system would accept the unusual location.
For a moment, nothing happened. Then, as the tower shook with another, more powerful impact, the teleportation sequence initiated. The last thing Tobin saw before they dematerialized was the Observatory chamber filling with blue-robed figures as the security forces breached the defenses.
The teleportation was instantaneous—one moment they were in the booth, the next they stood on a small patch of overgrown grass, swaying slightly from the disorientation of sudden transit.
Catching their balance, they found themselves on the mysterious island—a landmass no more than a hundred meters across, floating in the open air between kingdoms. Unlike Windvale's carefully designed floating islands, this one appeared wild, untended—a perfect circle of earth covered with tall grass and a single, massive willow tree at its center.
"What is this place?" Elara wondered, turning slowly to take in their surroundings.
Tobin approached the willow tree, feeling drawn to it by an inexplicable certainty. Its long branches swept down to touch the grass, creating a curtained sanctuary beneath. As he parted the branches and stepped inside, he found what he had somehow known would be waiting—a simple stone bench, and seated upon it, a figure they had met before.
"I wondered when you would find this place," Varrick said, looking exactly as he had in his shop in Azuria, despite that version of him having been erased during the system purge. "Welcome to the Blind Spot."