Far above Earth, in the hidden cradle of the Imperium, Amon sat before the Mirror Array. Dozens of Catalyst variants blinked on-screen. Each one a possible path. Each one a failed design.
Only this one—ARA-9—showed deviation.
Zhenari entered the chamber, her tone half-taunting. "You lost control. She chose emotion."
"She chose weakness," Amon muttered without turning.
Zhenari crossed her arms. "No. She chose defiance. She chose to feel. You fear what she may become because she reflects what we discarded. Hope."
Amon stood. "I did not engineer hope. I engineered equilibrium."
He turned toward the dark bay, where a new project stirred. Within the black chamber floated something massive—a being with no face, only shifting fractals of memory and pain.
"Release it," he ordered.
Zhenari blinked. "Now? While the Architect is still rallying?"
"Yes. Let them think Catalyst was the test. She was the primer. The true flame comes next."
