The West smelled of ash.
Not of fire, but of memory – of something that had burned before it ever existed.
The land stretched like a scar across the horizon, flat, endless, silver. Beneath a skin of glass beat the dead heart of the old world.
Malrik stood at the edge of the Server Desert, his gaze fixed on the horizon. His breathing was calm, but his body vibrated – not from exertion, but from Frequency. Every movement sent an echo across the plain, as if he were walking on a string stretched beneath his feet.
Iteration Five active, whispered a voice within him.
Access restricted. Priority: Observation.
He laughed softly. "Observation. Always just seeing, never feeling. That was your mistake."
He knelt down, placed his hand on the ground. Beneath the glass cover, lights began to glow – old systems, forgotten programs, relics of an era that had extinguished itself.
A quiet hum, barely audible, ran across his skin. It wasn't pain – more like a greeting.
He closed his eyes.
