The fractured moon was no longer a tomb. It was a lighthouse.
Deep beneath the hyper-dense lunar ice, the Prismatic Archive hummed with a melodic, resonant vibration that completely ignored the vacuum of space. The radiant, warm light pushed through the glacier, refracting off the jagged gray rocks and casting long, beautiful rainbows across the desolate crater.
Zenith stood at the edge of the ice, his celestial steel Logic Rod raised.
"The light-weavers' core directory is fully booted," the twelve-year-old Architect announced, his emerald eyes reflecting the brilliant, shifting colors of the archive. "The internal data is perfectly intact. It's attempting an automated data-dump. It wants to offload its memory banks before it freezes again."
"Can your core handle alien architecture?" Orion asked, stepping up beside his brother.
Zenith didn't answer with words. He slammed the base of his Logic Rod against the lunar rock.
"Interface open," Zenith commanded.
