They walked away from Sector F7 in silence.
The blood had dried. The screams had faded. But the weight of what Elian had done — not in slaughter, but in silence — still pressed against every wall, every line of broken threadlight.
He hadn't just killed Purifiers. He had erased himself from the system's memory.
And somehow, that was more dangerous than death.
The Seed hovered quietly behind him, pulsing like a buried heartbeat.
The girl walked at his side, gaze flicking between his face and the path ahead.
The rotborne woman walked just behind — armorless, monstrous, yet more composed than she'd been since her transformation.
Still adjusting. Still evolving.
Like everything Elian touched.
They reached a ridge of jagged stone, overlooking the ruins of the Reclamation Fields. A graveyard of broken purification towers, shattered glass cages, and collapsed thread-conduits. A field where failed assets had been sent to disappear — or die.
The girl stopped.
"You burned your past," she said.
Elian said nothing.
"You severed every name they gave you."
Still, no reply.
She stepped closer.
"So what are you building?"
Elian stared into the valley.
Below them, the sky bled quiet red over broken towers.
The system had stopped trying to sterilize the zone. It simply watched now. Afraid to intervene.
"Not a rebellion," he said at last.
"Rebellions still believe the world can be repaired."
He turned to her.
"I'm not here to fix it."
"I'm here to prove it was never worth saving."
The girl's throat tightened. She couldn't explain why, but the way he said it— It felt true.
"And after that?"
He blinked once.
"After that, I build a world where no one like me ever has to crawl out of rot again."
"Because the rot will already be king."
She asked: "What do you want it to become?"
Elian's voice didn't rise. It didn't falter. It cut.
"A world where power isn't given."
"It's taken."
"Where truth isn't decided by the cleanest voice—"
"But by the one still standing after everyone else is ash."
A moment of silence.
Then she asked: "What if someone stronger comes for it?"
His answer was immediate.
"Then they die."
"Or they kneel."
"And if they don't?"
"They'll learn what kind of dream breaks back."
The Seed flared. Suddenly — a signal. Brief. Faint. Impossible.
A god-fragment. Watching. Reaching.
It tried to speak through the network — a whisper of temptation:
"Elian. Join the cycle. There's still a place for you—"
Elian didn't even pause.
He stared at the field. Raised one hand. And snapped his fingers.
The signal died.
"Pain is honest," he said quietly.
"Hope is not."
"You want to break me?"
"Then find something I haven't already killed in myself."
[System Interference: Blocked]
[Threat Classification Updated – Crownless Entity: Irretrievable]
[God-Signal Retraction Logged]
The rotborne woman stepped forward beside them.
Her new voice was smoother now. Less static, more steel.
"What do we call it?"
"This world you want."
Elian looked down.
The wind pulled his coat wide.
The Seed floated beside his head, pulsing like an inverted sun.
"A world with no gods."
"No chains."
"No forgiveness."
"Only one truth."
"Soulfrail."