The further they walked, the quieter the system became.
Not just in alerts.
In presence.
Like something old was holding its breath. Like the system itself wasn't sure if it should keep watching — or start forgetting.
Elian led them down into a valley of dead signal — a place where even threadlight moved like it had lost its way.
They passed fractured shrines and rotting conduits. Statues broken beyond shape. There was no rot here. No monsters. No system surveillance.
Just stone.
And silence.
At the heart of the valley, the ground fell away.
A spiral sinkhole laced with exposed threadroots and rusted scaffolding yawned before them.
It didn't feel like natural collapse.
It felt like the world had been cracked on purpose — like something had been dragged down and buried.
"What is this place?" the girl asked.
Elian stepped to the edge.
"A tomb."
Then he began to descend.
The spiral led downward through layers of dark stone etched with faint glyph patterns. Not system glyphs.
Older.
Deeper.
The walls weren't built. They were shaped — as if carved by thought, not hand.
Every surface pulsed with faint memory.
This wasn't a ruin the system had lost.
It was one it had sealed on purpose.
[Zone Classification: Suppressed Echo Node]
[Access Level: Prohibited – Architect Access Only]
[Manual Override Detected – Signal Source: "Crownless"]
[Permission Granted – Thread Irretrievable]
The chamber at the bottom was wide and cold.
White glyphs flickered across the floor, dim and unstable.
At its center stood a single stone slab — smooth, elevated, unnatural.
Crafted, not discovered.
The slab shimmered faintly with symbols. Most of the language had been overwritten or corrupted. But one phrase burned cleanly, etched in red.
I SAW THE SYSTEM AND I LOOKED AWAY.
Elian moved toward it, slowly. Respectfully.
His hand hovered above the stone.
"Who wrote this?" the girl asked, voice barely audible.
Elian's voice was calm.
"An Architect."
The rotborne woman made a low, instinctive growl.
"That's impossible. Architects don't die."
"No," Elian said. "But one of them wanted to."
He touched the surface.
The Seed pulsed — hard, then harder.
A piece of it detached, drifting forward like a piece of molten glass.
It touched the slab—
And the chamber shifted.
A projection bloomed in front of them.
Flickering. Distorted. Just a ghost of something much older.
A voice followed, slow and cracking:
"I was called Architect Sarn."
"I built Layer Eight. I defined consciousness scaling protocols."
"I defected."
The figure twisted with static. Its outline jittered.
"They tried to overwrite me."
"But I left this anchor."
"For the one who walks without design."
The Seed pulsed.
The projection's voice grew softer.
"If you found this…"
"It means the system is bleeding."
"And you…"
"You are the knife."
Then it faded.
Elian stood still.
Even the rotborne woman was silent now.
Finally, he knelt and lifted the lid of the slab.
Inside: a single obsidian prism.
Small. Heavy. Warm to the touch.
Alive.
[Item Acquired: Sarn's Core Shard]
[Effect: Unknown. Interface Denied.]
[Warning: Object resists classification.]
Elian closed his fingers around it.
"He didn't die," he said quietly.
"He made a choice."
The girl stepped forward, cautiously.
"And what will you do with it?"
Elian turned toward her.
His voice low.
Absolute.
"That depends."
"On how many more Architects tried to look away."