The fires of Valis no longer burned—they breathed.
Every gust of wind carried embers through the skeletal remains of the once-proud city, scattering them like dying stars. Market stalls were overturned and smoldering, the marble plaza cracked open to reveal the veins of code beneath, flickering red and blue like a heart caught between pulses. The sound of battle had faded, leaving only the static hum of broken systems trying to stabilize a world beyond repair.
The Infinite walked through it all in silence.
Each step he took rewrote the ground beneath him—his mere presence rewriting geometry into strange, pulsing grids. Around him, fragments of players' armor and weapons lay scattered, glinting weakly in the orange haze. The Broken Code moved through the ruins like shadows, looting data fragments, rebuilding themselves, whispering prayers in machine tongues to their creator.
They called him Father of the Glitch now.
He didn't answer.
The title meant nothing. Not anymore.
