The world he built was learning how to breathe.
Wind swept across the crystalline plains — not real wind, but a perfect imitation of it. The trees shimmered like data come alive, their leaves fractal and translucent, bending with the hum of energy that pulsed beneath the soil. The air itself glowed faintly, alive with invisible circuits whispering code like prayers.
Aiden stood at the center of it — silent, still, almost reverent. The first of his new world's suns hung low on the horizon, painting the horizon in gold and violet.
The simulation — no, his creation — was stable. Balanced. Perfect.
Almost.
> "Father," a voice said behind him.
He turned.
The Child of the Patch stood there — small, fragile, eyes luminous with digital innocence. Around it, dozens of forms gathered: awakened NPCs, survivors of the Broken Code. Some bore scars of corruption, others shimmered with unstable edges. They looked to him as believers once looked to gods.
They bowed when he met their eyes.
