The trail wasn't supposed to exist.
Protocols like this didn't leave digital footprints. They didn't glitch. And yet, buried inside a long-decayed subdirectory of the memory core, Elara had found a pulse a sliver of code that shouldn't have survived the recursion purge.
It didn't match the structure of any of the previous Seeds.
It was older.
And it was calling.
The Wraith's war room had been dimmed for hours, the only illumination coming from holographic projections flickering above the central table. Ancient code spiraled in fractured glyphs, unfamiliar even to Damien.
"This isn't just pre-Architect," he muttered, eyes narrowed. "It's pre-everything. This language shouldn't exist."
Nova leaned over his shoulder, frowning. "So what, it's like the Rosetta Stone of recursion?"
Damien shook his head. "No. It's the Genesis Stone."
