The city lay in pieces, or at least the pieces that mattered. Crates overturned, patrols scattered, the factions scrambling like insects whose queen had vanished. I walked through it all, boots clicking against cracked concrete, cataloging every twitch, every halting step.
drip… distant clang… faint hum…
Civilians peeked from shadowed alleyways, eyes wide, frozen between fear and curiosity. Some whispered prayers, others whispered questions. I noted the way one mother held her child tighter when a stray flame from a burning cart flickered near, the hesitation in a man's step when he thought he saw Carrow or what was left of him.
soft shuffle… creak… subtle echo…
The streets smelled of smoke, metal, and scorched wood. An acrid bouquet for anyone paying attention. I was. Every lingering movement, every tremor in the air, every sound became a footnote in the ledger of chaos I'd authored.
faint beep… low hum… distant crash…
A small LED blinked atop a shattered console. Tiny, almost imperceptible. Alone, it meant nothing. Together with everything else, it screamed: the Architect hadn't vanished. He was watching, counting, cataloging, waiting.
I crouched near a pile of upturned crates, tracing a line of scorch marks, imagining the heat that could have spread faster, stronger, if I'd pushed it. Satisfaction nudged the corners of my mind, but so did a sharp reminder: control is only an illusion. A city can burn and rebuild, but some fires are internal.
soft footfall… metallic scrape…
Carrow's absence was telling. The man survived in pieces of shadow, rumor, and fear. Still, he or what remained had left the square in a state that screamed my handiwork. Success, of a sort. Hollow, but measurable.
I rose, scanning the streets, noting the fractures that would soon bleed into plots, alliances, and betrayals. Victory was tangible, yes but only if you ignored the surveillance I couldn't shake. That blinking LED was proof enough: someone else was still moving the pieces, even now.
I smirked, letting the irony sink in. "Congratulations, Dylan," I muttered under my breath. "You just swept the floor… while someone else is rearranging the furniture."