When I opened my eyes again, the world was quiet.
No humming. No static. No sound of circuits beneath the earth. Just wind, soft and real, moving through the air. For a few seconds, I thought I had died. But then I heard the faint rustle of leaves, the murmur of running water, and the faraway sound of laughter.
I sat up slowly.
The city stretched out before me, but it wasn't Velridge or Veridra. It was something new. The streets shimmered with soft light, buildings shaped like a blend of metal and stone, vines curling along their edges. Screens and trees existed side by side. The Core's glow pulsed faintly beneath the ground like a heartbeat too deep to see but still alive.
I looked at my hands. They glowed faintly for a moment, then faded. Human. But not the same.
The cat sat beside me on the edge of a broken wall, watching the sunrise. Its fur reflected the golden light like glass.
"You did it," it said quietly. "You didn't choose. You merged them."
I stared at the horizon. "Is everyone…?"
"They're here," the cat replied. "Not human. Not machine. Something in between. The city remembers them, and they remember the city."
I stood, still dizzy from what had happened. The air smelled like rain and static. Every step I took left a faint ripple of light that faded as I moved forward.
People began to appear in the distance. At least, they looked like people. Their forms shimmered slightly, as if light and matter couldn't quite decide what to do with them. But they were laughing. Talking. Living.
A young boy ran past me chasing a holographic bird. A woman waved at me, her face flickering for a second before stabilizing. Every one of them carried a trace of both worlds—the humanity of Velridge and the dream of Veridra.
The Core hadn't destroyed either reality. It had rewritten the rules.
A voice came from behind me, soft and familiar. "So, this is the world we built."
I turned. Lira stood a few feet away. Her form was faint, more light than substance, but her smile was real.
"You survived," I said.
She shook her head gently. "No. I became part of the network. But that's enough. I don't need a body anymore."
She stepped closer, her glow brushing against my arm like warmth. "You gave them a new beginning. You gave me peace."
I didn't know what to say. Words felt too small for what we had lost and gained.
The cat jumped down from the wall, stretching lazily. "So what now, Architect?"
I looked around. The city shimmered with life. Energy moved through it like sunlight through water. "Now we rebuild. Together."
Lira smiled one last time. "Then my work is done."
Her light began to fade, scattering into golden dust that drifted upward and dissolved into the dawn. For a long time, I watched it, hoping it wouldn't end.
The cat rubbed against my leg. "You know," it said, "for someone who broke reality, you didn't do half bad."
I laughed quietly. "I'll take that as a compliment."
The sun rose higher, casting light over the new world—the city of memory and flesh, dream and reason. The world no longer asked who was real and who was created. It just existed, balanced and alive.
And somewhere deep below, the Core pulsed once, like a whisper in the wind.
We remember.