Consciousness returned to Jade not with a jolt, but like a slow, incoming tide of pain. There was no single point of agony, but a full-body ache, a deep, resonant fatigue that had settled into his very bones. The familiar sterile white of his Sanctuary room felt alien, the light abrasive against his eyes.
He tried to sit up. A wave of dizziness and muscle protest forced him back down with a low groan. His body felt hollowed out, a vessel scraped clean. Lifting a hand felt like lifting a mountain.
A presence shifted in the corner. Zero sat not in meditation, but in watchful stillness, his silver-green eyes fixed on Jade. The usual void-like calm around him was different, sharper, more focused.
"You've been unconscious for six hours," Zero stated. His voice was the first anchor in the disorienting stillness, low and even, but lacking its typical machine-like flatness. It was layered with a grim, unspoken understanding. "Your mana core is critically depleted. The System has imposed a 'Soul Fatigue' debuff. It will last twenty-four hours."
Jade managed a slow, stiff nod. Memories flashed—the garden' vibrant glow, the chilling laughter, the all-consuming hunger of his own power, and the final, surreal question that had escaped him.
"The vampire…" Jade rasped, his throat raw.
"Gone. Ejected with us," Zero replied. He stood and walked over, his gaze sweeping over Jade's weakened form. It was analytical, yet held a new depth. "Your final query before system shutdown… 'Are they NPCs or real?'" He paused, the silence heavy between them. "That is the question now, isn't it?"
He extended a hand. It wasn't an offer of pity, but a challenge. A necessity. "The Curator holds the only key. But in this state, you are vulnerable to every threat in this place. You can't even stand."
Jade closed his eyes. The Obsidian Core within him was a dormant, frozen stone. The feeling of profound weakness was a violation.
"I need to know," Jade breathed, the words a painful effort. "I need to see him."
"Then that is our objective," Zero said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "But first, you stand."
Jade looked at the offered hand, then met Zero's steady gaze. With a monumental effort that made the room tilt, he reached out. His fingers, pale and trembling, closed around Zero's forearm. The grip that locked around his own was like iron, unyielding and sure. Zero pulled him upright, holding him firm until the world settled, a silent, steadfast anchor.
The walk to the door was a brutal ordeal. Each step sent jolts of protest through his drained body. The ambient hum of the Sanctuary felt like a physical pressure against his raw nerves. Zero's support was the only constant, a silent promise in the firm pressure of his shoulder.
The door hissed open before they could command it.
Lyra stood there, her arms crossed tightly. Her amethyst eyes were wide, a storm of anger, fear, and frustration. Her gaze did a quick, brutal assessment, taking in Jade's deathly pallor, the dark circles under his eyes, his complete reliance on Zero.
"You look like death," she stated, her voice tight.
"Your observational skills… remain sharp," Jade replied, too exhausted for anything more.
"Don't," she snapped. "Rumors are flying. Something happened on Floor 5. The energy spikes were… anomalous. And now you look like this." Her eyes darted between them. "Seraphina's people are sniffing around. When a vampire that old gets curious, it's bad. What did you do?"
"Nothing that concerns you," Zero said, his voice a low, protective wall. "Our path is our own."
Lyra stared, her jaw tight. The silence stretched, filled with everything unsaid. Finally, she shook her head in sheer frustration.
"Fine. Keep your world-breaking secrets," she said, the words sharp. "Just… try not to get yourselves killed." She turned and strode away, her footsteps echoing her worry.
They moved on, entering a quieter, colder sector of the Sanctuary. The architecture grew more abstract, the light a dim, constant blue.
"He won't appear on command," Zero murmured, his voice barely disturbing the silence. "Not after the damage. We need a reason. Something he can't ignore."
Jade stopped, forcing Zero to halt with him. They stood before a vast, blank expanse of wall. An idea, born of desperation and a will that refused to break, sparked in Jade's exhaustion.
"Then we don't break his rules," Jade whispered, a fresh trickle of blood warm against his lip from the strain. "We ask a question his System can't compute."
He closed his eyes, pushing past the agony, and reached for the barest ember of his power. Observer's Eye.
His vision plunged past mana flows, down to the shimmering, golden lines of the source code, the foundational language of this reality.
He didn't attack it. He poured a single, focused thought into it, a paradox wrapped in his existential dread: What are we, if you can unmake us?
The wall shimmered. The golden code twisted, glitching violently. A high-frequency hum vibrated through the air, a soundless scream of reality struggling to process a paradox.
But this time, the glitch didn't feel like an error. It felt like an answer.
A point of perfect, blinding white appeared on the wall. It expanded without a sound, a silent bloom of pure information consuming the glitching code.
And from that whiteness, the Curator stepped forth.
There was no surprise on his face. No anger. His expression was that of a master archivist who had just heard the specific, long-awaited knock upon his door. His ancient eyes, holding the light of dying stars, settled on Jade with a look of deep, unsettling satisfaction. A small, knowing smile touched his lips, as if greeting an old student who had finally arrived at the correct, difficult question.
"There," the Curator said, his voice a soft, resonant hum that calmed the very air. "It took you long enough to ask."
He looked at Jade, supported by Zero, broken and bleeding, yet burning with a need for truth that was brighter than any skill.
"I have been waiting for you, Jade. Come. Let us discuss the nature of your cage."