In the sudden, relative quiet, the Chord reigned. The systems were down, but the Spire was standing. The Core was no longer a screaming, efficient engine of extraction. It was a roaring, turbulent, but stable fountain of whole Aqua Vitae—water, energy, and magic inextricably fused once more.
The data, when Valentine managed to pull it from a backup system, was clear. Output of pure, separated W.E.R.M. was now zero. But the raw, combined output of the Aqua Vitae was immense, and stable. It couldn't be piped into their existing filters or power grids. It was a wild thing.
Lysander approached Charlotte, who stood defeated, the null-field projector cold in her hand. "Your control is over. Your mechanics are obsolete."
"You've doomed us all," she whispered, her dominance hollowed out. "The cities will darken. The people will thirst. You've replaced order with… with a noise."
"We've replaced a cancer with a heartbeat," Lysander corrected. "The world was alive before your filters. It can be again. We have to learn to listen to it. To build new instruments."
Regina Altureign appeared on a restored comms screen, her face as impassive as ever. "Fact: The Syndicate's primary function—the separation and distribution of W.E.R.M.—has ceased. Fact: The source is intact and energetically stable in a previously unobserved state. Fact: Transition to a new paradigm will result in systemic collapse unless managed." She looked directly at Sage and Valentine. "You have operational knowledge of the anomaly. You are now the senior technical advisors. Submit a transition proposal in twelve hours."
She cut the feed. The ultimate pragmatist had already pivoted. The old ruler was deposed; the mechanics of the new world were up for grabs.
Sage looked at Valentine, at Lysander, at the exhausted choir, at Roxana who had chosen interesting over obedient. The Spire hummed with its new, old song.
The puzzle of control was solved. The puzzle of what came next—the mechanics of a world with a wild, singing heart—had just begun.