The blue glass floor of the infinite archive was freezing against Valeria's bare knees. She sat in the center of the vast and silent room. She held Ignis carefully against her chest. His breathing was a terrible, wet rattling sound that echoed loudly in the perfect quiet of the System core. The golden luster of his ancient draconic scales was entirely gone. They were replaced by an ashen grey rot that spread visibly across his neck and arms.
The massive white crystal of the Forge terminal hovered just a few feet away. It was a silent, glowing witness to his physical failure.
High above them, thousands of luminous grimoires continued their slow, cosmic rotation. The books of creation did not care that a man was dying on the floor. The System was a machine of absolute mathematical perfection. It lacked empathy. It only recognized raw data and unbroken administrative vessels. Ignis had tried to offer his mind to the machine, but his shattered physical body had been violently rejected.
