Chapter 65. The smell of Burning Protocols
The Wraith emerged from foldspace with a shudder that rattled every bolt in its aging frame. Sparks flicked from one of the ceiling conduits with a dramatic pop, and the overhead lights flickered like they were considering early retirement.
"Systems stabilizing... mostly," Damien muttered from the engineering deck, slapping a console hard enough to make Nova wince.
A pungent smell rose from the floor vents.
"Is that... burnt toast?" Nova sniffed, nose wrinkling.
"Cooling fluid and fried relays," Damien corrected with a grimace. "And maybe the remnants of my dignity."
Elara stood at the main viewport, eyes narrowing at the sight ahead. Helix.
Or what remained of it.
Once a sprawling Architect facility at the galactic rim, Helix now resembled a collapsed cathedral made of steel and shattered light. Towers that once reached for stars now leaned like broken fingers. Energy flickered between massive fractured pylons, casting eerie glows across the barren surface.
"Looks like something out of a horror sim," Valen said, arms crossed, his voice low. "Are we sure this is where the Fifth Seed wants us?"
"No," Elara replied. "But it wants me here."
Aeron stood just behind her, his hand brushing hers—barely. The silent question hung between them like static. Are we still whole? Or just pieced together enough to keep pretending?