The garden was silent.
Not the peaceful kind of silence.
The kind that felt… staged. Maintained. Preserved for a memory that wasn't entirely true.
Zane stood in front of the massive golden statue of himself, staring up at it with a flat expression that slowly twisted into something between disbelief and mild offense.
A nine–foot monument.
Him.
Flying dramatically toward the sky like some legendary martyr.
He squinted at it.
"…That pose is so cringey," Zane muttered. "I have never done that pose in my life."
He circled it once, hands in his hoodie pockets, examining the craftsmanship like an annoyed customer inspecting a faulty product.
"And what do they mean sacrifice…?" he added. "When did I sacrifice myself ?"
From his wrist, Eira's holographic interface flickered softly to life.
"Well," her text scrolled across the small projection, "you were missing for more than six months."
Zane clicked his tongue.
"…Fair point. Still don't like the pose."
