Atlas felt it first in his bones—a tremor, subtle at first, crawling up from the soles of his feet into his chest, spiraling through every fiber of his being.
His body vibrated, not painfully, but insistently, like some colossal machine scanning, weighing, cataloging him.
He opened his eyes, expecting the world to tilt, but it was still the same: priests gathered like vultures. Yet everything felt… different.
[Analysing host.]
The words sliced into his mind with surgical precision. Every heartbeat, every synapse, every breath was measured, considered. Atlas did not flinch.
He could feel something ancient and impossible brushing against him, a presence older than gods, older than the memory of time itself.
[1%...3%...50%.....99%..100%]
Each number throbbed like a hammer against the walls of his skull. Time seemed to stretch and collapse, a pendulum swinging between inevitability and chaos.
[Analyze complete.]
