Atlas did not answer the voice that called him... brother.
The word hung in the silence like a blade — too sharp, too intimate to touch.
The others waited, weapons drawn, eyes searching the shifting dark.
But the ruins did not move.
Not yet.
The wind slid through the streets, carrying whispers that weren't quite sound — fragments of laughter, broken syllables, the hum of electricity in a world that had forgotten power. Like memories of Christmas lacing through.
Claire stepped closer, her voice trembling despite herself.
"Atlas… what did they mean?"
He didn't answer.
He couldn't.
The shadows beneath the tower lengthened, curling like roots across the ground. The lights within the structure pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat — each thrum louder, deeper, as if the city itself were syncing to him.
