Their song of resistance carried them through seven more layers of the deep Empire, each one more fundamental than the last, until they reached a chamber that existed at the intersection of all possible geometries. Here, the laws of physics were not broken but negotiable, and space folded in on itself so completely that they could see every angle of the room simultaneously without moving their perspective. The cosmic machinery that filled the upper levels was absent from this place, replaced by something far older and more essential a silence so profound that even their defiant melody seemed to dim in its presence.
At the center of the chamber, carved into a floor that was made of something that resembled bone but predated the invention of skeletal structures, lay the sigil.
