The parasite pulsed like a heart that had been replaced with machinery. Its violet veins drank greedily from the Geomantic Core, piercing the great crystal with jagged limbs of iron and cable. The once-immaculate light of the Heart—the gold glow that had always defined the city's pulse—now flickered like a dying lantern, each shimmer dimmer than the last. The room trembled with its agony.
The chamber itself was vast, a cathedral of stone and rune-work, carved to honor the most sacred artifact of their civilization. Now it was desecrated. A dozen Vanguard stood motionless at the periphery, each one tethered to the parasite through pulsing channels of magenta light. They did not attack. They did not need to. They were not soldiers here—they were conduits. Fuel for the Architect's design.
And then Horizon turned.
