Echo's lips trembled, her fists clenched so tight that her knuckles turned pale under the cracked gauntlets. Cold sweat trickled down her temple as she stood at the edge of the Fracture Gate's remains, the jagged remnants of the Architect's realm flickering like dying embers beneath her boots.
She had won. They had all won.
So why… did this overwhelming emptiness weigh heavier than victory?
It felt as if she stood at the edge of a vast, silent chasm—one where every decision she had made echoed back at her, asking if it had all been worth it.
Were they truly free… or had they simply torn down one god to make way for another?
The air felt heavier than molten lead, pressing against her lungs like invisible chains. Even the sunlight, bleeding through the fractured sky, seemed too sharp—cutting into her with every golden ray like a thousand tiny blades of regret.
And then… from deep within the ruins, a faint pulse of red light flickered.
Echo's eyes snapped toward the horizon.
It couldn't be.
The Architect was dead…
Wasn't it?