Calibration sat at 96%. The Spire's summit stopped climbing and flattened out with a grinding crunch.
Marble and glowing code rippled across the platform until it formed a perfect circle wide enough to hold three armies.
Floating pedestals rose from the floor, each one displaying a different future like some twisted museum exhibit.
On the left pedestal, Raphael's vision played on loop: perfect ranks of angels marching through spotless streets, every soul in line, no arguments, no surprises.
On the right, Lara's future glowed soft and warm—people embracing, tears turning into smiles, the Reset wrapping everything in gentle finality.
In the center, Atlas's version flickered wild: cities burning and rebuilding, people screaming and laughing, chaos in every direction.
The Listener unfolded across the middle of the arena. Its body had grown bloated from all the Calibration feeding.
Multiple mouths opened at once while theater masks spun around its head like spotlights.
