But Elara ran. She climbed higher, where the air smelled of ozone and old sorrows. The sphere grew hotter, its pulse syncing with her own heartbeat. She reached the summit—a flattened area of crushed motherboards and tangled wires. In the center, a socket. Ancient. Waiting.
The pile roared.
The Overseer screamed into his microphone, but no one listened. They were crying. Touching the ground. Remembering.