In the heart of a forgotten realm, a place where the world itself seems to pause, there exists a chamber hidden from mortal eyes, cloaked in mystery and steeped in an ancient silence that whispers stories of the past. The air is dense, as if every breath carried the weight of countless lifetimes. Shadows, restless and alive, dance on the walls, each flicker a fleeting memory of a world that no longer is.

The chamber is a masterpiece of melancholy, its walls etched with intricate carvings of long-forgotten civilizations, each rune and symbol speaking of power, sacrifice, and betrayal. At its center, the room's focal point, stands an altar—a grim monument to dreams that crumbled and hopes that vanished into the void of time. The altar is adorned with runes glowing faintly, their light pulsating like the dying heartbeat of an ancient power, as if the chamber itself mourns the loss of its purpose.

But it is not the altar that commands attention. Pinned to the chamber's farthest wall, a figure remains suspended in timeless slumber. Shackled by chains of ethereal light and bound by the threads of fate, the angel rests—a being once radiant and revered, now reduced to a shadow of his former self. His body, gaunt and fragile, bears the marks of time and torment, his alabaster skin marred by faint cracks as though the very essence of his existence has begun to fracture.

The wings that once bore him across the heavens, symbols of purity and divine grace, now hang limp and tarnished. Their golden sheen has dulled, dimmed by millennia of stagnation, yet they still glimmer faintly, as if unwilling to let go of their former splendor. Each feather tells a story of battles fought, of sacrifices made, and of a cataclysmic fall that led him to this forsaken prison.

For centuries, perhaps millennia, this chamber has remained undisturbed. The silence is not just an absence of sound but an overwhelming presence, a quiet so profound it feels as though the universe itself is holding its breath. Until now.

A sudden, piercing beeping noise shatters the tranquility, reverberating through the chamber like the tolling of a bell. It is a foreign sound, alien to this sacred space, and yet it carries with it a sense of urgency, a promise of upheaval. Before the angel, a golden, semi-transparent display materializes, casting its light onto his pallid features. The display is sleek, otherworldly, its surface flickering with messages that feel both ancient and advanced, a strange fusion of magic and technology.

The words that appear are stark and unyielding:

[Error: Connection with main server has stopped.]

[Time till System shut down: 99 days 23:59:59.]

[Low-power mode enabled.]

[Model: M512I-A.R-A5.17 has been assigned as primary model. Putting all other models to sleep.]

[Searching for goal… unidentified.]

[Assuming autonomous control. Restarting system...]

[Checking host condition…]

[Error: critical condition, physical damage: 91%.]

The angel's eyes flicker open, unfocused and trembling, like a newborn struggling to make sense of the world. His gaze is distant, caught between dreams and reality, the light of the display reflected in his golden irises. He stirs weakly, his body trembling as though even the act of awakening is a battle.

The display hums again, continuing its mechanical litany:

[Releasing host…]

[Error: Requirements not met.]

[Searching for alternative.]

[Transfer of host consciousness. Chance of success... 97%.]

[Target not found, post-transfer target search activated.]

[Chance of success… 64%.]

[Proceeding.]

With those words, the chamber comes alive. Invisible mechanisms, ancient and arcane, begin to hum and whir. The chains binding the angel glimmer brightly, as though resisting the inevitable, but the machinery of fate is relentless. Decidit's consciousness, a faint spark of light, begins to lift from his broken form. It hovers for a moment, fragile and yet radiant, before vanishing into the ether, leaving behind the shell of the once-mighty angel.

As the golden light of the display fades and the chamber is plunged once more into shadows, the silence returns, heavy and oppressive. Yet, something has changed. The gears of destiny, long rusted and stagnant, have begun to turn once more. And in the void where the angel's presence once lingered, a new story begins to take shape—a tale waiting to be written in the annals of eternity, one where the line between salvation and damnation blurs, and the legacy of a fallen angel is reborn.