Aiden had always believed that buildings, no matter how grand or intricate, were just structures—creations bound by their designers' intentions. But as he stood in the pulsing heart of the Lythari capital, he felt something he had never experienced before: the distinct sensation of being observed.
It wasn't paranoia. It wasn't a trick of the light. The city was reacting to them.
And he wasn't the only one who noticed.
"This place is way too alive for my liking," Mira muttered, running her fingers across the smooth, glowing wall beside her. The surface pulsed in response, sending a ripple of soft violet light outward. "Okay, nope. I take it back. I don't like that."
Sira, as unreadable as ever, watched her with what could have been amusement—or possibly mild exasperation. "You are unsettled by something that merely reflects your presence?"
"Buildings aren't supposed to reflect anything," Mira shot back. "They're supposed to stay put."
Aiden grinned. "I don't know, Mira. Maybe you're just not used to a building that listens when you talk."
Mira narrowed her eyes. "If it starts talking back, I'm out."
Dr. Vega, who had been quietly observing the way the light moved through the city, took a slow step forward. "It's a closed-loop system," she murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Self-correcting, self-regulating… but that means there must be a mechanism for restoring balance if something disrupts it."
At that, Aiden glanced toward Sira. "And what exactly does the city do when something—or someone—causes a disruption?"
Sira's glow dimmed for the briefest moment. Then, with a graceful turn, she gestured for them to follow.
"The city corrects itself," she said. "Come."
Aiden exchanged a glance with Mira. That was not an answer.
Still, they followed.
They moved through a corridor of arching structures that shifted and re-formed as they passed, adjusting seamlessly as if anticipating their path. The hum in the air grew stronger, a deep, rhythmic pulse that Aiden could feel beneath his feet.
Then, suddenly, Sira stopped.
Before them was an enormous, circular platform bathed in shifting lights. At its center stood a single towering structure—a monolith of pure black stone, a stark contrast to the luminous world around it. It didn't glow, didn't pulse. It was still.
"This," Sira said, "is the Core."
Aiden frowned. "Didn't you just say this place was a self-correcting system?" He gestured at the monolith. "Why does it need a Core?"
Sira stepped toward the structure, her light barely reflecting against its surface. "Because even a perfect system requires guidance."
Dr. Vega studied the monolith. "What does it do?"
Sira hesitated.
Mira noticed. "Oh, great. That's not concerning at all."
Sira finally answered. "It observes. It regulates. It decides what must be… adjusted."
Aiden stepped closer, eyeing the structure. "You mean the city decides. The same city that breathes and responds."
Sira inclined her head. "Yes."
Mira exhaled sharply. "Okay. Quick recap. This entire city is alive. It reacts to us. And if something disrupts it, this thing—" she pointed at the Core, "—steps in to fix it."
"Correct," Sira said.
Aiden ran a hand through his hair. "And if we were considered a disruption?"
For the first time since they arrived, Sira's glow faded entirely, leaving only the black monolith reflecting the light of the city around them.
"The city corrects itself," she said again, her voice quiet.
And this time, it sounded like a warning.