The countdown on the wall screen hit zero. A deep thunk echoed through the chamber as the pod’s seals released. The gel drained with a wet, sucking gasp. For a terrifying second, the figure remained limp. Then, a single finger twitched.
Anger.
“Creator implies a soul,” he said, tilting his head. “Did you give me a soul, Elara Vance?”
Memory , he broadcast. Not grief. Memory. This is what you are trying to consume. But memory is not fragile. Memory is the one thing that outlasts even oblivion.
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