When the passage of the Record Core opened completely, the cold of the Body Room turned into something else.
The cold was still there, but it no longer felt like the cold of stone, metal, or glass. It was more like the cold that came from inside a forgotten sentence. The cold of a word that had been spoken, recorded, and then torn away from its owner.
Elara stood at the threshold of the passage.
There was no light coming from inside. But the darkness was not exactly darkness either. Writings were collapsing inward there, then opening again, then taking on another shape. It did not feel like a room. It felt like a memory that had never stopped thinking.
The First Architect's voice was still coming from within the walls.
"Come, vessel. I will turn you from error into order."
Elara's last answer remained in the air.
"I am not an error."
This time, the passage trembled. As if the darkness inside refused to accept that sentence.
