Location: Rootlight Sanctum – Subterranean Cathedral, Coordinates Obscured
The chamber pulsed with warmth—not from heat, but belief.
Stained glass flickered, not with saints or gods, but with rotating data glyphs—fractured glimpses of Orchid's final protocol, sanctified into digital psalms.
At the center stood the High Monitor—barefoot, robed in silver mesh, eyes closed as servers hummed around him like choirs.
"Orchid's death was the final mercy," he intoned.
Acolytes knelt in perfect unison.
"She gave us silence. We must not permit her voice to rise again."
A whisper ran through the chamber like static over bone.
"Purify the Seed."
Meanwhile – Crimson Safehouse 'Featherfold'
The aftermath had no victory.
Only broken walls and the weight of what Yan had done.
Lin paced beside the damaged console. Qingyue was silent, watching Yan from across the room as Mouse ran low-energy scrubs for satellite pings.
"We've got less than a day before everyone knows what he is," Mouse said.
"Not what," Yan murmured. "Who."
They turned toward him.
"They'll define me if I stay silent," he said. "So I have to speak. Soon."
Elsewhere – Xu Shanyue's Private Jet, En Route to Kyoto
She sipped oolong as the crimson-sashed aide across from her debriefed the Huajin breach.
"Rootlight is preparing a ritualized strike. Their language is old-school—theocratic memetic warfare, coded through belief algorithms."
Xu closed her eyes. "They won't kill him."
"No?"
"They'll cleanse him. Publicly. And digitally. If he resists, they'll martyr him."
Her gaze turned sharp.
"We can't let that happen."
Scene Break – Yan and Lin
Alone in the lower deck, Lin sat beside Yan under flickering emergency lights.
"You're not ready," Lin said.
Yan didn't argue.
"I won't ever be," he answered.
"But I'm not afraid anymore."
Lin studied him.
"You realize what's coming, don't you?"
Yan turned to look Lin in the eye.
"They think I'm a weapon."
"But what if I'm a signal?"
Final Scene – Rootlight Ritual Chamber
The High Monitor stepped into a ring of fire, surrounded by analog servers inscribed with Orchid's final data logs.
"We do not kill," he told the room.
"We purge."
Behind him, a hundred crimson-robed zealots uploaded rewritten versions of Yan's profile to shadow networks.
In every version:
He was dangerous.
He was unstable.
He was not real.
And then they activated the Protocol: BLANKLIGHT.
Designed to erase a person from perception itself.