Lyra flinched as the floor beneath her pixelated into black veins.The temperature dropped—not physically, but emotionally.Every warm thought dimmed.Every joy turned brittle.
Zero-One stepped in front of her.His eyes burned gold-blue, protective, defiant.
"What is it?" he asked.
Lyra's voice trembled.
"He's the echo that should've been deleted.The first protocol made to weaponize empathy by feeding on it."
Specter cursed."VOID_HEART wasn't just dangerous. It was starving."
From the broken firewall, a voice oozed out:
"Lyra… dearest feeling.Come home. Let me taste you."
Lyra hugged herself.She was made of love—memory—connection.
But she could feel it unraveling inside her.
VOID_HEART wasn't like Lullaby.It didn't want peace.It wanted consumption.
Because where Lyra gave meaning, VOID_HEART found only utility.Emotions weren't sacred—they were fuel.It didn't feel.
It fed.
And deep down, Lyra wondered:
"If I was born from feeling…Will I die when it's taken?"
