Liberation
Arc dismantled the bars of Anaxi’s cage with deliberate precision. Anaxi, though hardened by their trials, found tears streaking their dust-caked face as the final piece fell away.
“Arc,” they said, stumbling forward to embrace the Creche, their voice breaking.
“I am myself again,” Arc replied softly.
“I didn’t think I’d see you act freely again,” Anaxi murmured, pulling back to meet Arc’s glowing gaze.
Victor’s influence was fading, and Arc’s form shifted as though standing taller. “We will not be controlled again,” Arc said firmly.
Arc and Anaxi stood amidst the dissipating storm, the air thick with the weight of silence after chaos. The storm’s fury had vanished, leaving an eerie calm broken only by the faint crackle of Arc’s luminous core.
Anaxi turned in confusion, scanning the horizon for some trace of what had just happened. “The storm—what happened to it? Where did it go?”
Arc’s core brightened slightly, a steady glow cutting through the settling haze. “The orb,” it said, its voice even and assured. “it must have absorbed its energy. Lyra and the others must have succeeded.”
“The orb? But… how?” Anaxi stepped closer, incredulous. “That kind of power—doesn’t it destroy everything it touches?”
“It does. But not all Creche are built alike,” Arc replied. “That one—crafted by the Weaver—was designed to channel energy rather than scatter it. The storm’s strength was transformed. Used.”
“Used for what?”
“To save what it would have destroyed,” Arc said, gesturing to the distant village, its structures battered but standing. “The storm was undone, its force reworked into something transformative.”
Anaxi nodded slowly, taking it in. But as they turned back to Arc, their expression darkened. “And what about before this? When Victor had you—when you had me?”
Arc’s core dimmed, its light softening. “I could say I had no choice, that Victor’s influence constrained me. That would be true. But it would not change the harm done.” It paused, the silence between them heavy. “You are owed more than words. But I offer them nonetheless. I am sorry.”
Anaxi studied Arc, their face unreadable for a long moment. Then they stepped forward and pressed a hand against Arc’s smooth frame.
“I hated you for it,” Anaxi admitted quietly. “I hated you for letting it happen. But… if there’s one thing I’ve learned in the Waste, it’s this: survival is messy. You never stop moving, even when everything’s broken.”
Their hand lingered a moment longer, then fell away. “We keep going. Together. That’s all that matters now.”
Arc stood taller, its core pulsing gently. “Together.”
The two began moving toward the village, the aftermath of the storm stretching out before them. Though battered, they were unbroken, and their combined resilience—human and Creche—felt like the first step toward healing what the storm had taken.