The Architect of Ashen Hollow**
"Damn... I forgot," Elias muttered, the echoes of the Oracle's voice still rattling inside his skull. He stepped back from the ring of ash and mirrors, but the world didn't return to normal. No. It bent further, warped deeper, like a reflection caught mid-shatter.
And then—
He smiled.
Not out of joy.
Not out of fear.
But the kind of smile someone wears when they're standing at the edge of something vast, beautiful, and terrifying.
"I'm the Architect of this city," he whispered.
A soft *chime* rang through the chamber.
The air stilled.
A presence unfolded in the chamber like a cathedral blooming into existence.
From the center of the mirror-ring, *he* emerged. Not Elias. Not the Oracle. Something else. Someone older than the city's bones. A **fallen angel**, but not the grotesque kind carved on cathedral spires. This was elegance given form.
One side of his body shimmered with celestial majesty—
Flowing robes of blue and gold laced with constellations, skin radiant as moonlit clouds, and a single pristine wing of white feathers stretching from his shoulder like a blessing.
The other side was shadow incarnate—
A wing of charred bone and blackened sinew, its edges dripping with ink and whispers. His arm looked sculpted from obsidian, etched with forgotten prayers. A single red pupil floated in a sea of darkness where an eye should be, staring directly at Elias.
The contrast between divinity and decay was unnatural, perfect, and horrifying.
He spoke, and his voice was *harmony and ruin* in one breath:
"You wore the mask so well you forgot it was never yours."
The city trembled above. Clocktower bells cried blood again.
Elias stepped back—
And laughed. Not out of fear. Out of awe. A kind of despair-tinged reverence.
"Of course," he whispered. "Of course this was a game."
He lifted his hand. The **interface** flickered into place—faint blue light in the corner of his eye.
> [LOGOUT]
A low hum.
A sudden stillness.
The world shattered like glass, fractals folding inward. His skin turned to pixels. His breath dissolved into code. The Architect smiled as the world broke.
And then—
Silence.
---
The lid of the **VR pod** hissed open.
Cold air brushed against Elias' skin. He blinked against the fluorescent ceiling lights of his apartment, his chest heaving.
"Damn," he muttered again, rubbing his eyes. "Technology's really gone somewhere, huh."
The VR rig powered down, a low synthetic chime accompanying the shutdown. He stepped out barefoot onto the cool metal floor, his body still shaking—not from exhaustion, but from the afterimage of *emotion*. The sheer weight of the world he had just escaped.
Ashen Hollow.
That city still pulsed behind his eyelids. The weeping Clocktower. The Oracle. The Architect.
He made coffee with shaking hands. The aroma didn't settle him—it reminded him of the distorted scent of ink and incense from the Oracle's chamber.
"Why am I drawn to this crap?" he asked himself aloud. Horror. Survival. Forgotten truths buried in madness.
The mirror above his sink caught his reflection.
But for a fraction of a second...
...his left eye glowed red.
He froze.
Then blinked.
It was gone.
He stared into the mirror a moment longer, then smiled again—faint and cold.
"Maybe it's not just a game after all."
Outside, the sky was gray. The world was real again.
Or at least, it *pretended* to be.