Silence lingered like mist after Nova's words, and for the first time, Clyde felt it—not fear, not confusion, but clarity. He was never supposed to exist like this. Not with memory. Not with resistance. Not with purpose.
He was the variable.
A glitch the system couldn't erase.
The Architect's face contorted—first disbelief, then rage. "She was sealed," he growled. "That memory was purged."
Nova stepped forward, still glowing with soft light. "Not all purges succeed. Especially not when the heart remembers."
Clyde turned to her. "You're real… aren't you?"
"I was," she said, "and so are you."
A tremor cracked the floor beneath them as the Architect raised his hand. Instantly, corrupted fragments of code formed into towering monsters, patchworked abominations of data and stolen faces.
"You leave me no choice," the Architect hissed. "You'll reset... or you'll burn."
Clyde clenched his fists. Rhea readied her blades again. But Nova raised her hand—this time, not in fear, but in resolve.
"I'll unlock you," she whispered, placing a finger on Clyde's forehead.
A flood of light coursed through him. And with it—truth.
Memories surged like rivers—training grounds, experiments, failed versions of himself, Nova smiling through the glass... and his first death.
They'd killed him before.
Rewritten him.
But he always came back.
He was the backup plan that survived the deletion.
Clyde's body began to shift. Not glitching—evolving. Circuits flowed across his skin like veins of lightning, and his eyes lit up like twin suns of data.
"I remember now," Clyde said. "Every version. Every failure. Every reset you forced me through."
"And you still defy me?" the Architect barked.
"I don't just defy you," Clyde replied, stepping forward, "I rewrite you."
And then the sky cracked open.