บททั้งหมดของ Alpha’s regret : The return of his rejected mate: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

HELEN’S P.O.V.A city is designed for flow. Streets are arteries; plazas are lungs.A mine is designed for extraction. It is a throat, meant to swallow men and spit outstone. It is not meant to hold five thousand refugees.We descended the Great Spiral the massive, corkscrewing ramp that led from the Spire’sbasement down into the Shadow Claw workings. It was wide enough for mining trucks,which meant it was wide enough for a river of terrified people.The sound was overwhelming. Ten thousand boots shuffling on stone. The crying ofchildren echoing off the damp walls. The low, frantic murmuring of families checking tosee if everyone made it."Keep moving!" Kai shouted, standing on a crate at a switchback, waving a flare to lightthe gloom. "Do not stop on the ramp! Fill the lower caverns first!"I walked at the rear of the column, watching the tunnel mouth above us.The light from the surface was fading. The fires burning in the Market District cast aflickering orange glow down the

BOOK IV: THE EVENT HORIZONFIVE YEARS LATERHELEN’S P.O.V.Time doesn't heal all wounds. Sometimes, it just calcifies them.My frostbitten hand was a permanent claw now. I wore a custom-made glove of blackleather and silver mesh, designed by Kai to help me grip a pistol, but I rarely drew myweapon these days. I didn't need to. I was the mother of the Sleeper. People didn't attackme; they tried to touch the hem of my coat.I stood on the balcony of the Spire, looking down at Sanctuary.It wasn't a hidden refuge anymore. It was a metropolis.Over the last five years, the population had swelled to fifty thousand. Refugees from theSouth, fleeing the "creeping gray," had flooded north. They built shantytowns outside thecrater walls and high-rises inside.And in the center of the city, surrounding the Spire, was the Temple District.I hated it.Vendors sold "Star Water" (tap water in blue bottles). Zealots preached on street cornersabout the "Day of Waking." There were statues of Leo

HELEN’S P.O.V.The absence of a god is heavier than his presence.When Leo was in the Spire, even asleep in the crystal, there was a hum. A backgroundstatic of immense potential energy that made the air in Sanctuary feel crisp, like themoment before a thunderstorm.Now, the air was flat. Dead.I stood in the War Room. The technicians were silent, hunched over their consoles."He crossed the Salt Line forty minutes ago," Kai reported, his voice low. "We losttelemetry the moment he stepped into the Gray. The sensors just... stopped reportingdata. It’s like he walked off the edge of the map.""He didn't walk off," Silas said, typing furiously at his station. "He walked into thenetwork.""What network?" Damian asked. He was sitting in his chair, cleaning his gun with arepetitive, soothing motion."The Architect isn't just building a fortress down there," Silas said. "He's building a server."Silas threw an image onto the main screen.It was a frequency analysis of the Gray Zone. Usu

ELENA’S P.O.V.I have seen magic break. I have seen spells backfire and turn men into newts. I haveseen ley lines snap like rubber bands.But I had never seen math break.Until now.I stood on the black glass dais of the Server Room. Leo was gone submerged into thefloor like a diver entering a frozen lake.Above me, the Architect the being of pure black light was seizing.His form didn't flicker like a candle; it glitched like a corrupted file. His left armelongated, stretching fifty feet across the room, then snapped back. His face dissolvedinto pixels, then reassembled upside down.ERROR, the Architect roared. His voice was a layered cacophony of a thousand screams.UNAUTHORIZED ACCESS. PURGE. PURGE.Around us, the cathedral of data was screaming.The millions of tiny lights on the server banks the souls were flashing erratically. Red.Blue. White. They were waking up inside the drive.And the Silencers the liquid-glass guards were losing their minds.One of them hovered near me

BOOK V: THE DUST AGEONE MONTH LATERHELEN’S P.O.V.The line started at the heavy blast doors of the Keep and snaked its way up the spiralramp, out into the plaza, and down the main avenue of Sanctuary.It was a line of desperate people.They didn't carry weapons. They carried photos. Medical records. Jars of gray, dead soilfrom their farms.They were pilgrims. And they were waiting for the Boy.I sat at a folding table near the blast doors, acting as the world’s most hated bouncer.Beside me, Kai rubbed his temples, staring at a stack of clipboards."Next," I said, my voice hoarse.A woman stepped forward. She was young, thin, clutching a bundle of blankets againsther chest. She looked like a refugee from the waking South."Director Sinclair," she whispered, terrified to look me in the eye. "Please. My daughter.She woke up... but she won't speak. Her eyes are still gray."She pulled back the blanket. A toddler stared up at me. The child was breathing, pinkcheeked, but her eyes we