The crimson light of dusk filtered through the grated windows, casting long, skeletal shadows across the interior of the Crimson Church.
The servo-skulls had powered down—silent, for once. The ventilation units maintained their steady sigh, like the breath of something old and wounded. The air carried a lingering scent of scorched circuitry, ozone, and smoke—faint, but unforgettable.
Luthar sat on the cold floor, a tangle of cables and diagnostic cords half-wrapped around his legs. His fingers, still stained with coolant and ash, hung motionless at his sides. The overhead fluorescent strips carved harsh white lines across the dull metal of his mask.
Across from him, Freya lounged on a salvaged couch. She studied him—not with pity, but calculation. Her expression was unreadable.
Liliruca sat curled at the far end, arms wrapped around her knees. Small and pale beneath the artificial light, she risked occasional glances at Luthar, always looking away before their eyes could meet. She said nothing. None of them did.
Tsubaki sat between the two, brow furrowed, jaw clenched. Confusion clouded her face—she hadn't understood what had transpired below. And that, more than anything, gnawed at her.
The room felt suspended—like a breath held too long. Only the infrastructure dared to make a sound: the soft ticking of a power relay, the pulsing thrum of cooling units, and the whisper of dormant machinery.
Luthar's optics remained fixed on a flickering schematic projected on the far wall. Distorted by interference, warped in hue, the image pulsed with chaotic static. Still, his gaze never wavered.
Freya leaned forward, elbows on her knees. Her voice was quiet but sharp. "How long are you going to sit there ?"
Luthar didn't respond.
Her eyes narrowed. "There wasn't even a fight. And yet it feels like you already lost." Still nothing.
Liliruca spoke next, hesitant. "Was it really that bad?" I mean… nothing came through, right?" Silence.
Tsubaki stood abruptly. Her voice rose, edged with frustration. "Damn it, Cogbane. If you've lost your nerve, say it. Don't just sit there like a statue. I followed you into that pit. I deserve more than silence."
Freya's voice turned colder. "Is it regret? Shame? Or something else?"
Then, at last, Luthar moved. He reached up and detached a single diagnostic cable from the neck port of his armor. The soft click echoed like a gunshot in the still chamber.
When he spoke, his voice was calm and clipped, as if the hours of silence had never happened. "I'm going to rebuild it."
Freya blinked. "You're… what?"
Luthar looked up. The cold flicker of computation danced behind his lenses. "I still have one prototype left. This time, I'll modify it further."
He stood, slow but deliberate. "I know what that bird is thinking. It wants to confuse me—feeds extra knowledge into my brain, offers half-formed designs, and toys with my mind through demons and suggestion."
He drew a breath, finishing his silent review of the memory logs. Some of the inspiration had slipped through—brief flashes, suppressed quickly—but the system had purged them before they could take hold.
Whatever Bluebird's contingency was, Luthar had his own: acquire more knowledge, build more devices, earn system points, unlock blueprints, and push forward the cycle.
He stepped away from the cables. No emotion lingered in his tone, but something in the air had shifted.
"The fire should've gone out by now. I'm going back to the lab to clean up." He paused.
"You don't have to follow."
The line fell like a thunderclap.
Freya tilted her head, one brow arching. "You're dismissing us now?"
"No," he said evenly. "I'm giving you time to digest what happened. And it's not like you can help rebuild the lab. You should rest."
Tsubaki scoffed. "If you think I can't build a lab, then teach me."
"I can't teach you in a day," Luthar replied. "It's better if you continue constructing the trucks. That improves our resource intake. I've already shown you the basics."
A silence settled again—heavier now.
Liliruca shifted, arms tightening around her knees. "Is that… how it works for you? Just… build and build?"
He nodded, already calculating the next phase of construction. This time, the lab would expand: stasis vaults, containment fields, and emergency caches. If another anomaly occurred, he wouldn't send anyone away—he'd preserve them. Lock them in time.
Luthar turned toward the corridor leading deeper into the church.
"I'll be working for the next seven days. No interruptions. When I return, we'll discuss the future."
Before anyone could respond, he vanished into the steel passage, descending once more into the ruined depths.
The flames had died. The damage remained.
Reconstruction began at once: new foundations, new machines, and new systems. Every piece is built. Every line is calibrated.
Above, the Crimson Church stood quiet.
But the silence would not last forever.
Far from the stillness of the church, in the heart of a bustling city, Bell Cranel stepped through the broad doors of Hephaestus's workshop. His shoulders bore the weight of packed belongings—remnants of a home they would not return to.
Inside, Hephaestus and Hestia were already seated. The latter looked cross. She had refused to go back to the church.
Bell set the bags down carefully and offered a respectful nod.
"Sorry I took so long."
Hestia gave him a small smile. "You brought everything?"
He nodded. "Even your old tea kettle."
Hephaestus, standing near her workbench, raised an eyebrow. "I might know a place for both of you. Cheap and reliable."
Hestia perked up. "Really?"
"A place without floating skulls," Hephaestus added with a dry smirk. "You're in luck. There's a quiet place nearby. Most importantly, it's not expensive."
Bell and Hestia exchanged a glance. For them, anywhere was fine—so long as it was clean, warm, and theirs.
Watching their hopeful faces, Hephaestus suppressed a sigh. She already felt the headache forming. With Hestia now responsible for rent, the burden would inevitably shift to Bell's shoulders.
Hephaestus also understood the situation; it's just she didn't know if this was really a good idea.