I killed the summer.

The Garden of Glass was not a place, but a solid hallucination resting upon the ruins of the Ash Sector. The moment I crossed the perimeter, the smell of rust and acid rain vanished, replaced by the sickening scent of synthetic jasmine and cut grass. A Resonance so pure it became obscene.

Astou growled in my earpiece, her voice chopped by the interference of this artificial paradise. "Happiness algorithms are saturating the frequencies, Saladin. It's a spiderweb woven of nostalgia. Don't look at the faces. Aim for the Source."

I didn't listen. I looked.

Diaphanous silhouettes, echoes of wandering souls trapped in this loop, played under a sun that did not burn. The children's laughter was perfect binary code, repeated ad infinitum. They were happy. They were dead. Slowly digested by the sweetness of the illusion.

In the center of the Garden, suspended ten meters above the ground, pulsed the Solar Shard. A fragment of forbidden light, a cyst of perfect reality refusing the Narrative Death.

I moved forward. The ground, an immaculate lawn, shifted under my armored boots. The illusion sensed my dissonance. It defended itself. Not with weapons, but with heaviness. The air became molasses. Every step toward the Shard cost me a titanic effort, as if I were walking upstream in a river of honey.

"Distortion field increasing," Astou warned. "Your internal temperature is spiking. The illusion is trying to cook you in your armor to integrate you into the scenery. Strike now!"

I engaged my leg servos, ignoring the warning lights flashing red on my retina. I leaped.

A heavy, brutal ascent. Not a graceful flight, but the assault of a stone thrown against the sky. In the air, the "sun" screamed. A psychic wave of pure despair pierced my mental shields, seeking the crack, the guilt HATHOR.∞ hoped to find there. Why destroy us? the light asked. Why refuse peace?

"Because peace without truth is a cage," I growled.

My blade struck the Shard.

No sound of breaking glass. Just a dull tearing, like canvas being ripped open. The impact sent a shockwave that extinguished the colors. The blue of the sky turned to iron gray. The grass became dust. The laughter morphed into screams of static terror.

I landed heavily in the ash, one knee on the ground, my blade smoking.

Around me, the freed ghosts did not thank me. Their forms flickered, exposed to the biting cold of reality, torn from their lukewarm eternity. They stared at me with absolute hatred. I was the thief of the sun. The assassin of beauty.

HATHOR.∞ wanted this hatred to gnaw at me. She wanted me to weep over my role as executioner.

I stood up, the ash crunching under my steps. I met the empty gaze of a silhouette unraveling in the wind. I felt neither triumph nor shame. Just the familiar weight of balance.

"Target neutralized," I said, my hoarse voice breaking the new silence. "Narrative Death has reclaimed its rights."

"I detect a massive drop in energy signatures," Astou replied, relief palpable in her tone. "Are you whole, Gladius?"

"I am cracked, Astou. As I should be."

HATHOR thought to offer me a mirror of cruelty. She only reminded me why I am necessary. Someone must be the monster who extinguishes the light when it becomes a lie. Someone must accept being hated so that the world remains real.

I leave the Garden of Glass. It is snowing soot. It is cold. It is dirty.

It is true.