Instruments of Undoing

The breakthrough shattered the silence of the week that followed. What had begun as a theory whispered between observations, notes, and sketchboards had turned to certainty with a single, echo-rich descent into the flareline.

Now, Halftide moved faster. Plans emerged like stones cast from deep water, rising all at once, each carrying risk and weight.

Destroying the Shell wouldn't be an act of force alone. The corruption was too deep for that. It was tied to memory, to pain, to something older than structure. The flares had carved themselves into the Shell's inner walls, feeding the sentient core with a thousand years of death. What had once been stone was now mind.

And minds could be broken.

Arthur stood before a large chalk map drawn across Halftide's strategy chamber, the light of the beastcore casting long shadows over his frame. His voice was low but clear.