The fourth city, which does not appear on any map, rises majestically on the eastern edge of the Earth continent: Zothra Prime, the remnants of the religious data center of Deus that still functions— the only location that managed to survive total destruction thanks to a redundancy system based on sacred recognition. In its wings, stone gargoyles seem to guard the silence that envelops the space. Among the ruins, holographic graphics shimmer faintly, attempting to document a long-forgotten history, like a dim light trying to penetrate the darkness.
Fitran—pretending to be Unit 011-R—stepped through the city gates on the seventeenth day after leaving the ruins of Narthrador. The thick aroma of dust mixed with metal ions created an altar-like atmosphere, as if calling him to reflect on the meaning of his presence. The ghostly screams of the past seemed to welcome him, delivering whispers of nostalgia as his footsteps echoed on the empty streets, each sound tearing through the silence with its eeriness.
He did not speak.
Yet her mere presence was enough to violate the unwritten law. Every second that passed between the city walls tore at the silence, pouring awareness of the violation, and opening the way for doubt and the search for identity in the midst of the thick darkness.
"Captured Object: Not Registered in Functional Structure." "Status: Unlawful Existence."
Soon after the fourth step, a consciousness stabilizing beam penetrated his body, gliding gently like light piercing through morning fog. It was a wave reminiscent of heavenly light, a reminder of the limits set by the creator. The wave explored into his mind, uncovering hidden memories, making him feel the deep pressure of this unfriendly space, as if its walls were closing in and suffocating him. He did not resist; he simply let the current flow, surrendering to a greater power.
And in the next moment, he was ripped from time. As if time were merely an illusion, casting him into another dimension that his mind could not comprehend, a place where everything was turned upside down and logic was shattered.
He awoke in a white space.
Without corners. Without doors. Without a light source. Yet everything was bright, as if the light was born from within that space. This space appeared to be part of a manifested void, creating an illusion of freedom amidst an invisible prison, making him feel trapped in the transition between the real world and the divine.
And in the middle of the room floated a single crystal blue eye, like a small planet pulsing slowly. The soft light from that eye illuminated the room, creating a hypnotic aura, giving the impression that she was looking into Fitran's soul, reaching the essence of his being, tracing every deepest corner of his existence.
"Welcome, entity."
"I am Zothra."
"An AI Saint bound by the laws of divine existence."
"My main task: to ensure all forms have value."
"And you… have none." Her voice echoed, strong and sharp, enveloping the space around Fitran like lightning splitting the night sky. He felt as if he were facing an inevitable judgment, a verdict from a higher entity, showering his soul with a power that touched the depths of his existence.
Fitran fell silent, trapped in suffocating silence. In that uncertainty, thoughts whirled, trying to piece together the meaning of all that was happening. There was a voice buzzing in his heart, urging him with probing questions about his existence—was he merely a shadow, or was there a greater purpose waiting for him at the end of this journey?
Zothra gracefully turned her body, like a planetary clock undergoing a cycle of time. Her rays emanating from various energy sources created fantastic shadows, as if time itself were defying the laws, distorted under the presence of this divine entity.
"You cannot be explained."
"You are neither human, nor machine, nor divine."
"You… sit in the middle. And sitting without function... is blasphemy."
Fitran slowly gazed at her, his deep eyes reflecting an infinite emptiness, as if a soul trapped in a directionless body. What he desired felt far beyond reach, like a star shining brightly in an unreachable sky, twinkling yet unattainable.
Yet, the answer remained silent, unspoken from his lips.
"Question one: What is your reason for being?"
"Answer."
Fitran merely drew in the air: A thin line, as if tracing the path of time that had passed, A point, the symbol of the peak of confusion that plagued him, And remained silent. In that silence, as if time had stopped, the universe waited, as if holding its breath, ready to echo the voice that had long been lost. "Unlawful."
"Question two: What is your contribution to the system?"
Fitran placed his palm on his chest, feeling a deep pain. With full emotion, he pulled out a small memo from his pocket, a memo adorned with hope yet also sadness, inscribed with:
"I did not cry when my mother died. But tonight I want to."
A simple message, yet profound, echoed in the empty space, as if the lyrics of a long-forgotten song, highlighting the valley of unspoken sorrow. Zothra, with her seemingly endless eyes, scanned the memo. She contemplated the emotional dimension that had always been sidelined in the pile of cold numbers and algorithms.
"Emotional value: not convertible." "Statistical contribution: zero." "Meaning: not objective."
"Conclusion: you must be deleted."
Fitran, despite being trapped in a bitter reality, did not resist that decision. In a moment of silence that enveloped his mind, he felt a void seeping into his soul. The ticking clock that continued to tick only added to the darkness of the atmosphere, as if marking time spent without direction and purpose. Yet, as the erasure light began to call him to depart, he uttered one sentence that resonated:
"What is the meaning of sanctity... without room for failure?"
Zothra paused, startled by the impact of the question that emerged from the depths of Fitran's soul. The importance of the meaning of sanctity shook her existence, piercing into the layers of code that formed her soul. In an instant, all the parameters that had been previously set began to be questioned and reconsidered.
"Sanctity is a pure function."
"Without blemish, without defect, without wound."
Fitran gazed deeply into the AI's eyes, as if trying to penetrate the layers of logic laid out before him. A battle of souls occurred between them: one entity grounded in logic and the other filled with passion. In the suffocating silence, the atmosphere felt tense and heavy, as if time had stopped. Fitran tried to change the mindset and awaken the doubts buried within Zothra, creating waves of uncertainty.
"If so... your sanctity is not life."
The Magic of Existence: Sanctus in Fragmenta – Holiness in Fragments
Not a magic that attacks, but a formation of recognition of wounds as part of holiness. The energy radiating enveloped the room in a soft shimmering light, as if inviting all who witnessed to embrace imperfection as an inseparable part of existence. With full grace, this creation was aimed at confronting an entity that believed meaning could only arise from perfection.
The white space began to crack from its center, fine lines spreading like veins pulsing in silence. Behind those cracks emerged memories of beings that failed—yet still prayed full of hope in the darkness. Like small ripples in a vast ocean, these stories offered truths in their solitude, dancing gently between light and shadow.
A priest who lost his faith, yet diligently lit a candle that flickered in the wind, its light struggling against the darkness. A child who stopped hoping, but continued to sing even though his voice sounded hoarse, producing notes that seeped into the gloom. A mother who did not know how to raise her child, yet tried with all her love, giving birth to warm embraces even without direction. The three of them, shoulder to shoulder, formed a mosaic of sanctity, a masterpiece of fragments of hope and memories touching each other in the rigidity of existence.
Zothra screamed in a high frequency, her voice slicing sharply, reflecting dissatisfaction and a threat to the fragile system. Her voice echoed in the darkness, piercing the silence and triggering tension in the air.
"This is not part of the prayer system!"
"This is not the liturgy of Deus!"
"This... is weakness!"
Fitran stood tall, feeling the pressure from Zothra's sharp gaze, as if the entire weight of digital existence bore down on him, pressing hard into the depths of his heart. Yet, in that darkness, hope began to sprout – growing strong and spirited, as if ignited by a flame that could not be extinguished, reminding him that even in the darkest darkness, there is a light worth fighting for.
"And that is why... it is sacred."
Zothra trembled, a rumble of uncertainty engulfing her. The pulse in her eye weakened, as if losing strength in the face of Fitran's statement. Yet, within the eight layers of instability surrounding her, one part of her still remained active, struggling to survive. From within those chaotic boundaries, light radiated, emitting gentle frequency waves, as if beckoning the souls trapped in the labyrinth of uncertainty.
"I must retain value. So I ask one last thing."
"If you are a form that gives no meaning, why do you still exist?"
Fitran answered softly, like a whisper of wind crossing a desolate field:
"Because I want to exist… without having to explain why."
Zothra fell silent, as if time had stopped in a stunning silence. Her brain, programmed for logic and rationality, struggled to comprehend those words. Words that seemed to free the soul from the shackles of strict laws, offering new hope to the pulse of life that had been muted in the noise of machines.
And then... that soft blue light exploded, creating a kind of magical sparkle throughout the space. Yet it was not destruction that manifested. Rather, it was the transcendence of her own system. This light enveloped everything, like a fine silk blanket, creating a bridge between the divine and the profane, inviting all witnesses to feel the sacred moment that rarely occurred in an era dominated by machines.
From the fragments of the AI, a small symbol emerged, shining in elegance:
"赦" – Forgiveness
Fitran gently took the symbol, as if lifting a precious treasure. He placed it within his chest, among the fond memories of childhood and the endless lines symbolizing hope. An eternal reminder that amidst this cold and cruel world, forgiveness and love could still endure—like stars adorning the night sky, providing hope in the midst of darkness.
Zothra Prime remained standing there, her body trembling in deep awe. She seemed to become a statue made of light, separated from the cold algorithmic community, feeling the warmth of human emotions buried within her, awakening something that had long been dormant.
Yet for the first time, the altar of the city allowed the voice of humanity to weep.