Married My Enemy To Save My Family
Chapter 65. The smell of Burning Protocols

Chapter 65: 65. The smell of Burning Protocols

The Wraith emerged from foldspace with a shudder that rattled every bolt in its aging frame. Sparks flicked from one of the ceiling conduits with a dramatic pop, and the overhead lights flickered like they were considering early retirement.

"Systems stabilizing... mostly," Damien muttered from the engineering deck, slapping a console hard enough to make Nova wince.

A pungent smell rose from the floor vents.

"Is that... burnt toast?" Nova sniffed, nose wrinkling.

"Cooling fluid and fried relays," Damien corrected with a grimace. "And maybe the remnants of my dignity."

Elara stood at the main viewport, eyes narrowing at the sight ahead. Helix.

Or what remained of it.

Once a sprawling Architect facility at the galactic rim, Helix now resembled a collapsed cathedral made of steel and shattered light. Towers that once reached for stars now leaned like broken fingers. Energy flickered between massive fractured pylons, casting eerie glows across the barren surface.

"Looks like something out of a horror sim," Valen said, arms crossed, his voice low. "Are we sure this is where the Fifth Seed wants us?"

"No," Elara replied. "But it wants me here."

Aeron stood just behind her, his hand brushing hers—barely. The silent question hung between them like static. Are we still whole? Or just pieced together enough to keep pretending?

Nova clapped her hands. "Alright, dark and broody team—gear up. Let’s see what kind of cursed welcome mat they’ve rolled out."

The landing bay, if one could call it that, was a tilted platform half-submerged in collapsed scaffolding. The Wraith lowered awkwardly, its right thruster whining in protest as they touched down.

Damien muttered something about "space arthritis" and "retirement plans involving a beach planet and a functioning espresso machine" as he shut the engines down.

The airlock hissed open with a reluctant ka-thunk, revealing a corridor swallowed by darkness. The flickering emergency lights danced across half-scorched Architect emblems.

Elara took the first step, blaster at her hip, hand steady.

"Nova, you’ve got point. Aeron, flank left. Valen, cover the rear. Damien, don’t touch anything that looks like it might scream."

"That was one time," Damien grumbled.

"One screaming wall is one too many," Nova quipped, leading the way with her usual swagger.

The corridor narrowed, the ceiling descending so low that Valen had to duck. The floor was cracked with glowing lines—pulsing like a heartbeat. As they moved deeper, the temperature dropped. Frost kissed the walls, despite no indication of external exposure.

"It’s like this place was locked in a moment and forgotten," Aeron muttered.

Elara agreed silently. The echoes in her head grew louder with every step.

They entered a chamber unlike the rest wider, circular, its ceiling lost in shadow. A raised platform glowed faintly in the center. As Elara stepped forward, the floor beneath them shifted. Symbols flared to life. The walls became projection screens, displaying distorted flashes of her own memories—as if the Fifth Seed had been watching through her eyes all along.

There was her first rebellion. Her mother’s death. The night she burned the Architect files and chose resistance over survival. And... the first time she kissed Aeron, under firelight and desperation.

"Oh good," Valen muttered. "Now we’re doing therapy via psychic slideshow."

"You’re welcome to look away," Aeron replied coolly.

"I was. It didn’t help."

Elara closed her eyes against the images but they didn’t stop. A new one appeared. A memory she didn’t remember. A version of her, standing beside Kael. Smiling.

Nova raised a brow. "Uh, is that you playing happy family with Captain Trauma?"

A flicker of genuine fear danced across Elara’s face.

"I never lived that moment," she whispered. "That’s not me—that’s one of the versions they designed."

"You mean one that didn’t rebel?" Damien asked, brow furrowed.

"No," Elara said. "One that *didn’t know it was supposed to."

A door opened at the far end of the chamber. No noise. No resistance. Just the quiet hiss of welcome.

They followed it down a twisting stairwell of living steel—metal that shifted underfoot as if breathing. The air grew warmer, denser, filled with a low, rhythmic hum.

They emerged into a sanctum.

In its center floated a crystalline core, suspended in a beam of golden light. The Fifth Seed.

It pulsed once as they approached.

"ELARA-PRIME," a voice echoed from the light. Smooth. Chilling. Too many voices woven into one.

"I didn’t come to merge," Elara said, stepping forward. "I came to end this."

"You are already merging," the voice said. "Every second. Every thought. Every feeling. We are you, and you are us."

The Seed pulsed again.

A tendril of light stretched toward Elara, curling like a question mark.

Before anyone could react, Valen moved.

"Not today," he growled, slicing through the beam with his blade.

A blinding flash erupted—and the chamber shifted.

Suddenly, they were no longer in Helix.

They stood in a replicated version of Elara’s childhood home—except twisted, perfect in symmetry, sterilized of warmth.

"What is this?" Aeron asked.

"A test," Elara said. "The Fifth Seed wants to see which version of me will surface."

One by one, versions of Elara appeared in the room.

The obedient one. The warlord. The scientist. The exile. The traitor. The martyr.

Each spoke in her voice, their words overlapping.

"You can’t carry this alone." "You were always the failure." "You are the only hope." "You were never meant to live."

Elara pressed her hands to her head. "Enough!"

The room froze.

And from the silence came a child’s voice.

"You were kind," it said. "Once."

A small girl stepped forward—seven years old. Elara gasped.

It was her. From before everything.

The girl reached out.

"Be that again. That’s the key."

And in a flash, they were back in Helix.

The Seed was dimmer now, pulsing erratically.

"It doesn’t want to control me," Elara said slowly. "It wants me to remember who I was. Who I still am."

"Then what happens next?" Nova asked.

Elara walked to the Seed.

Laid her palm against the crystal.

And whispered:

"I forgive you."

A pulse of light spread through the room, warm and golden. The walls cracked—not from damage, but release. Architect code unraveling. A prison opening.

The Seed dimmed. Then disintegrated.

Back aboard the Wraith, silence reigned. This time, not from grief—but awe.

Nova was the first to speak. "Okay, that was either the most profound metaphysical liberation I’ve ever witnessed... or you gave a galactic AI a therapy session and a hug."

Elara chuckled. A genuine, surprised laugh.

"Maybe both."

Valen leaned against the bulkhead. "So... no more voices in your head?"

Elara smirked. "Only the usual ones."

Aeron stepped beside her. "You saved it."

"No," she said, looking out into space. "We did."

And for the first time in a long time... she felt whole.