Livius ignored the warning. He walked to the center of the room, his eyes glowing with a dual-light that was becoming increasingly unified. He saw the "Threads" now—the black, parasitic wires the Federation had used to bind the Silver survivors to the machine. It was a crude, mechanical version of the "Bond-Chains" he had seen in the Steppes.
"I spent seventeen years in a room made of dust," Livius said, his voice echoing through the gallery, waking the faint, flickering consciousness of the prisoners. "I know the sound of a silent scream. And I know the way to stop it."
He didn't use a spell. He didn't use a blade. He reached out and grabbed the rotating brass sphere with both hands. The machine screeched, blue lightning arcing across his skin, trying to "delete" the intrusion. Livius didn't fight the electricity; he absorbed it. He used his Golden fire to burn through the "Logic-Gates" of the machine and his Silver frost to stabilize the souls of the prisoners.
He was becoming a literal bridge of mana, a conduit through which the stolen life-force could flow back to its rightful owners. His skin began to crack, gold and silver light leaking from the fissures.
"Master, stop! Your vessel can't take the pressure!" Raven screamed, moving to pull him away, but Cian held her back.
"He's not just breaking the machine, Raven," Cian said, his eyes wide with a mix of terror and awe. "He's 'Re-writing' the survivors. He's using his own blood-memory to patch the holes in their souls. He's... he's giving them back their names."
With a final, deafening roar of light, the brass sphere shattered. The glass cylinders cracked, and the "Mana-Hollows" fell to the floor, gasping as the first breath of true air hit their lungs. The high-pitched whine of the Federation's sensors died out, replaced by the soft, rhythmic breathing of a hundred reborn people.
Livius fell to his knees, his hair completely white for a fleeting second before returning to its black luster. He was exhausted, his mana-pool nearly empty, but as a young Silver child crawled toward him and touched his hand, he felt a warmth that no throne could ever provide.
"We... we have to go," Livius wheezed, looking at Cian. "The moment that machine broke, Sophia felt it. The Aegis Shield is down. She'll send the 'Aether-Dreadnoughts' to reclaim her 'assets.'"
Cian looked at the survivors, then at the shattered machinery. "Let them come. I've already recorded the serial numbers on these tanks. By morning, the 'Council of the People' will have pictures of this gallery. We won't fight the Federation with magic, Livius. we'll fight them with the one thing their 'Logic' can't survive: the truth of their crimes."
Livius stood, leaning on Cian's shoulder. He looked at the Silver survivors—his kin, his responsibility. "The Ghost is finished hiding, Cian. Tell the Federation... if they want their 'processing units' back, they'll have to come and take them from the King."
As they began the evacuation of the Tenth Gallery, the sky above the Northern Mines was filled with the distant, thrumming sound of Federation engines. The war of "Magic vs. Science" had just moved from a summit to a slaughter-zone, and the Ghost was ready to show the world that some things simply cannot be calculated.