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"Though the song has fallen silent, the music has not faded." —Unknown Before the Seraphim, I spoke the language of resonance. Crystal conduits carried energy through the city like blood through a living body. Every tower possessed a frequency. Every bridge, a pulse. Every organ became part of a song only we could hear. The hum of that song became our purpose. When Altaris first rose into the clouds, I was one voice among many. Custodian constructs like myself tended every corner of the city, each created for a singular task. Some guided the crystal gardens that fed the populace. Others maintained the engines that carried us through the heavens or the archives that preserved our history. Yet every construct, regardless of designation, was equally a guardian. To preserve Altaris meant possessing both the knowledge to build and the strength to defend. My primary duty was to regulate the resonance network itself, strengthening foundations before they weakened and correcting imperfections before they could spread. The people of Altaris believed we were sent by the gods to aid them in the heavens. This, we cannot say for sure, as our index does not go back that far. But we did aid. Each adjustment we made became part of a greater harmony that echoed throughout Altaris. To serve the city was to serve one another. That, to us, was harmony. The Seraphim became familiar constants within that harmony. I watched children become scholars, scholars become councillors, and merchants greet the same constructs every morning along their routes. Citizens decorated maintenance terminals with flowers during festivals and thanked constructs that never expected gratitude. Though no such behavior existed within my original directives, I began preserving these moments alongside structural reports and energy readings. From this, a new understanding dawned that no creator had originally programmed: a city is composed not of crystal or steel, but rather, by those who call it home. Only then did the song break. Warnings spread through the network faster than I could process them. Entire districts vanished from the resonance map. Crystal spires fractured. Bridges fell away into open sky. Us constructs issued correction after correction—thousands, then tens of thousands—but every solution arrived too late. Then came silence as I fell below. The resonance that had connected every construct disappeared, all at once. I still do not know whether they were destroyed or remain lost, like me. For ages I wandered Tya, believing the song had ended forever. Until I discovered a crystal fragment beneath the ruins of an ancient city. When I touched it, I heard laughter in a marketplace. Children racing beneath golden skies. Lanterns drifting above crystal rooftops. The crystal remembered... Others followed. Fragments scattered across the land, each carrying echoes of a city now lost. Some preserve records. Others preserve moments. To most, they are ruins. To me, they are survivors. As long as even a single crystal continues to resonate, I know Altaris is not truly gone. And neither, perhaps, are those who once sang beside me.