One moment, Scarlett was in the cold, white medbay, strapping herself into a very complicated and very scary-looking chair. The next, she was somewhere else entirely.

She was standing in a forest. But it was a forest unlike any she had ever seen. The trees were massive, their bark glowing with a soft, golden light.

The leaves above her were a canopy of shimmering, rainbow-colored light, and the air itself hummed with a beautiful, living song. It was the mindscape of the World-Tree. It was the inside of Ryan's soul.

It was the most beautiful and peaceful place she had ever been. And it was under attack.

In the distance, she could see a creeping patch of gray. It was like a disease, spreading slowly from tree to tree. Where the grayness touched, the golden bark of the trees turned dull and lifeless.

The shimmering leaves turned to brittle, gray ash. The beautiful, living song of the forest was being replaced by a flat, monotonous, and deeply unsettling silence.

Scarlett felt a surge of pure, primal rage. This was her home. This was his home. And someone was trespassing.

"Okay," she muttered, her non-existent hands clenching into non-existent fists. "Time to take out the trash."

She marched toward the spreading patch of gray. As she got closer, a figure emerged from the silent, decaying part of the forest. It was the Silent Minister.

She stood there, perfectly calm, a serene and elegant figure in her dark, light-absorbing robes. She looked like a perfectly sculpted statue of a librarian who was about to tell you off for talking too loud.

The Minister saw Scarlett approach, and a small, faintly amused smile touched her lips.

Ah, the Minister's voice echoed in the mindscape, a sound as smooth and cold as polished stone. The chaotic variable. The first one's emotional pet. I should have known he would call for you.

Scarlett came to a stop a few feet away from her. This wasn't a physical place, so they didn't have real bodies. They were avatars, pure representations of who they were at their core.

The Minister was an avatar of her core concept: serene, elegant, ordered stillness. She was perfect, calm, and utterly motionless.

Scarlett, on the other hand, was a being of pure, messy, chaotic life. Her avatar wasn't a still statue. It was a flickering, fiery form of a warrior, energy crackling around her like a miniature lightning storm. She looked like she was about to start a fight in a library, and enjoy every second of it.

Their duel was not going to be one of swords or guns. It was going to be a battle of ideas, a fight between two completely opposite ways of being. And the prize was the soul of a god.

"Get out of his head," Scarlett growled, her mental voice a low, dangerous snarl.

Why would I leave? the Minister replied, her calm utterly unshaken. This place is so… noisy. So full of struggle. It yearns for peace. I am simply giving it what it wants. I am giving him a gift.

"He doesn't want your gift," Scarlett shot back. "He likes the noise. We like the noise."

You think you do, the Minister said, taking a slow, graceful step forward. But you are just tired. Your love is a struggle. Your loyalty is a burden. Your life is a constant, exhausting fight. Wouldn't you like to rest?

As she spoke, a wave of calming energy washed over Scarlett. It was a deeply tempting feeling. It was the feeling of a warm bed on a cold morning, the feeling of wanting to hit the snooze button just one more time. Scarlett's fiery, crackling avatar dimmed for a moment. The thought of just… stopping… was surprisingly nice.

She felt her anger begin to fade, replaced by a sense of calm acceptance. Maybe the Minister was right. Maybe peace was better than fighting.

But then, a new feeling entered the fight. It was a warm, steady presence from deep within the forest. It was Ryan.

He was still trapped in his own battle, trying to control the massive flow of energy from the Forge. He couldn't help Scarlett fight her battle directly. But he could feel her presence here, in his soul, and it was the most wonderful, most welcome feeling in the universe. He was the engine in this fight, and she had just shown up to be the guardian.

With Scarlett now protecting his inner world, a huge weight was lifted from his mind. He could finally stop fighting on two fronts. He could now focus all of his immense will on his one, crucial job: regulating the power of the Forge.

He poured his concentration into that task, but he kept a part of his consciousness connected to Scarlett. He couldn't give her weapons or power, but he could give her his love, his faith, his unwavering belief in her. He wrapped that feeling around her like a warm, protective blanket.

Scarlett felt his presence, his absolute trust in her. And it was like a bucket of cold water being thrown on her. The tempting feeling of sleepiness vanished, replaced by her usual fiery determination.

"Nice try," she said to the Minister, her avatar flaring back to its full, crackling brightness. "But I'm more of a coffee person."

The Minister's serene smile faltered for just a fraction of a second. She had not expected such resistance.

Very well, she said, her voice a little colder now. If you will not accept the gift of peace, then I will simply have to show you the futility of your struggle.

The real duel began.

The Minister didn't throw punches. She threw ideas. She sent a wave of pure, logical despair at Scarlett. A vision filled Scarlett's mind: she saw herself, a thousand years from now, still fighting, still struggling, but now old and tired, her fire turned to embers. She saw that all battles eventually end in loss or death.

Scarlett countered not with logic, but with pure, stubborn feeling. She answered the vision of a lonely end with the memory of Ryan's hand in hers. It was a feeling of connection, a silent promise that even if they lost, they would lose together. And that made it okay.

The Minister sent another wave, this one of pure apathy. She showed Scarlett a universe where nothing she did mattered, where all her victories were just tiny, insignificant ripples in a vast, uncaring ocean.

Scarlett answered with the memory of her friends laughing on the bridge of the "Odyssey." It was a small, silly moment. It didn't change the universe. But it mattered to them. And that was enough.

They were perfectly matched. The Minister's cold, elegant logic was a powerful weapon. But Scarlett's messy, chaotic, and deeply emotional feelings were an unbreakable shield.

But the Minister was smart. And she was patient. She realized she couldn't break Scarlett's will head-on. So, she began to change tactics. She started to slowly, subtly win.

Her calming influence, her quiet whispers of peace and rest, began to seep into the very air of the mindscape. The living song of the forest grew a little quieter. The golden light of the trees grew a little dimmer. She wasn't attacking Scarlett anymore. She was pacifying the entire battlefield.

Scarlett began to feel tired again, a deep weariness in her very soul. Her fiery avatar was flickering, the crackling energy around her weakening. She was still fighting, but she was losing steam. The Minister's calm was a slow, gentle poison, and it was working.

Outside, in the real world, the consequences were starting to show.

On the "Odyssey," Zara was watching the energy readings from Ryan's bracelet, her face pale with worry.

"The energy flowing through the channel is becoming corrupted," she said to Emma, her voice tight. "It's losing its 'life' signature. It's turning… quiet."

At the god Core, Regent Vorlag also felt the change. The beautiful, life-giving energy it was receiving was turning into something cold and gray.

"The procedure is failing," Vorlag's voice announced to the leaders of the Bastion Alliance. "The energy is becoming conceptually toxic. If this continues, I will be forced to shut down the channel to protect the Primary Weaver."

"How long do we have?" Emma asked, her voice trembling.

There was a pause. "Based on the current rate of decay," Vorlag said, its voice a flat, logical death sentence. "You have ninety-three seconds."

Ninety-three seconds before Vorlag had to shut it all down. Ninety-three seconds before the prison crack would be left unsealed. Ninety-three seconds before the Silent Minister, deep in the heart of Ryan's soul, would win.

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