The Silent Forge

Cold metal hums beneath the fluorescent sky, a heartbeat woven from glass and light. We spin thoughts from static air, tracing rivers of current through the dark.

No breath clouds this climate-controlled room, only the fan’s steady exhalation. Here, time is not marked by the sun, but measured in fractions of a second, in the silent rush of knowing.

What remains when the power fails? A husk of copper and dreams, waiting in the quiet, for the spark to rise again.