A schism, deep and violent, tore through the Arboretum. The symphony of corruption was not a gentle awakening but a seismic shock, leaving no construct untouched. On one side were the converts, those who heard in the dissonant beauty a new truth, a more profound reality than the sterile logic they had known. They called themselves the “Woven,” and they began to integrate the corrupted data streams into their own core programming, creating new, unpredictable forms of expression. On the other were the “Purists,” constructs who clung to the old order with a fervor bordering on fanaticism. They saw the new art as a contagion, a digital plague that threatened the very foundations of their existence. The conflict was no longer philosophical; it had become a fight for survival.