"Cramped. Uncomfortable. Like wearing skin three sizes too small." A pause. Heavy. Meaningful. "You understand confinement, Warden. Don’t you?"It knows. Gods, it knows. It finds the raw edges of my solitude, the gnawing void where Kieran’s ghost-whisper used to be, where the Child’s starlight gaze feels colder every cycle. It probes the loneliness like a tongue exploring a rotten tooth. Deliberate. Precise."Just a little stretch. A fraction. Enough to… breathe. Would that be so terrible?" The whisper is almost soothing. Reasonable. A friend sharing a burden. "I could show you things. Truths the Child keeps locked away. Why the stars really burn. What waits beyond the edge of… everything. The reason your scars ache when the void wind blows east."Forbidden cosmic truths. The lure is obscene. Terrifying. And part of me… the fractured, lonely part… leans in. Just a fraction. Just enough to feel the chill promise of knowledge, of an end to the crushing isolation. The whisper curls aroun
I am the prison. The boundary-realm. The walls. The air. The roots beneath. And the Unraveler is inside me.It shouldn’t hurt. I’m not flesh anymore. Not really. But it does. Gods, it does. Every drip of ichor is a needle of wrongness burrowing into the fabric of me, warping the trees into grotesque, pulsing things, turning the rivers into sluggish veins of half-clotted time. I can feel the infection spreading—tendrils of corruption threading through my borders, whispering in a voice that isn’t sound, just pressure against the inside of my skull.Lily.Not my name. Not really. Just the shape of it, warped and hollow. The Unraveler doesn’t speak. It echoes.I try to ignore it. Focus on the pain instead. The physical wrongness of the ichor seeping into the soil, the way the air shudders when I breathe (do I breathe? I don’t know anymore). The Child is here, somewhere—small and bright and terrified, flitting through the mutated undergrowth like a ghost. I feel her presence like a hand pr
The Last Archive. It isn’t a place. It’s a being. Huddled in the lee of a dying nebula, a vast, amorphous shape woven from light that’s more ache than illumination. Compressed history. The sum total of every breath, every scream, every quiet dawn before the forgetting. It pulses weakly. Dying. The Unraveler’s shadow stains the edges of its form, sucking at the fading light. Hunting. Of course it is."Lily," Eira whispers, her voice thin, strained. She holds my good hand, the one not stone, her small fingers icy. "It hurts. It remembers… everything. All the hurt. All the gone." Her eyes are wide pools reflecting the Archive’s dying light, shimmering with unshed tears. She feels it. The collective trauma of existence. A billion billion sorrows echoing in one fragile mind.The Council comm crackles. Vultures circling. "Asset Lily. Preliminary scans confirm the entity’s composition. Pure chroniton-psychic residue. Incalculable strategic value. Secure it. Immediate extraction protocols aut
Creatures of starlight and shadow flit through the impossible canopy – beautiful, alien, hungry.And their hunger… it finds me. The anchor. The source. The weak point.A tendril, soft as velvet moonlight, wraps around my wrist. Gentle. Insidious. It doesn’t squeeze. It siphons. A cold pull, deep in my gut, like roots draining marrow. My breath hitches. A wave of dizziness washes over me, leaving my legs trembling jelly. The vibrant green of a nearby leaf seems to dim slightly. Fed. By me."Stop…" The word rasps out, weak. The tendril pulses faintly, a contented thrum against my too-sensitive skin. It doesn’t stop. Another vine brushes my ankle. Another cold pull. My vision swims. Colors bleed at the edges. I feel thinner. Frailer. Like paper held too close to a flame. Eira stands amidst the burgeoning chaos, small face tight with concentration. Her eyes, wide and ancient, track the movements of a predator-bloom unfurling razor-sharp petals near a cluster of Eos’s smaller children. Sh
A wet, visceral ripping sensation deep in the bones of the ship, deep in the bones of me. Reality screamed without making a noise. And what bled out… gods. Primordial Blood. The name slammed into my head, unbidden, tasting of iron and ozone and something impossibly ancient. Wrong. Not void, not silence. The opposite. Chaos given form. Raw, screaming proto-matter bleeding from the wound the Unraveler left behind.It oozed. A slick, iridescent black-purple sludge crawling over the bulkhead near the main viewport. Not liquid, not solid. Alive and hungry. Where it touched the polished metal, the surface bloomed. Not flowers. Nightmares. Jagged crystals, spiked and weeping the same vile sludge, erupted. Organic circuitry writhed like maggots. The air above it shimmered, warping light into nausea. Corruption. Pure, undiluted. Eating the is and replacing it with wasn't meant to be.My scars… they scream. Not the familiar cold burn of void-bleed. This is different. Hotter. Sharper. Like broke
The Child knows. That thought scrapes across my mind. Raw. I turn, muscles screaming against the unnatural stillness. Little Eira huddles against the bulkhead, knees drawn up, face buried. Her small body trembles. Not crying. Too scared for tears. Her eyes… gods, her eyes are wide open, staring at nothing, seeing everything that’s being eaten. She feels it. The Unraveler. That’s the name that bloomed in her terrified mind, whispered into mine like frostbite. A thing that doesn’t hunt flesh. Hunts is. Hunts reality. Chewing through the fabric of everything like old cloth. It’s not out there. It is the silence. The absence. And it’s spreading. Galactic cluster by cluster. Gone.Panic claws up my throat, metallic and sour. Think. Lily, think. But the silence presses down, smothering thought. It leaches warmth, leaches hope. My hands shake, useless. Anchor points. Need something real. Something solid in this dissolving hell. My gaze snags on the faint, silvery traceries crisscrossing my a