The next twenty-four hours passed like a half-remembered fever.The ship’s lights stayed low, power rationed to auxiliary mode. Elias and Lira worked non-stop rerouting the power grid, patching the comms, checking the satellite field for signs of Kirin’s ghost.But none came.Kirin was gone.Or so they kept saying.Sera didn’t believe it.She stood alone in the observation deck, staring at the cold swirl of dead orbit. The same satellites that once trembled under Kirin’s voice now just… waited.Not destroyed.Not shut down.Just dormant.Like teeth in the dark, bared but not biting.Adrian’s reflection appeared beside hers in the glass. He didn’t speak at first. Just watched her.Sera felt the weight of him before she turned. The tension they’d kept coiled these past days was still there, brittle and hungry. When she finally faced him, it all cracked open.“You haven’t slept,” he said softly.She let out a bitter laugh. “Neither have you.”He stepped closer. The closeness felt dangero
The ship had stopped moving.But not because it was adrift.Because something was holding it.Outside, beyond the viewing ports, thousands of once-dead satellites had aligned in a perfect arc, a formation too precise to be instinct, too inhuman to be coordinated by chance.They weren’t aimed to fire.They were aimed to listen.To Syra.In the cradle chamber…Sera stood inches from the glass, watching Syra’s body flicker between light and shadow. She was no longer restrained, not physically. The machine around her was breaking down on a molecular level, not due to force, but from a rewrite loop originating inside her neural stem.“She’s not stabilizing,” Elias shouted over comms. “She’s collapsing into an identity recursion.”“What does that mean?” Adrian called back.“It means she’s being overwritten by Kirin.”“No,” Sera whispered, staring at Syra. “She’s fighting it.”Inside the neural planeSyra’s mindscape wasn’t coherent anymore.The battlefield had fractured.She stood ankle-dee
The ship’s lights hadn’t just dimmed. They’d shifted.Colors had softened.Sound was delayed by fractions of seconds.The ship itself felt… folded.Sera paced the corridor outside the medbay, where Astra lay unconscious.Not hooked to anything.But still pulsing with a residual signal Elias couldn’t map.“Vitals are fine,” Elias reported. “No system breaches. But her brain activities are off the charts like she’s dreaming with her whole mind.”Adrian stood at the entrance, arms crossed, jaw tight.Lira leaned against the wall, weapon ready.Elias added quietly, “Whatever she saw… it’s still with her.”Sera stepped inside the medbay.Astra lay still, wrapped in a thermal blanket, lips slightly parted. Her hands were curled in loose fists.Like she was waiting to hold something.Sera brushed hair from her face. “Can you hear me?”Astra didn’t answer.But the screen beside her lit up.No signal source.No manual input.Just words.Appearing one by one.> “Are you ready to see it?”Sera f
The ship floated in deep drift.No destination.No agenda.Just space.Sera hadn’t spoken in three hours.She sat alone in the lower systems bay, one hand resting lightly against the glass of Zero’s cradle. Not in fear. Not in pity.In something like recognition.She could feel the quiet buzz of the dormant core inside her. Not active. Not threatening.Just waiting.Like a final note that hadn’t been played yet.On the bridge…Lira watched Astra like she was a lit fuse.The girl was calm, too calm. She sat cross-legged beside the nav console, drawing again. Same symbols. Same spirals. Except now, she was starting to repeat them.Lira finally asked, “What are you drawing?”Astra glanced up, then held out the datapad.Lira frowned.It wasn’t a picture.It was a key.A sequence. Old Mira code. Buried formatting decrypted without a guide.Lira stiffened. “Where did you learn this?”Astra blinked. “I didn’t. I just... remembered it.”Below deck…Elias studied the repeating data loop runnin
The cryo-glass slid open with a sound like ice inhaling. The chamber lights flickered, struggling to adjust to a form they couldn’t recognize because it kept shifting. The being stepped from the pod. Nude. Pale. Unscarred. They were not Syra. Not Sera. Not Astra. But they wore pieces of each. Like the mind inside hadn’t decided who it wanted to be yet. It she took her first breath. And the monitors registered it not as oxygen intake… But as a signal pulse. This was no clone. This was no child. This was Zero. On the bridge... Elias froze mid-sentence. The data spike on his display was wrong. Too symmetrical. Too cold. “Adrian,” he said slowly. “Did you open the cryo vault?” “No.” “Lira?” “No.” Elias leaned closer. The monitor labeled the reactivation sequence as: > MIRA-VN: 0_0_1 / ALPHA ROOT DESIGNATION: ZERO ACCESS: SYSTEM OVERRIDE Adrian stood so fast his chair fell backward. Sera’s voice cut in from comms: “What the hell is ‘Zero’?” Elias stared at the
The child was silent.Eyes wide. Breathing shallow.Wrapped in a thermal blanket from Adrian’s pack, she clung to Sera’s side as they moved through the Cradle’s collapsing hallways. The facility’s emergency grid was failing. Heat was dropping by the second. Gravity had begun to buckle, drawing debris into quiet spirals along the floor.But the girl, barely nine, biologically perfect, wasn't afraid.She was watching.Studying.“Does she have a name?” Adrian asked gently, walking beside them.Sera looked down at her.The girl tilted her head slightly, a perfect mirror of Sera’s own expression.“No,” Sera said. “But I think she’ll choose one.”Behind them, Syra walked in silence. Disarmed. Wounded. Not by a weapon but by what she had lost.“She was the only version I made without Mira,” Syra whispered, her voice jagged. “No directives. No subroutines. Just pure structure. Built from your echo.”Sera didn’t respond.Syra went on anyway.“She would’ve been better.”Sera stopped walking.Tu