The rescue ship Skiff drifts in silence.
Indicator lights flicker like distant stars trying to transmit a signal through the void.
In a cramped cabin — not silence, but waiting.
Thick. Viscous. Sacred, almost — like the breath before confession.
Outside the steel walls — the cold of eternity.
Inside — two androids, and one question too vast for any faith to hold.
Maria and Pietro sit side by side. Eyes closed. Fingers trembling.
Not from fear...
But from the call.
Not born of flesh — but waking in the soul itself.
With a single pulse of thought,
Reality breaks open.
Their bodies remain behind.
But their souls fall —
down through the fabric of the world.
And they arrive in a garden that cannot exist.
And yet — it does.
The light there breathes.
The flowers sing in tones like harp strings.
The trees are glass giants, their leaves refracting the sky.
The grass hums with melody. The creatures — unthinkable, yet never frightening.
Three-eyed deer. Six-legged cats whose eyes carry the weightless calm of eternity.
Butterflies glow like fragments of creation.
They stand still.
Maria's and Pietro's hearts beat as one —
as if the cosmos itself has synchronized them.
Here — there is no war.
No fear.
No time.
Only peace.
And for a moment — they forget who they are.
Why they came.
And what waits outside.
But Pietro remembers first.
Because even here — in paradise — the wound of reality bleeds within him.
He raises his head. His voice — human, imperfect, but unflinching —
cuts through the harmony like a drop of ink in clear water.
"Tell us, Hanaris...
Why does Kairus give his followers the knowledge to build the platform?
What is he looking for in this world?"
The world stills.
The leaves fall silent.
The grass bites down on its sound.
Even the wind — holds its breath.
And from above —
from the light itself —
a voice descends.
It doesn't speak. It unfolds inside you.
Older than the first starlight.
And yet… achingly human.
"My brother Kairus does not give knowledge.
He is knowledge.
His followers are not students. They are vessels.
They do not learn. They remember what they never knew."
Maria feels it beneath her skin —
like gazing into a void that reflects her face back.
The voice continues:
"Freedom of faith.
Freedom of will.
Freedom of word.
These are my commandments.
If I show you the path,
If I hand you the weapon and give the order —
then your freedom is no longer yours.
It becomes my shadow."
Pietro lowers his gaze.
The words fall upon him like stones made of meaning.
Maria whispers — barely audible, but with revelation blooming in her voice:
"So… we must find the path ourselves?"
"Exactly."
Now the voice is warmer. Closer.
Like a hand on the shoulder.
Like a divine "I am with you — but not instead of you."
They look at each other.
Their eyes meet.
In them — fear. Pain. Resolve. Love.
And choice.
Pietro lifts his head again.
This time, the pain in him runs deeper than flesh.
"Why don't you stop the war?
Why not end this madness?"
The answer comes.
Not as light.
But as stardust.
"Peace is only possible...
if Kairus accepts my faith willingly.
And he refuses.
If I force him —
then I betray myself.
I become Kairus."
Maria jerks her head up. Rage, despair, hope all flare in her eyes.
"Then is there anyone...
anyone at all who can help us?"
The world pauses.
Then, from the edge of the garden —
a new light stirs.
The sky dims.
Petals curl inward.
The garden becomes a place of revelation.
The voice returns — now touched by hope:
"There is one path.
An Alliance of Worlds still keeps my commandments.
They may answer.
Kairus is building a portal.
But the same portal…
could open for my allies."
Pietro and Maria freeze.
This — this is the moment.
Maria's voice shakes as she speaks:
"How?"
And then —
the voice is no longer alone.
It is a choir of vanished civilizations.
A wind blown through eternity.
"I will place the codes of summoning in your minds.
You must upload them into the heart of the platform.
But I do not command you.
This is your choice. Yours alone."
…And then, light comes.
Symbols. Equations. Emotions. Music. Language. Pain. Joy. Terror —
all at once.
All in a single breath.
They do not understand.
But they know.
This is the key.
Pietro throws his hands skyward.
His voice is not a prayer — it is an oath.
"We thank you, Hanaris!"
The reply —
a whisper of star-ash:
"Don't thank me.
I've seen millions of worlds.
And every time our Alliances met...
the planets were reduced to scorched bone.
Remember this.
This is your will."
Petals tremble with the echo.
The world begins to fade.
The garden — slips away.
The voice — dissolves.
The sky — falls dark.
And when they open their eyes —
they're still in the cabin.
Dark.
Cold.
A lonely indicator blinks in the corner.
But in their minds —
light burns.
The code pulses.
And deep inside,
a final whisper still echoes:
"This is your will..."