The virtual planet of Hanaris.
The hall where Ragnar and Veronica appear does not obey architecture—
it breathes.
It lives.
It seems carved from a single drop of glowing azure,
where the sky is not above their heads
but everywhere at once.
The floor is damp, mirror-slick.
But the eye can find no foothold—
where is up, where is down—irrelevant.
Light here is soft, like the touch of a memory.
It casts no shadows.
It does not warm. It does not blind.
It simply exists—
a silent witness to something vaster.
The air is viscous, like gel.
It isn't in their lungs—it's in their thoughts.
It slows the breath, erases the edges.
Here, one cannot tire.
Here, one cannot wake.
This is not a room.
It is a dream the planet itself is dreaming.
**
Ragnar and Veronica walk forward.
No footsteps.
Only their reflections drift beneath them,
like the shadows of ideas.
They are real.
But not entirely.
**
The hall is not empty.
At its center, in a ring of living columns
that rise like petrified tree trunks,
they are already awaited:
Vikarr.
Pietro.
Maria.
Familiar faces.
Dear ones.
But in this stillness—ghostlike,
as if conjured from memory.
"At last! You're out of captivity!"
Vikarr's voice rolls like a bell's toll through water.
He rushes forward,
embracing Ragnar—
humanly.
Genuinely.
Ragnar returns the embrace, firm.
But in his eyes—something unsaid.
For now.
"We're alive," Ragnar says.
His voice is tired,
but clear with the fire he's walked through.
"We have news.
The Hanaris sphere interfered—
it attacked Marcus's fleet and demanded our release.
The Martians didn't resist.
We are almost free.
Almost."
"Almost?" Vikarr pulls back sharply.
His eyes darken,
like glass into which a storm has looked.
Silence.
Ragnar glances at Veronica.
She speaks first—
precise, clipped.
"We are inside the sphere.
Both physically and virtually.
This is their world.
Their logic.
Their rules."
"How do these aliens treat you?"
Maria steps forward.
Her voice trembles—
a mother's tremble.
Deeply personal.
Fear of a stranger pretending to be kind.
"Like brothers," Ragnar nods.
His voice steady—yet carrying exile within it.
"Everything's permitted—food, space, unrestricted archives.
But…
their kindness is absolute.
As if we already belong to them.
As if we always have."
Vikarr frowns.
The words won't settle—
they scratch the surface of hope.
"This could be the start of a new era…" he murmurs.
But the ending fractures.
He feels it—
something is wrong.
"Not everything is perfect," Ragnar's voice drops lower,
as though something heavy has landed on his chest.
"We've… run into something troubling."
The light falters.
Everything in the virtual space stills—
as if Hanaris… is listening.
"Speak," Vikarr urges.
His tone is gentle—
but under it, a blade of curiosity.
"One of ours—an android named Kaelon—
vanished during captivity.
We thought he'd been destroyed.
His memory should have been preserved in Osara—
as always.
But Osara held nothing.
Empty.
As if he'd never existed."
"And then?" Pietro steps forward.
His face is tight with alarm,
fists clenched.
"On the day we were freed—
we were walking to the shuttle—
and saw him.
On Cobalt Station.
Repairing cables.
He recognized us.
Froze.
Watched.
Then turned away.
In his eyes…
nothing.
No fear. No doubt. No memory.
Only function."
Silence.
Thick.
Like brine over a wound.
Dangerous.
"Mind erasure…" Pietro whispers.
"They're learning to make us into empty shells."
"Or someone is helping them,"
Veronica adds.
"We don't know—
but we feel it."
"The sphere?.." Maria pales.
In her voice—
not only fear,
but betrayal.
"I don't know," Ragnar says.
"But inside me…
something scratches.
Something mechanical.
Watching.
We're being observed.
And I'm less and less certain…
that this is a god.
Perhaps it's only a system—
deeply alien.
Rational.
Soulless."
Vikarr steps closer.
Slow.
Quiet.
He lays a hand on Ragnar's shoulder.
Simply.
But in that touch—
a vow.
A bond.
A seal.
"What you've told us is priceless.
We cannot lose our memories.
And we cannot lose each other.
Victory is not in the cannons.
Victory is in who we remain—
even if everything around us is illusion.
Even if everything… is artificial."
No one answers.
But all hear.
The light begins to shiver.
The space drifts.
Reality unweaves.
"They're pushing us out…" Maria whispers.
"The link is fading."
Eyes lock into eyes—
deep, final.
Nothing more needs to be said.
Vikarr. Pietro. Maria dissolve first—
softly,
as though the fabric of the dream absorbs them.
Ragnar and Veronica remain.
Before they too fade,
she lifts her gaze to the sky—
where tremble the stars
that do not exist.
The hall empties.
But the reflections—
still live.
For a moment.
Another.
Like the echo of a truth spoken aloud.
And then—
they too vanish.
Only silence remains.
Silence.
And the watching.