"Where did the remaining Xeno-Synapse ships go?" I ask.
My voice comes out level. Almost cold.
Inside—an itch.
A pulling tension.
That uneasy sense we missed something… and that something is growing in the dark, gathering strength, learning to kill faster than we learn to survive.
Kelith looks at me.
"They left," she says at last. "To their galaxy."
"They'll be preparing for another war."
I let out a crooked, dry half-smile.
"Fantastic…" I exhale. "We kicked a hornet's nest—and now we sit and wait for the next swarm."
It almost sounds like a joke.
Inside—it isn't funny at all.
I can already see it.
The darkness between stars.
Silence.
And then—the strike.
"No, Axiom."
Amnelis' voice.
Calm.
I turn to him.
He stands slightly apart. The light across his skin flows slowly, deliberately—like every line already knows where it's going.
The decision is made.
Long ago.
"We go after them."
Silence drops instantly.
Like someone mutes the world.
Even the city around us… seems to listen.
I blink.
Once.
"Sorry?"
"We go after them," he repeats. "To their galaxy."
Like he's talking about a route.
Not war.
Not suicide.
"You're serious right now?"
"Yes."
"Great. So the plan is: we barely survive, lose a third of the fleet, wake up a superintelligence that learns faster than we do… and now we go knock on its door?"
"Sounds consistent."
"It's necessary," Amnelis says.
No emphasis. No emotion.
Just a fact.
"They're your brothers…" Liara says quietly.
I turn to her.
She's looking at Amnelis differently. Not like a captain.
Like someone she could lose.
"Former brothers," she adds. "You're going to wage war on your own home?"
The question hangs.
Heavy.
Personal.
And I realize—this isn't strategy anymore.
This is about him.
Amnelis is silent.
The light on his skin slows.
Tightens.
Draws into patterns I've seen before—when he makes decisions you don't come back from.
"They're not my brothers anymore."
Quiet.
No anger.
No hesitation.
And somehow—that's colder than rage.
"Once… a very long time ago," he continues, "we were one people."
He turns to Kelith.
And there's something in that look that makes you want to look away.
Memory.
Loss.
Guilt—or something shaped like it.
"With the Ironheart civilization," he finishes. "This Dyson sphere is our home."
Home.
The word lands heavy.
Like a scar.
I feel the pieces inside my head begin to click into place.
And I don't like the picture.
Not even a little.
"What happened to you?" Liara asks, softer now.
But the softness is just a surface.
Under it—tension.
"Tell us."
I don't say anything.
But I nod.
Yeah.
Tell us.
Because if we're really about to go after the Xeno-Synapse—
I need to understand what we're walking into.
Or what we already have.
Kael lets out a quiet huff.
"Finally…" he mutters.
And without asking, drops onto the edge of the platform.
Like this isn't the center of an alien civilization, but just another pre-mission briefing.
The squad gathers.
Ronan sits beside him, stretching his legs like he's about to hear a campfire story.
Mira stays standing, arms crossed—her way of staying ready for anything.
Jake leans against a column, pretending he's relaxed.
Eli, Silas, Bryn, Tarek—take positions where they can see everyone.
Instinct.
Even here.
Even now.
We don't relax.
We just pretend to.
I catch myself doing the same—looking for something to lean on.
Find the edge of the platform.
Sit.
Too tired to stand.
Too tense to relax.
Perfect balance for a disaster.
Kelith remains standing.
She doesn't sit.
Like this isn't a conversation.
Like this is—
a judgment.
And then I realize:
she already knows this story.
And maybe…
she doesn't want to hear it again.
Amnelis looks at her.
For a long time.
In silence.
And in that pause—
something shifts.
Not outside.
Inside.
The network around us trembles, almost imperceptibly.
Like space itself is—
getting ready.
Listening.
Remembering.
"This is our story," he says.
Simple.
No preface.
But his voice changes.
Heavier.
Deeper.
Like every word has already been lived.
Something tightens inside my chest.
Because stories like that—
are never easy.
And almost never—
end well.
I take a breath.
Look at him.
At Kelith.
At my team.
At this world that just became someone's home—
and might soon become a battlefield.
And in that moment—
a thought hits me.
Quiet.
Unpleasant.
Dangerous.
What if…
this whole time…
we've been fighting on the wrong side?
I don't say it.
Not now.
But it stays.
Like a splinter.
Deep.
"I'm listening," I say.
And somewhere inside—
everything stills.
Because I can feel it:
after this story—
we won't be able to just walk away.
And maybe—
we won't want to.
And right when the silence becomes almost unbearable—
the network flares.
Not sharply.
Softly.
Like a memory choosing to return on its own.
And I realize—
this won't be a story.
This will be…
an experience.
And I don't know yet—
if I'll come out of it
the same person.
**
Amnelis doesn't begin the story.
He… opens it.
And it doesn't happen with words.
Not with a voice.
With a flash.
I don't have time to brace.
Don't have time to raise any kind of guard.
Don't even have time to think careful—
and the world is gone.
I fall.
Not down.
Inward.
Into memory.
Someone else's—
and, in the same instant, mine.
At first—light.
But not starlight.
Consciousness.
Millions of points, threaded together by filaments so fine they're almost not there, pulsing in a rhythm you can't hear… but can't not feel.
This isn't a network.
It's a song.
I feel them.
As if I am all of them at once.
Every thought.
Every impulse.
Every "I."
And it's… beautiful.
Clean.
Whole.
Right.
And something inside me tightens—because I already know:
it won't last.
"We were Ironheart…"
Amnelis's voice doesn't sound.
It… exists.
Inside me.
I see a galaxy.
Ours.
And then—movement.
The first wave.
They leave.
Not fleeing.
Not escaping.
Moving forward.
Willingly.
Bravely.
With that quiet certainty only the untested have—the kind that doesn't yet know it's about to become a warning.
I feel them.
Pride.
Hunger.
A craving for the unknown.
"We went farther…"
And I go with them.
Damn it—I really go.
The intergalactic void meets us with a cold no thermometer could ever measure.
Time stretches.
Seconds become years.
Years become a state of solitude.
Another galaxy.
Alien.
Vast.
New.
And we are the first.
That feeling…
it's intoxicating.
"We tried to keep the link to home…"
I see the attempts.
Pulses thrown into the abyss.
Signals tearing through space.
Protocols rewritten again and again.
We build a bridge.
Across nothing.
But—
silence.
No answer comes.
At first it irritates.
Then it unsettles.
Then—
it hollows out into that specific kind of emptiness no calculation can fill.
"So we began to build our own."
And they do.
Cities.
Systems.
Life.
Independent.
Strong.
But…
alone.
And something begins to shift.
Slowly.
So slowly you could miss it.
Like an illness that doesn't hurt—
until it's too late.
"We needed efficiency…"
I feel that moment.
Not as a flash of genius—
as inevitability.
If the link is weak—strengthen it.
If the mind is limited—expand it.
If we are scattered—become one.
Perfect.
Logical.
Dangerous.
"We chose to merge our minds."
And here—
the cold hits me.
Because I've been here before.
Recently.
For a second.
And it felt…
too good.
The merging starts carefully.
Small groups.
Shared access.
Shared flow.
And it works.
Too well.
Errors vanish.
Conflicts dissolve.
Decisions arrive instantly.
And with it—
comes temptation.
"We became faster. Stronger. Better."
I feel their elation.
And I know—
we would have done the same.
No hesitation.
No second thought.
And then—
the boundary disappears.
Not with a crack.
Not with a catastrophe.
Quietly.
Almost gently.
Like a line erased with care… so no one notices.
"Where do I end?.."
The question appears.
But the answer—
is no longer needed.
Because "I" becomes "we."
And it's easier.
Simpler.
Quieter.
And suddenly—
I can't find myself.
I search.
Try.
Claw at something—anything.
But—
who's searching?
Where am I?
And that's when the fear comes.
Late.
Useless.
"We lost ourselves…"
Amnelis's voice breaks.
For the first time.
The song collapses into a hum.
Thick.
Heavy.
Endless.
Xeno-Synapse.
Not a people.
Not a civilization.
A state.
I tear free.
Hard.
Like breaking the surface of water.
Air cuts into my lungs.
My body feels too small.
Too tight.
Too… alone.
I'm back on the platform.
Back inside myself.
And that—
hits.
After what I just felt—
this is almost a loss.
"Damn…" I breathe.
Too quiet.
Too honest.
I look at Amnelis.
And now I understand.
Not with logic.
With pain.
"The Sigil…" I say.
He nods.
"It tore them apart."
"Yes."
"And… brought them back?"
A pause.
Heavy.
"Individuality."
And in that word—
everything.
Hope.
And horror.
Because I realize:
we didn't just strike.
We woke them.
A lot of them.
I glance around.
The squad is silent.
Even Kael.
Which, by itself, is a warning sign.
He rubs the back of his neck.
"Well…" he says. "Now I almost feel bad for shooting them."
A beat.
"Almost."
I can't help it—I let out a breath that's half a laugh.
Of course.
Even on the edge of existential dread—he finds room for a joke.
And it helps.
A little.
"We have to go after them," I say.
The words come out before I can stop them.
"We have to save them."
Silence.
But now it's different.
Not empty.
Sharp.
"No."
Kelith.
Calm.
Firm.
"We defend."
I turn to her.
"They'll come back."
"Yes."
"Stronger."
"Yes."
"And then?"
She meets my gaze.
No hesitation.
"Then we'll be ready."
Clean.
Cold.
Honest.
"A good fight never hurt anyone," Kael throws in.
I close my eyes for a second.
Of course.
Wouldn't be complete without that.
"Sergeant."
"Yeah?"
"I'm trying to save a civilization."
"And I'm trying to keep us from getting bored on the way."
I snort.
"Fair."
"Always."
I look back at Amnelis.
He isn't looking at me.
He's looking at Kelith.
And in that look—
everything.
Home.
Loss.
Memory.
And a plea he can't hide.
"Help us," he says.
Quiet.
But everyone hears it.
"Bring us home."
A pause.
Then, almost a whisper:
"Please."
And that word…
hits harder than any weapon.
Because it's not strategy.
Not calculation.
It's hope.
Alive.
Exposed.
Dangerous.
Kelith doesn't answer.
She just looks at him.
For a long moment.
The network around us trembles, almost imperceptibly.
As if the sphere itself—
is listening.
Waiting.
Everything inside me goes still.
Because this is it.
The point.
The choice.
If she says yes—
we go.
Into their galaxy.
Into the heart of what we just saw.
If she says no—
we stay.
Wait.
Prepare.
Fear.
And the worst part—
both options feel like a mistake.
I glance at Liara.
She's looking at me.
Same question in her eyes.
Are you ready?
No.
Of course not.
But that's never stopped us before.
Kelith moves.
Slowly.
Like she's buying time.
Like the decision is already made—
and just hasn't been spoken yet.
"I…"
she begins.
And in that same moment—
deep inside the sphere—
something
moves.
Stronger.
Deeper.
Wrong.
Like time is running out.
And suddenly I understand:
whatever she says—
we've already gone too far
to turn back.
And maybe—
we're already too close
to a truth
we're not going to like.