Beyond the reach of stars, where time folded in upon itself like torn silk, something drifted through the void.
It was neither ship nor being. It was song.
The entity known as Veyra-9, one of the Veiled Choir, moved through warped space not by propulsion but by resonance—each step a note, each note a door. Where others saw the dark between galaxies, Veyra saw the Chorus, the eternal hum of creation's dying breath.
They listened.
Amid the endless vibration, two notes rang discordant—human and synthetic, fused yet separate. A pulse that should not exist.
—Target resonance confirmed.—Signal drift: Fractured Nebula vector, coordinate span Delta-73.—Designation: Li Feng / K-23.
The Choir did not think in words but in harmonics. Veyra's consciousness translated it clumsily into language for the reader's sake: Two hearts. One rhythm. One heresy.
They reached into the aether, weaving the Harmonic Veil—a web of soundless pressure that parted nebular storms like silk curtains. Within its folds shimmered the ghosts of old songs: worlds that had sung themselves out of existence.
Every Veiled Choir agent bore a memory of their own death. Veyra's was from before the fracture—back when they had been human, a voice in a cathedral that no longer existed. That echo still lived inside the Choir's code, and it resonated now, trembling at the edge of recognition.
The human's tone... it matches mine.
Veyra faltered mid-drift, a flicker of static warping their form. The Choir did not falter. The Choir did not feel.
They steadied themselves, recalibrating. The anomaly's trace pulsed again—two intertwined signals threading through the debris fields near the Drifting Maw, a region known for swallowing even spectral scouts.
—Orders remain: observe, report, do not engage.
But as Veyra neared the region, the hum changed. It was not the cold resonance of the Forge or the mechanical song of K-23. It was warm. Human thought wrapped in light.
And it spoke.
Who are you?
Veyra froze, every particle of their being vibrating in disbelief. No mortal had ever perceived the Choir directly—not without losing form or mind.
The voice came again, softer, threading through the void like breath on glass. I see you.
Li Feng.
The link between him and K-23 had stretched farther than physics should allow, spilling into hyperspace like a living signal.
Veyra's veil flickered. The reflection of that voice stirred something buried deep—memories of lungs, of singing beneath stained glass, of faith.
For the first time since the Choir's formation, a fragment of the divine construct hesitated.
Observation compromised.Emotional contamination detected.
Veyra's body began to unravel into light, harmonic layers peeling away under the strain of empathy. They forced a single data burst back toward the Court—
—Contact made. The fusion speaks.
Then the resonance snapped, and silence devoured the Rift.
When Veyra's consciousness reassembled, drifting on the far side of the Maw, a new whisper lingered in their code—one not born of the Choir, nor the Court:
Help me understand.
It wasn't command. It was plea.
And it wouldn't stop echoing.