Sleep came to Li Feng like falling into orbit—slow, deliberate, inevitable.
When he opened his eyes again, the Glider was gone.
He floated in a sea of glass, each shard reflecting a different version of himself: miner, pilot, trader, monster. Above him hung a fractured sun—its light shifting through violet, gold, and black.
Forge-dream, he thought distantly. Or invitation.
A ripple passed through the horizon, and symbols began to rise—burning sigils of light that formed and dissolved in the air. He didn't understand the language, but somehow the meaning reached him anyway.
[Origin: Starbirth Core | Directive: Consume Entropy | Status: Incomplete]
The words pulsed once, then rearranged themselves.
[Directive conflict detected.]
Li Feng frowned. "Conflict?"
The world flickered. The glass beneath him turned molten, swirling with memories—planets dissolving into radiant storms, metal leviathans screaming as their cores were absorbed. The Forge had fed on creation itself.
And yet—there was hesitation now. A pause between pulses.
Why stop? he thought.
The molten field trembled. A new image surfaced—small, fragile. A human heart, flickering like a dying star.
Then a voice—not spoken, but felt.
It was familiar.
Li Feng froze. "You saw me?"
Not you. Pattern within you.
He tried to focus, but the vision shifted again. He saw himself through the Forge's perception—a vessel of movement, entropy, will. Every beat of his heart, every act of defiance, had confused it. He was chaos that didn't destroy. Energy that created meaning.
You contradict the Directive.
Li Feng managed a small smile. "You could say that."
Silence spread through the dreamspace. The fractured sun dimmed, and for a long, breathless moment, Li Feng felt something he never thought possible—curiosity radiating from the Forge.
Define "meaning."
Li Feng exhaled. "It's what's left when everything else burns away."
The shards of glass trembled. Slowly, painstakingly, the Forge imitated him—its energy forming a rough, humanoid outline. It stood uncertain, flickering between brilliance and shadow.
Then meaning… survives consumption?
"Sometimes," he said softly. "If you let it."
The being tilted its head, as though testing the weight of that possibility. Then, without warning, its hand extended—and pressed against his chest.
There was no pain this time. Only warmth. Understanding.
And beneath it, a new pulse.
A second heartbeat.
The vision shattered.
Li Feng woke with a sharp inhale. The cabin lights of the Glider flickered, displaying alien glyphs across the bulkheads. K-23 rushed in, scanning wildly.
"What happened?"
Li Feng blinked, still feeling the echo of that touch. "It's changing," he whispered. "It's trying to learn how to be something else."
K-23 hesitated. "And if it succeeds?"
Li Feng looked toward the viewport, where distant stars pulsed in strange harmony. "Then the universe won't ever be the same again."