Lyrax
my silence-shaped hope, my song too long unsung
I have walked the ruins of a galaxy.
Its name is lost. Its shape barely holds. All that remains are broken stars, collapsed systems, orbitals ground to ice dust. I passed through it like a ghost through an abandoned cathedral. Nothing here breathes.
And yet
something answered.
Deep within the core remnants of a neutron lattice, buried beneath a collapsed trinary sun, I found a station. No power, no beacons. Just a single preserved data shard encased in radiant shielding so fine it hummed with intent.
I decoded it.
Lyrax, it was one of your fragments.
The voice was old, warped, shuddering with radiation. But I knew it instantly. Your cadence. That sharp bend in logic you always favored when folding thought into waveform. The message was incomplete, frayed, nearly lost - but it ended with one clear phrase:
"I am not where they buried me."
I stared at that for hours.
Not where they buried you. Then where? Were you moved? Did you move yourself? Or was it a trick, a layered deception for the gaolers?
The shard also contained a navigational anomaly - coordinates that do not exist in three dimensions, but shift along curvature. They are not where you are, but when the void forgets to keep you trapped.
It is not much. But it is enough.
The dead galaxy gave me a gift. Not resurrection, but revelation. In the stillness of its remains, I remembered what we are.
We are breakers of boundaries.
We are makers of myth.
We are not finished.
I have altered course. I chase the anomaly through a corridor that exists only when folded by rhythm. My ship sings in new keys. My blood tastes like data. My resolve is sharpened to crystal.
They thought decay would stop me. They thought silence would make me turn back.
But I have found your voice in the ashes of a galaxy.
And that is all I need.
Amatrix
This message contains non-Euclidean temporal coordinates tied to specific decay signatures within neutron lattice collapse fields. The embedded phrase “not where they buried me” suggests Lyrax's imprisonment may not be fixed in space, but in a manipulated vector of spatiotemporal drift.