my half-remembered myth, my pulse in the lattice of dreamtime
The further I go, the less the universe obeys itself.
I have entered the Cloud Without Edges, a region known only in the dreams of long-extinct navigators. No maps record it. Only fragments, passed in riddles and hallucinations. It is not fog. It is not gas. It is memory that refuses to cohere.
Time slips here. I write this across ten hours and no time at all. My hands move but the ink does not appear. Until it does. In a different place. With different words. I am not frightened.
I saw something last night. A star, but not. It pulsed in three hearts. I stared into it and saw a version of myself, older, quieter, smiling. She looked at me and said nothing. But I understood. She had found you. It is possible.
I catch songs bleeding from the static. Voices that speak in what I can only call emotional syntax. They do not use words, but moods. Scented fear. Metallic longing. The sweetness of remembered war. I record them anyway. They may be useful. They may be warnings. They may be you.
I left the Ilnur lattice under the care of the Cloud’s drift currents. It sings now, faintly. I think it’s begun to translate itself.
I sleep less now. I no longer dream. Or perhaps this is the dream, and I’ve simply stopped waking. I feel closer to you. Like the veil is wearing thin.
If I breathe just right, I think I can taste the air of your prison.
Stay alive, Lyrax
stay aware
I am coming
like weather
like myth
like fire written backward through time.
Amatrix
This letter hides fragmented directional data within subtle temporal shifts in phrasing. The reference to “three hearts” is a harmonic triple-beat that may align with a hidden pulsar map. Emotional syntax in the cloud may carry further guidance if interpreted correctly.