Ryatt’s PovThe zero on the red interface didn’t flicker. It sat there, a cold, digital tombstone marking the end of my life. My lungs were empty, shriveled like dried fruit against my ribs. The silence of deep space wasn't just a lack of sound; it was a physical weight, pressing against my eardrums until they threatened to burst.*Ryatt… can you hear me?*The voice was thin, a silver thread of sound vibrating deep within my marrow. It was the blue core—the girl. She wasn't speaking with lungs; she was screaming through the link we shared."I can't... breathe," I tried to say. My jaw moved, but the vacuum swallowed the vibrations before they could become sound.*Please don’t go!* she sobbed, her voice echoing in the hollow chambers of my mind. *I can feel it. I can feel your heart slowing down. It’s so cold where you are. Ryatt, please! I can feel you dying across the dark!*"I’m sorry," I thought, hoping the connection would carry the sentiment.My chest suddenly spasmed. A notificati

Ryatt’s povI stared at the twenty-six faces reflecting my own, my breath hitching in my throat. The sheer scale of the deception made the air in the sanctum feel heavy, like I was drowning in the weight of my own past lives."You told me you were the harvester," I said, my voice shaking as I turned toward the glowing walls of the Guardian. "You told me the Abyss was the end. But you didn't eat them. You didn't recycle them. Why are they here?""Consumption is a crude interpretation of my function," the Guardian’s voice resonated, vibrating through the floor beneath my boots. "I am the vessel of preservation. I have been gathering every failed version of you that died in the cold dark of the Abyss. I healed their shattered vessels. I mended the fractures in their spirits. I have kept them in dormancy, waiting.""Waiting for what?" I demanded. I slammed my fist against the glass of the nearest pod. The Ryatt inside didn't even flinch. "Another failure to add to the shelf?""No," the Gu

Ryatt’s povI blinked against a sterile, fluorescent glare that stung my eyes. I wasn't in the cold vacuum of space, and I wasn't surrounded by the twenty-seven versions of my own face. The clones were gone. The Eye was gone. I was lying on a bed with crisp, white sheets that smelled of bleach and industrial detergent. I sat up, my head spinning, and looked down at my chest. The chaotic mess of multiple cores—the jagged fragments I’d ripped from the dead—had vanished. In their place sat a single, pulsing white core embedded beneath my skin. It didn't throb with the violent hunger of the old ones; it felt warm, like a hearth. I pressed my palm against it. Faintly, beneath the white glow, a thin blue thread pulsed. "She’s still there," I whispered, my voice sounding raspy and strange in the quiet room. "Mira?"A chime rang out, soft and melodic, unlike the harsh, grinding gears of the old system. A translucent window floated into view, shimmering with a gentle pearlescent light.[Wor

Ryatt’s povThe heat shimmered off the asphalt of the main road, a hazy distortion that made the small town look like it was melting. I stood at the edge of the junkyard, my hands shoved deep into the pockets of my grease-stained coveralls. Something was different today. The air felt heavy, charged with a static I hadn't felt since I woke up in this "peaceful" reality.Then I saw her.A girl, no older than fifteen, trudged down the center of the road. She wore a tattered hoodie and jeans covered in the dust of a long journey. Her hair was a matted mess, and she moved with a limp that spoke of miles she shouldn't have been able to walk. But it was her face—younger than I remembered, softer, yet carrying eyes that had seen the end of all things."Mira?" I whispered, my voice cracking.She stopped. Her head snapped up, her eyes locking onto mine. There was no blue core glowing in her chest, no supernatural aura radiating from her skin. She looked like a normal, exhausted kid. "Ryatt?" s