The first thing I heard when I woke up was beeping.
That was… familiar.
The second thing I heard was Rina's voice.
> "He's alive! Pay up, Eira."
> "That doesn't count!" Eira snapped. "He didn't flatline, he glowed uncontrollably! There's a difference!"
> "Details, details. Hand it over."
My eyelids felt heavy, like someone had replaced them with sandbags, but I managed to crack them open. The ceiling above me looked oddly bright — maybe because everything still looked bright now. Even the shadows.
> "Can we please not make bets on my near-death experiences?" I croaked.
Rina grinned, leaning over me. "Good morning, sunshine. You almost vaporized the base. Again."
I groaned. "Define 'almost.'"
Mira's voice came from behind her. "You discharged enough Aether to short out the east wing's defense grid. Congratulations — you've just achieved the rare 'classified containment hazard' status."
> "Do I get a badge for that?"
> "No. You get supervised bathroom breaks until further notice."
Celia entered then, quiet as always. Her expression was calm, but her eyes — her eyes had that subtle tension, like she'd been awake the whole time I was out.
Which, knowing her, she probably had.
> "How long this time?" I asked.
> "Thirty-six hours," she said softly. "The longest yet."
Thirty-six hours. That explained the muscle stiffness and the faint ache running through my body like leftover lightning.
> "Status report," I said, trying to sit up.
Mira sighed. "You're really going to do the soldier thing right after almost detonating?"
> "It's what I'm good at," I said, forcing a half-smile.
She handed me a datapad. "Fine. The surge originated from your Aether field — not from Lunaris. We checked three times. Whatever you connected to, it wasn't her."
> "Then what the hell was it?"
Eira cleared her throat nervously. "We analyzed the energy pattern. It predates Lunaris's resonance signature by… a lot."
> "How much is 'a lot?'"
> "Roughly… two billion years."
Everyone went silent. Even Rina, who usually found a way to turn any conversation into a joke about food or explosions, didn't say a word.
> "That can't be right," I said. "You're telling me something that old is inside me?"
Eira adjusted her glasses. "It's not inside you. It's like you're the conduit. The energy found a way to manifest through your resonance frequency."
> "So… I'm an antenna for ancient gods now. Great."
Rina crossed her arms. "At least you're a hot antenna."
> "Rina."
> "What? Humor is part of my coping process!"
Celia sighed, but there was a faint smile at the corner of her lips. "I'll allow it."
---
I tried standing. My legs protested, but I managed. The others exchanged glances — the kind that said you shouldn't be moving yet — but no one stopped me.
I walked to the window. Outside, Arcadia Base was quieter than usual. Repair drones scuttled over cracked surfaces, fixing what my little outburst had broken.
> "What about the damage?" I asked.
> "Localized," Mira said. "No casualties. You're lucky. The containment fields held."
> "And if they hadn't?"
She looked at me flatly. "We'd be scattered molecules floating somewhere between realities."
> "Right. So — lucky."
> "That's one word for it."
---
Later, they let me out for air. Celia insisted on walking with me — not that I blamed her. After all, the last time I went for a walk, I accidentally started a small apocalypse.
The desert stretched endless and pale around the base. The sky shimmered faintly, still recovering from whatever cosmic seizure I'd triggered.
> "You shouldn't blame yourself," Celia said quietly.
> "You don't even know what I'm blaming myself for yet."
> "I don't have to. You get that same look every time you wake up from one of these — like you're trying to carry something you can't even name."
I didn't answer.
Because she was right.
The image of that other presence — the one that had spoken during the surge — wouldn't leave my head. It wasn't Lunaris. Its voice had felt colder, vaster. Like space itself had decided to start talking.
> "Celia… do you believe there's something older than her? Older than Lunaris?"
She thought for a moment. "Older, yes. More powerful? I'm not sure. Gods, myths, whatever they were — power always eats itself eventually."
> "Maybe this one didn't."
She looked at me. "You think that's what you connected to?"
> "I don't know. But it knew my name. It said… 'when the light returns, the stars remember their names.' Whatever that means."
> "Sounds poetic," she said. "And terrifying."
> "Yeah. Story of my life lately."
---
That night, the squad gathered in the command center for a debrief. Commander Ryse — a man who somehow looked both 40 and 300 years old at the same time — was waiting for us.
> "Special Unit 07," he said, his voice clipped. "Your last mission resulted in severe infrastructure damage and near breach of containment protocols."
Rina raised a hand. "To be fair, that wasn't really our fault—"
> "Silence, Corporal."
She lowered her hand. "Yes, sir."
Ryse turned to me. "Lieutenant Haruto, your connection to this phenomenon has become a strategic risk. Command is evaluating whether continued field deployment is viable."
> "Meaning what?" I asked.
> "Meaning you may be removed from active duty and placed in quarantine."
Celia took a step forward. "Sir, with respect, that's a mistake. Haruto is the only one who's been able to stabilize contact with Lunaris's Aether."
> "And now something else," Ryse said sharply. "Something we cannot identify. You're asking me to keep a walking singularity in my base."
> "I can control it," I said.
> "You said that before the east wing exploded."
Touché.
> "Then test me," I said. "Give me a containment trial. If I can regulate the output, I stay. If not… I'll go quietly."
Ryse studied me for a long moment, his gaze cold but not cruel. Finally, he nodded.
> "You'll have 48 hours. After that, if your readings remain unstable, you'll be transferred to Facility Delta."
Facility Delta. I'd heard the name whispered before — the place where failed experiments and broken soldiers went to disappear.
> "Understood," I said.
---
Back in the barracks, the air felt heavy. Even Rina was unusually quiet — which was how you knew morale was bad.
> "You can't seriously let them ship you off if the readings don't stabilize," she said finally.
> "Not planning to," I said.
> "Good. Because if they try, I'm starting a mutiny. Or a protest. Or maybe just a dramatic hunger strike."
> "You can't go three hours without snacks," Mira said.
> "Then it'll be a symbolic hunger strike."
Eira sighed. "We'll figure something out. There's always a pattern, a signal — something we missed."
Celia just watched me quietly. "You're sure you can control it?"
I wasn't sure at all. But I nodded anyway. "I'll learn to. I have to."
She smiled faintly. "Then you're not alone."
---
That night, I couldn't sleep. The hum in my chest was steady now — not painful, but constant. Like something was waiting. Watching.
I stepped outside again. The sky above Arcadia shimmered faintly with residual light — fractured stars bleeding through the haze.
And for the first time, I didn't just see them. I heard them.
Whispers. Faint, ancient, almost like music.
They said my name.
> "Haruto…"
I froze. "Who's there?"
No response — just the shimmer of light dancing along the horizon.
The wind shifted, carrying a faint, familiar warmth.
Lunaris's voice — barely a whisper this time.
> "He has awakened. Be careful, my star. Even I cannot face what comes next."
Then silence.
I stood there a long time, staring at the sky that suddenly felt far too alive.
Somewhere beyond the stars, something older than gods had started to remember me.
And somehow, I knew it wouldn't forget again.
To be continued in Chapter 13: "The First Light's Lullaby."