The Central Harmony Hub, though scarred by the Null-Entity's impact, pulsed with life renewed. Fractured light-paths had been re-woven, stronger and more intricate, casting shifting auroras over the gathered Luminarans. Tonight wasn't just a celebration of survival; it was Miryoku's farewell. The air hummed with a bittersweet resonance – gratitude intertwined with sorrow.
A banquet unfolded across platforms of solidified starlight. Food wasn't merely sustenance; it was art. Luminescent fruits burst with flavors that danced on the tongue like captured supernovas. Gelatinous spheres held swirling nebulae of savory broths. Crystal shards dissolved into refreshing, effervescent drinks. Shinji, seated beside Kaito and Miryoku, ate with a passion bordering on reverence. Each bite was a sensory explosion, a stark contrast to the sterile rations of Merus's ship or the charred game of Suchumus. He closed his eyes, the complex flavors triggering a cascade of Earthly memories: his aunt's steaming miso soup, the tangy sweetness of street-corner takoyaki, the comforting warmth of rice. A pang of profound loss shot through him, sharp and sudden, momentarily dimming the ambient light around his seat. He forced it down, focusing on the vibrant present.
"Enjoying the symphony of sustenance, Shinji Kazuhiko?" Kaito asked, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder, though his eyes held warmth as he watched his daughter interact with her friends.
"It's... incredible," Shinji managed, swallowing a mouthful of something that tasted like liquid starlight and cinnamon. "Earth had good food, but this... this is alive."
As the feast progressed and Luminaran musicians wove melodies from pure light, Shinji found himself surrounded by wide-eyed children, drawn by the stranger from beyond the stars. Tina nudged him playfully. "Hey, Outsider! Tell us a story! Something scary! We don't get many scary things here!"
A mischievous glint sparked in Shinji's eyes. Scary? He could do scary. He leaned forward, lowering his voice, the ambient light around him dimming further for dramatic effect. "Alright, little lights. Gather close. Have you ever heard... of the Silent Screamers of the Void?"
He spun a tale dredged from the darkest corners of Yamato's warnings and his own fragmented nightmares: entities born from collapsed stars, creatures of pure entropy that moved faster than thought, draining the warmth and light from entire star systems, leaving only frozen husks and an echoing silence that drove survivors mad. He described their formless shadows, their chilling touch that stopped hearts mid-beat, their relentless, mindless hunger. He punctuated it with sound effects; a sharp hiss for their approach, a low, guttural moan mimicking the death rattle of a planet.
The children were rapt, huddling closer, their own light flickering nervously. One small girl whimpered.
"Shinji!" Kaito's voice boomed, cutting through the narrative. The terrace vibrated slightly. "Enough! You're frightening them! This is a celebration, not a descent into horror!" His brow furrowed, genuine irritation warring with paternal protectiveness.
Shinji blinked, the dark aura dissipating. He saw the genuine fear on the children's faces and instantly regretted it. "Sorry," he mumbled, rubbing the back of his neck. "Got carried away. Forgot how... bright everything is here." He offered the whimpering girl an awkward, reassuring smile. "They're probably just stories. Mostly."
Tina, however, was grinning. "That was awesome! Real edge-of-the-singularity stuff!"
Merus, who had been observing the proceedings with serene detachment, rose quietly. "If you'll excuse me, the harmonies of this world are potent. I require a moment to... recalibrate." He glided towards the edge of the terrace, overlooking the newly repaired Prism Falls, their cascades of solidified light shimmering like captured galaxies.
Outside, the air was cool and crisp, carrying the faint, sweet scent of Luminaran night-blooms and the ozone tang of residual energy from the battle. Merus leaned against a railing of pure energy, gazing not at the falls, but into the infinite tapestry of stars beyond Luminara's protective atmosphere. The joyous resonance behind him felt distant, muffled. Shinji's terrifying story, though ill-timed, held a kernel of truth about the darkness they sailed towards. *Saganbo. Amado. The Monarchs. That One Monarch.* The names echoed in the silent chambers of his ancient mind. Luminara was a sanctuary, a brief pause in a symphony of chaos. Where next? Universe 6 offered distance, but Amado's reach was near-omniscient. Shinji's exponential growth was their greatest asset and their biggest beacon. He needed allies, power, and a strategy deeper than flight. Merus's cerulean fingers tightened on the railing. *Protection. Guidance. How much longer can I truly offer either? * The weight of his diminished power, compared to Saganbo, felt heavier than a neutron star.
Inside, the festivities began to wind down. Miryoku found Tina sitting on a secluded bench woven from moonlight, gazing at the stars with uncharacteristic pensiveness. Miryoku sat beside her, the soft hum of her presence a comforting counterpoint.
"You're really going, huh?" Tina asked, her voice smaller than usual. She didn't look at Miryoku.
"Yes," Miryoku replied softly. "The silence Shinji and Lord Merus fight... it threatens more than Luminara. It threatens the song everywhere."
Tina finally turned, her orange eyes bright with unshed tears. "It's just... who's gonna call me an idiot when I try to jump the Stellar Stream backwards? Or help me fix my cannon back home when I overload it... again?"
Miryoku smiled, a gentle warmth radiating from her. "Wess will. And Father will grumble, but he'll show you. And you'll figure it out yourself, Tina. You always do. You're the bravest spark I know." She reached out, her hand hovering just above Tina's bandaged chest, channeling a soft pulse of soothing turquoise light. "Protect this place. Protect its song. Make it louder, brighter. For me."
Tina sniffed, wiping her eyes roughly. "Yeah, yeah. Don't get all mushy, Miryoku. Just... kick some serious ass out there. And come back. With stories that make Shinji's dumb screamers sound like lullabies."
Miryoku laughed, the sound like chimes catching the wind. "I promise." She leaned forward, pressing her forehead gently against Tina's. "Resonate strong, Tina."
"You too, Miryoku," Tina whispered. "Go sing where it's needed most."
Dawn painted Luminara in hues of liquid gold and rose quartz. The entire population of the Central Hub, it seemed, had gathered on the main landing spire. Light-paths pulsed with farewell messages. Kaito stood tall, his expression stern but his eyes holding a depth of pride and sorrow. Tina stood beside him, trying for bravado but failing, tears glistening like captured starlight on her cheeks. Wess, still pale but standing firm, offered a shy, determined nod.
Merus's ship, the Stardust Weaver, hovered nearby. It had undergone subtle modifications; smoother lines, integrated Luminaran crystalline structures enhancing its sensor baffling, shimmering faintly with borrowed light.
Shinji, Merus, and Miryoku stood at the base of the boarding ramp. Miryoku turned, facing her people, her family, her home. She raised a hand, not in a wave, but in a gesture of benediction. Light streamed from her fingertips, weaving a complex, ephemeral symbol in the air; the sigil of the Central Hub, intertwined with new strands of pure, resonant hope. It hung there, pulsing softly, a promise and a memory. Her smile outshone the rising sun. "Resonate strong!" she called out, her voice carrying clear and bright across the spire.
A thousand voices echoed back, a wave of sound and light: "RESONATE STRONG!"
Then, she turned, her smile softening into a look of pure, unadulterated wonder as she boarded the Stardust Weaver. Shinji and Merus followed.
The ship lifted off, silent and smooth. Through the main viewport, Miryoku pressed her hands against the crystal, watching Luminara shrink below; the glittering continents, the aurora oceans, the Prism Falls like a tear of light on the planet's face. Tears welled in her violet eyes, not of sadness, but of overwhelming awe.
"We're... really in space," she breathed, her voice trembling with excitement. "It's... it's so much bigger than the sensors showed! Look at the nebula over there! Is that the Veridian Weave Merus mentioned? The colors! And that star cluster; are those binary systems? How close are they? Does their gravitational pull affect nearby asteroid fields? How fast are we traveling relative to the galactic core? What's that faint pulsing signal on the long-range scanner? Is it natural or artificial?"
The questions tumbled out, rapid-fire, her eyes darting from one celestial wonder to the next. Shinji, seated beside her at the co-pilot's station (a position Merus had tacitly ceded), found himself grinning. Her enthusiasm was infectious, a stark contrast to the grim solitude of his journey with Merus or the brutal survival with Yamato.
"That's the Weave, yeah," Shinji answered, pointing. "Merus had to purge some nasty sentient pollen there carrying Amado's lies. Those binaries? They're locked in a pretty tight dance; their gravity does whip asteroids around like crazy sometimes. Our speed? Uh..." He glanced at the readouts. "Point-seven-five light for now. Merus can push it way faster, but it gets... messy for non-gods." He launched into explanations about FTL limitations, sensor ghosts, and the chaotic beauty of gravitationally bound systems, his tone relaxed, almost casual. He found himself mimicking Yamato's dry delivery occasionally, earning an intrigued blink from Miryoku.
Merus, piloting from the central console, watched the exchange. Shinji was animated, engaged, patiently explaining cosmic mechanics in a way he never had with the God of Creation. A faint, unfamiliar pang resonated within Merus. Was it... loneliness? Or merely observation? He realized his interactions with Shinji had been defined by urgency, danger, and profound revelations. He spoke of multiversal constants, divine conflicts, and existential threats. He hadn't simply... chatted. Seen the wonder. *Have I become too distant? Too 'god-like' and boring?* The thought was strangely unsettling. He cleared his non-existent throat. "The pulsing signal is likely a pulsar in the Omicron sector. A natural lighthouse. Quite harmless... usually."
Miryoku beamed at him. "Thank you, Lord Merus!! It's beautiful!" Her genuine appreciation softened the god's internal contemplation as he told her to drop the 'Lord'.
Their first stop, dictated by Merus's navigation to avoid known Saganbo patrols, was a barren rock designated PX-7 in the Zeta Draconis system. As the Weaver settled on the dusty plain, sensor alarms blared. Figures emerged from camouflaged bunkers; tall, hairless humanoids with grey, leathery skin and eyes like polished obsidian. They moved with unsettling synchronicity, raising weapons that hummed with concentrated sonic energy.
"Hostiles," Merus stated calmly. "Planetary defense force. Xenophobic isolationists."
Before Merus could formulate a divine-level response, Shinji and Miryoku were already moving. Shinji blurred, Voidheart speed turning him into a streak of motion. He disarmed the first two with precise nerve strikes, the sonic rifles clattering harmlessly to the ground. Miryoku didn't attack. She raised her hands, weaving strands of resonant light. She didn't harm; she entangled. Solid-light bonds snapped around limbs, not cutting, but firmly restraining, humming with a frequency that induced temporary muscular paralysis. Within thirty seconds, the dozen bald defenders were disarmed and immobilized, blinking in confusion amidst a web of harmless, glowing energy.
Miryoku frowned, tilting her head as she observed them. "That was... abrupt. Father briefed me on the propaganda against Shinji and you, Lord Merus. But I thought... I thought it might take time to spread, or meet resistance. They attacked without even a challenge. Like automatons."
Shinji dusted off his hands, looking at the incapacitated figures without malice. "Amado's good," he said, his voice grim. "Scary good. His lies aren't just spreading; they're being implanted. Twisting perceptions, seeding fear. He's painting me as 'Chaos Incarnate,' a multiversal nightmare. Merus is probably cast as my corrupting patron or something equally dramatic." He turned to Miryoku, his expression serious. "It's not just random hostility. It's a coordinated smear campaign. Saganbo wants me isolated, hunted, with nowhere to run. Every planet could be a potential battleground, or a trap. That's the 'situation' you signed up for."
Miryoku absorbed this, the wonder in her eyes hardening into resolve. The light-bonds holding the bald defenders pulsed softly. "Then we must shine brighter," she stated simply.
Their next destination, Planet Gerodine (Galaxy 23, Planet 92), offered a jarring contrast. It was a world of towering, elegant spires crafted from a gleaming, self-repairing bio-metallic alloy. Sky-lanes thrummed with sleek, silent vehicles. Holographic advertisements flickered in multiple languages, showcasing advanced tech, exotic vacations, and complex financial instruments. Civilization, advanced and utterly indifferent.
The Weaver landed in a designated public port without incident. No alarms, no welcoming committee, no armed guards. Pedestrians flowed around their ship like water around a stone, barely sparing them a glance. The air buzzed with conversation, commerce, and the low thrum of powerful machinery, but it lacked warmth, lacked resonance. It was efficient, polished, and profoundly apathetic.
"Civilized," Merus remarked, his tone unreadable. "And conveniently anonymous."
They disembarked, blending into the stream of humanoid and alien pedestrians. Gerodine's inhabitants were diverse; insectoid diplomats in iridescent chitin, mammalian traders in tailored force-fields, crystalline beings refracting the city lights. All moved with purpose, their faces neutral, their interactions transactional. The architecture was stunning; organic curves fused with geometric precision, buildings that seemed to breathe, parks filled with genetically sculpted flora that changed color based on atmospheric pressure. Yet, the beauty felt sterile.
Shinji's Danger Sense, finely tuned after Yamato's training and countless battles, prickled faintly at the base of his skull. Not the sharp, screaming warning of imminent death, but the low-grade buzz of constant, distant observation. Like a hundred hidden cameras tracking their path. He kept his expression neutral, but his senses stretched outwards, scanning the crowd, the buildings, the very air. *Watched. But not threatened. Yet.*
They explored a bustling market district. Vendors sold exotic delicacies from a hundred worlds, cutting-edge nano-tech, and holographic art installations that shifted based on the viewer's biometrics. Miryoku was fascinated by the technology but visibly disturbed by the emotional flatness. "It's like... everyone is wearing a mask tuned to 'neutral'," she whispered to Shinji. "Where is the harmony? The individual song?"
Shinji nodded, picking up a seemingly inert crystal that projected a complex star chart into his palm when touched. "Efficient. Cold. Good place to hide, maybe. Or to be watched." He replaced the crystal, his Danger Sense humming a fraction louder.
They turned a corner into a quieter, cleaner plaza dominated by a towering sculpture of interlocking silver rings that slowly rotated in a complex, gravity-defying dance. The faint prickling intensified, localized now. Shinji stopped, his gaze sweeping the upper balconies of the surrounding spires. "Something's—"
THOOMF!
It wasn't a sound so much as a pressure wave. A blur of motion, compact and incredibly dense, slammed into Shinji's chest with the force of a meteorite. It didn't pierce; it impacted, driving the air from his lungs and hurling him backwards off his feet. He crashed through a low ornamental hedge, skidding across the polished bio-metal floor of the plaza. His head snapped back, cracking against the ground.
Dazed. The world swam. His Voidheart-enhanced durability had absorbed the kinetic force; no broken bones, no internal bleeding; but the sheer surprise and the jolt to his brain stem left him momentarily disoriented. He pushed himself up onto his elbows, shaking his head to clear the ringing.
He looked up just in time to see the "projectile"; a figure; already descending from a short hover above him. Not flying, but propelled by some unseen mechanism in the soles of sleek, grey boots. The figure wore dark, form-fitting, utilitarian pants and a similarly dark, high-collared tunic. Over this, however, was a stark white, impeccably tailored lab coat. Most striking were the gloves; the right hand encased in a complex mechanical apparatus of polished brass and dark energy-conductive polymers, currently retracting small thrusters; the left covered by a simple, dark grey smart-fabric glove. Goggles with multiple, layered lenses, currently pushed up onto a mess of short, unruly black hair, framed sharp, intelligent brown eyes that assessed Shinji with unnerving calm. The face was youthful, perhaps sixteen standard years, but held an unnerving maturity.
Before Shinji could fully rise, the figure landed lightly, the mechanical glove whirring as it shifted configuration. Not a weapon this time, but a flat, palm-sized emitter. It struck Shinji squarely on the forehead with a soft click. Not a physical blow, but a wave of disorienting energy pulsed through the contact point.
Dizziness. Intense, nauseating dizziness washed over Shinji, far stronger than the initial impact. His vision blurred, his limbs felt leaden. He saw Merus and Miryoku rushing towards him, their movements suddenly sluggish, their expressions shifting to confusion and disorientation. Miryoku stumbled, looking down with dismay at a faint, greyish smudge now marring the pristine rose-gold fabric of her jacket sleeve.
The young attacker stepped back, observing the trio's disoriented state with a detached curiosity. He chuckled, a dry, humorless sound. "Precision timing and localized atmospheric saturation. I calculated your probable path based on observed exploratory patterns and implanted the immediate vicinity with an odorless, fast-acting neural calmant keyed to higher metabolic and spiritual signatures. Simple bio-engineering, really. Effective, though."
Shinji fought the fog, forcing his head up. His regeneration was already combating the chemical intrusion, but it took effort. "Smart," he gritted out, his voice thick. *A Trascender's weakness... chemical incapacitation, sensory overload... things that bypass raw power. Damn.*
The young man tilted his head, his gaze shifting to Merus, who was visibly straining against the disorientation, cerulean energy flickering erratically around him. "And you," the youth stated, his intelligent eyes narrowing slightly behind the lenses. "Your energy signature... it resonates on a fundamentally different frequency. Divine. Or adjacent. My 'Takarimophia' confirms it. An inherent sensitivity. Fascinating."
Merus, his voice strained but retaining its authority, managed, "Takarimophia? Explain. How is such perception possible in a mortal?"
The youth tapped a device on his left wrist. A soft chime sounded, and the last vestiges of dizziness vanished completely. Miryoku gasped, steadying herself and frowning pointedly at the faint grey smudge now marring the pristine rose-gold sleeve of her jacket.
The youth looked at her, his sharp brown eyes behind the layered-lens goggles losing a fraction of their detached calculation. A flicker of something almost like awkwardness crossed his features. "Right. Sorry about... the residue. And the disorientation. It biodegrades fast. Wasn't meant to be messy." His voice, while still calm, sounded younger, more natural.
He retracted the complex mechanisms of his right glove until it resembled sophisticated, multi-jointed brass knuckles. "Look," he began, his tone shifting towards something approaching conversational, though still observant. "The plan was just to check you out. That 'Evil of The Cosmos' story the blue guy; Amado, right?; is pushing? It didn't add up. Too many holes. Too much... noise."
He gestured vaguely at Shinji. "His broadcasts paint you, Shinji Kazuhiko, as this rabid destroyer. But the details leaked; the bits about Earth, about your family getting killed by Kokuto... the way you reacted?" Kuro shook his head slightly. "Doesn't track. Someone consumed by cosmic chaos doesn't bury their aunt and sister. Doesn't risk themselves saving a senior from thugs back on Earth. That screams 'grief' and 'rage,' not 'cosmic annihilation.' Made me suspicious Amado was spinning things."
Kuro glanced at Merus, his gaze sharpening slightly. "And you... your energy feels old. Different. Divine, maybe? My Takarimophia; it's just this thing I have, lets me sense weird energy frequencies; pinged hard on you. Reminded me of..." He paused, seeming to search for the right term. "...stories. Old stories from my planet. We used to worship one, way back. Called him the God of Heroism. That's all I know, really. Just a name from childhood tales. But your energy... it resonated on a similar, kinda... legendary frequency." He watched Merus closely, purely analytical.
Merus went utterly still. Not a flinch, but a profound, sudden stillness, as if time itself had skipped a beat around him. The ancient cerulean eyes, usually pools of calm, flickered with something deep and unreadable; a millennia-old dread and pain surfacing for a fraction of a second before being ruthlessly suppressed. His knuckles, resting lightly on his thigh, whitened almost imperceptibly. "I see," he stated, his voice perfectly level, yet somehow colder than the void outside.
Miryoku was still trying to brush the smudge off her sleeve, her expression decidedly unamused. "You could have just asked," she muttered, eyeing Kuro with suspicion. "And how do you even know all that stuff about Shinji-san's family? Were you spying?"
Kuro shrugged, seemingly oblivious to the storm he'd just stirred in Merus. "Amado's broadcasts are everywhere if you know how to listen past the noise. He uses specifics; names, locations, events; to make his lies sound credible. Mentions 'the Kazuhiko massacre' by 'the rogue agent Kokuto' as proof of your destructive nature, Kazuhiko. He spins it, sure, but the core facts were there to piece together." He tapped his temple. "Analyst. It's what I do. Connect dots."
Shinji, though the immediate urge to punch had subsided with Merus's intervention and Kuro's shift in tone, still vibrated with irritation. He didn't like this guy. The ambush, the violation, the casual dissection of his deepest trauma. "Yeah, asking works," Shinji snapped, forcing his spiritual aura down completely but letting his annoyance show. "Who the hell are you? And jumping someone with gas and a flying tackle isn't exactly standard 'hello' procedure, genius."
Kuro met Shinji's glare, not backing down but not provoking either. He straightened his stark white lab coat, the brass knuckles on his right hand glinting under Gerodine's lights. "Okay, okay, point taken. Maybe the approach was... a bit much. Sorry." The apology sounded genuine, if slightly begrudging. He offered a small, casual nod. "Name's Okugami Kuro. I poke things. Figure stuff out. Mostly work solo." He gestured vaguely at Shinji and Merus. "You guys? You're a big deal. A really weird, complicated big deal that throws all the usual rules out the window. The blue guy's story stinks, and whatever's really going on with you," his eyes fixed on Shinji, "and your connection," he nodded towards Merus, still radiating that unnerving stillness, "especially to whatever that 'Heroism' echo was about... that's the kind of complicated I find interesting. Wanted to see for myself."
The game had changed, and a new, unpredictable piece was now on the board.