The hall of Corona Borealis remained trapped in that eerie, suffocating "freeze-frame." Shattered steel plates, suspended dust, even droplets of blood that had burst into the air—all seemed embedded in an invisible amber, frozen so utterly that it made the heart quail. Yet within this deathly still physical space, an intangible "frequency" was growing ever clearer, ever more alive—like the breathing of some unseen colossus drawing closer.
"...It's responding to us. Not just mimicking—it's... adapting."Wang Jing's voice was dry and hoarse, his eyes fixed on the data streams scrolling across the fractured screen. They were no longer random noise. With terrifying speed they had become ordered, aligning with the faint pulse of the Cradle's surviving signal, as if attempting to speak the same language.
"This isn't simple simulation..." Elaina's voice trembled, not only with fear but with the scientist's shock at something beyond imagination. "It's learning... It's trying to construct something we can understand—a 'language'!"
Her words made the already thin air feel heavier, pressing down on every chest like lead.
Zero Station.The monitors on the medical pod chirped frantically. Su Xiaolan's body convulsed, sweat beading across her pale forehead. Her brainwave curve spiked violently, but this was not chaotic collapse. It was being forced into sync with the frequency pulsing from the distant rift.
"Commander! Her brainwaves... they're being forcibly synchronized! The rift is treating her as its primary channel!" The technician's voice cracked with panic.Lu Xingze turned sharply, his face ashen. He understood—Su Xiaolan had become the most direct, fragile bridge between two worlds. Every chaotic fragment from the grey tide would now pour through her mind, filtered and translated by her.
And then, a voice came—not through ears, but branded into the core of every consciousness present. Ethereal, broken, laced with static—yet heartbreakingly clear. It was like an echo from the depths of the soul:
"...Cold... so cold...""...Someone's crying... not just one...""...I can't find... the way...""...Not... the enemy... why... are we the enemy...?"
Corona Borealis Hall.Faces blanched in unison. Sieg's massive muscles bunched, his ruined rifle groaning in his white-knuckled grip. From deep in his chest came a growl: "Damn it... this is a mental attack! It's trying to break us!"
"Silence!" Li Chenyuan's voice cut through the storm like a blade of ice—cold, unwavering. "Listen closely. That isn't rage. It isn't hunger. This is the first time... it's trying to express pain."
Every survivor held their breath. Even their heartbeats seemed to falter.
On the surface of the suspended grey tide, the matter shifted, coalesced, and began forming shapes. They weren't monstrous. They were broken, distorted faces—men, women, children—frozen forever in agony. Their lips opened and closed without sound, as though desperately mouthing a single shared word.
Elaina clapped both hands over her mouth, tears welling. "They... their mouths... it looks like they're repeating... 'Home'?"
Wang Jing stiffened as though struck by lightning. He lunged back to the interface, his trembling fingers flying. "It's a sequence! A repeating, layered emotional pulse!" His eyes burned with manic light, voice low and fervent. "They're not just wailing. They're calling! With the last of their strength—they're calling!"
Zero Station.Su Xiaolan's agony deepened. Her body arched, convulsing under the sheer weight of the intrusion. Her disembodied voice echoed sharper now, laced with unbearable sorrow:
"...Why...?""...Why... create us... then abandon us...?""...It hurts... it's so lonely..."
The grief was not her own. It was an ocean crashing into every survivor's heart—raw, abandoned anguish amassed over millennia. One engineer collapsed to his knees, unable to withstand the deluge of collective despair.
"Enough! Cut it off! This will drive everyone mad!" Sieg roared, throwing his enormous frame in front of the trembling engineer, as though his body alone could shield against the psychic flood.
But Li Chenyuan did not move. His face was pale, but his eyes were carved from stone. "No! Keep recording! Every second! This is the first time we're not hearing its roar—we're hearing its pain!"
Chapter End SuspenseAt that instant, the colossal grey tide convulsed violently.
A sound—low beyond hearing, primal—did not travel through air but vibrated in every bone, every tooth, every heart.
All heads snapped upward. On the immense grey mass, the countless faces warped and fused into one enormous visage—blurred, indistinct, yet crushingly sorrowful. Its "mouth" opened—not physically, but as a gathering of energy.
And then, one word thundered into every soul, as if tolling the bell of final judgment:
—"Whyyy...?"
The hall plunged into a silence more terrifying than death itself.
And in that silence, all knew: an unpredictable, irreversible dialogue—had begun.