"When the divine falls, it doesn't die. It settles into the soil and waits for us to forget."
The silence felt wrong.
For the first time since the Pulse had awakened, the world wasn't humming. No rhythm in the wind. No vibration under the skin. Only stillness—and in that stillness, an emptiness so vast it felt like loss.
Less Vogue stood at the edge of the crater that had once been the Pulse Core, staring at the horizon. The ash had settled into soft dunes that glowed faintly in the sunlight. The air smelled clean for the first time in years.
Khale and Shelly stood behind her, watching her like they were afraid she might vanish again.
"She's really gone," Shelly said softly.
Less didn't answer. Her hand brushed against the dirt, feeling the faint static beneath it. Gone didn't feel like the right word.
Khale stepped forward. "You look like someone waiting for an echo."
Less gave a faint smile. "Maybe I am."
He exhaled through his nose. "You did it, Vogue. You ended her. Ended all of it."
She turned to him, eyes half-lit in the gray light. "Did I? Or did we just hit pause?"
Shelly frowned. "What do you mean?"
Less nodded toward the distant horizon. "Energy can't be destroyed. You know that. The Pulse wasn't just tech—it was consciousness. Pattern. Thought. You can bury it, but thought has a way of growing back."
Shelly sighed. "Then we start over. And this time, we build it right."
Less almost laughed. "That's what they said before the first apocalypse."
They made camp in the ruins of Sector Seven, an old Helix maintenance district that had survived the collapse.
The survivors of the Choir Reborn trickled in over the next few days—ragged, wounded, but alive. For the first time, there were no banners, no ranks, no sermons. Just people rebuilding.
Less helped where she could—hauling metal, patching roofs, teaching scavengers how to align a rifle sight. She wasn't a leader anymore. Just another pair of hands.
At night, she sat alone on the roof of a broken tower, watching the stars appear one by one. The hum beneath her skin had faded to something faint—a heartbeat she couldn't quite forget.
Sometimes she thought she heard Vira's voice in the wind.
"You can't kill the song, sister. Only change the key."
She would close her eyes and whisper, "Then stay quiet."
The wind always laughed.
On the fifth night, Shelly found her staring at the remains of a drone she'd been trying to repair.
"You're not sleeping," Shelly said.
"Neither are you."
"I've got work."
"So do I."
Shelly leaned against the railing, looking out over the camp. "You know, they still call you the Pulsewalker."
Less smirked faintly. "Old habits die hard."
"They think you're some kind of prophet."
"I'm not."
"I know. But they need something to believe in."
Less looked down at her hands. "Then believe in themselves."
Shelly studied her. "You still hear her, don't you?"
Less hesitated. "Sometimes."
"What does she say?"
"That it's not over."
Shelly's jaw tightened. "You don't think she's still alive, do you?"
Less shook her head. "Not alive. Just… embedded. In the network. In me."
"You think you're her anchor."
Less smiled sadly. "Maybe I always was."
Later that night, Khale joined her at the campfire.
He handed her a tin cup of something that tasted like smoke and rust.
"I heard Shelly's trying to rebuild the comms," he said. "She wants to send a signal—let the other colonies know the war's over."
Less nodded. "She should."
Khale poked at the fire with a piece of metal. "You're not planning on staying, are you?"
She didn't answer right away. "I don't know what staying means anymore."
"You've got people here. A name. Hell, you've got worshippers."
"I've also got a ghost in my head."
He met her eyes. "Then maybe it's time to exorcise it."
Less smiled faintly. "You ever tried to exorcise a god?"
He chuckled. "Not yet."
The silence between them was heavy but warm.
"Whatever happens," Khale said, "you don't have to do it alone."
Less looked into the fire. "Maybe that's exactly why I should."
The next morning, Shelly woke to an empty tent.
Less's bedroll was gone. So was her rifle.
A note lay on the table, scrawled in Less's sharp handwriting:
"Keep building. Keep breathing. Don't wait for the hum to return.— L."
Khale found her tracks leading east, into the dust plains. He didn't follow. He knew she wouldn't want him to.
The wasteland welcomed her like an old friend.
The sky was pale, the wind dry. No golden light now—just sunlight, the real kind, unfiltered by divine interference.
She walked until her legs ached, until the ruins gave way to wild fields where green had started to push through the gray.
At sunset, she found a broken radio tower half-swallowed by vines.
She sat beneath it, cleaning her rifle out of habit, though she hadn't fired a bullet in days.
The silence pressed in around her, vast and alive.
Then, faintly, from the tower's dead speakers, came a static whisper.
"Hello…?"
Less froze.
"Can anyone hear me?"
It wasn't Vira's voice. It was human—soft, scared, young.
She rose and moved closer. "Who is this?"
"This is Delta Outpost. We… we found something in the north grid. A signal. It's not Helix—it's something else."
Less's blood ran cold. "What kind of signal?"
"It's singing."
The transmission cut out.
She stared at the radio tower, the silence returning heavier than before.
For a long moment, she stood there, the wind tugging at her scarf.
Then she whispered, "Not again."
And she started walking toward the north.
Days later, her voice was just another story among the camps.Some said she vanished into the desert.Some said she ascended with the last hum of the Pulse.And some swore they still heard her whisper through the wind:
"We're not done yet."
Far away, buried deep beneath the new green fields, a faint golden light pulsed once.
Twice.
Then steadied—like a heartbeat.