The wind carried the scent of rust and ashes.
In the distance, the sun struggled to pierce the haze, its orange light fracturing into countless suspended particles, as if the very air were woven from luminous dust.
Seven hunters advanced across the wasteland, armed with iron-tipped spears and Aether-powered rifles.
Their breaths came heavy and muffled behind their masks.
All around them, the remains of a colossal ship stretched out like the fossilized ribs of a monster dead for centuries.
Metal had fused with stone; trees grew from the cracks; and amongst them lay the skeletons of machines that should never have existed.
Trailing behind the hunters walked six children.
Gaunt, covered in grime, their eyes too large for their small faces.
They carried old backpacks and ropes tied around their bodies, as if the world feared the wind might steal them away.
Eryn was the youngest.
Barely ten years old.
Barefoot.
His gaze, hollow.
He could not remember his mother, his full name, or where he came from.
He only knew that if he found something useful, he might eat that night.
And that, for him, was hope enough.
The hunters halted at the edge of a dust-choked chasm.
Below gaped an immense fissure, torn open like a wound.
From its depths rose a thick, hot, white vapor.
"The Ash Belt," one of the men said, spitting onto the ground.
"The prize is down there."
Another lit an Aether lantern and tossed it into the void.
It fell for several seconds before striking a metallic floor with a dull clang.
The brief glow illuminated something: curved plating, the husks of machinery… a doorway.
"Go," the leader said, his voice devoid of all emotion.
"If you find anything that glows, you bring it back.
If you hear a song… you run."
Eryn swallowed hard.
The ground vibrated softly beneath his bare feet, as if something pulsed far below.
One by one, the children began their descent on ropes.
Eryn was the last.
The coarse fibers scraped his hands raw, opening tiny wounds, the metallic taste of his own blood filling his mouth.
The air grew warmer as he descended.
The sound of the wind faded, replaced by a thick silence, as if the world were holding its breath.
He reached the bottom, let go of the rope, and switched on his flashlight.
The floor was not earth, but metal blanketed in dust.
Corridors lay collapsed, doorways were shattered, and twisted structures resembled ancient bones.
On one wall, strange letters glowed faintly, as if fed by some lingering, ancient energy.
Eryn couldn't read, but he stared at them with an instinctive fascination.
He felt something beneath his skin.
A shiver.
A pulse.
As if the words were watching him, and not the other way around.
"Eryn, move!" a hunter shouted from above.
"Search and get out before night falls!"
The boy nodded and ventured deeper into the wreckage.
He walked for minutes, or perhaps for hours.
Time did not function the same within the ruins.
Sometimes the lights would flicker as if someone else were walking just behind him.
Sometimes he heard a dull hum that seemed to emanate from the very walls.
But Eryn pressed on, until he found an opening in the floor—a perfectly circular hole, covered by a shattered panel.
He leaned over to peer inside.
Darkness.
A deep, intermittent red glow, far below.
The air that rose from it was warm, almost comforting.
"Maybe… there's something valuable down there," he whispered.
And he jumped.
The impact knocked the wind from his lungs.
He landed on a cushioned surface, soft and alien to anything he had ever touched.
For a moment, he thought he was dead.
But the air smelled of static and ancient dust, and that made him laugh a shaky, breathless laugh.
He was still breathing.
He pushed himself up, his small body aching.
The chamber was immense.
Walls of smooth, black material were etched with constellations of blinking lights.
In the center stood rows of crystalline cylinders shrouded in dust.
Inside some, only darkness.
In others, blurred, shadowy forms.
He couldn't tell if they were people… or something else.
Eryn swallowed hard.
He took a step, and the sound echoed through the vast hall.
He froze.
No one answered.
"Hello…?" he whispered.
His voice was swallowed by the waiting silence.
He approached a metallic console.
It was caked in grime, yet undeniably alive.
A panel flared to life at his touch.
Red lights.
An electric hum, like the beating of an artificial heart.
[Cloning Protocol: Active.]
[System Error.]
[Compatible Host Vessel Required.]
Eryn stumbled back, a knot of fear tightening in his chest.
"What…?" he tried to say, but the words died in his throat.
The panel continued to stream messages.
Unfamiliar symbols.
Warnings.
An alarm that made no sound, but vibrated deep in his bones.
The boy looked around, desperately seeking an exit.
There was none.
Only those silent capsules, lined up like waiting coffins.
One of them had a cracked crystal face.
Another… was open.
Curiosity, that old and fatal lure, proved stronger than fear.
Eryn drew closer.
The interior was soft, almost warm to the touch.
He reached a hand inside.
The material yielded, molding itself to his fingers.
It was… comfortable.
He had spent his entire life sleeping on cold stone.
That simple comfort undid him.
A single, unbidden tear traced a clean path through the grime on his cheek.
For a fleeting instant, he wanted nothing more than to stay there forever.
"Just… for a moment," he murmured.
He climbed in, settled back into the soothing embrace, and closed his eyes.
The silence was perfect.
The air smelled of nothing.
For the first time, the world did not hurt.
Then, the crystal lid sealed shut with a definitive hiss.
Eryn's eyes snapped open in terror.
He beat his small fists against the unyielding interior.
Useless.
The panel beside the capsule illuminated.
[Compatible Host Detected.]
[Consciousness Transfer: 0.3%...]
The child screamed, but a gas began to fill the capsule.
A thick, white vapor that smelled of old metal and ozone.
His blinks grew slow and heavy.
The world turned liquid, and the red light expanded until it consumed everything.
[Processing… 12%...]
Eryn tried to move, but his body was no longer his own.
The capsule thrummed around him.
He could feel his heart hammering against his ribs, and then, suddenly… it stopped.
[Neural Synchronization Complete.]
Inside the crystal, his reflection began to warp and change.
His features softened, then sharpened, being rewritten by an invisible hand.
His eyes—once a pale gray—ignited into a faint, luminous gold.
A deep, automated breath filled the chamber.
And then, silence.
Minutes, hours, or centuries later, the ship fell asleep once more.
The red lights winked out one by one,
leaving only a single, faint pulse in the darkness.
In the corner, the console displayed one final line, barely legible:
[Human Unit 01: Restored.]
[Partial Star-Command Memory Preserved.]
[Awaiting… Instructions.]