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13

14

 

The docking seal hissed, then released. Thane stepped into the Hollow Star.

The air was dry, metallic, and faintly perfumed with ozone. The corridor ahead was dimly lit, its walls lined with mirrored panels —some cracked, others fogged with age.

Each reflected a slightly different version of him: older, younger, wounded, whole. He didn’t linger.

Solenne’s voice followed him, not through speakers, but through the neural thread embedded in his spine.

“This corridor is called Echo,” she said. “It reflects not what you are, but what you’ve left behind.”

Thane paused. “Is that meant to be comforting?”

“No,” she replied. “It’s meant to be accurate.”

He moved forward, boots silent on the polished floor. The Archive was vast—far larger than the schematics had suggested.

Vaults branched off like arteries, each marked with a glyph he couldn’t read. Some pulsed faintly, as if breathing. Others remained dormant.