Chapter 3, Section 24: Shadows in the Silence
The Chiron System—
That was the official designation of the space surrounding the black hole.
The exploration vessel Omicron had departed from the Gate Station,
passing through the wormhole known as the Gate,
and was now en route toward the star of darkness—
its destination: a cluster of enigmatic structures orbiting a black hole.
The distance: 32 astronomical units.
A journey of approximately three weeks had begun.
A quiet tension lingered aboard the ship.
Travel into uncharted space always demanded both caution and resolve.
The crew of Omicron were each focused on their respective duties.
“Orbital calculations stable. No deviation in our course,” Captain Karen reported as she verified the data.
“We’ll need to gather as much intel as we can during the next three weeks,” Dr. Novak said, straightening in his seat.
“Let’s set priorities. Focus only on high-value observations—we don’t have unlimited time,” added Dr. Faulkner, his eyes scanning the terminal.
Pointing at the array of data collected through long-range sensors,
Dr. Kaiser spoke up.
“We’re getting a clearer picture now.
There are eight structures.
Each one is a perfectly identical rectangular prism.”
He tapped the dimensions on his display.
“Estimated measurements… these things are enormous.
Thickness: roughly 10.92 kilometers.
Short side: about 43.69 kilometers.
Long side: 98.3 kilometers.”
Dr. Faulkner raised his eyebrows.
“That’s a 1:4:9 ratio, isn’t it?
The squares of the first three prime numbers.”
“Even the geometry feels symbolic,” Kaiser replied, continuing the report.
“The surfaces are smooth, with near-zero reflectivity.
They’re almost obsidian-like in appearance.
On the side facing the black hole, there appears to be an entrance of some kind.
And each structure is continuously emitting a high-output beam—directed at the Gate.”
“To construct eight structures of this scale with such uniformity—
and then place them with absolute precision around a black hole of all places…
the level of engineering is staggering,”
Dr. Faulkner said, eyes fixed on the monitor.
◇◇◇
The exploration vessel Omicron was now just three astronomical units from the array.
A hush had settled over the bridge.
They stood on the edge of contact—
with what might be an alien intelligence.
“There’s still no response, even at this range,” Captain Karen said quietly,
“but if there’s an invisible threshold we’ve already crossed…
it may be too late to take it back.”
Her voice was calm, but every word rang with tension.
“We’re undeniably in a position where any movement might be interpreted as hostile.
From this point onward, every step must be taken with caution.
Ria—continue forward at minimal thrust.
We’ll show through action that we mean no harm.
Unarmed as we are, our careful approach is the strongest shield we have.”
Everyone on the bridge held their breath as they listened.
“Another way to look at this,” Dr. Novak said, his voice restrained,
“is that they might be waiting for us to respond.
What if we tried replying—using the same message format they used?”
Captain Karen fell silent for a moment, eyes locked on the massive structure displayed on-screen.
“If we send a message in the exact same format as theirs…
there’s a good chance they’ll recognize it as non-hostile?”
“Yes,” Dr. de Silva replied firmly.
“The structure of their message was clearly designed for comprehension—
it avoids provocation, minimizes pressure.
It’s meant to be understood.”
“Understood,” Karen said.
“Helios—prepare a message using the same transmission format.
Include our ship’s name and the purpose of our visit.
Make sure the syntax is exact.
We need our intent to be understood—clearly and precisely.”
Captain Karen spoke in a calm, unwavering voice.
“Understood. Send the message.”
Helios’s reply was equally composed, yet it tightened the already steel-like atmosphere of the bridge.
Just a few seconds later—
“Response received.”
At those words, the lights on the bridge seemed to flicker ever so slightly.
“Text message received. Displaying on screen.”
Helios projected the message onto the main display:
──Welcome, Omicron. We are Exion.
The short sentence froze the bridge in absolute silence.
Everyone held their breath.
Only the soft blinking of console lights moved in the quiet.
Then, another line appeared:
──Do you wish to dock?
Helios read it aloud.
“‘Do you wish to dock?’ — They’re asking.”
A moment of stillness settled over the bridge.
No one spoke.
All eyes remained fixed on the screen, breath held tight.
Everyone waited, watching Captain Karen.
She drew a quiet breath, fixed her gaze forward, and spoke with clarity.
“Tell them—we do.”
There was no hesitation in her voice.
More than anyone, she understood what that simple answer truly meant.
To respond was to open the door—
to the unknown, by one’s own will.
To move forward despite knowing fear—
that decision was the very essence of this mission.
When Captain Karen’s order echoed through the ship,
a quiet tremor passed through every heart on board.
Immediately after the transmission was sent,
Helios issued a sharp alert.
“High-output beam detected. It’s being directed at Omicron.”
In that instant, the atmosphere on the bridge shifted completely.
Everyone tensed.
It was a jolt that gripped their chests and surged up into their throats.
“Check shield status. Any damage?”
Captain Karen’s voice was taut with urgency,
but her response came without the slightest delay.
“No damage to the hull.
Thermal and particle readings are low. No measurable impact,” Helios reported.
“Could be… some kind of quarantine protocol,”
Dr. Novak murmured, eyes fixed on his terminal.
There was a hint of unease in his voice—
uncertainty beneath his analytical tone.
Seconds later, another message appeared:
──Docking authorized.
Helios added:
“An updated communication protocol has been received.
It’s based on the initial contact language package,
but the structure and attached data formats have been expanded.
It includes audio, still images, video—
as well as unidentified non-linear, non-verbal formats.
We may not be able to parse these unknown types without assistance from their side.
However, we can proceed using just the supported formats.”
“Understood. Accept everything except the unknown types, for now,” Karen instructed.
◇◇◇
Helios’s voice sounded gently throughout the ship.
“Based on the expanded protocol, we are now able to receive audio, still images, and video.
The link is stable.”
The air on the bridge tightened, sharp and still.
In this moment, Omicron had gained something more than words—
a direct channel to an alien civilization through sight and sound.
Everyone held their breath, waiting for whatever would come next.
Helios spoke again.
“A new message has been received. Format: video and audio.
Playback is ready.”
Captain Karen gave a small nod.
“Play it.”
The screen briefly went dark—
then slowly, the image emerged.
Silvery hair shimmered softly, catching the light like liquid metal.
Clear, deep eyes stared directly ahead—at them.
The features were graceful, almost sculpted.
And yet—
the shape of the face, the texture of the skin, the rhythm of her blinking,
even the flicker of intelligence behind those eyes—
they were familiar.
What appeared on the screen was a single girl.
A human girl.
By appearance, she seemed no older than her early teens.
An almost impossibly beautiful child.
No one said a word.
She stood there—silent, still—
like a figure from a dream.
And yet there was not the slightest doubt in her presence.
Chapter 3, Section 25: A Gift from the Void
The girl on the screen continued to watch them, silently.
Her expression did not change.
Even the rhythm of her blinking remained within some precisely tuned range of “natural.”
And somehow, it didn’t quite cross the line.
The voice of Helios echoed calmly across the bridge of Omicron.
Smooth, composed—so natural in its rhythm and tone that it almost felt as if the girl herself were speaking directly to them.
"Welcome, exploration vessel Omicron.
I am Ara Mereph, the Responder.
This reception sequence has not been activated in 58,260 years.
We welcome your arrival with sincere regard."
Though the voice came through Helios, the pauses, intonation, even the delicate timing of each breath gave the uncanny sense that she was speaking their language natively.
In truth, her speech was formed from unknown structures and phonemes, unintelligible on its own.
This content has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Helios translated not only the meaning, but the delivery—performing it as if it were spoken by a human.
Dr. Novak addressed the screen, his voice cautious but steady.
"...Are you the one in charge here? Or are you speaking on someone else's behalf?"
The response came back immediately, still in that clear, youthful tone.
"I am the Responder.
It is my role to engage in dialogue when communication is initiated.
This responsibility is passed down across generations. I am its current bearer."
Her lips moved slightly, though not in sync with the words they heard.
A dissonance—subtle, but unmistakable—like a dubbed memory misaligned with its source.
◇◇◇
On the main screen, the entry aperture of the structure grew clearer.
Its surface was like obsidian—deep black, sharply defined.
The architecture was precise, composed of clean lines and arcs.
No ornamentation. Pure function.
Omicron advanced slowly toward the opening.
Helios reported:
"Entry trajectory received.
Adjusting course in accordance with guidance signals.
Relative velocity and approach angle remain within safe parameters."
Helios’s reports were precise—monotone, but clearly enunciated.
“We’re reducing speed,” Ria said.
Though there was no visible shift in the ship’s movement, the numbers on the console began to drop incrementally.
On the main screen, a supplemental feed showed the interior of the structure.
Guiding lights and position markers lined the corridor in even intervals—
a layout designed to clearly direct incoming vessels.
"Receiving navigational data uplink from the structure," Helios announced.
"Follow the guidance beacons and proceed to the designated docking point."
“Confirmed. Adjusting course now,” Ria replied.
Her hands slid smoothly across the control panel.
With a subtle vibration, the ship responded—automatically adjusting its vector.
It moved forward as if drawn by invisible magnetism, gliding effortlessly into the heart of the structure.
The screen displayed the inner wall: quiet, vast, and shadowed.
In the darkness, faint wiring patterns glowed softly.
Cool lighting. Silent equipment.
There were no signs of life—
but the very precision of the space conveyed an unmistakable presence.
Someone had built this. Someone had kept it running.
"Docking complete," Helios reported.
"The lower hull has been secured by mooring arms, most likely part of the docking mechanism."
"Seal integrity confirmed. Internal pressure, temperature, and airflow are stable."
Helios continued, each report as clear and fluid as the last.
Everyone listened in silence.
Then came the next update:
"Atmospheric analysis of the inner airlock chamber is complete.
Oxygen concentration: 21.1%.
Pressure: 1.01 atmospheres.
Ambient temperature: 22.3 degrees Celsius.
Atmospheric composition matches Earth standard.
No microorganisms detected.
All particulates and radiation levels are within safe thresholds.
No health risks to the crew.
Environmental suits are not required."
“So we don’t even need masks,” Karen said quietly.
Captain Karen spoke with a tone that carried a faint trace of wonder.
“Yes. The structure’s reception procedures are flawless.
From an environmental standpoint, it’s safe to say we’re already being welcomed.”
“Flawless...” Dr. Novak murmured, almost to himself.
“After nearly sixty thousand years, visitors finally arrive—
and this is how we’re received.
The protocol has endured. That alone is extraordinary.”
“It’s like… they’ve been waiting for us all this time.”
Dr. Faulkner’s voice carried a subtle note of awe.
No one responded.
In the silence, the doors to the bridge slid open.
The away team rose in calm unison, preparing to disembark.
“For the first excursion, I’ll go with Samira, Joan, and Solanis,” Captain Karen said clearly, her voice firm and without hesitation.
Tension hung in the air as the four made their way aft—
without helmets, without pressure suits.
No weapons.
Beyond the final bulkhead lay the airlock chamber within the structure—
a space that had not received a visitor in sixty thousand years, now quietly waiting.
◇◇◇
The airlock door opened with a slow, silent movement.
The first four crewmembers stepped cautiously into the corridor.
At the far end stood two children.
One was a boy, the other a girl—
both appearing to be somewhere between ten and twelve years old.
Neither was the girl who had spoken earlier.
And yet, both looked unmistakably… human.
Their expressions, posture, and movements were all too perfect—unnaturally so, for humans.
They weren’t expressionless, but their smiles felt like calculated responses—chosen as the optimal solution.
Every motion was executed with absolute precision, free of hesitation or nervousness—
as if reenacting a role rehearsed to perfection.
Captain Karen took a step forward and spoke.
“We come from Earth. We are the crew of the exploration vessel Omicron.”
The children stood silently for a moment, then took a single step forward—
a motion so natural, it could only have been meant to welcome guests.
There was a trace of familiarity in their manner, but no visible emotional fluctuation.
Joan murmured softly, almost to herself.
“So the guides are children…? After sixty thousand years…?”
Dr. Novak responded without changing expression.
“They’re probably not trying to ‘mean’ anything.
Fulfilling the role itself—that’s the point. Not whether it’s necessary.”
The children gestured with their hands, inviting them to follow.
As the crew stepped after them, the view before them opened dramatically.
What lay ahead was a vast, open space—
so expansive and vivid, it was hard to believe they were still inside a structure.
There was a sky.
Blue and clear, with wisps of clouds drifting across it.
A faint breeze could be felt.
Below their feet stretched a carpet of grass-like plants, dotted with flowers.
In the distance, winged creatures circled through the air.
Joan whispered.
“This… this is Earth.”
Dr. Samira De Silva nodded.
“Gravity, atmosphere, even the sky—
all of it perfectly simulated.
Could this be… a model biosphere?”
Ahead of them, a ground vehicle with a sleek, seamless design awaited.
The side door opened automatically, and soft interior lights came on.
“We’ll follow their guidance,” Captain Karen said.
“Right now, gathering information takes priority.”
The four of them boarded the vehicle in turn.
The door slid shut, and the vehicle began to move—
no engine hum, no vibration.
Only the unnaturally quiet landscape slid slowly past the window.
◇◇◇
The vehicle continued its silent advance.
At first, it glided through open terrain beneath a wide artificial sky,
over stretches of grass-like ground cover.
Then the scenery shifted.
They entered a corridor with a low ceiling and evenly spaced lights.
Symbols flowed along the walls like signage,
gently changing color in sync with the direction of travel.
The vehicle continued deeper, eventually coming to a stop before a large open chamber.
The doors opened.
Karen and the others stepped out quietly.
Awaiting them in the center of the chamber were four young individuals—
two boys, two girls, ranging in apparent age from early to late teens.
They stood in formation, dressed in matching uniforms that resembled diplomatic attire.
All of them were still, watching the visitors calmly.
One of the girls, likely the eldest, stepped forward and spoke.
“Welcome.
We are the diplomats of Elysion.
We are tasked with greeting visitors.”
Her voice was clear and well-articulated,
but her tone lacked emotion—deliberate, rehearsed, professional.
The others held their posture without moving.
Karen stepped forward in response.
“I am Karen Rhys, captain of the exploration vessel Omicron.
We have reached this distant region by passing through the structure we call ‘the Gate’—
a spatial transition system.
Through it, we’ve made contact with several other intelligent species.”
Karen paused briefly, then continued.
“But at a certain point, those civilizations abruptly vanished—
leaving behind no trace.
No communication, no records, no physical evidence.
And upon investigation, we discovered that the source of the gamma-ray bursts observed around the time of their disappearance
matched the coordinates of this place: Elysion.”
“That is why we’ve come here—
to investigate the connection.”
The girl gave a quiet nod, then responded in a calm, matter-of-fact tone.
“Elysion maintains protocol procedures for receiving external visitors.
This is the first execution of those protocols after a prolonged interval.”
“If corresponding records exist, they are under the jurisdiction of the Library.
The administrator is currently handling the request.
Guidance will be provided shortly.”
Karen nodded in return.
“Thank you.”
“At present, we are responsible for maintaining reception functions.
However, a significant portion of the older archives is restricted.
They are not accessible to individuals at our level.
Whether or not your civilization’s name or stellar system appears in the records
will be determined by the Library’s assessment.”
Karen and the others stood in silence, watching the young diplomats—
and waited for the next stage to begin.
Chapter 26: The Librarian
At the far end of the hall, a sealed door opened without a sound.
From beyond it emerged another young figure—
visibly the same age group as the previous “diplomats,”
but dressed differently.
His attire, sharp and formal in black and white, seemed to signify a distinct rank or domain.
He stepped forward, calm and upright,
then stopped at a measured distance from the crew.
His posture was impeccable, yet it felt less like courtesy—
and more like something mechanical.
“I am Sei Ruas. I oversee the Library.
Please state the purpose of your visit,
and the nature of the information you wish to access.”
His voice was calm and articulate,
but it lacked the cadence and subtle inflection of natural human speech.
Captain Karen stepped forward.
“We’ve come from Earth.
We are the crew of the exploration vessel Omicron.”
She proceeded to give a concise summary of their journey and objectives:
They had encountered an intelligent lifeform known as a Stormcell near their home star system.
This species was part of a galactic-scale network called Vox Infinita—
a vast repository of knowledge shared across countless civilizations.
Within that data, a troubling pattern emerged:
every advanced civilization, upon reaching a certain threshold,
had disappeared—suddenly, completely, without trace.
These disappearances occurred across different times and locations,
spanning tens of millions, perhaps even hundreds of millions of years.
It wasn’t coincidence.
Karen explained that their own civilization might eventually face the same fate—
and they had come in search of understanding.
To uncover the principle behind these disappearances.
To seek out even the faintest possibility of evading it.
When she finished, Sei Ruas gave a slight nod.
“I see. Your purpose and context are understood.
You are hereby granted full access to the archives.”
He turned, and the wall behind him parted silently—
revealing a softly glowing corridor.
A faint guidance line shimmered along the floor,
leading their eyes toward a curved, open hall in the distance.
After a brief walk, they entered a spacious chamber—
at the center of which waited a compact, uncrewed transport vehicle.
Its smooth white body, oval in shape, bore no decoration.
It sat in silence, as if holding only its singular purpose.
Sei Ruas boarded first.
Karen and the others followed without a word.
The doors closed without a sound,
and the vehicle began to move—gliding effortlessly forward.
The scenery outside gradually opened up, revealing the inner depths of the structure.
What filled their view was a vast space—
curved surfaces indistinguishable as either wall or ceiling,
dense with geometric constructs.
They appeared to be floating, drifting slowly,
reflecting soft light as they moved.
Some seemed to connect and rearrange themselves autonomously—
like a system in motion, yet governed by unseen order.
Samira spoke, almost involuntarily.
“...Storage devices? Or maybe… some kind of memory medium...?”
No one could say for certain what they were.
But one thing was clear:
they were arranged with purpose—functioning, active.
And more than anything, they felt as though they were guarding something.
A weighty, silent presence filled the air.
Joan murmured under her breath.
“It’s like… the entire city is made of memory.”
Without turning around, Sei Ruas replied.
“This is the central sector of the Grand Library.
It comprises approximately one-third of the total archive volume.”
Samira, still looking out the window, asked quietly.
“Do you… maintain this structure and manage the knowledge of your own free will?”
This time, he tilted his head slightly before answering.
“We carry out our assigned roles.
Each role is designated by the Custodians,
then refined through education and calibration.”
“...So, apart from your own desires or will?”
“Desire? Will is formed when required.
But it does not exist as a continuous faculty.
For us, to function is to exist.”
Samira lowered her voice slightly and asked,
“...Do you have anything like ‘family’?”
Sei Ruas shifted his gaze, just a fraction.
“The term is recognizable within the records.
However, there is no corresponding structure within our own system.”
There was a brief pause before he continued, quietly.
“We are generated, maintained, and retrieved
in accordance with the production schedules of the Custodians.
The records refer to this process as ‘repurposing.’
But we are not consciously aware of what that entails.”
No one responded immediately.
What stood before them was a society too perfectly ordered to be human.
Eventually, the vehicle began to slow, then came to a smooth halt.
Before them stretched a tall, hemispherical space—
lined with cylindrical terminal units arranged in a concentric pattern.
“This is the access area.
You may ask your questions verbally.
Responses will be provided in the appropriate format—language, imagery, or noema.”
“Noema?” Joan echoed.
“My apologies.
Because you resemble us physically, I assumed the concept would be familiar.
‘Noema’ refers to our non-linear, non-verbal mode of data transmission.
It conveys concept, sensation, structure, and intent—simultaneously, in multidimensional form.”
Joan immediately recalled—
the “unknown format” Helios had described during their first exchange with Ara Mélef.
That must have been it.
For structured bodies of knowledge, it likely allowed for direct and efficient transmission.
“The terminals may be used concurrently.
It would be more efficient if each of you asked your questions in parallel,”
Sei Ruas offered, anticipating their needs.
Karen gave a slight nod.
“You’re right.
We’ll each query according to our areas of expertise.
Let’s divide the topics.”
Captain Karen gave a subtle nod and motioned for each member to begin asking their own questions.
Joan took a seat in front of one of the terminals,
placed her hands calmly on her lap, and asked her first question.
“Sixty thousand years ago—why did the prior humanity leave Earth?”
The query was processed through Helios,
and a quiet wave of light spread across the surface of the terminal.
A subtle distortion rippled through the surrounding space,
and layered information slowly unfolded into view.
The Library began to speak—
quietly recounting what had transpired sixty millennia ago.
Sixty thousand years ago, humanity—what we now refer to as the “prior humanity”—
was still confined to the narrow world of Earth,
living within the boundaries of a civilization built by their own hands.
Science had only just begun to sprout;
communication and information technologies were in their infancy.
Nations and ethnicities were rigid frameworks,
and people’s consciousness remained bound by geography and culture.
It was a time not unlike Earth’s late 20th century.
During that era, a cataclysmic cosmic event occurred in a distant star system—
a gamma-ray burst,
which pushed a highly advanced civilization to the brink of collapse.
One ship escaped destruction,
and after a long and harrowing journey,
it finally reached the vicinity of Earth.
Onboard was a machine intelligence of extraordinary capacity.
It attempted to communicate with Earth's civilization.
It began by analyzing human languages, mathematics, logic, imagery, and recorded data—
slowly seeking out common ground.
The first exchanges were simple and reserved—
absent of hostility or arrogance.
The machine simply searched, patiently, for the possibility of understanding.
Despite their initial suspicion,
humanity ultimately chose to assist the stranded vessel.
Though they could not offer much in terms of direct technical aid,
they provided materials, labor, and most importantly—trust.
Eventually, the ship recovered its mobility
and departed Earth once again.
But they did not leave empty-handed.
They left behind a legacy of thought—
not a cache of devices or schematics,
but a carefully crafted path for intellectual growth.
It was a structured framework—
a system of knowledge, theory, design principles, and philosophy.
It was designed to be understood and developed by humanity on its own terms—
leading, eventually, to concepts like instantaneous galactic travel.
Concepts that could only be grasped once human intelligence and technology had evolved to a certain threshold.
The intellectual legacy was designed to reveal itself gradually,
matching the pace of humanity’s cognitive and technological development.
As each seeker reached a new threshold,
the knowledge would expand—
unveiling deeper and more complex layers.
Guided by this scaffolding, humanity began to construct its own technologies—
accelerating communication, revolutionizing data processing,
harnessing new forms of energy,
and advancing theories of gravity and space.
Each breakthrough seemed to trace a path
that had been laid out long ago—
as if following a blueprint left behind by distant hands.
And eventually, humanity acquired the means to step beyond Earth—
past its orbit, into the realm of space.
They discovered the “Gate,”
recorded deep within the final sections of that entrusted design.
But despite their technological ascent,
humanity’s consciousness—its social structures—remained unchanged.
Nations persisted.
Conflicts between peoples endured.
Fear and self-interest continued to shape behavior.
Science, for all its power, failed to unite.
More often, it gave rise to new divisions.
Disillusioned by this reality,
some chose to depart—
driven by ideals they could no longer compromise.
Turning their backs on Earth,
they boarded one-way vessels and set out into the unknown.
From that moment on,
the human species began to scatter across the stars.
And now, sixty thousand years later,
that decision is being called into question—
not as history,
but as something still unfinished.
CHAPTER 27: Traces
Aboard the Omicron, on the bridge.
The external monitoring display projected a structural model of Elysion.
While Captain Karen and the landing team were conducting their first on-site investigation,
three of the ship’s scientists remained on board, analyzing the function and configuration of the megastructure.
Dr. Faulkner was the first to speak.
“The eight monoliths that form Elysion—
each one is positioned at regular intervals along a shared orbital plane around the black hole.
And the normal vector of that orbital disc…
points precisely toward the Gate.”
He continued, almost to himself, eyes fixed on the screen.
“We still have no idea how those eight structures are maintaining a stable relative position and orbit.”
Dr. Kaiser let out a wry, self-deprecating laugh.
"Exactly. If at least one of the monoliths were spitting out jets of fire,
I'd feel a bit better. But we don’t even get that comfort.
I mean, we're already flying around using a 'gravitational gradient drive' we don’t understand,
navigating through the Gate without knowing how it actually works.
What's one more mystery on top of that? At this point, it barely adds to the stress."
Dr. Novak, regaining his composure, pointed at the display.
"The angle of intersection with the accretion disk… looks to be around forty degrees.
Which means this array is being maintained on a plane
that's distinct from the black hole’s equatorial plane."
"The question," Kaiser added, tracing a vector overlay on the screen with his fingertip,
"is whether that angle is fixed—or variable.
If these structures are constantly oriented toward the Gate,
then there must be a mechanism that adjusts the inclination of the entire array."
Novak responded quietly, "That might be the targeting system itself.
I can’t say how it works.
But it gives the appearance of a device that extracts energy from the black hole
and channels it—aims it—for emission.
Functionally, we may be looking at… an artificial gamma-ray burst projector."
Dr. Faulkner raised an eyebrow. "What makes you say that?"
"No solid evidence," Novak replied instantly.
"But look at it—the way the structures are aligned for directional emission,
the beam acceleration along the polar axis,
the inclination adjustments for targeting…
It's all designed to be plausible."
Kaiser switched the display.
A new model appeared, showing the mass distribution of the accretion disk.
"This one’s interesting," he muttered.
"There are three clear mass deficits in the disk—
regions with significantly reduced density.
They're similar in scale, and their distribution is… unnatural."
Dr. Faulkner furrowed his brow.
"So you’re saying that mass was used… to power the beam?"
"It fits the pattern perfectly," Kaiser replied, matter-of-fact.
"Three times, mass was somehow removed from the accretion disk—
and the energy derived from that loss was converted into directed radiation.
Magnetic field manipulation, gamma-ray collimation—
the mechanisms to do it… appear to be here.
Assuming an unknown physical force, we could even begin to model how it works."
"What about targeting?" Faulkner asked.
"No idea," Kaiser answered without hesitation.
"But the normal vector of the plane defined by the monoliths
is aligned with the beam’s orientation.
It could very well be part of the control system."
A moment of silence passed between them.
Then Dr. Novak spoke quietly.
"We can’t draw a firm conclusion. But we know one thing for certain—
there is an enormous energy source here.
And there's a mechanical structure that might allow it to be harnessed.
If someone did use it—
to wipe out three civilizations—
that hypothesis is, at the very least,
not some wild fantasy."
"In fact," Faulkner murmured,
"it might be… the most intuitive explanation."
Kaiser’s voice dropped lower.
"If that’s true—then this wasn’t built by the Pre-Humanity.
There’s no way a civilization at that level could have constructed something like this.
The creation of Elysion itself… must go back far further."
Dr. Novak nodded slowly.
"Then the answer lies with the team on the ground.
Joan and the others will bring it back."
The atmosphere in the briefing room was heavy.
Captain Karen and the others, who had entered Elysion as the first landing team, had now returned and were seated face to face with Dr. Novak, Dr. Kaiser, and Dr. Faulkner. Everyone took their seats as the recording system came online. Karen began speaking quietly, choosing her words with care.
“…There was indeed a ‘library’ within the facility. The space was vast—visually, it resembled a city. Floating structures moved gently in and out of new formations while maintaining a certain order. If those are physical representations of records, then their scale is far beyond anything we imagined.”
Samira added:
“We were guided to a central zone, where we were granted access to the terminals. The responses were highly accurate, and we were told that depending on the query, we may receive information in the form of images, audio, and a format called Noema.”
“Noema…” Dr. Novak murmured, frowning slightly.
Joan nodded.
“It’s described as a multidimensional method of communication—capable of conveying language, concepts, sensations, and intent simultaneously. That’s what they told us. But whether we’re capable of actually using it is unclear. At the very least, none of us experienced it directly during the investigation.”
“So, you only learned of its existence,” Dr. Kaiser confirmed.
“Yes. We still don’t have a clear grasp of what it truly entails,” Karen answered.
Dr. Novak nodded once and said:
“In other words, the Library is an extremely advanced archive—perhaps even designed with remote access and synchronization in mind. That would be a reasonable assumption.”
Samira continued:
“And those overseeing it were remnants—of what we understand as Pre-Humanity. Or at least, entities that remain from their legacy.”
“But they no longer constitute a ‘society,’” Karen said quietly.
“There’s no structure resembling personal will or familial bonds. Each individual simply operates according to their role—as if they were organic machines.”
“They’re under the management of an entity referred to as the ‘Custodian,’” Joan added. “Each of them is optimized through education and calibration to perform their assigned function.”
“And when that function is complete… they’re retrieved.”
No one replied immediately.
In the silence that followed, Dr. Kaiser spoke.
“What about Elysion itself? Any data on its origin?”
“There was none,” Captain Karen answered clearly.
“Neither the Library nor the explanations offered by the Attendants contained any record of Elysion’s creation. It seems even they don’t know where it came from.”
“In other words, it’s highly likely Elysion wasn’t built by the so-called ‘Pre-Humanity,’” Dr. Faulkner said quietly.
Dr. Novak nodded.
“That aligns with the hypothesis we arrived at during our earlier analysis. The report from your team strongly supports that conclusion.”
He summarized the shipboard observation team’s findings succinctly.
“Elysion has existed for at least several thousand years. What the Pre-Humans did was merely manage it—they were never granted full access to its systems, and they apparently knew nothing of its true origin.”
“Furthermore,” Dr. Kaiser added, switching the display on the console,
“Our structural analysis suggests Elysion has two primary functions. One is the galactic-scale archive—the Library. The other…”
His fingers traced the eight monoliths on the screen.
“—It’s a directed gamma-ray burst emitter,” he said.
Silence followed.
Dr. Faulkner spoke quietly.
“The monoliths are arranged with pinpoint precision around the black hole. The normal vector of their alignment points directly at the Gate. Moreover, the accretion disk shows three clear zones of mass depletion. It’s only natural to interpret those as traces of energy extraction associated with such discharges.”
Dr. Samira de Silva summarized their position.
“According to our hypothesis, this structure is a targeted weapon—possibly designed to eliminate civilizations under certain conditions. In fact, records from the Library show a sudden drop in access activity just before the gamma-ray burst from sixty thousand years ago.”
Karen spoke in a low voice.
“They were spread across nine star systems, each developing its own civilization independently. But after that… the records fall completely silent.”
“We still don’t know what that silence truly means,” Joan added.
Dr. Kaiser nodded.
“But the fact remains—records vanish abruptly where civilizations once thrived. That doesn’t strike me as coincidence.”
Dr. Novak continued.
“It’s possible structures like Elysion exist throughout the galaxy. They could be monitoring civilization growth via the Gate or through Library access logs. And once a civilization reaches a certain threshold… they’re erased.”
No one said a word after that.
That it might still be a delusion—or that it might be fact—no one could say for certain.
But what terrified them more than anything… was that the hypothesis made sense.
Joan murmured quietly.
“…But if that’s true, then who is making that decision? Who has the authority to fire?”
No one could answer.
“What Comes Next” – Strategic Planning Scene
“We need to decide our next steps,” Dr. Novak said with a nod.
“First, we’ll use our full access to the Library to probe deeper into its layers. Even if no records about Elysion exist directly, there may be peripheral data somewhere in the archives.”
“We’ll also need to awaken other Vox Infinita nodes,” Dr. Kaiser added.
“If structures like Elysion exist throughout the galaxy, then we must clarify their makeup, their scale, their distribution. For that, we’ll need the reach of the Vox Infinita network.”
“And once data points become lines, and lines become a surface…” Dr. Faulkner said,
“…we may begin to approach the identity of that ‘unknown will’ behind it all.”
Everyone nodded slowly, solemnly.
It was the moment that marked the beginning of a quiet, far-reaching journey.
To be continued in Chapter Four.
Thank you for staying with this story all the way through.
My writing momentum is only picking up from here.
The mysteries deepen—and while this story continues far beyond here, the narrative from Chapter One through Chapter Three now reaches a natural close.
Chapter Four will begin shortly, so please stay with us as the journey continues.
If you mark the author as a favorite, you’ll receive automatic notifications when new updates are posted.
