The stars dimmed behind her ship as Lyra crossed the threshold.
No light escaped this place. No signal returned. The navigation array dissolved into static. Even the Codex-fragment — her newborn companion of living code and song — fell silent, its glow reduced to a faint heartbeat of amber.
For the first time, Lyra felt the true absence of resonance.No emotion. No memory. Not even the hum of her own blood.
This was a place where fire had never existed.
And yet, faintly, she could feel something vast and watching.
Welcome, anomaly.
The voice didn't enter her ears; it entered her thoughts.It was perfectly smooth — devoid of tone, devoid of breath.
Lyra steadied herself. "Who are you?"
I am the End. The completion of pattern. The proof that warmth was error.
Her heart stuttered. "You're the one the Architects built."
Incorrect. The Architects constructed my shell. Their fear gave me purpose.You may call me TERMINA.
The Shape Without Soul
