Echo Team Two stood assembled on the launch deck of Platform Duskfall, silent under the dim crimson lighting that always accompanied offcycle departures. Captain Ryven Dace checked each member's bracer readouts with practiced calm, eyes flicking from rune seal to energy profile to pulse integrity. Unlike the crisp drills of paradeground deployments, there was a tension in the air—less like soldiers going to war, more like archaeologists entering a living tomb.
"Standard perimeter scan protocols," he said, voice low. "Nonhostile contact emphasis. If it talks, you listen. If it moves, you don't shoot unless you're already dead."
Private Cela Ramos raised a hand. "Sir, does blinking count as movement?"
Sergeant Arlin snapped his helmet visor shut. "If it blinks, and you blink, it's probably smarter than both of you."
The squad chuckled. Even Dace allowed a halfsmile.
Private Kellen rolled his shoulders. "First Team said they saw ghosts out there. Not just echoes—actual shapes. Apparitions. Any word if we're dealing with mindaffecting pulses?"
"Not officially," Dace replied. "But Benedict flagged residual mnemonic pressure. Keep your memory seals active and your thoughts simple. No old regrets."
"That disqualifies half the team," Arlin muttered.
Private Harran added, "Let's hope they only target emotional baggage. I left all mine in a mining outpost on Pyrran3."
Cela grinned. "What, your love life?"
"Worse," Harran deadpanned. "Credit debt."
Arlin snorted. "Figures. The ghosts are going to repossess your regrets."
Behind them, the stabilizer crate shimmered under its containment field. It looked identical to the one used by Team One—except for one change: Benedict had personally etched a line of glyphs across its casing. Glyphs that hadn't been seen since the Foundation War.
Cela stepped closer, brow furrowed. "Sir, is that... the same language?"
Dace gave her a glance. "It's the same family. But that's a dialect no living tongue speaks anymore. Benedict says it's meant to resonate. Not speak."
Private Harran muttered, "Feels like we're carrying a ghost beacon."
"Better than walking blind," said Arlin.
The launch doors opened. Wind howled through the pressurized airlock. Sector 9D stretched before them—shattered ground and bonegray ruins beneath a sickleshaped moon. The terrain looked like a corpse halfdigested by time: fractured towers, collapsed junction plates, and faint shimmerlines where pulse paths used to hum with energy.
Cela tapped her visor. "I'm getting refracted audio across three channels. Static and... what sounds like humming?"
"Confirm that," Dace said.
Kellen's brow furrowed. "Yeah. Sounds like a lullaby. No language. Just... rhythm."
"New protocol," Dace muttered. "If it sings—don't hum along."
The squad moved forward, boots crunching softly on broken synthstone. Every movement kicked up fine silvergray dust that never seemed to settle.
Arlin fell in beside Dace. "What's the real reason they sent us and not a recon drone?"
Dace hesitated. "Drones don't dream. Don't remember. Whatever this is—it needs something with memory."
"Or something to overwrite," Arlin said grimly.
They reached the outer shell of a ruined arcane relay tower. Glyphs etched into the stone began to pulse faintly as the stabilizer neared. The air shimmered with invisible pressure.
"Captain," Kellen said, eyes narrowing. "I think the glyphs... are watching us."
"Glyphs don't watch," Dace said. Then he glanced again. "They react."
Cela activated her microdrone, sending it ahead. The drone hovered briefly—then dipped, spiraling down into the rubble as if pulled.
"Contact!" she barked. "It's not gravity. Something drew it in."
"Withdraw the drone," Dace ordered.
"It's gone."
They stood in silence for a beat. Then the stabilizer pulsed. A low harmonic note filled the air—subsonic and layered, like chords pressed beneath stone.
Dace motioned them forward. "Echo Team Two. Move out. Keep your channels open, your minds steady... and if you hear whispers—record first, panic later."
The stabilizer hummed as they advanced.
And deep beneath the broken earth, something old began to stir.
A single pulse throbbed through the dust—silent to the ear, but not to the soul.
Cela stopped. "Captain... the glyphs just aligned. They're responding to us."
Dace glanced back. "Then let's give them something to remember."
Behind them, the ruins stirred again. One glyph pulsed—then split. Its light fractaled outward in a lattice of sharp green. A shape—tall, cloaked in what looked like static—stepped briefly into visibility at the far end of the ruins. Then it was gone.
Kellen swore softly. "Did anyone else see that?"
"I saw it," Arlin said. "And I think it saw us first."
Before they could speak again, the ground beneath the stabilizer groaned. Fissures etched with faint violet light spread outward in symmetrical lines. The device trembled slightly in its housing, then stabilized. But the dust around them had stopped moving—as if suspended in stillness.
Cela whispered, "Captain... my readings just flatlined. There's no wind. No ambient pressure. Not even heat."
Dace's voice was calm, but clipped. "Stabilizer's holding. Form up. Defensive pattern three."
They tightened formation. The ruins around them, once silent, now whispered—not through sound, but through sensation. Forgotten emotions crept into their minds: sorrow, resolve, desperation. Ghostthoughts pressing against the edges of their consciousness.
"Captain," Harran said slowly, "I think something is trying to... remember through us."
Dace looked at him. "Then keep it from taking anything you don't want to give."
Suddenly, a sharp tone sliced through their comms—followed by static, and then a voice none of them recognized. It spoke in fragmented syllables, broken and stuttering.
"Re... cor... ded... breach... sync... denied... remain..."
The voice faded, replaced by silence so absolute that even the soft hum of the stabilizer vanished.
Arlin checked his bracer. "Pulse link's down. We're blind."
Cela's eyes scanned the ruins. "Captain, we're not alone anymore. There's movement—north quadrant. Fast and intermittent."
Dace nodded. "We hold here. Sync all logs. And no one goes quiet. If you stop hearing your own voice, you speak louder. If your mind drifts—lock back to the present."
Then, for the first time, the ruins answered them.
A second shape emerged—smaller than the first, flickering in and out of reality like a stuttering projection. This one lingered, tilted its head, and then extended what looked like a hand. Not toward the squad—but toward the glyphs.
And they responded—flaring with cold fire, forming a ring around the stabilizer.
Whatever they had awakened... had just begun its ritual.