It was not a pre-set destination,
but rather, after the journey to the Mirror Abyss concluded, based on the newly acquired data, the state of her companions, and the subtle resonance coming from the oath of starlight earring, it was the "place they should go most at this moment" that naturally emerged.
Beside the coordinates, there were no experimental labels, no evaluation reports.
There was only a single line of simple handwritten notes, the handwriting belonging to Bai Cheng herself:
“Go and listen to the final echoes... of those archived civilizations.”
Inside the bridge, the hum of the engine was steady and powerful.
Zi Yuan checked her scabbard; Blue Bird hummed a tuneless Thor's War Song; Leng Ningxue planned the course; Lu Duo and Yu Nian spoke in low voices; Garel wiped his eyepatch; and the radiance of High Priestess Aurora and Elune intertwined into a web of blessings.
Abraham sat in his wheelchair, looking at the real starry sky outside the window. The spark deep within his gray eyes finally stopped flickering.
It burned steadily—faint, yet persistent.
“Recorder Abraham,” he suddenly spoke, his voice still aged, but with a hint less fatigue, “requesting a log update.”
Bai Cheng turned her head: “Update what?”
Abraham raised a withered hand, slowly tracing an invisible line of words in the air.
The trajectory of those words actually resonated faintly with the light from the oath of starlight earring.
“Update the status of Experiment No. ST-774321.”
He said,
“From 【In Progress】...”
“To—”
He paused, his gray eyes reflecting every young and determined face on the bridge.
“【Variables have gone out of control; recommend re-evaluating the experimental framework】.”
Bai Cheng smiled.
The smile was shallow, yet like the first ray of light piercing the night at dawn.
“Update approved.”
She said.
“Now, let us go and see...”
“What kind of new data an out-of-control variable can create.”
The dawn turned its course, following the coordinate line that had just emerged on the star chart, sailing into the depths of the starry sky.
And behind the ship, in the void where the Mirror Abyss had completely closed, the phantom of that Wordless Heavenly Book quietly emerged, its pages flipping open automatically.
On a new page, ink began to flow:
【Volume III · Chapter of Echoes】
【Act I: Data Has Weight】
【Synopsis: When deleted memories begin to seek their way home, when silent mirrors begin to sing, when experimental subjects learn to read experimental reports—】
【The story truly enters a chapter that no one can predict.】
Before the ink was dry, the pages gently closed.
As if impatient to wait...
For the next moment worthy of being recorded to arrive.
Next Station Preview: Forgotten Star Abyss · Tomb of Echoes
There sleep the echoes of all civilizations erased by the cleanup protocol over the past three thousand years.
They cannot return, but their stories...
Perhaps they can still be heard.
The starlight of the Mirror Abyss gradually blurred into distant spots of light behind the porthole as the dawn sailed steadily along the newly emerged coordinate line on the star chart.
Outside the window, the scenery of the star sea changed again; it was no longer the cold, orderly arrangement of the Mirror Abyss, nor was it like the bustling star sectors near Shandora, but rather a silence bordering on desolation.
Stardust was as sparse as the last grains of sand in a desert, and most of the distant stars were dim and lusterless, as if they could go out at any moment.
There was a strange sense of echo in the space, the traces of some presence lingering briefly before dissipating, like countless shadows existing and vanishing simultaneously.
“This place is...” Leng Ningxue pulled up the regional scan data, a hint of confusion flashing in her icy eyes.
“The star chart marks it as the Forgotten Star Abyss, ◈ Nоvеlіgһт ◈ (Continue reading) but records of this area in all Federation databases are extremely vague, with only one note: exploration not recommended.”
“Because this is an area where the cleanup protocol has been executed,” Abraham's voice came from the direction of his wheelchair.
A gray light mirror floated before him, quickly flashing through partial records copied from the Mirror Heart Database.
The screen stopped on a document labeled 【cleanup protocol Execution Log - ST-774321 - Sub-item - 009】.
“According to the Council records, during the three thousand years of the sky island civilization's experiments, a total of seventeen sub-civilization branches that deviated excessively from the pre-set trajectory were judged as experimental failures, and the cleanup protocol was executed.”
Abraham's withered fingers slid across the list of documents. “The cleanup sites for nine of those branches... are right here in this Star Abyss.”
Silence filled the bridge.
There was only the low hum of the engine and the suppressed breathing of everyone.
“Nine civilizations...” Lu Duo's emerald eyes reflected the desolate star sea outside the window. “Were they... wiped out right here?”
“Not wiped out, but recycled.”
Abraham corrected her, but his voice lacked the coldness such a correction should have; there was only a profound exhaustion.
“Terminology of the Observer Council. Decomposing life forms into basic particles, compressing and archiving civilization data, and resetting physical structures to their initial state.
The entire process is what they call resource recycling and experimental environment reset.”
The thunderous light in Garel's right eye flickered violently: “So in this Star Abyss... there's nothing left?”
“In a physical sense, yes.” Abraham paused, his gray eyes looking out the porthole at the darkness that seemed capable of swallowing all light.
“But records from the Mirror Heart Database show that the cleanup protocol is not perfect. Highly emotional civilizations produce a kind of... residue at the moment of their demise.”
“Residue?” Bai Cheng repeated softly.
“The embers of emotion,” High Priestess Aurora suddenly spoke. The sunstone in his hand was emitting an unusually soft light, the rhythm of which synchronized with the rhythm of his words.
“Faith, love, hate, persistence... when the lives carrying these emotions are forcibly decomposed, the emotions themselves do not immediately dissipate.
They will linger at the site of demise like echoes until time smoothes over the last trace of vibration.”
Elune's wings of light brushed gently. Her gaze pierced through the porthole as if staring at something invisible to the naked eye:
“I sense it... the wrinkles of time.
They weren't formed naturally, but are traumatic imprints on the structure of space-time caused when a massive amount of life vanished at the same moment and in the same way.”
The dawn continued to head deeper.
As the sailing distance increased, that sense of echo became stronger and stronger.
At first, it was just a faint sense of pressure, like walking in an empty ancient hall, always feeling like someone was watching from behind.
Gradually, everyone on the bridge began to hear something—not through their ears, but whispers acting directly on their consciousness.
Those whispers had no specific language, only fragments of emotion: despair, resentment, acceptance, attachment, anger, sorrow... billions of emotions intertwined into a chaotic tide, flowing silently in the void of the Star Abyss.
“Turn off external sensory filtering,” Bai Cheng suddenly ordered. “Receive on all frequencies, but maintain mental barriers.”
“Are you crazy?” Blue Bird countered subconsciously. “An information stream of this level of mental pollution—”
“We need to hear clearly,” Bai Cheng interrupted her. The trajectory of the star rivers flowing in her silver eyes became extremely slow, as if she were parsing those chaotic fragments of emotion. “What they want to say.”
Leng Ningxue quickly executed the command.
In an instant, those whispers became billions of times clearer.
