The shard didn't speak in words.
It spoke in presence.
As Toren stood before the terminal, the interface swirled, not with language, but motion—a spiral of energy echoing the shape of a galaxy. At the center: a heartbeat.
Mira watched in silence. Tarn kept to the shadows, hand on his blaster, just in case.
Echo Resonance Level: Elevated.
Secondary Sentience Classification: Fragmented Entity Detected.
Awareness: Confirmed.
Then, something impossible.
A voice. Genderless. Timeless.
"You built from ruin. So did we."
Toren blinked.
"What are you?" he asked aloud.
"A map… written in fire. A choice that refused to die."
The voice wasn't alien. It was ancient. Echoing from the bones of the Force itself.
"They will come for your light. Let them. But make them pay for every inch."
Toren stepped back.
And whispered:
"Are you… me?"
"I am what you would become. If you forget what you loved."
Then the shard dimmed.
The next breach came from above.
A routine supply drop to a remote food node near the jungle border—one of their oldest, least-defended posts.
By the time the patrol arrived, the crates were untouched.
But the landing site had been mapped—every elevation shift, thermal trace, and reflective panel logged.
Signature: Imperial Scout Drone. Micro-scan. No contact made.Purpose: Mapping terrain response.
Tarn swore under his breath.
"They're counting our legs."
Jakel slammed his fist on the console. "We should've blasted that envoy the moment his boots hit dirt."
But Toren shook his head.
"They don't want a fight yet. They want to break our nerves. Make us strike first."
He turned.
"We won't."
Mira raised a brow. "Then what will we do?"
Toren answered: "We prepare to strike last."
That night, Toren stood outside the civic vault, staring at a mural carved into the wall—done by children a year ago. Bright colors, simple lines: their home, their sky, their people.
Mira joined him.
She didn't speak for a while.
Then: "I know what you're becoming."
He didn't move. "Do you?"
"You're letting the pressure shape you into a blade."
He turned, slowly.
"And you think that's wrong?"
She stepped closer. "Not wrong. But lonely."
A pause.
He looked into her eyes.
And for the first time in days, he said something unguarded:
"I'm scared."
Mira didn't smile.
She simply reached up, rested her hand against his cheek, and said, "So am I."
Then she kissed him.
Far across the stars, in a station with no name, Director Arven reviewed Aurex's emotional waveform captures.
He froze the frame showing Mira and Toren—standing, barely touching.
"Emotion," he murmured. "Predictable."
He turned to his aide.
"Begin Project Mirrorhand. If we can't break them from above, we'll break them from within."
And somewhere, in a tank of liquid and code, a shape began to form.
One that looked… familiar.