The air inside Corona Borealis had already been shredded by the shrieks of the Grey Tide.Metal walls groaned under unbearable strain, fragments of the failing energy shield shattered like meteoric glass, each impact accompanied by a deafening boom that hammered despair into the marrow of every survivor.
Li Chenyuan pressed his back against the icy base of the "Cradle." The railgun in his hands burned hot from his grip, yet his fingertips were cold as death. He did not fire. The blue halo—the last fragile shimmer of hope—flickered like a candle in the wind. He knew too well: another bullet would be nothing but a grain of sand cast into a bottomless abyss, powerless to stop the devouring darkness.
"Wang Jing!" he roared, his voice a muffled thunder cleaving through the storm, "One second! Even if it's just a single second—you hold it steady for me!"
Wang Jing's fingers had beaten the broken interface until they were bloodied stumps. Sweat and blood dripped into the tangled circuits, sparking faint hisses. Logic screamed it was futile, but instinct refused to stop. His ears were filled with alarms and the dying cries of comrades—until suddenly, they were drowned out by something deeper, older—
Thump… thump… thump…
A heartbeat.Not his. Not Li Chenyuan's. The rhythm pierced through interference and distance, carrying fragile warmth across the void—Su Xiaolan's.
Inside Zero Station, crimson alarms spun madly, slicing desperate faces into fragments of shadow and light. The shrill siren of the overloading core was enough to tear eardrums apart.
"Stability is gone! The core could collapse any second!" a technician screamed hoarsely, his face ashen.But Lu Xingze ignored the chaos. His eyes locked onto the monitor where the brainwave curve thrashed like a storm. It was no longer chaotic static—it was condensing into rhythm, into a frequency heavy with unspeakable power, like a requiem echoing from the depths of the soul.
"Channel the energy into her." His voice was raw with strain, yet cold, absolute."What?! That'll burn her brain out even faster!""She's the only bridge!" Lu Xingze snapped, bloodshot eyes blazing. "The core's destructive surge needs a resonant outlet! Her consciousness frequency is the only one that can link with Corona Borealis! Without her, we're ash already!"
No one argued further. For they all saw—inside the medical pod, Su Xiaolan's body convulsed under violent shocks, sweat soaking the sheets. Yet she forced her eyes open. Clouded pupils flickered with a near-divine resolve. Her lips trembled, releasing a broken but crystalline whisper that pierced the glass:
"…I hear them… their cries… and… their hearts beating…"
The moment the raging energy was forced into her system, her brainwaves locked perfectly with the signal pulsing from the Cradle across the storm. Their resonance was absolute.
Within Corona Borealis, Wang Jing froze as if struck by lightning, eyes widening in disbelief."No… this isn't a single activation signal. This is… a resonance sequence! A lock that can only be matched by a living consciousness as carrier and amplifier!"
The truth blazed through him—the Cradle had never awaited a code or command. Its key was a heart: a vessel strong enough to bear and transform all the remnants of humanity—fear, hope, love, memory—into a single pure frequency.
"Not a key… a heart! It needs a heart!" he screamed with everything left in him, the words torn away by the howls of the Grey Tide—yet they lit fire in Li Chenyuan's eyes.
The Grey Tide crashed upon them, shrieking like the wails of a billion lost souls. Li Chenyuan closed his eyes for a heartbeat, inhaling what tasted like rusted iron, then opened them again, calm as eternal ice, sharp as a blade."All units, hear my command—" His voice cut impossibly clear through the roar. "Mark it! Not with fire—answer it with your existence!"
He hurled his railgun to the floor, raising an empty hand high. It was not surrender—it was a new assault: an assault of resonance.
Inside Zero Station.Su Xiaolan felt every cell torn and remade in the torrent. Blood welled from her eyes, ears, nose, tracing red rivers across pale skin. Yet in the endless dark, she heard.
Countless voices surged like waves:"Mom… I'm so scared…""Please, someone save us…""I don't want to disappear…""Why us…"
Despairing cries, resentful moans, all the voices that composed the Grey Tide. She did not resist. She did not fear. She opened herself, and let flow the simplest, oldest pulse of all—born of life itself:
—Safety.—Peace.—You are not alone.
The Cradle shuddered violently—then erupted in radiance.
Blue light no longer flickered weakly. It roared into a tidal wave of brilliance, sweeping across the great hall of Corona Borealis. The Grey Tide crashed against it—yet at contact, the devouring mass convulsed, quaked… and stilled.
And upon the surface of the writhing grey matter, fractured images began to emerge: faded warning signs on metal walls, a child's crude drawing in the corner, blurred outlines of human faces. They were no longer pure destruction, but a graveyard of memories, suddenly stirred awake.
Wang Jing collapsed to his knees, trembling, reaching toward the impossible glow. "She… she did it… she made them… remember…"
But Li Chenyuan did not relax. He stood like stone, eyes piercing the still-shifting abyss beyond, voice low, prophetic:"No… this isn't the end. This is only the beginning of their confusion."
In Zero Station, at the edge of her failing consciousness, Su Xiaolan felt the cacophony of voices condense into a single, heavy sigh that seared into her soul:
"…We… still… remember…"
Then she slipped into unconsciousness, but her brainwaves stabilized—stronger, calmer than ever before, resonating in harmony.
Corona Borealis and Zero Station—two battered brothers on opposite ends of the storm—fell into the same fragile stillness.A silence like the eye of a hurricane, fragile, perilous, filled with unknowable weight.