The ship's hull groaned as they passed through the Shardborn flagship's maw. The moment they crossed the threshold, the stars outside vanished, swallowed by an interior vast as a planet.
The walls were alive—veins of bioluminescence pulsing through translucent flesh, skeletal arches twisting like the ribcage of some ancient beast. Faint whispers echoed from the walls themselves, a chorus of voices speaking in a language too alien to comprehend.
"Are we… inside a living creature?" Rhyss whispered, awestruck and horrified.
"No," Ceyra muttered, scanning her instruments. "We're inside a city. An organism engineered to house an entire civilization."
As if to prove her point, organic tendrils snaked out and latched onto their ship, pulling them deeper. Kaelen's hand hovered over the weapons console. "One wrong move and I'll—"
"Don't," Lyra said softly. Her eyes were still faintly glowing. "It won't hurt us. Not yet."
They were dragged into a central chamber the size of a continent, where millions of Shardborn gathered on tiered platforms of living crystal. The beings themselves were nightmarish—tall, segmented forms plated with obsidian chitin, faces hidden behind smooth masks of glasslike material. Each mask reflected not light, but memories—brief, haunting images of wars, deaths, and triumphs flashing across their surfaces.
A silence fell as their ship settled on a platform before the tallest of them all—a figure draped in bio-organic armor, its mask swirling with images of suns collapsing.
"Bearer," it intoned, voice like grinding stone. "You carry the Seed. Kneel, and you shall inherit infinity. Refuse, and your flesh will feed our world."
Kaelen's hand moved instinctively to his blade. "Not happening."
Lyra stepped forward, trembling but unbroken. "Who… are you?"
The figure tilted its head. "I am Veythar, Prime of the Shardborn. We are the firstborn of the Architect, and you are the vessel of our return."
The crowd hissed in unison, a sound like thousands of knives scraping metal.
Ceyra muttered under her breath, "Great. We've just walked into a cult of galactic nightmares."
Veythar's mask turned to Kaelen. "Mortal warrior… your defiance amuses me. Survive our Crucible, and you may keep your lives. Fail, and she becomes ours."
The platform beneath them shifted violently, sending their ship plummeting into a glowing chasm.
"Hold on!" Kaelen shouted as the darkness swallowed them once more—this time into what could only be described as a living battlefield.