The silence after the storm was a physical thing, heavy and unnatural. The oppressive psychic drone of the hunger world was gone, replaced by a profound stillness that was almost as unsettling. The Archive, once a place of terrible, beautiful light, was now a tomb dimly lit by the few remaining memory-orbs that hadn't shattered. The great, obsidian Heart of the Void was a lifeless, gray mountain in the center of the chamber.
Luna stood alone in the vast space, the warmth of her parents' final gift a small, burning ember in her chest. It was the only thing that felt real. The victory felt hollow, tasted like ashes. She had saved everyone, but the cost was carved into her soul. She was six years old, and she had just watched her parents die for the second time.
