The Archive had quieted, but the silence was heavy, expectant—as though it held its breath for what came next. The shards of the Glass Mother still glimmered faintly, spinning slowly like frozen stars, and the Children, now whole, wandered among them, their eyes curious but unafraid.
The Clockwork Key pulsed in my hand. Its gears spun faster now, alive with knowledge, guiding me toward the next File. I could feel it—not just the words, but the weight of everything recorded: fear, wonder, pain, joy, all compressed into pages yet to be opened.
The next File floated before me, suspended in midair. Its cover was cold and metallic, etched with strange symbols that seemed to move when I blinked:
File VIII: The Starborn Vessel.
I opened it. The first page shimmered, revealing diagrams of spacecraft and alien landscapes, but overlaid with something impossible: human forms, fragmented, suspended in strange stasis chambers. Their faces twisted in wonder, in terror, in longing.
Words began to etch themselves across the page, as though written by invisible hands:
"They came from the skies. They did not leave. They are the watchers… and they take what is broken to mend themselves."
A hiss began again, faint but familiar. Not the Hollow Astronaut this time, but something new—mechanical, alien, echoing like a thousand voices speaking in unison. The air vibrated with it.
The Children stepped closer, forming a protective circle around me, their hands brushing the floating pages. I felt their confidence, their newfound strength, passing to me.
And then the File moved. A portal opened within it—a swirling tear of black and silver light, showing glimpses of distant worlds, desolate moons, oceans of molten glass, forests that shimmered as if alive.
"You must go beyond," the Clockwork Key whispered. "The Archive is not infinite. Some truths exist only outside."
I hesitated. Beyond the Files meant leaving the Archive as I knew it, stepping into realms unrecorded, uncharted, dangerous. But I also knew that the Starborn Vessel held answers—answers to the Hollow Astronaut, the Glass Mother, the Children, and perhaps even the nature of the Archive itself.
I took a deep breath. The lantern's flame burned steady, unwavering, as though sensing my resolve.
The Children nodded, almost in unison. And with a step, I moved through the portal.
The Archive dissolved behind me, replaced by a void that stretched into infinity, punctuated by distant lights, planets, and unknown constellations. The hiss grew louder, now joined by metallic echoes, as if the universe itself were alive, watching me.
And then I saw it: a ship, vast and angular, its surface covered in mirrors and black steel. It drifted silently among the stars, engines dead, lights flickering—but it was alive, pulsing with some hidden heartbeat.
The Starborn Vessel.
As I approached, a thought struck me, chilling and immediate: the Archive had sent me here—but had it sent me to save, or to become part of something far larger and far more dangerous than I could imagine?
The Children's whispers followed me, fading but insistent: "Remember… unlock… survive."
I gripped the lantern tighter. Beyond this vessel lay the next truth. And this time, the price might not just be pieces of me—it could be everything I had ever known.