The farther Lullaby went, the louder the vaults sang. It wasn't music — not in any sense he knew — but a weaving of broken voices, half-memories, and distorted emotion. Every step echoed back at him, but each echo carried new meaning, whispering secrets he hadn't known he remembered.
The shard he walked on tilted sharply underfoot, gravity twisting like a spinning top. The orb hovered before him, glowing intensely, warning him of instability. He gripped the edges of his exoskeleton and leapt to the next platform, feeling the hollow pull of the void beneath.
Ahead, a vast chamber unfolded: the Shattered Choir. It was a cathedral of broken machinery, suspended glass, and metallic pillars that twisted into spirals. Shadow-forms danced along the walls, coalescing into figures that resembled Galabies, but wrong. Limbs bent impossibly, eyes hollow, faces melting like wax. Each flickered as though struggling to hold onto a memory that wasn't theirs anymore.
Lullaby's breath hitched. The whispers became louder, singing fragments of lullabies he had once sung as a child. Some were pleading, some accusing, and some… eerily joyful. He realized these were not echoes of life, but of what had been lost — the very essence the Eldritch Hunter had stolen, lingering in the vault like ghosts trapped in amber.
A sudden surge of movement caught him off guard. The shadows merged into a colossal figure, faceless, stretching from floor to ceiling, limbs branching like mechanical trees. It moved with a sickening, fluid grace, as if the vault itself had birthed it. Lullaby stumbled back, and the orb flared, casting a protective dome of light around him.
It's testing me, he thought, heart hammering. It wants to see what I carry inside.
The figure leaned closer, and whispers coalesced into words. Not Galaby speech, but something older, alien. "What do you remember?"
Lullaby swallowed, clenching his fists. Memories of Homelight, his mother's gaze, the songs of the elders, the laughter of the children before the calamity — all surged through him. I remember everything, he whispered. I will not forget.
The shadow recoiled slightly, faltering as the orb's light resonated with Lullaby's memory. Golden threads of energy shot outward, stitching together fragments of broken echoes. The figure twisted, contorting violently, then dissolved into shards of darkness that scattered across the chamber like falling ash.
But the victory was brief. From the corners of the room, new shapes began to emerge: smaller, faster, more insidious. Shadow-glass predators, their reflective shards catching the orb's light and splitting it into dizzying patterns. Lullaby realized he couldn't fight them conventionally — he had to think, to move with the light, to become part of the pattern.
He closed his eyes for a moment, letting his senses expand beyond sight. The whispers guided him, the orb pulsed in rhythm with his heartbeat, and he began to move — leaping, spinning, weaving between predator and shadow. Every misstep could be death, but the flow of memory, the tether of light, and sheer instinct carried him forward.
At the far end of the chamber, a golden glow shimmered. It wasn't the orb. It was… another fragment, another survivor, or perhaps a clue left by the world itself. Lullaby's chest tightened. Hope. Hope was real. Even here.
He ran.
And the Shattered Choir sang behind him, a cacophony of lost voices, echoing through metal and shadow, a testament to what had been, and a warning of what awaited beyond.