The platform carried Rourke and Seren into the depths of the ancient sphere like an elevator descending through the skeleton of a long-departed giant. Blue filaments of gravitational light rippled along the walls, illuminating broken bridges, shattered corridors, and vast chambers suspended in zero-gravity like pieces of a cathedral torn apart and left drifting in the void.
Seren gripped the railing, her breath shallow. "This place… it feels alive."
Rourke nodded. "Because it is."
The gravitational guide—still shimmering in its humanoid form—drifted ahead of them, its body shedding faint motes of starlight that floated weightlessly before dissolving into the darkness.
"The Heart rests below," it said.
"But the path has grown unstable. Its pulse weakens. Its memory fades."
Rourke frowned. "Are you saying the Heart is dying?"
"Yes."
"And you want me to save it?" Rourke asked quietly.
"You are the only one who can."
Seren stole a glance at Rourke—uncertain, worried. "And if he fails?"
The guide paused.
"Then the last echo of the Solarii will vanish.
And the Hunters will rule the void unchallenged."
The words carried the weight of finality, echoing through the hollow sphere like a prophecy carved in stone.
The Descent
The platform clicked into place at the mouth of an enormous vertical shaft. Columns twisted around it like the ribs of some cosmic beast. From far below, a soft glow pulsed—slow, weak, but unmistakably alive.
"The Heart," Rourke whispered.
The guide floated forward, gesturing to a series of gravitic walkways that spiraled downward. Many sections were broken, missing entirely—chunks of walkway drifted freely in the shaft, caught in swirling micro-gravity eddies.
Seren tested one with her foot. It shifted slightly, but held.
Rourke followed, though the hum in his chest grew stronger with every step, vibrating like the low growl of a sleeping star trying to wake.
They crossed the first broken section—a gap of eight meters. Seren tossed a loose piece of metal into the space. It drifted, then snapped into a slow orbit around an invisible point.
"A gravity well," she said. "I can map its pull—follow me."
Rourke jumped the gap, landing on the next fragment of walkway as Seren guided him through the invisible distortions. But the deeper they descended, the more the sphere felt… aware.
Rourke sensed whispers.
Not words.
Not memories.
Just feelings.
Loss.
Fear.
Hope, fading like dust on the wind.
"What are you sensing?" Seren asked.
Rourke shook his head. "Echoes. Like the walls remember what happened here."
"And what happened here destroyed your people," Seren said softly.
He didn't answer.
Some wounds didn't need repeating.
The Chamber of the Heart
They reached a wide platform suspended above a swirling vortex of blue light. It stretched in every direction, vast enough to swallow a starship. Tendrils of gravitational energy arced upward from the center, latching onto broken pylons and shattered conduits like the last trembling threads of a giant web.
Rourke's breath caught.
Floating in the center of the chamber was the Heart.
A sphere of compressed gravitic essence—like a small star wrapped in metallic armor. Cracks spiderwebbed across its surface, leaking threads of unstable energy.
The Heart pulsed once.
Weak.
Tired.
Dying.
Seren's voice trembled. "Rourke… that's millions of years old. How has it lasted this long?"
The guide spoke, its voice now softer—reverent.
"It endures because the Solarii willed it to.
But even will cannot defy entropy forever."
Rourke stepped toward the edge of the platform.
The hum inside him roared.
The Heart pulsed again—this time stronger, as if responding directly to him.
Seren grabbed his arm. "Rourke. Slow down. We don't know how close you can get without triggering something violent."
The guide drifted beside them.
"He must approach. The Heart recognizes him."
Rourke swallowed hard. "And if it decides I'm not worthy?"
"Then the chamber will collapse."
Seren's eyes widened. "Collapse? As in—"
"You will not survive."
"Wonderful," Seren muttered. "Great odds."
But Rourke wasn't afraid.
Because the pulse in his chest wasn't afraid.
It was calling.
He stepped forward.
One step.
Two.
The gravity around him shifted—lighter in some places, heavier in others. The tendrils of energy swayed toward him, tasting his presence like curious serpents.
Seren remained behind, watching with trembling hands.
Rourke reached the edge of the platform.
The air around him thickened.
The Heart flared—its surface rippling with arcs of blue. The entire chamber trembled, loose debris lifting from the ground and orbiting lazily.
Suddenly—
A beam of energy shot from the Heart, striking the floor in front of him.
Seren shouted, "Rourke, get back!"
But Rourke didn't move.
The beam split into a ring of symbols—spirals, curves, harmonic lines—all floating in the air before him. They rotated slowly, each symbol igniting in brilliant silver.
"What is this?" Rourke whispered.
The guide answered with reverence:
"The Trial."
Rourke felt a cold shiver crawl up his spine. "Trial?"
"The Heart will test your essence," the guide said.
"It must determine if you are truly Solarii… or merely pretending to be."
A low rumbling shook the chamber. The symbols exploded outward in a shower of light, forming a gravitational barrier that encircled the Heart.
Seren took a step forward. "Rourke—don't do this alone. Let me—"
But she couldn't speak the next word.
Because gravity folded around Rourke like a fist—lifting him gently, pulling him away from the platform. Seren reached for him, but her fingers slipped through the shimmering distortion like it was water.
The guide turned to her.
"You cannot follow.
This path is his alone."
Rourke hovered inches above the swirling vortex below. The gravitational currents tugged at him, wrapping around him like tendrils of living energy.
The Heart pulsed.
Rourke felt its voice—not sound, not thought, but pure gravity—flowing into him:
"Show us who you are."
The energy around him tightened.
The trial had begun.
Rourke closed his eyes.
And the Heart pulled him in.