The wreck was aptly named. It was the colossal, hollowed-out remains of a celestial cathedral ship, its spires broken, its stained crystal viewports dark. Shadow-crawlers—sleek, silent security drones of the Court—patrolled its outer hull.
Using a combination of Mira's spatial masking, Ryn's drone-spoofing, and Leyla's phantom-like scouting, they slipped inside through a fissure in the thermal regulation system.
The interior was a study in elegant decay. Tattered banners of forgotten houses hung from the vaulted ceilings. The air was cold and smelled of dust and ozone. Echo's Life-Thread Perception reached out.
There. Five distinct clusters of golden threads, bright but strained, deep below in the sub-levels. And around them, dozens of the cold, precise silver threads of Shadow Court agents.
They moved like ghosts through the grand, derelict halls. They passed labs containing strange, hybrid artifacts—a crystal that wept black tears, a helmet that devoured light, a book with pages of frozen screams.
In a central archive, they found their goal. The prisoners were held in stasis fields in a circular chamber—five individuals of different species: an elderly Luminari scholar, a young beast-kin with engineer markings, a hulking Gravorg missing one arm, a timid-looking fungal being, and a human woman in the tattered robes of a Keeper.
On a dais in the room's center, a Shadow Court Operative awaited them. It was androgynous, clad in form-fitting grey, its face a smooth mask with only two dark lens for eyes.
"Sovereign," it greeted, its voice a digital whisper. "You are punctual. The Court estimated you would follow the beacon within the month. You have exceeded expectations."
"We're here for them," Echo said, hand on his blade.
"Of course. And you may have them. They are… failed experiments. Attempts to graft shadow-tech onto Ordered beings who lacked the necessary… moral flexibility. Their minds broke. They are of no further use to us. A gesture of good faith." The Operative gestured, and the stasis fields deactivated.
The prisoners slumped, conscious but dazed.
"What do you want in return?" Ryn asked, suspicious.
"Only to observe. And to deliver a message." The Operative's lens focused on Echo. "The war you know is a facade. Order and Corruption are two sides of a coin, spinning on the finger of a greater power. The Keepers of the Gloom call it the 'Song of Life.' We call it the Grand Design. You are not an accident, Echo. You are a deliberate anomaly. A wild variable inserted into the equation to see if the result changes."
The Operative took a step back, fading into the gathering shadows. "The Court does not wish to control you. We wish to see what you become when you learn the truth. The first clue lies not in the light, nor in the void, but in the blood of the first world. Find the Heartwell on the dead world of Vespera. There, you will see the cradle of your making."
The Operative vanished.
The chamber was silent, save for the ragged breathing of the freed prisoners.
The message was delivered. A hook, set deep.
And despite the danger, Echo knew he would have to bite.