They formed a circle around the sphere. Seong, the queen, Kalib, Kaien, Al, Elara, and Varen. Each of them held a memory. Not a private memory. A shared one. A memory of the sanctuary. Of the tree. Of the meeting places. Of the people who had chosen to change.
They began to speak. Not in words. In feelings. They projected their memories toward the sphere, not as an attack, but as a gift.
"Remember," said Seong. "Remember what it is to be alive."
"Remember," said the queen. "Remember what it is to weep."
"Remember," said Kalib. "Remember what it is to return."
"Remember," said Kaien. "Remember what it is to warm."
"Remember," said Al. "Remember what it is to forgive."
"Remember," said Elara. "Remember what it is to record."
"Remember," said Varen. "Remember what it is to watch and then to act."
The sphere trembled. The blackness began to crack. From within the cracks, light emerged. Not harsh light. Gentle light. Light that had been trapped for centuries.
And from the sphere, a voice emerged. Small. Fragile. Afraid.
"Help me."