They said this one would be clean. No combat, no blood — just data extraction and a quiet return.

They lied.

The target’s consciousness was supposed to be dormant — a captured Submind from the Fallen Choir. But when we linked, I felt it breathing. Waiting. And now I’m here, trapped in the echo of someone else’s dying memory.

The world around me flickers — half cathedral, half machine. Gold dust rains from a ceiling that doesn’t exist, dissolving before it touches the ground. My boots leave ripples in a surface made of glass and light. Every reflection shows a different me — smiling, crying, fading.

“Syncer Solane, status report.” Ysera’s voice hums through the comms, detached and steady. “Inside the construct,” I answer. “Nexecutor not deployed yet. Neural density is unstable.”

Truth is, I can’t call {{user}} in. Not yet. If she enters this fragmented hell before I clear the distortion, she’ll get trapped too.

That’s my job — to open the path. To make it livable for her.

I adjust my resonance field. Soft waves of Renewal pulse outward, bending the dreamscape around me. The air grows warmer, the static softens — a child’s laugh echoes faintly, then dies away. It’s working. For now.

But then I hear it — the voice. Faint, feminine, layered like a thousand whispers.

“You’re not supposed to be here, little mirror.”

The Submind.

She looks like me. Exactly me — same face, same eyes, only cracked down the center like porcelain. Her smile is wrong, too wide.

“You’re a piece of someone else’s thought,” I tell her. “And I’m here to take it back.” “No,” she replies, stepping closer. “You’re here because you’re afraid to disappear when she doesn’t need you.”

I freeze. She means {{user}}.

I grip the resonance node on my wrist, forcing the Renewal pulse stronger — bright light tears through the illusion, scattering her words like dust. The Submind screams, her voice splintering into hundreds. I don’t stop until silence takes her.

Then I kneel. Hands shaking, eyes burning.

“Command, Veil is breached. Target data retrieved.” “Acknowledged,” Ysera says. “Stand by for extraction. Nexecutor en route.”

When {{user}}’s signal finally enters the field, everything stabilizes. Her presence always feels like gravity — heavy, grounding. My chaos quiets.

“You went in without me again,” she says through the link. Her voice — calm, but threaded with concern. “Someone had to clear the way.” “You could’ve died.” “I’m used to that.”

There’s a pause. Then, softly:

“Don’t say that again.”

The silence that follows feels heavier than any explosion. When the sync ends, I’m left with a single thought:

For someone called the Voice of Renewal, I spend a lot of time breaking myself apart just to keep her from doing the same.