012.01 – The Vanishing World
The Savasu slipped out of the Nairu. G.I.Z.I. had dropped them off here after detecting a viable planet. Her sensors stretched out of the Nairu in a quiet rhythm, constantly searching, looking for anomalies that stood out. Apparently, she found one.
“Why here?” Zion sat hunched over the console, eyes focused on the data streaming across her screen.
Then she froze.
“Wait.” Her voice broke the silence of the bridge. “This can’t be right.”
As the others stirred, Zea glanced up from the star map, and Oromi’s head lifted slowly from meditation.
Zion recalibrated the instruments, fingers darting across the surface with controlled urgency. The holographic projection shifted, then steadied. A green-blue planet bloomed in the void like a beacon.
Oromi frowned. “That wasn’t there before.”
“It wasn’t,” Zion replied flatly. She tapped a control, replaying the last sweep. Nothing but dust and fractured asteroids. Then another. Still nothing. “I’ve run the array three times and yet there it is.”
The hologram rotated, washing the low-lit bridge in pale light. Atmosphere: breathable Oceans: abundant. Vegetation: rich. A perfect candidate.
Zea felt something deep in his subconscious.
“Is it inhabited?” Hagok asked.
“Yes,” Zea whispered for everyone to hear.
“How do you know?” Rotan asked.
Zea realized that everyone had heard him. “Too perfect not to be.”
“Zea is right, it is. And not just inhabited: it has large cities spanning venars, the type of civilization that’s been around for thousands of years.” Rotan couldn’t help speaking with admiration.
Kuma leaned forward, voice sharp. “How did our drone ships miss that on a scout run? Those drones mapped every system in this sector before we even left home.”
The silence stretched as the question hung heavy in the recycled air.
“Maybe they didn’t miss it,” Rhea muttered from her station. “Maybe it wasn’t there.”
Oromi’s expression deepened into shadow. “Worlds do not simply appear.”
But there it was, pulsing like a heart in the void, pristine and alive. A planet that should not exist, waiting for them.
“Zea, Artelle, Kolnar, Rhea—take the Vaila to the surface. Go meet the inhabitants and let’s get some answers,” Hagok ordered.
Zea felt the weight of it in his chest. He kept his face calm, but inside a whisper rose, threading across his mind in that familiar current, seeping in as quickly as it left.
He ignored it, instead rushing off towards the hangar.
012.02 – The Pull
The expedition crew guided the Veila down toward the largest city, certain it was the capital. From above, it was breathtaking: towers spiraling like chiseled crystal, avenues strung together with elaborate bridges, whole districts pulsing faintly as though powered by the planet itself. It was technology, yes, but unlike anything the Wanderers had ever seen.
They touched down at the city’s edge. Waiting for them was a formation of soldiers armored in gleaming plates that shimmered with the same resonance as the buildings.
Zea stepped forward, hands open. “We are Iovian,” he called. “We come in peace; we are not a threat.”
“We never considered you one.” The leader regarded him, voice steady. “I am Laneth and we are the Onalia. You should not have come here.”
Before Zea could answer, Artelle’s voice cracked. “Rhea, your nose.”
Blood spilled down Rhea’s face, too sudden and too much. She tried to wipe it with the back of her hand, but the flow quickened.
“Kolnar, yours too,” Zea said sharply. Artelle touched her own lip and felt a warm line of red dripping down her chin.
Rhea hunched over, knees buckling before she collapsed hard onto the stone. Kolnar staggered against a wall and slid down beside her. Artelle clung to Zea’s arm, struggling to stay upright before she dropped as well.
“What are you doing to them?” Zea demanded.
The Onalia leader shook his head slowly, calm as stone. “It is not us. It is the planet. They don’t belong. But you…” His gaze lingered on Zea, unblinking. “You,” he paused and took a breath to collect his thoughts, “are different. You were meant to come.”
Zea’s pulse hammered. He tightened his grip on Artelle’s shoulder but forced himself to stand still, silent.
The leader gestured to the fallen. “We will treat your friends.”
“I’ll get them back to our ship in orbit,” Zea said, already reaching for Rhea’s arm.
Laneth’s voice sharpened, though his tone never rose. “You do not understand. Once you descend, you cannot ascend. The planet will not release you.”
High above, the Savasu cut a steady line across orbit, the planet gleaming beneath her hull with its green seas and silver cities shining like mirrors in the light.
“Zea to Savasu.”
“Zea, report,” Hagok barked.
“Everyone’s fallen ill, everyone but me. Apparently some severe side effects from being on the surface. Rhea, Kolnar, Artelle—they’ve all collapsed.”
Hagok’s reply was instant. “Get them back aboard for treatment.”
“There’s a problem,” Zea said, voice tight. “The Onalia claim once you enter the gravity field, you can’t ascend.”
Hagok’s jaw clenched. “Kuma, full reverse.”
The deck lurched.
“Gravitational spike!” Zion’s voice cut across the bridge. “Hull under stress. Rerouting all reserve power to shields. Something’s holding us!”
The forward display fractured, stars bending like warped glass. The ship groaned deep in her frame, a sound that sank into their bones.
“Feels like we’re stuck!” Kuma shouted over the alarms.
Hagok slammed the railing. “Define stuck. We’re in orbit, not a swamp.”
“Not stuck exactly,” Zion snapped. “We can descend, or hold. But if we climb out, she’ll tear herself apart.”
“Then push her free!” Hagok barked.
Kuma’s fingers moved across the console. “Engines to full reverse!”
The Savasu bucked, alarms shrieking. The deck shook beneath their boots, red warnings cascading across the screens.
“Negative!” Zion shouted. “Hull stress at ninety-three percent. Another thrust cycle and she splits in two!”
“All systems full stop,” Hagok said, voice unhappy but laced with defeat.
The ship sagged lower, caught in resonance that clawed at every bolt.
“Zea, get me some answers!”
“What’s happening? Why is the planet not allowing us to leave? Who are you?” Zea demanded.
Laneth’s expression did not change. “You have many questions. For one with an open mind, you seem unwilling to accept it. The knowledge is there.”
“I don’t understand,” Zea exclaimed.
“We know you are Zea. They are Rhea, Artelle, and Kolnar. You are Wanderers from Iova. Your planet is dead, and you wander the stars looking for a new home.”
Zea’s pulse quickened. “How do you know this?”
Laneth’s gaze held him, calm and unreadable. “We know…because the knowledge exists. Without it, there would be nothing to know.” He paused. “Come. Walk with me.”
012.03 – The Threadborn
The Onalia leader turned, his soldiers already moving with calm precision. Two lifted Rhea, another pair steadied Kolnar, and Artelle was guided gently by two more silver-armored figures toward an arched structure pulsing with faint light. Zea followed, torn between staying at their side and learning more of this world.
The city unfolded in front of him—bridges of polished stone, towers glimmering, avenues stretching as far as the eye could see. Citizens watched from balconies and terraces, but there was no curiosity in their faces. Only a stillness, like knowing the punch line to a joke one had yet to tell.
In one courtyard, small groups sat in circles upon the polished stone, their eyes closed, their bodies still. They were young, though their expressions carried the same serenity Zea had seen in the elders. A faint hum threaded between them, not words but resonance.
“You said the knowledge is there; what did you mean?”
“The danger is not in absence, but in excess. The knowledge presses to enter every mind, but most resist. It flows through the Nairu. It always has, carrying the memory of every thought, every word ever spoken. Yet most grasp at what they think they are, and when they resist, they break.”
Laneth slowed. “Our schools,” he said simply.
Zea frowned. “Schools? If the knowledge is already there, what is left to learn?”
Laneth’s gaze never wavered. “We teach our young not to seek, but to accept. To let it flow through without fear. The knowledge is there…but only for those willing endure it.”
Zea’s chest tightened. He remembered Sabini’s voice forcing his mind open, the searing pain of the kernel burning into him. He had not accepted. He had been broken open.
Laneth’s eyes lingered on him as though he already knew.
“You are not suffering,” the leader said without turning. His voice was flat, certain.
Zea shook his head. “No.”
“Because you are not rejected. Your mind resonates with the thread. You are wired differently.”
The words dug deep, and with them came a memory Zea had carried like a scar. Sabini’s voice against his consciousness, her presence in his mind:
“The end of Iova will come sooner than they think.”
He remembered fumbling with Carodia, catching fragments he couldn’t hold until Sabini forced his mind open, searing the kernel into place. It had felt like a door breaking open, and he had never been able to close it again.
Zea’s breath caught. The imprint she left was still there, burning faintly, guiding him even now.
The Onalia leader stopped at the threshold of a great hall, walls arching overhead like the inside of a vast shell, etched with glyphs that shimmered faintly. Older than Surusu, but close enough to echo it.
“You are Threadborn,” he said, turning his gaze on Zea. “Others fall, but not you. The kernel within you binds you to the lattice. The Nairu does not reject its own.”
Zea clenched his fists. The flood of voices pressed against him again: laughter, grief, memory, terror. Not only the Onalia, but something older, stretching back into silence.
He forced himself to breathe, jaw tight.
The leader’s tone softened, though it remained unshaken. “Do not fight it. Carodia, as you call it, has always been here. You are only broaching the edge; it takes years to hear and master its full voice.”
Zea said nothing. He carried the weight of Sabini’s gift, or curse, alone.
012.04 – The Long Sleep
The great hall glimmered faintly, its vaulted shell alive with glyphs that pulsed like a heartbeat. Zea paced beside Laneth while his crew was tended to in adjoining chambers.
“You say you are tied to the Nairu,” Zea said, his voice low but steady. “Our understanding of the Nairu is that it flows through space. It’s not fixed; it’s like a river, with countless streams feeding into it, each reaching toward planets, galaxies, toward every mind. You claim it carries the knowledge of the universe. But words…” He looked at Laneth directly. “Words are not enough.”
For the first time, Laneth’s expression shifted to one of almost approval.
“No,” he agreed. “They are not.”
The Onalia leader stepped closer. His eyes seemed to glow. He raised a hand, not to touch, but to steady the air between them.
“Then see.”
The world around Zea fractured. The hall dissolved.
He stood on the bridge of the Savasu, alarms screaming. The hull buckled and tore apart as the ship was dragged into the phasing current. He spun around: Rhea was convulsing at her station, then vanished into dust. Kuma clutched a console, eyes wide with terror, before his body blurred and faded into thin air.
Artelle reached for him, her lips shaping his name, and then she was gone, dissolving into nothing. One by one, they all unraveled, voices swallowed before they could scream.
And then silence.
Zea staggered. He was still there, alone. The Savasu shattered around him, then folded into whiteness so that only he remained, standing in a void where nothing else had survived.
Laneth’s voice pressed through the vision, not with sound but with weight.
“This is what comes if you remain. The Long Sleep will not hold its rhythm for your crew. The world phases, and it will claim all it rejects.”
Zea’s throat burned. “Why me? Why do I survive?”
The vision shuddered; the void folded back into the hall. The glyphs returned, faint and steady.
Laneth gazed at him, calm and merciless. “Because you are Threadborn. The threads do not cut their own.”
Zea’s fists clenched at his sides. The memory of the vision lingered like fire in his chest—the faces of his crew unraveling into nothing, the soundless echo of loss.
Laneth’s tone softened. “Do not waste the gift Sabini has given you. You carry the kernel. You have access to the knowledge. Or…if you prefer, another thread.”
The white void fractured again. Zea stood before Khivy’s stasis pod aboard the worldship. His daughter’s chest rose and fell rhythmically. His wife lay beside her, peaceful, unreachable. Zea pressed his palm against the glass, breath fogging the surface, inches from their faces. For a heartbeat, he was whole again.
Laneth’s voice flowed through the silence. “You will survive the Long Sleep. In time, you will learn to hold Carodia, to walk the Nairu. It is more than a corridor. It is a gift from the First Race.”
Zea leaned close, kissed the glass, and closed his eyes. When he opened them, Laneth was watching.
“I choose my people. I choose my daughter.”
012.05 – A Vanishing World
The Wanderers were gathered once more in the great hall, though they could barely stand. Rhea sat slumped, pale but breathing. Kolnar leaned against the wall, his jaw tight, while Artelle still clutched her temples, the residue of the planet’s rejection lingering in her veins. Only Zea stood steady, his eyes fixed on Laneth.
The air vibrated faintly. There was neither sound nor silence, but something deeper. Outside, the towers of the Onalia shimmered like crystal, catching the last light of dusk.
“How long?” Artelle’s voice cracked. She was pale, her breath uneven, but her eyes were sharp. “For how long do you…disappear?”
Laneth’s gaze swept the crew, then returned to Zea. His steady voice carried the weight of inevitability.
“We wake for nearly a century. The Nairu passes through our planet’s core. This is why your early scans did not detect us. In those years, we are not here. We vanish for ten thousand years. To us, it is the span of a single night. To you, an eternity. This is our rhythm. Our return is never precise, but close enough that we can measure it.”
Silence pressed in after the words.
Rhea lifted her face, dried blood still smeared under her nose. “You skip across time,” she rasped, “while everything else dies.”
Laneth inclined his head. “We endure, because the threads endure. This is the gift and the burden of the Onalia. The phasing begins,” he said softly. “Your ship cannot endure; distance is only a thread, and threads can be rewoven.”
Laneth closed his eyes.
Zea felt the world tilt, not as motion but as unraveling. His body scattered like dust on a current, then was gathered again, whole.
He blinked.
He was standing on the bridge of the Savasu. The Vaila was docked, and the crew was with him, pale and shaken but alive. Zion’s console shrieked data, then steadied. “We’re…clear. Hundreds of venars out. Hull stress back to normal.”
On the forward display, the Onalia’s world rippled, its crystal towers folding inward like collapsing light, until it vanished completely.
Zea gripped the railing, his throat tight. Laneth’s words echoed in his mind, heavy and unshakable: The knowledge is there.
