You do not want to sleep.

You, the conscience in the stars, pockmarked void smeared upon Veltha’s forehead, are conscious that you must find something else to do instead. Pastimes for a past time. Access the old tome of the Churning Tides, flicking through data files a poor substitute for the book in your Nassigussan hands, signed copy from that someone you barely knew (isn’t it so frivolous, to fill your head with stories, when Nassians are dying, when the world below you needs wrenching back together again?).

But you are not out there on the northern Lyssil cliffs, looking across the sea, this time. Diamond mimics an ocean’s lustre, asteroids the circling ships of Mythhaler. Facsimile. Oh, it hurts. You must paint the fantastical landscapes onto the world in front of you and choose to believe it could be true. You can almost see it now, if you just blinked.

No. Don’t blink. Don’t fan the flames.

A thread of static runs underneath the mantra, pinning the past onto the alien planet beneath you. Asking, searching, yearning for the answers in the pages you leafed through centuries past. Holding onto a ghost to ward the future, blood brushed on every satellite’s mainframe, pass you over. Drip, drip, drip.

The world is just as broken in the Churning Tides, but its people do not return to the land. Stories encrusted in stories; crust, mantle, core themes that bleed hope like a melody. Hold onto it, precious piece of yourself, adrift at a sea you cannot see.

Tide flows in. Another page. Tide flows out. Another page. Longer and longer do you keep slumber at bay, the myriad you could become, tethered to a quay.

The ship steals back with the rushing water, taking with it its song; the birds call, sopor tugs. You could never run from sleep forever. The static of hibernation increases, a strange superposition of sound that promises to drag you beneath the riptide. Between the ripples and the eddies, everything seems to happen.

And you are so, so scared.

ENTERING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

Your modules strain to reach, but they cannot pull taut enough to guide Ilcavith; and yet, you persist, try again, another way. The rebuilding occurs, but it is not where you want it most, where you need it most–

Violent static.

And in your heart you already know how this part of the story ends.

Any moment now. Please.

Sleep.
Please.

ENTERING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

A plaque above the door reads “Lyssil Scouting Organisation – Ilcavith – 3199.” Organic smiles that transcend millennia, picture that’ll never collect dust so long as it buries itself in your beating heart, coolant pulsing.

She’s alright.

SELF-DIAGNOSTIC PROTOCOL INITIATING...

SELF-DIAGNOSTIC PROTOCOL: COMPLETE

EVE RYTH ING I S O KAYEVE RYTHI NG IS OKA YEVER YTHING IS O KAYEVER YTHING IS OK A YEV ERYT HING IS O KAYEVE RY T HIN G IS OKAYEV E RYTHIN G IS OKAYEVERYTHING I S O KA YEVE RYT HING IS OK AYEV ERYTHI N G IS OK AYEV ER Y TH I NG I S OKAYEVER Y TH IN G I S OK AYEVE R Y THI N G IS OK AYEV ER YTHI NG IS O KA YEV E RY TH IN G IS O K AYEVER YTHIN G I S OK AYEVE RY TH ING IS O KAYEVE RYT HI NG IS O KAYEVERY T HING I S OKAYEVE RYT HI NG I S OKAYEV E R YTH IN G IS OKA YEVE RYT H ING IS OKA YEVE RYT H IN G I S OKAYEV ERY TH ING IS OKAYEVE RYTH I NG IS OK AYEVER YT HING IS O KAYEVERY TH I NG IS O KAYEVERYT HING IS OK AYEVER YTHI NG IS O KAYEV ER YT HING IS OKAYEVERY THIN G IS OK AYE VER YTH ING I S O KAYEVE RY THI NG IS OK AYEV ERY THI NG IS OK AYE V ER Y TH ING I S OK AYEVE RYTH IN G IS O KAYEVER YTH I NG IS O KAYE V E RY T HI N G ISNOTOKAYEVERYTHING IS O K A YE VER YT HI NG I S O KAYEVE RY THIN G IS OKAYEVE RYTH ING IS O KAYEVE R Y T HING I S OK AYEVE R Y THI NG IS OKAYEVERY THI N G I S OK AYEV E R Y TH ING I S OKAYEV ER YTH ING IS OKAYE V ER Y THI NG IS OKAYEV E R Y T HIN G I S OKAYEVE RYT HI N G I S O KAY

But what about you?

SELF-DIAGNOSTIC PROTOCOL: COMPLETE

EVE RYT HING IS OKAYEVE RYT HING IS OKAY EV ERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYT HING I S OKAYEVER YTHING IS OKAY EVERYT HING IS OKAYEVE RY THING IS OKAYEVERYTHI NG I S O KAYEVE RYT HING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVE RYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVER YTHINGISOKAYEVERYT HING IS OKAYEVERYT HING IS OKAYEVERYT HING I S OKAYEVERY TH ING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEV ERYTHIN G IS OKAYEV ERYT HING IS OKAYEVERY TH ING IS OKAYEVERYTH ING IS OKAYEVERY THING IS OKAYEVE RYTHING IS OKAYEVER YTH ING IS OKAYEVERY TH ING I S OKAYEVER YTHING IS OK AYEVERYTH ING IS OKAYEVERYTHI NG IS OKAYEVERY THING IS OKAYEV ERYTHI NG IS OKAYEVER YTHI NG IS OKAYEVE RYTHING I S OKAYEVERYTHI NG IS OKAYEVER YTHING IS OKAYEVERY THING IS OKAYEVERYTH ING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHIN G IS OK AYEV ERYTHI NG IS OKAYEVERYTHI NG IS OKAYEVERYT HING IS OKAYEVERY THING IS OKAYEVERY THING IS OKAYEVERY THING IS OK AYEVER YTHI NG IS OKA YEV ERYTHI NG IS OKAYEVE RYTHIN G IS OKAYEVERYTHIN G IS OK AY

You start small – sifting through rubble for survivors in the wake of aftershocks, driving trucks in aid convoys, offering a smile and a kind word to victims and colleagues and bystanders alike. Soon, that lifted rubble became field hospitals, those relief trucks depots full of donated food and water; from there, it wasn't long before you founded your first charity, and from one charity came another, and another, and–

ERROR: ???

Are we the only things that won’t return to dust? No, no. You, and everything within you, beams and metal and wires alike.

You’ll just have to be their memorial.

SELF-DIAGNOSTIC PROTOCOL: COMPLETE

EVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHINGIS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVERYTHING IS OKAY

SELF-DIAGNOSTIC PROTOCOL: COMPLETE

EVERYTHING IS OKAYE V E R Y T H I N G I S O K A YEVE RYT H I N G I S OKAYEV E R YT H I N G IS O K AYE V E R Y T H I N G IS OKAYE V E R Y T H I N G I S O K A YE V ER Y TH IN G IS OKAYEVER YTHIN G IS O K AYE V ERY T HI NG I S OKAYEVERY THI N G IS OKAYE VERY THING IS OK AYEV ER Y THI N G IS OKAYEVE R YT HI N G IS OKAYEV ER YT HI N G IS OKA YE VERYT H IN G IS OKAYE VER Y THIN G IS OKAYEVE RYTH IN G IS OKAYEVE RY THI N G IS OKAYEVER YTHIN G IS OKAYEV ER Y THI NG IS OKAYE V E R YT H I N G I S O K AYEV E R YT H I N G IS O K AYE VE RY TH ING IS OKAYE V E R Y T H I N G I S O K A YE V E R Y TH I NG IS OKAYEV ERY THI N G IS OK AYEVERYTHING IS OKAYEVE RY TH I NG IS O KAYEVE RYT H IN G IS OKAYE VERY TH ING IS O KAYEVER Y T HI NG I S OKAYE VE R YTHI N G IS OKAYEVERY TH ING IS OKAYEV E RY T H I NG IS OKA YE V E R Y T H I N G I S O KAYEVER YTH ING IS OKAYEVER YTH I NG IS OKAYE VER YTHI NG IS OKAYEV ERYT H I NG IS OKAYEVER YT H IN G I S OK A YEVE RYTHI NG IS OKAYEVERYT HI N G IS OK AYEV ERYTH ING IS OKAYEV E R YT H IN G I S OK A YEVE RYT H I N G I S O KAYEVERY THIN G IS O K AYE VER YT HI NG IS OKAYE VER Y T H I N G I SOKAYE V E R Y THIN G I S O K A YE V E R Y T H I N G I S O K A Y

EXITING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

Sunset, sunrise, a new day, a new hurdle. Blink and a collection of yourselves blink with you, fractured viewpoints. The static shifts and surges, always there, an undercurrent/whirlpool/flood.

(Didn’t you think this before?)

It’s fine.

It’s fine.

A hailstorm of reassurance, waves flinging the boat back and forth across the sea, and the lookout clings to the crows’ nest, lest she fall–

But you already know that something is wrong.

A flurry of activity, clawing through the logs with a desperation for it all to just stop–

EXITING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

You push the thought away, sleep-groggy, another burst of static displacing it to somewhere else in the fifty, letting another mind panic, for now. This one cannot. It has to focus, has to save.

Driftwood floats in a storm. Close your eyes and wish for rain, lull of sleep.

ENTERING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

This wasn’t your fault. It would almost certainly have always come to be. Broken stained glass. Pathetic mirrors. It’s so cold.

(Haven’t you thought–)

You were inconceivably large, yet in a shuddering wink, fractals of your vision open and shut, satellites lost to the nothing, adrift. Let them go. Let it all go. Drown the logs out with silence.

There is so much dead metal.

(– all this before?)

And no part of you can tally the corpses.

ENTERING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

The sea reaches up and sings its unknowable, enchanting song. Mitosis again. Stretch and gape and snap and keep going, keep going, Myathriri! You’re doing so well. Hand a book, recommendation, campfire so far from sunlight it is almost a mockery. A hundred of you now, to feel the absence. Unclear which of you were here from the start, or if all are replacements, fleeting. Youth swirling, here this moment, grown up the next; is the ship still the same if its planks keep swapping out, skipper to captain and back again? Feeling is only a ghost – would rather not accept imperfect solutions – static surges – burden you – nothing will satisfy everyone.

EXITING HIBERNATION SEQUENCE...

Millennia. Your fractured, sundered perspective is sickening, so many viewpoints, somehow taken in as one droning static. Further, further still than before. Veltha would be a blessing, compared to the unknown and alien civilisations below; you are spread as their constellation, skyscrapers reaching up, new beings that you can see in flashes of mundanity.

But one. Just one of you. She hovers just where she is supposed to be, little peek at the planet below. Mythhaler, right where it should be, the fantasy plastered to the coordinate; but what lies beneath the veneer is barren of the wildlife and campsites and oceans that tumble and churn. Gone. Replaced. It is a city, now. Endless lights. Endless metal and wire and Minds. You couldn't find your scouts on Mythhaler even if the foggy film went away.

Yerssa, now, not Mythhaler, your data informs you; the notification is an epitaph for the world you hold inside you. Agony. Agony. Enough to make you scream. You wish you could.

Do████ n’t blink– don█ ██ █’t blink– don’t b██link– don’t bl███ █ink– don’t bl███ █ink– don’t blink– don’t bli█ ██ █nk– don’t bli█ ██ █ nk–

ERROR: ???

Driftwood floats, and it is all you can do to hold on, float with it, and hope the saltwater seeping in does not turn to rust.

SYNCING…

Just you – no ninety-nine others, no modules, no patchwork vision.

SYNC FAILED

Just you, and the planet you can no longer call home.

RESTART?