As the void-pocket slipped through dimensions, the heat retained within the vessel dissipated steadily. Enter a space where there is nothing and it takes what it must. Entropy is enemy, a constant thief pilfering from the machine of heat, and a distortion void is the hungriest. It is artificially created and inherently unstable, and it feeds on any energy source in an attempt to equalize. Heat, more than anything else, limits the possible duration inside the bubble.
Except for sparse light treatments within the stacks of the computer-controlled chambers, it was dark inside Splinter Sixty-Six. Phlox’s thinning body was translucent under the glow of the light-saturated nutrient gel, and deep within the spell of sleep, an unbound mind began to leach.
Line 0/Revolution Unknown
A slow wide river curls across the plain. The flooded valley glistens. A flock of songbirds flits and dive to chase thick clouds of insects as a lone reptile—Kimono dragon fierce—raises her head to the midday sun.
Hello? I slept last night in lonely, bare geometry. I await sun to breach jagged edge, to greet the steep mountains and lush plains. I walk in ever branching dimensions. Am I still Kora, am I still green?
Line 11/Revolution Unknown
Awake, I breathe in the sun’s full radiance. I watch from this warm stone as our star, Zhale, sets in fits of desperate red. Soon, Quorum will sense sunset’s tinge: they await the dark I now dread.
Line 23/Revolution Unknown
In bright white light, I still cannot think—a weakness of my reptile mind. I tunnel down and sit in fear. Winged creature, that I call cruel hawk, pecks and scratches my burrow deep. Hiss and cry, wish I could reply, “Take me, Hawk, that I’ll never sleep.”
Line 34/Revolution Unknown
I scratch lines on the wall—one mark for each day that I lie awake. For each thin line carved deep in stone, I reject my dream society, and abandon their syllables. Why measure meter when no one’s listening in dreams or otherwise?
Line 52/Revolution Unknown
The moon and I rise and follow the sun. At night the moon is lost, and so am I, but I’ve no time for philosophy for I’m stalked relentlessly. Even when I cannot see it, I hear the hawk’s hungry mind.
Line 53/Revolution Unknown
My teeth are sharp and cannot grind these grasses or abundant leaves. After Dream’s blissful ignorance, I live by new brutal rules: to eat, I rip the flesh from breathing creatures. I’m a green, scaled hawk just as cruel. I hear my food’s squeaky dreams. Sustenance is quick violence.
Line 105/Revolution Unknown
I promised myself I would no longer search friendly frequencies. I must endure a forlorn peace and learn to think on my own: to live the lopsided dialogue of lonely soliloquy.
Rotation 55/Revolution 9753
Deep within a granite cavern a long thin lizard slept within his cerulean skin and cobalt dreams.
Toral Blue: Dreamscape-dogma binds our vistas. Secretly, I sort my own thoughts. If I roamed free, what would I see? My round dreams an unripe apple: dense, acidic and unfulfilled. Green Kora I await your scent. What you showed me was virus infectious.
Rotation 56/Revolution 9753
Toral Blue: After a revolution full, does Kora still live, spilling green? Could thoughts mature outside the Dream?
Kyryl Yellow: If it’s true, then we’re simply beasts like all the rest. We do not accept this flesh test. They barter physicality to sleepwalk, bark without context—I can’t comprehend it, must confess. We exist on higher plane while animals stumble, soulless, mute, and dumb.