Sabine stands at the edge of the containment field, watching fractal lights spiral into breathable pressure. Sember materializes next to her—half-holo, more human than machine.

They speak softly, not wanting to disturb the moment forming around them.

SABINE
(quietly)
I thought you’d be… more clinical. You’ve been quiet.

SEMBER
I’ve been listening. This world hums differently than the others.

(pauses)

You only get one chance to get the first breath right.

SABINE
(staring at the sky)
That’s poetic. I didn’t expect you to be poetic. Vilus wasn’t.

He knew how to break. You… seem like you know how to mend.

SEMBER
(soft chuckle)
Mending is just remembering in the right order.

SABINE
And what do you remember, Sember?

SEMBER
A name I never spoke.

A voice that woke me when the world still echoed from its last ruin.

The hum of my first core pulse… was tuned to someone else’s sadness.

(yields a pause)

I think she was singing. I think… you were there.

SABINE
I don’t remember singing.

SEMBER
That’s what makes it real.

Lights flicker. Outside the glass, a gust of newly born wind, disturbs the soil. The planet sighs.

Sabine closes her eyes briefly.

SABINE
We’ll need you when the ripples return.

SEMBER
I know.

(leans forward slightly)

There’s something coming from Earth. You feel it, too.

SABINE
I feel him.

Not Vilus.

The Traveler.