The transmission from the Uncharted Shore, relayed through a network of K'tharr comm buoys, arrived weeks later. The video feed showed Xylos. It was not a blasted wasteland, but a place of eerie, terrible beauty. Towering, intricate crystalline structures covered the planet, beautiful and complex—and utterly silent. There were no cities, no signs of war or decay, just these magnificent, empty gardens of stone.
"There's no biological residue," Elara's voice reported, heavy with awe and horror. "The dominant life form here achieved a perfect, static societal and biological form. They engineered themselves into this... this art. They eliminated all conflict, all desire, all change. This is the 'perfection' the Architects valued. This is what we were almost made to be."
The image was more terrifying than any apocalypse. It was a vision of life that had chosen a beautiful death. The crew of the Uncharted Shore performed their mandate. They witnessed. They collected data to learn. And then, they broadcast the entire collected memory of human music—from the simplest lullabies to the most complex symphonies—across the silent planet, a final, defiant tribute to the chaotic, unpredictable noise of a living world.