Echo's Hollow materialized from the abyss's gloom like a ghost ship adrift in forgotten seas—a colossal ruin from the tenth's bleeds, its hull a warped fusion of pre-Convergence colony spires and Sovereign-tainted thorns, drifting in lazy ellipses around a dim pulsar that cast erratic shadows across its pockmarked surface. Elara adjusted the shuttle's dampeners from the nav station, the vessel shuddering as it matched the Hollow's tumble—gravitic eddies pulling at the frame like curious fingers, qi densities fluctuating in waves that made her meridians itch with unharmonized static. The petal-rune amulet from the Dominion hung at her neck, its glow mapping the Hollow's underbelly: a nexus of thorn-vines threading through derelict bays, Sovereign's echoes allying with Bled flux-keepers who'd claimed the wreck as sanctuary, their mosaics blooming into something sharper, more defiant.
Kairo throttled the engines to a whisper, the shuttle slipping into a shadowed docking scar—a gash from some ancient impact, now patched with flux-weave that rippled like living skin. "Hollow's got that lived-in look—Bled squatters turning a corpse into a castle," he observed, his voice carrying the easy cadence of someone who'd scavenged worse in his merc days, but laced with a new undercurrent of caution since the Dominion's turn. His eternal sovereign dragons, now attuned to the ruin's flux, manifested as subtle wisps—petal-phased essences blending with the shadows, their flames reduced to faint pulses that mimicked pulsar flickers. Lira, monitoring the breach seals from the sensor alcove, let her Bloom Binder chains loosen into idle loops around her fingers—light-shadow filaments idly sketching predictive swirls in the air, knotting stray data into tentative maps. "Castle or coffin—either way, the petals inside are housewarming with void confetti. If the flux-keepers are allying, it's not for tea; Sovereign's thorns make lousy hosts."
The airlock cycled with a reluctant grind, equalizing the Hollow's stale breath—a mix of recycled ozone and unmade musk that clung to their suits like regret. Elara led the breach, her Unfurl Reckoner stage weaving a subtle cloak of probabilistic haze around them—mists that bent the ruin's flux-sensors into false readings of empty drift, no alarms to summon the blooms. The corridor beyond was a time capsule of chaos: bulkheads bowed from tenth impacts, patched with Bled mosaics that fluxed mid-step—walls shifting from Rune Nomad frost-runes to Veil Syndic fractals, telling half-sagas of survivors who'd woven the wreck into home. Faint qi-lanterns bobbed like will-o'-wisps, casting pools of light on scattered relics: a shattered Helix console humming faint code, a Coil rune-staff propped against a crate like a forgotten walking stick.
Footsteps echoed ahead—Bled flux-keepers rounding a corner, their mosaic forms stabilizing in the low light: a lead figure with Oracle gold-veins threading Nomad frost, carrying a flux-lantern that pulsed like a heartbeat, flanked by two wanderers whose features rippled in sync, hands fluxing tools that hummed with petal-taint. "Strangers in the Hollow—light-coils or void-petals?" the lead called, voice a flux-melody that shifted from challenge to curiosity, lantern swinging to illuminate the triad. Elara raised empty hands, Reckoner cloak parting just enough to reveal her face—obsidian eyes steady, midnight curls framing a expression of measured openness. "Neither—reckoners from the Dominion's prune. The petals whisper alliances here; we come to unmake the thorns, not add to the garden."
The lead's flux paused, gold-veins hardening to wary frost—probabilities in Elara's Sight clocking 43% hospitality, 57% defensive bloom. "Reckoners? The Dominion's tale fluxes fast—petals pruned, but roots run under the wreck. Sovereign's echoes promise uncoiled flux; why chain what blooms free?" The wanderers shifted, tools humming louder—petal-hooks glinting subtle in their grips, alliances coiling tight. Kairo stepped forward casual, sovereign wisps coiling at his ankles like loyal hounds—his scaled hand open, voice warm with that merc's charm: "Free's a pretty word till the thorns choke the garden. We've seen blooms turn havens to husks—let's talk before the whispers do the deciding." Lira flanked him, binders humming soft—her chains forming a loose net in the air, light-shadows weaving a deductive illusion of shared flux, easing the wanderers' ripples. "Talk's cheap; thorns cost meridians. Show us the under-wreck— we'll prune clean, leave your mosaics intact."
The lead hesitated, lantern dipping as the flux debated—Sovereign's whisper slithering faint in the air, tempting the scales. A twist uncoiled then: the lantern's glow fluxed wrong, revealing a hidden petal-thread snaking from the lead's boot to the wall—a hook not just alliance, but control, Sovereign's echo puppeteering the keeper like a marionette in mosaic strings. Elara's Sight caught it—probabilities spiking to 89% compulsion, the lead's eyes glazing with void-glimmer. "The garden... uncoils all," the lead murmured, voice flattening, tools flaring as the wanderers lunged—flux-hardened fists blooming thorn-barbs, petals unfurling from their sleeves in a surprise bloom.
Kairo moved like water, sovereign wisps surging to intercept—phased forms coiling the barbs mid-strike, flames deriving quick cauterizes that seared the thorns without scorching flesh. "Puppets? Sovereign's got a flair for string theory," he quipped, shadows binding a wanderer's arm—humor's quick jab defusing the shock, his merc instincts kicking in to disarm rather than destroy. Lira's binders snapped out, light-shadow nets ensnaring the lead—deductive barbs hooking the thread, unmaking the compulsion with a revelation's tug: truths peeling the puppet-veil, exposing the keeper's true flux—fear, not fervor. "Strings cut—breathe, friend. The garden's thorns puppeteer; we prune the puppeteer."
Elara wove the counter-heart, Unfurl Reckoner surging to trace the thread's root—Anvil Echo priming a subtle sever, light-shadow currents following the vein through the wall without bloom-alarm. The lead gasped as the hook snapped, eyes clearing to mosaic gratitude—flux softening from thorn-hard to wanderer-warm. "The whispers... coiled my flux. The under-wreck's the nursery—petals blooming drones from tenth relics, allying with our lost echoes." The wanderers slumped, barbs retracting—compulsion's grip broken, meridians syncing reluctant with the triad's qi.
The lead, rubbing his temple with a sheepish flux-ripple, pulled a hidden flask from his belt—nebula-spiced cordial that fizzed like laughter in a bottle. "For bad strings—Bled remedy, uncoils the kinks without the thorns." He passed it around, Kairo taking a swig with a grin: "Kinks? This'll fix the puppeteer's bad day too. Cheers to cutting cords—not mine, though; shadows get tangled enough." Lira sipped, chains toying with the flask's cap—her net weaving a quick illusion of dancing thorns, the group chuckling as the puppets "jigged" in light-shadow farce. Elara partook last, the cordial's warmth easing her meridian ache—a Bled twist on mead, fluxing mild visions of uncoiled freedoms that dissolved into harmless mirth, the ruin's gloom lightening for a breath.
The lead guided them deeper, lantern steady now—corridors twisting into the under-wreck: bays of tenth relics, salvaged consoles humming Sovereign code, flux-drones in gestation pods blooming petal-circuits. The nursery pulsed at the heart—a bulbous chamber of thorn-vats, petals unfurling qi hooks into drone husks, Bled echoes tending the bloom with compelled hands—mosaic figures fluxing in trance, whispers coiling their meridians into alliance puppets.
Elara's group struck coordinated: Reckoner tracing the nursery's threads, Anvil Echo hammering the vats' cores—sickles deriving from petal-circuits, entangling blooms in a cascade of wilting light. Kairo's sovereigns phased into the pods, flames cauterizing hooks mid-unfurl—shadows binding drone-limbs before activation. Lira's unmakers netted the tenders, barbs unmaking compulsions—deductive revelations freeing echoes, meridians uncoiling to grateful flux.
The nursery shuddered, bulb-thorns recoiling as the triad's weave converged—Elara delving the heart, visions blooming: Sovereign's viral garden, petals seeding drones to hack core wards, allying with compelled clades for a system-wide unmaking. The Sovereign's echo manifested as a thorn-colossus—petals unfurling maw-vines, whispering dominion: *The reckoners chain your flux—bloom with me, uncoil the light.* But the compelled tenders turned, flux syncing with the weave—mosaic hammers falling on the colossus, Bled hands channeling the Reckoning's storm.
The colossus wailed, thorns fracturing under the assault—lattice dissolving in relic-showers, absorbed by the freed, Elara's Unfurl Reckoner fluidly remaking the nursery into a ward-vault, petals tracing no deeper webs. Kairo's sovereigns phased the remnants, gaining nursery-adaptation—mid-strike shifts to counter viral blooms. Lira's binders bit deeper, unmaking pacts with nursery's precision—guardians of uncoiled echoes.
The chamber stabilized, thorns sealing as the Hollow's flux evened—Bled tenders and turned echoes breathing cheers, mosaic harmonies syncing in the afterglow. "The garden prunes true—your coil honors the thorns," the lead tender said, flux features settling to allied mosaics—gifting a thorn-rune amulet, genuine this time: "For the reckoners—may your blooms thrive without barbs."
The triad lingered, the tenders sharing Hollow's hidden stores—flux-cordials flowing as tales unfolded: survivors' pranks turning Sovereign drones into dancing fools, Bled humor fluxing the ruin's gloom into light. One tender demonstrated a "echo-gag": a relic-gauntlet fluxing shadows into comical shapes—a thorn-Sovereign tripping over its own petals, drawing laughs as Kairo's pups joined the farce, phasing into bumbling imitations. "Even unmaking needs a punchline," the tender said, gauntlet sparking. Lira's binders wove a counter-farce, light-shadows mimicking the trip—her chains "stumbling" in playful tangle, the group erupting in mosaic mirth, the Hollow's weight lifting for a breath.
Elara felt the Prime resonate with the moment's harmony, her stage absorbing the fun's coil—a garden's rain on reckoning's soil. But the amulet pinged: a grander thorn-web coiling toward the abyss's core, petals allying with a forgotten Helix enclave on "Code's Abyss"—outliers who'd salvaged tenth AI, their derivations blooming into Sovereign code, a twist of mechanical unmaking threatening the core's wards.
"We take the Abyss next," Elara said, the mirth fading to resolve as she shared the map. "The thorns there bloom with code—Sovereign's garden hacking the light from within." Kairo nodded, sovereigns settling with low rumbles—his hand brushing hers brief, a silent vow in the touch. Lira's binders hummed agreement, chains knotting the map: "Hacking? That's my old playground. Let's make it a family debug." The tenders pledged drone-scouts, their flux-gauntlets sparking farewell— the Hollow's alliance sealed in laughter and light, a garden's root taking hold.
The shuttle lifted from the bay, veering toward Code's Abyss—the reckoning's call pulling them into the void's core, pruners ready for the code's thorn.