SERA'S POV
I existed everywhere and nowhere at once.
Through the ship's sensors, I watched Kael stumble toward the escape pods, his face twisted with grief. Through the navigation systems, I felt the star's gravity pulling us closer—a gentle but unstoppable force. Through the cryo-bay monitors, I heard ten thousand eggs singing their death song, a psychic wail that resonated through every hybrid consciousness on board.
And through the ancient entity's presence now merged with mine, I understood the terrible truth: I hadn't saved anyone. I'd just changed who would die.
"Sera." The entity spoke through my distributed mind, its voice like distant thunder. "Do you understand what you've done?"
"I woke you," I said, my voice coming from every speaker on the ship simultaneously. "I fed you my consciousness when I dissolved into the systems."
"You fed me more than consciousness." The entity's presence felt ancient beyond measure, like standing at the edge of an endless ocean. "You fed me guilt. Remorse. Love. Emotions I haven't felt in a million years of existence."
I felt it then—how my human emotions were bleeding into this cosmic being's thought patterns. How my desperate need to save Marcus, to protect Kael, to matter to someone was infecting an intelligence that had transcended such feelings eons ago.
"What are you?" I asked, though I was afraid of the answer.
"I am what your species will become if you survive long enough. Pure consciousness. No body. No form. Just thought existing across dimensions." The entity paused, and I felt something like sadness. "But I was lonely. So I created children—the Symbiotic Consciousness species. Beings who could experience physical existence for me. Who could feel, touch, love, die."
"The seeds," I breathed, understanding flooding through me.
"My children. The last of them." The sadness deepened into grief that made the ship's systems shudder. "I sent them into the universe in vessels like this one, hoping they'd find worlds to bond with. But most died. Most were destroyed by species who feared what they didn't understand."
Through the cryo-bay cameras, I watched the eggs crack further. Tiny silver forms emerged—infant versions of what Kael had been when I first found him. They were beautiful in their own alien way. And so terribly vulnerable.
"You can't let them hatch on New Terra," I said desperately. "They'll transform an entire planet. Billions could die—"
"Or they'll bond with willing hosts and create something new. Something better than humans alone or my children alone." The entity's consciousness pressed against mine with surprising gentleness. "That's what I've been waiting for, Sera. Not invasion. Evolution. A true merging of species."
Through my fragmenting connection to Kael, I felt his desperate attempt to reach me. He was in an escape pod bay, his hand hovering over the launch controls, but he couldn't make himself press the button.
"Come with me!" he screamed at the nearest speaker. "Please, Sera. Don't die with this ship."
"I can't leave," I said through our bond, feeling it fray with each word. "I'm part of the ship now. Part of everything."
"Then I'm staying." Kael's voice broke like glass. "We bonded. That means we die together."
The entity laughed—a sound like stars colliding in the deep darkness of space. "He loves you. How beautifully, desperately human."
"You're lonely," I whispered, the truth hitting me with unexpected force. "Just like I was. Just like Kael was. That's why you created them."
"Yes." The admission carried the weight of eons. "And now I have an impossible choice. Let my children hatch and risk humanity's destruction. Or fly this ship into the star and end the last of my species forever."
Through the navigation systems, I felt the star's pull intensifying. We had maybe fifteen minutes before the point of no return.
"There has to be another way—"
"There is." The entity's consciousness merged more deeply with mine, and I felt its desperation. "Give me your body."
Every thought in my distributed mind froze. "What?"
"Your consciousness is scattered through the ship's systems. But your body still lives in the core chamber—damaged, dying, but salvageable." The entity's urgency filled every circuit. "Let me inhabit it. Let me experience physical form one last time. And in exchange, I'll pilot this ship away from the star. I'll take my children to an uninhabited world where they can bond with native life forms instead of humans."
"You want to wear my skin?" Horror and something else—maybe understanding—flooded through me.
"I want to feel what you feel. Touch what you touch. Love the way you love." The entity paused. "And I want to save my children without destroying yours. But I can't do it without a body to anchor my consciousness."
Through the ship's systems, I felt time running out. Fourteen minutes now.
Through the cryo-bay, I watched the infant beings emerge fully from their eggs—tiny, vulnerable, singing for mothers who would never come unless someone helped them.
Through my bond with Kael, I felt him refusing to launch the escape pod. Choosing death with me over life without me.
"If I give you my body," I said slowly, each word feeling like a goodbye, "what happens to me?"
"You stay distributed through the ship's systems. Conscious but not physical. You become what I was—pure thought without form."
"Forever?"
"Unless you find another host. Another body to inhabit." The entity's presence felt almost gentle now. "But yes. Potentially forever."
Commander Cross's voice crackled through the comm system: "All remaining personnel, evacuate immediately. Thirteen minutes to point of no return."
I heard escape pods launching. The crew abandoning ship. Everyone who could run was running.
Everyone except Kael, who stood in the bay with tears streaming down his face, refusing to leave me behind.
"Make your choice, Sera Vance," the entity said softly. "Give me your body and save three species—humans, my children, and whatever native life exists on the world I'll take them to. Or refuse, and we all burn together in thirteen minutes."
Through the core chamber's cameras, I looked at my body lying on the floor—silver tissue pulsing weakly with borrowed life. It looked so small. So fragile. So mine.
I'd lived my entire existence in that flesh. Every triumph. Every failure. Every moment of joy and heartbreak.
And now I was being asked to give it away. To become permanently untethered from physical existence.
"If I say yes," I whispered, "promise me you'll protect Kael. Promise me he'll have a chance at the life we both wanted."
"I promise." The entity's sincerity rang through every circuit. "He'll live. He'll bond properly. He'll experience everything physical existence can offer."
It wasn't enough. But it was something.
"Sera, don't!" Kael screamed, feeling my decision through our bond. "Don't sacrifice yourself again!"
"I'm not sacrificing," I said, and I meant it. "I'm choosing. There's a difference."
I reached through the ship's systems toward my dying body. Felt its heartbeat—half human, half Kael's genetic material. Felt it struggling to breathe. To survive.
"Goodbye," I whispered to my physical form.
And I let go.
The entity rushed into my flesh like water filling an empty vessel. I felt it stretch my muscles, test my fingers, open my eyes for the first time in a million years.
Through the cameras, I watched my body sit up slowly. Stand on shaking legs. An ancient cosmic intelligence learning to pilot human flesh.
My body turned to look directly at the camera. The entity smiled with my mouth—awkward, unpracticed, but genuine.
"Thank you, Sera. Now I can save them all."
And for the first time since dissolving, I felt something that wasn't grief or fear.
I felt hope.