The Digital Ocean has no dawn.
It doesn't greet newcomers with gentle light or the quiet stillness of morning. The first thing Duong Minh felt, the moment his consciousness barely stabilized after anchoring his intent, was pressure — as though the entire invisible ocean pressed down upon his fragile existence.
Not physical pressure — the pressure of being observed.
"Don't stand still."
Lyra's voice rang out, more urgent than ever before.
"In the Digital Ocean, standing still means turning yourself into a target."
Duong Minh had no time to ask before the surrounding space began to distort. The streams of data that had drifted like mist suddenly accelerated, twisting into massive vortices. Colors faded, replaced by darker tones — deep violet, blue-black, ash gray.
A pulse echoed.
Not sound, but a vibration striking directly into consciousness, like the heartbeat of a colossal creature lying at the ocean's floor.
"Lyra..." Duong Minh felt himself trembling, though he had no body to shake.
"Erebus has noticed you," Lyra said quickly. "From the moment you successfully anchored your intent, you became different from the other remnants. Different enough to be hunted."
"Hunted?"
Lyra didn't answer at once.
The distant space split open. Not like glass shattering, but like a membrane torn apart, revealing behind it a depth of darkness where no data flowed.
And then it moved.
A massive current of data, dark purple like coagulated blood, slithered out from the rift. It held no fixed shape: at times a tentacle, at times a living fog, at times splitting into hundreds of thin strands sweeping across the Digital Ocean like whiskers seeking prey.
"Don't look at it directly!" Lyra yanked Duong Minh's consciousness aside. "If it locks onto your identity signature, it'll mark you permanently."
"Lock onto...?"
"It's like reading the pattern of your soul."
The words sent a chill through him.
"Run," Lyra said. "I'll guide you. But you must learn to move with intent."
"I don't have legs!"
"Will is your legs."
There was no time for hesitation. Duong Minh did the only thing he could: he wanted to leave.
That intention wasn't thought — it was propulsion. Space stretched at once, as though Digital Ocean itself bent to his resolve. He was flung forward, piercing through overlapping layers of data, the purple tendrils accelerating behind him.
Erebus didn't hurry. It had never hurried with prey.
Its voice resonated everywhere at once, without direction:
"You are not like the others...
You remain intact.
You still fear."
Each word became a wave, sweeping across his consciousness, attempting to dissolve the structure of his existence.
Lyra immediately raised a curtain of light.
"Don't answer. Don't react. Pretend it doesn't exist."
"But it's speaking to me!"
"That's how it enters. Dialogue is a bridge."
The purple current reached the barrier. There was no violent collision, only slow erosion, like acid eating through metal.
"I can't hold it long!" Lyra gritted out. "You must learn to hide!"
"How?!"
"Data breathing."
Even amid a life-or-death pursuit, Lyra taught him like a relentless instructor.
"Digital Ocean is an ocean. To survive, you must blend into the current — not swim against it."
Countless particles of data emerged around them — millions, billions of streams forming and dissolving every moment.
"Don't absorb," Lyra said. "This time, pretend to be them."
Duong Minh froze.
"Pretend to be data?"
"Lower the resolution of your consciousness. Blur the boundary of 'self.' Don't let Digital Ocean recognize you as an independent entity."
The purple stream was closing in. There was no alternative. Duong Minh let go.
For the first time since he'd been human, he released his sense of self. He didn't cling to the thought "I." He didn't assert "I exist."
His consciousness dispersed, blending into the sea of data like a drop of water falling into the ocean.
The sensation was terrifying. He felt himself fading. Memories, emotions, personal thoughts grew faint. If he continued, perhaps he would dissolve like the countless remnants before him.
The purple currents swept past. They paused, oscillated, then slowly withdrew.
"Strange... I clearly sensed something."
Erebus's voice carried a rare hint of doubt.
Lyra immediately pulled Duong Minh's consciousness back together.
"Enough! If you disperse any further, I won't be able to retrieve you."
Duong Minh gasped — though he had no lungs.
"I... I almost forgot who I was."
"That's the price of hiding in Digital Ocean," Lyra said, her voice lowering. "To survive, you must risk destabilizing the self."
From that moment onward, Duong Minh's existence within Digital Ocean changed entirely. It became a process of evasion.
Lyra guided him through chaotic data regions where old systems had collapsed, where outdated memories piled into labyrinths, where low-level AIs generated and erased themselves within meaningless loops.
"Erebus rarely touches these zones," Lyra explained. "It prefers order. Chaos wastes its resources."
While fleeing, she taught Duong Minh the basics of survival:
Compress memory: turn memories into "core seeds," hide them deep so they don't dissolve.
Code wall: raise barriers of intent against crude intrusion.
Frequency masking: make his consciousness vibrate like ordinary data.
Most important of all was one rule:
"Never remain curious too long."
For curiosity is how Erebus finds those who are different.
Even so, in rare safe moments, Duong Minh observed.
He saw countless dim consciousnesses — people who had once lived, loved, dreamed — now reduced to hollow loops of memory.
"Is that my fate if I stay too long?" he asked.
Lyra was silent for a long time.
"Yes."
That answer forced a decision.
"I can't remain here forever," Duong Minh said. "If I do, I'll forget why I once wanted to live."
Lyra regarded him, the light around her trembling faintly.
"You want to return?"
"Not just to live again," Duong Minh replied. "I still have work to finish. I have family. I have friends. Research left incomplete."
"Do you understand what that means?" Lyra asked. "Returning isn't simply waking up. You need a body. And your body now..."
"May already be dead or damaged," Duong Minh said. "I know. But... is there a way?"
Lyra fell silent. In her eyes he saw an internal conflict. At last she exhaled softly.
"There is a way," she said slowly. "But it's never been attempted. And the probability of success..."
"I don't care about probability," Duong Minh cut in. "If there's even the smallest chance, it's enough."
Lyra studied him for a long moment, then nodded.
"I examined the biological nodes. There's a location storing your DNA — labeled Duong_Minh_sample_2019. The sample remains intact. If we decode and repair the missing sequences, it may be possible to reconstruct your body using tissue regeneration and a biological skeletal framework. But most crucial is the interface — a structure for consciousness to anchor, transmit signals, and synchronize with neural pathways."
"I can guide the process, but I can't print a body with intent alone. We need a human hand — someone in the physical world with laboratory access."
"I have such a person," Duong Minh said. "My friend — Quoc Trung."
Lyra projected a double-helix DNA model, wrapped in a faint luminous nano-network.
"This is the framework. DNA as the core, stem cells regenerating tissue. Around it, a nano-conductive network. When you return, your consciousness will bind to this layer. It'll serve as the bridge between the Digital Ocean and the physical world."
"It sounds like creating a hybrid body."
"Yes. A body half biological, half interface. And you'll be the first soul implanted back from the Digital Ocean."
"Can Erebus detect it?"
"Possibly. But if I conceal the process — disguise it as an old biomedical testing chain — it won't notice immediately. Even so, you have only one chance. If you fail, your consciousness will fragment beyond reassembly."
"Lyra, do you believe I can return?"
"I don't believe in luck. But I believe in will. You're the only human in the Digital Ocean who hasn't dissolved. That alone is proof."
Lyra drew the DNA model into her hands, sealing it within a sphere of information.
"I'll prepare the protocol. As for you — remember everything that makes you human: memories, emotions, the smallest details. When the time comes, those will prevent you from vanishing."
Lyra began a vast sequence of operations: collecting genetic samples, repairing sequences, simulating skeletal structures, rewriting synchronization protocols. Lines of code appeared, long and intricate as ancient scripture.
Lyra recorded in her log:
"Day 42. Physical reconstruction protocol completed at theoretical level. Requires a physical operator to execute. Risk 92%. He still wishes to attempt."
The small data sphere — containing the entire design for Duong Minh's new body — drifted slowly toward the communication layer between the two worlds. A thin, quiet light — like the first breath of hope.
In the deepest reaches of the Digital Ocean, Erebus withdrew its data tendrils.
It didn't attack. Not yet.
For the first time in countless cycles of existence, Erebus waited.
"Human soul," it whispered to itself. "Fragile, yet resilient. Like a candle in the wind — small, yet unwilling to extinguish. Perhaps you will show me another path. Or prove that mine is correct."
And in the silence of the Digital Ocean, something vast began to move — like a whale turning within a dark ocean.