Red orbs appeared in the empty eye sockets of the Ankou. The flesh that wrapped Terrent’s lantern peeled slightly to reveal his light, and a quivering eye belonging to the Memory Bistro.

If their combined awe was spread across every platform in the foreseeable world, then it would not equal a thousandth of what Frost felt as she approached the Gift of the Star. Someone followed Frost. The Taleor hopped from platform to platform to reach her. The pathway she took was odd, since she could have walked in a straight line.

Instead, she jumped to diagonal rocks, like she could not perceive them. When Frost asked why:

“What are you talking about? I’m moving in a straight line.”

Frost quickly understood that she was able to perceive and interact with more of the world than the Taleor likely due to her [Comprehension I] Passive. The phenomenon was seen in both the ImpulseWorks Sites and the depths of the Lower Sanctums of the Nexus.

[Non-Euclidean Interpretation] revealed slightly more hidden platforms and showed the extent of the palace walls. Kilometers worth of land existed here, and lining the walls were the same papers she saw in the lower floors.

Frost strapped the Red Baron to her hip, adding another enemy to her collection. The shock of the Red Baron’s new category of Corrupted transformation rolled over like a beached wave. Everything that happened to him, the consequences, implications, and what could be harvested from his form paled in comparison to the presence before Frost.

“Nav. Taleor. Do you have any idea what this is supposed to be?”

A Gift of a Star, naturally. But Frost had to ask again. Nav was confused by what she meant, but the Taleor seemed to understand her perfectly.

“You’re looking at a small piece of a Star. A thing that was kept in the past as a source of technology. People thought they were technological singularities. Miracles of science. Heh. Little did they know that they were singularities in the sense that they are fallen…? Collapsed. Yes. Collapsed Stars. They’ve fallen into our world, and this is what became of them.”

It was hard to tell what the Taleor thought of them. She clearly held memories of her time as the Captured Star. The longer she looked at the biomechanical contraption of living rope and bells, the more Frost saw sympathy grow in her golden eyes.

“And us. Things that had no choice but to be born. Impressive, isn’t it? It’s only a small, insignificant piece of a larger whole, and yet it lives. It exists not in the same way you and I know we exist.”

“Meaning it’s not self-aware?” Frost asked, and the Taleor regretfully swallowed.

“Yes. They’re not self-aware.”

< “The echoes. The echoes. The echoes are ceaseless.” >

Frost heard it speak, but not in the same way that one would hear words. It was internalized, like how Elysia or herself would speak in the mind of others. The Taleor looked at Frost with a raised brow, wondering why she was staring at her with confusion.

“What?” She cocked her head, her hidden ears punching against her hood.

“You didn’t hear it speak?”

“No. I didn’t hear anything. What did it say?”

“The echoes are ceaseless…”

Nav then explained on Michaela’s behalf.

“Stars rarely speak. It would be impossible for a desecrated Star to communicate outside of their ‘normal’ biological functions.”

“Like how people will hear the sound of a bell, huh. Or if a Star bleeds or cries. It has no mouth, so it can’t scream or talk. What’s the chance of it resenting us?”

“Not zero. Luckily, it can’t hurt you, Michaela says. There’s no chance of you being turned into a human slug.”

Frost felt like she was close to it. Her perception of scale was heavily distorted. Once she felt like she could not approach it any further, she stopped in her tracks and stared up at all one million eyes of the Star.

They stared back at her unblinkingly as the holy bells rang again.

If this behemoth was only a piece of a Star, then how unimaginably large was a true Star? She was so used to seeing them in the context of the Arbiter – a humanoid figure – that it took her aback.

“Can you describe the Gift to me?”

“It’s like… looking at a moon when it’s closest to the earth. It’s bigger than Carpalis, but at the same time, the rope attached to the bells look so small in comparison. I don’t get how this works. But… I can feel its gaze on me now. It’s noticed me. Nav… I’m struggling to understand how these things can exist in the first place.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

The tragedy of the Corrupted, the truth of the Impuritas, the origin of Sins, the Collective Unconsciousness, Gods of Cognition, magic – all of this was in the realm of fiction in her world.

It was her reality here, and she had grown to accept this. Even the Stars.

But when finally faced with just a glimpse of it – a mere glimmer – Frost was met with a wall of denial.

This was not supposed to be. This should not exist.

Yet it did, and it was staring right at her with all millions of its eyes.

< “Are you here to deliver more echoes of tales and tragedies?” >

Existential dread filled her heart; a thing that the Corrupted had never done to her before. Still, she held strong and her head high. A bell rang in response, as if anticipating bad news. If she had spoken then, then the sound of the bell would have cut her off.

< “Leave… echoes of atrocities unwanted. The bells will silence all echoes.” >

She straightened her posture, realizing that the gaze she felt was one of worry.

It was just as afraid of her as she was of it. Every time she tried to open her mouth, the bells would ring.

Therefore, the only other feasibly way of communicating was to directly speak to its mind.

“I am not here to deliver tales of tragedies.”

Every single eye of the Star contracted.

< “You can speak to the corpse of a Star? A remnant? Directly into this one’s own fathoms…?” >

“Yes. I am able to speak with you because…”

Frost paused momentarily. She did not know if she could tell it that it was because of her Light, her title as the Archetype of Amalgamation, or something else. She didn’t know if it would understand any of it.

Does Michaela know what I should call myself? Am I at risk if I say something wrong?

She wanted to take every precaution now. Suddenly, and to her surprise, Michaela answered through Nav with:

“It’s fine. Call yourself whatever you wish. Stars are curious beings. They seek to know what they don’t. Stars are lonely things. Some choose to be alone. Others seek companionship. They don’t understand questions like ‘What am I?’. Few, like me, can come to the decision of ‘I am’.”

“… I am the Amalgam. I am a God of Cognition. This is why I am able to speak with you directly.”

< “… Your echoes are serene, you who calls yourself a god in human form. Why are you here in this place, carrying the heads of tragedies and the echoes of their throes?” >

If Frost hadn’t met the Arbiter, then she would not have understood what it meant. Simply put, it was still cautious because of the heads of her enemies she had claimed. Although, this caution was only expressed in words.

The Star could not physically act upon it.

“I will tell you bluntly – I am here to stop a tragedy from occurring in the Empire that houses you. Enemies of mine seek to use your Gift to amplify their desires.”

< “Then they will make countless echoes… And I will be fed a tremendous amount of terrible tales.” >

“Is that what fuels your powers?”

Frost looked around again, noticing the pages again. Symbols and letters emanated from them, and they were all pushed in the direction of the Star.

< “Do not look away… your presence is ever so calming… Do not look away. Do not be afraid… I can tell you.” >

It begged as the Taleor caressed her chin.

“Echoes and tales of tragedies fuel it, main-me. Just so you know, Stars don’t usually take Nex and convert it to power. They use a force called Arbitration, which alters P-Factor. You can call that the fabric of reality. It’s stable, but a Star’s presence can warp it.”

She said, continuing:

“You should know by now that Stars function on aspects of humanity. Many will run on human suffering. But Stars can also suffer because of this, and therefore, produce a harvestable resource. The sound of its bell is its power. That’s where the ‘amplification’ comes from.”

< “Nothing fuels it. The bells that ring… this frequency is meant to block it out. But they continue to pelt this one with rocks bearing talismans of tales. These frequencies and vibrations block out all sound, so that their echoes can never be heard.” >

The bells didn’t ring because someone pulled a rope or pressed a button.

The bells rang solely when a tragedy occurred so that it could not hear it. It was a small, insignificant piece of a Star, and yet it held what Frost imagined was intelligence.

“But not self-awareness.” as Michaela explicitly claimed.

It was intelligent by the virtue of it being able to react to its environment as though it had a mind. It had clearly defined wants and hates, but no true aspirations. It simply existed and was exploited for its power.

Frost wanted to pry into its past. But this was not possible. It’s Nex was primordial… But also, it was because it had no lingering attachment to past events.

The Traumatic Clock could only see the overall memories that resonated the strongest with a person in that current moment. It was also possible that every moment resonated the strongest with the Star, and therefore, nothing could be shown.

Her throat clogged at the realization.

< “Why are you silent? Your voice is a pleasant change… What can be done so that it can be heard more?” >

“It wants to hear my voice. It wants me to stay, huh… because it’s different from the screams and tales it must constantly hear. Human torment fuels Stars…” She looked at the distant pages again.

Michaela knew that not all Stars functioned this way, but this was one of the methods to produce a ‘technology’ from a Star, whether in the form of its blood, its tears, their organs, flesh, bones…

… Just like the Captured Star.