Denia

To those who raised her, "Denia" was merely another asset of the Fractsidus, another pawn for the Grand Architect.

And "Denia," strictly speaking, isn't a real name at all.

In the region where she was born, people usually say "Dasvidaniya" when parting ways, meaning "until we meet again."

For human beings, a name is a parent's first gift to their children, aside from life itself. From that moment on, the child steps into the world as someone new, growing day by day, slowly adding depth and meaning to that name.

The girl chose Denia as her name because it was the only gift her family had left for her.

Even if that family only ever existed in some fleeting fever dream.

She had scoured her birth records. She even questioned if she was not something artificially constructed. But in the end, all she ever found was a blurred image of farewell in her memory.

And it's so hard to tell anything from this little piece. Whenever she brought it up with the Grand Architect, the answer was always the same: "Memories are unreliable. Let it go. It's best you don't know."

Maybe the Grand Architect had a point.

Once she had a chat with Nastasha about her friends' names, and learned of the blessings and stories they carry. Some were hopes for peace or joy. Others were wishes or dreams. All of them, in one way or another, pointed toward happiness. Yet when she asked what "Denia" meant, she received no clear answer.

It was obvious Nastasha didn't want to talk about it, so Denia stopped asking. After a year of observing and imitating humans, she had long since mastered the arts of masking and deception.

Maybe some things could never be found out.

She wasn't even sure if that hazy memory was really hers. Maybe it came from the biological original she was modeled after... Maybe it was nothing more than something the Fractsidus planted in her to keep her in line.

She had once overheard the Fractsidus researchers mention that while the human body replaces its cells and substances every few years, something always stays, to be refined time and again. That's what makes life so special.

That's especially true for those who never find their way back... Anything that manages to stick to the memories carves deep into their souls. Even just a scent. That is why some love to watch rainstorms, while others are obsessed with an unremarkable melody. Such is the human being. Always pretending to be rational, while venting all their emotions through irrational acts.

Maybe there really was a girl named Denia, once. A girl who waved goodbye to her mother.

But was that girl truly her?

Leaning against the solid, cold side of the Voidmatter Pod, bubbles and foul liquid forced their way into Denia's mouth and nose.

Drip. Drip. Drip.

Her senses dulled. Time seemed to stretch into forever.

She felt that everything that made her was being pulled apart. Her frequency splintered into countless threads. Her body dissolved into grot, swept away into the ocean. Then she rose again, a drift of mist moving across the world from one end to the other like the wind, brushing over colorless wastelands until she reached that familiar, decaying stretch of sky.

And the silent world gazed down at her, as it always had, without a word.

When the Grand Architect chose Denia as the "vessel" for Aleph-1's powers, the decision went beyond mere physical and frequency compatibility. Unlike other Resonators—people shaped by rich lives and deep emotions—Denia was empty. A hollow shell. And the one thing a hollow shell feels toward themselves and the world, more than anything, is "nothingness." A quality that perfectly aligns with Aleph-1's logic of existence.

And just as expected, Denia managed to embrace the power. For a split second in Voidspace, her eyes met Aleph-1's. A fleeting moment, but long enough for Voidmatter to flood her veins and organs. It granted her the power to manipulate Voidmatter particles and forged a link to Voidspace itself.

At the time, she felt only a familiar silence in the void, along with the peace that came with it.

But as the plan progressed, the Fractsidus noticed that the Resonance between Denia and the Voidborne Threnodian was rapidly declining.

The power itself remained unchanged. Something else went wrong. The vessel meant to remain hollow... wasn't. Undoubtedly, Denia failed to reach the perfection they desired.

In trying to imitate human behavior, in mimicking emotions she was never meant to feel, she had grown a fragile, aching heart.

The heart of the weak.

And with a heart like that, she could never truly become the incarnation of Aleph-1. As a result, the Fractsidus needed to fill this vessel with something strong enough to command the "void" and complete the final step in forging Aleph-1's Resonator.

Denia had always known this day would come.

Yet when that day arrived, how was she supposed to judge the life she had lived?

A puppet. A twisted monster... Or simply a single drop in an ocean that no one will ever miss.

Sometimes she would think of the time she spent at Startorch Academy. The girl in the crowd with the unexpected smile. The girl whose gentle laughter lingered in the memories of others. The lazy girl who was sometimes flustered.

Was that girl really her?

But then again, was she really not the girl?

A smile is a convenient tool. A low-cost way to narrow the distance between you and others.

Denia first met Sigrika during a group assignment. She sat in a corner of the classroom, idly twirling a strand of hair behind her ear while observing her classmates pair up.

An afternoon breeze drifted through the doorway, kneading the hums of vehicles from the parking lot with the clamor from the square. On the wall, a poster for a Fleet Snowfluff fan meeting rustled with a sharp, paper snap.

A hesitant voice suddenly found her, pulling her out of the little moment of comfort.

"Would you like to work on the assignment with me, Denia?"

Denia turned her head and saw the orange-haired girl with her hands clasped behind her back. Habitually, she tilted her head slightly, just to be sure the question was really for her, then deepened the smile on her face.

"Sure, why not?" she replied. "But why me, Sigrika?"

Sigrika explained that, while she knew Denia usually kept to herself, she noticed the joyful smile on Denia's face as she watched her classmates make a fuss.  That made Sigrika think she must be a gentle person. The kind she'd want to be friends with.

Gentle.

Denia looked up the word later. After hearing the Grand Architect's explanation, she was certain that, when applied to her, the term carried a heavy sense of irony.

If given the choice again, Denia might have refused the invitation. A great deal of trouble could have been avoided had they never met.

Yet in that moment, she simply nodded, smiled, and told Sigrika, "Okay."

Nastasha's words from a few days ago still echoed in her ears: "The truth is, it's not that most people are not afraid of death... people simply try not to think about it."

Don't think. Don't See. Don't hear. Don't wonder.

Denia discovered that inside Startorch Academy, something stood between the students and the concept of death, shielding them from its weight.

By day, the campus was a hive of youthful energy, where something new waited to be discovered at every turn. At night, they gazed at the star charts, watching the dreams Professor Mornye painted across the sky. This sense of happiness shrouded their senses, blinding them to the harsh realities that "it" sees.

But all dreams eventually end. "It" will arrive one day.

At the time, Nastasha had ruffled her hair and told her, "Most kids your age don't think about things like this. You're still young. You've got a whole future ahead of you. You should be more vocal and happy, like your peers, instead of curling up in the library all day, or sitting here with a librarian like me talking about such heavy things."

"Death is the ultimate question of life, Denia, but it's a bit too early for you to be solving it. First, you have to find your own path."

Denia didn't really understand what Nastasha meant by those words. All she could do was visit the library less often afterwards.

She didn't want to make Nastasha sad.

Those close to the Grand Architect have all heard that tired story one time or another.

Once upon a time, there was a fool who became a great hero by sheer accident. To save those who were suffering, {Male=he;Female=she} bore an unimaginable price, a price that was never {Male=his;Female=hers} to bear...

The Overseers had their own takes on the story's hero. Some mocked {Male=him;Female=her}, some hated {Male=him;Female=her}, and some felt sorry for {Male=him;Female=her}. Others just laughed it off or barely paid attention.

Yet the name the Grand Architect kept bringing up, the name that often worked wonders, was nothing more than a distant, vague lie to Denia.

She didn't even know if she counted as one of "those who were suffering." She only knew that whenever she mentioned that name, the Grand Architect would respond with mocking laughter—half aimed at Denia, half at themselves.

"You know, I also think {Male=he;Female=she} should be here," they'd say. "But since {Male=he;Female=she}'s not, I guess {Male=he;Female=she} isn't as all-knowing or all-powerful as you'd hope."

"Such a shame, Denia. The god you needed most doesn't seem to need you."

Except Denia never thought of {Male=him;Female=her} as a god. If anything, she pitied {Male=him;Female=her}.

If everything the Grand Architect said was true, then the one they hailed as a savior was just another prisoner in a cage, left abandoned in this world. A person who bleeds. Who grieves. Who dies.

And that was exactly why there was one thing neither the Grand Architect nor that person seemed to understand: she would have stood before the Keystone anyway. Even without the Grand Architect's order.

Because Denia couldn't find an answer.

If people who chase ideals always end up paying a heavier price, doesn't that mean the ideal itself is flawed?

After all, in places that the person cannot see, there are always those who survive by more "elegant" rules. Exploitation. Betrayal. They enjoy the world {Male=he;Female=she} has sacrificed to protect, all while mocking the ones who throw themselves into the storm.

Why does the world always show its teeth to the kind souls? Why are those who put a price on everything the ones who endure?

And if {Male=he;Female=she} could so easily let go of {Male=his;Female=her} own past, why would {Male=he;Female=she} ever give up the little happiness {Male=he;Female=she}'d fought to grasp, just to face something as absurd and horrible as Aleph-1 for everyone else's sake?

To protect them? But who would ever understand that? What would happen when that person fell?

If the Spacetrek Collective's plans could already save the majority... then what was that person struggling to achieve after all?

Most of the time, the thoughts Denia kept buried under layers of masks were simple.

She just thought that between that person, this world, and herself, at least one of them had to be wrong.

Denia's consciousness kept falling, down through the endless dark.

Absorbing the final fragment of Aleph-1 into her Tacet Mark had pushed her physical form past its limit. The Voidmatter overwhelmed her once more, just as it had countless times before.

Her senses dulled. Time seemed to stretch into forever.

Funny how the ending mirrored the beginning. Everything fit nicely, enough to form a perfect circle.

But unlike the first time she'd found herself here, Denia realized she had somehow stopped trembling. Her breathing steadied, and the dread that once tightened her chest had vanished.

When that gaze met hers again, she slowly reached out a hand toward the hollow eye. Then, the same hand reaching for something clenched into a fist. She raised her index and middle fingers, pointed them right at the center of that pupil, like she was taking aim.

She saw it now. How laughable Aleph-1 really was.

A god born of a meaningless world naturally possesses nothing at all. Driven by the instincts of the void, it craved everything. Still, no matter how much it consumed, how much it destroyed, it remained as it was—alone in a world of eternal silence, forever thirsting, never satisfied, leaving nothing behind.

And the solid ground for her mockery? A heart of her own. The very thing that set her apart from Aleph-1.

Even if that heart was small, fragile, and nothing much in the grand stretch of time.

Yet this "meaningless" heart had allowed her to harbor expectations for tomorrow. Just like anyone else.

There would always be those willing to live for a lie. As a certain annoying friend once said: The heart defines who we are. And with it, one gains the right to choose. Much like how humans celebrate the day they were born, a day that marks their escape from the void with a fleeting memory and a transient shape. From that day on, they could feel the world. Feel joy. Reach out to others. And because of all that, they could create something the void could never.

Denia closed her eyes. She pictured her friends across the lands of Solaris. Sigrika, chasing birds through a sunset field. Nastasha, bent over old books in the library. And the wanderer she'd once tricked, packing up again for another long journey, somewhere far, far away.

The thought almost made her smile. She wanted to borrow that person's tone for a second and say the words with the same serious face:

"I hope they're all happy. Joyful. Free. I hope every one of their wishes comes true."

But the words caught in her throat. Too dramatic, she thought.

So she let it go. Maybe this was enough.

Not many things in this world had ever really belonged to Denia. But now, at least, she wasn't a vessel. Not a sample. Not a pawn. The void didn't own her anymore. Neither did the orders. Neither did the lies.

She just offered up the wish, quietly. From now on, she'd be right there beside them. Never leaving.

Denia had found her own path.

——

Bang.

Now that could be the sound of a good joke being cracked. The endless dark actually had an end.

Somewhere in the gloom, someone let out a soft sigh, as if they had been waiting for a long time.