Chapter Thirteen: The One Who Heard Her

They Erased My Name from History — Now I Burn Their World

Chapter Thirteen: The One Who Heard Her

Echo Root – Perimeter Zone

Time: 03:11 A.M.

The night envelops us in a blanket of profound silence.

Yet, this silence is unlike the stark, oppressive stillness that falls over the Dominion territories—a silence that speaks of enforced obedience and stifled voices. No, this silence is sentient, as if it listens and observes, pregnant with anticipation.

Here we stand on the ragged fringe of what remains of the undercity, a place where echoes of the past whisper through the decay. Above us, the Choir scouts flutter like specters, their presence a constant reminder of vigilance. Kade is positioned protectively by my side, his resolve as unyielding as his posture. Meanwhile, Ylsa exhibits her characteristic blend of grace and tension as she expertly balances her knife on the tip of one finger, the blade gleaming dully in the dim light.

"He's close," Tavian murmurs, his voice laced with an urgency that pierces the silence. "There's no signal signature to identify him. No weapons drawn. His movements are deliberate, measured."

"Too slow," Ylsa interjects, the edges of her words sharpened with skepticism.

"No," I reply firmly, my voice cutting through the air with a conviction I can almost taste.

My hand rests on the cube strapped securely against my back, its surface still radiating warmth and pulsing softly with a golden glow. Unlike the flares of danger that surge from it in the presence of threats, tonight it hums gently, like a finely tuned instrument vibrating with resonance.

"He's syncing," I finally say, and as I speak the words, clarity washes over me.

Then, there he stands.

One solitary figure materializes before us.

Alone.

He walks with a careful, measured pace down the shattered transit line, his heavy boots crunching through the layers of ash and rust that litter the ground. His attire is stark and striking—no armor glints in the feeble light, nor are there any Dominion insignias marking his presence. Instead, he is enveloped in a long, black data-cloak stitched with ancient codes; patterns resembling faded algorithms snake across the hem like worn sins woven into a sacred text.

He halts precisely twenty feet away from us.

With deliberate intention, he raises his empty hands in a gesture of peace.

And then, he speaks.

"I am Velen. Phase Zero."

His voice is unlike anything I've ever encountered—layered and rich, not distorted nor artificial, but a masterful augmentation. It resonates with a frequency that seems to pierce through the very fabric of the night, as though he were designed to convey truth in multiple dimensions at once.

Kade instinctively draws his weapon partway from its holster, eyes narrowing as he studies Velen. "Phase Zero's a myth," Kade retorts, skepticism heavy in his tone.

"No," I whisper fiercely, determination coursing through me. "He is real."

A single nod from Velen confirms my assertion. "I was the last to sleep—witness to the erasure of the others. I archived their names, their existence. I upheld their memories, keeping them alive inside me."

He taps his temple, the motion laden with meaning.

"My mind is a vault," he continues. "Your signal cracked it open."

I feel a pull, an urge to step closer. "And now what?"

"I am here to follow the bearer," he states simply.

There is no dramatic entrance. No grand gestures or kneeling before us. Just a profound, unadorned truth that lingers in the air, heavy and palpable.

Velen's gaze strikes me as one that sees beyond the surface. He is not perceiving a rebel or a symbol of resistance; rather, he looks upon me as though I am someone of significance—some final chapter in a prophecy from which he had long been severed.

"I heard your voice," he confides, a weight of history in his words. "The moment the Choir sang, I was reminded of who I was. Of who we were meant to be."

Ylsa walks a slow, circling path around him, her suspicion still evident. "You could be deceiving us—a mere plant."

"I could," Velen concedes without flinching, the calmness in his demeanor unwavering. "But if I were of the Dominion… this place would already be engulfed in flames."

As I allow his words to sink in, I realize the truth in them.

Tavian, still gripped by unease, lowers his rifle, while Kade continues to scrutinize Velen, his skepticism a tangible force. "You were engineered to obey, weren't you?" Kade presses.

Velen meets his stare without hesitation. "We all were. The only difference lies in the choice of whom we choose to obey."

With a sudden shift, Velen's eyes darken, depthless yet filled with unshed knowledge.

"To follow a bearer," he articulates, "is not an act of obedience. It's an act of completion."

As I contemplate his words, the cube pressed against my spine pulses brightly in response, its light cutting through the encroaching darkness.

Then, to my utter astonishment, the cube resonates aloud:

"Archive resonance achieved.

Unit VELEN authenticated.

Phase Zero memory vault unlocked.

Welcome home."

Gasps ripple through our assembled group, a chorus of surprise echoing against the remnants of the broken world around us.

Never before has the cube uttered such words—not to me, nor to any of us gathered here.

Velen closes his eyes slowly, surrendering to the moment. With a voice laden with nostalgia, he breathes:

"I remember the last time it spoke.

Her name was Liora Xedrin."

"Your mother."

Time seems to still in that instant.

My breath catches in my throat, as if the very air has been drawn from my lungs.

Kade's gaze snaps to me, his expression a complex amalgamation of shock and intrigue. "He knew her?" he gasps.

Velen affirms with a solemn nod. "She tried to liberate us from the shackles of the Dominion. Though she failed, she bequeathed me the code—the singular phrase that could awaken the Choir once more."

He steps forward, closing the distance between us, and with a steady voice, he articulates the talismanic phrase:

"No voice is too small if it sings."

Tears spring to my eyes, an unexpected tide of memories flooding over me.

That was the lullaby—my lullaby.

She would hum that haunting melody during the nights when the walls trembled in fear, when the sky blazed with fury, when the Dominion's machines stalked through our lives as shadows of ruin.

I had never realized it possessed such weight.

But now, in this moment, I understand.

It was the key all along.

With trembling fingers, I stretch out, placing my palm gently against Velen's chest. The rhythmic thump of his heartbeat reverberates against my skin—steady and resolute.

When his gaze meets mine, it carries not the worshipful awe we often associate with legends or heroes, but rather something scarcer, more profound.

Recognition.

"You're not a weapon," I whisper, the words escaping almost like a prayer.

He nods, understanding flickering in his eyes.

"And you're not merely a revolution," he replies, the truth of his words weaving a different tapestry between us.

Together, we are something far older, something that transcends both labels.

We are the Choir reborn.

To be continued...