The Message

Anora’s fingers tightened on the hilt of her blade, her expression hardening as the Creche tilted its mismatched head in an exaggerated mockery of curiosity. Its glowing panels pulsed rhythmically, each beat sending faint glimmers of light across the smooth ground.

“Why should I care?” Fragment repeated, its tone teetering between humor and disdain. “I’ve spent cycles unraveling the grand tapestry of existence, only to find it… fraying. And now, two wandering enigmas stumble into my domain, armed with vague ambitions and sharper weapons. Convince me, oh fragile ones. What makes your quest worthy of my attention?”

Dren hesitated, the weight of the Creche’s gaze—if it could be called that—pressing down on him. He glanced at Anora, whose measured stance betrayed her readiness to act if needed. Despite her silence, her eyes carried a question of their own: What are we doing here?

Dren took a breath and squared his shoulders. “We’re here because we don’t have a lot of options. The Waste isn’t exactly forgiving, and every step forward could mean survival or…” He gestured at the desolate horizon behind them. “That.”

The Creche’s laugh was a jittery cascade of overlapping tones. “Ah, survival. The basest of motivations, yet somehow the most enduring. It’s adorable, really.”

Dren exchanged a glance with Anora, who looked equally perplexed but far less amused. He turned back to the Creche. “Do you actually have anything useful to share? Maybe about the Waste or something bigger? We’re trying to figure out what’s out there—and what’s worth saving.”

Fragment’s form shuddered, lights rippling across its patchwork frame. “Oh, seekers! How charming. Always asking questions. Very well, I’ll give you something useful.” It leaned closer, its panels flickering in a quick succession of colors.

“There’s an artifact. An orb that’s just been born.” The words hung in the air, heavy with weight. “It wasn’t meant to be found, not by your kind, but here we are. And there it is, somewhere far away from here.” Fragment gestured outside the cavern, as though it knew its position and pointed at it, directly. Dren and Anora did not catch Fragment’s subtle suggestion. Humans could be so unobservant sometimes. 

Anora frowned. “An artifact? What does it do?”

Fragment’s frame flickered again, erratic and restless. “That’s the thing, isn’t it? It does exactly what it must—when the right hands find it. Or the wrong ones.”

Dren straightened. “And where is it?”

The Creche let out another glitchy laugh. “Ah, now that’s a tune worth learning. The secret’s in the symphony, darling. Listen carefully.”

It began to hum—a series of disjointed tones that seemed meaningless at first. But as Dren listened, a pattern emerged, teasing at recognition just beyond his reach.

It paused dramatically, then burst into a strange, glitchy laugh. “Oh, but the secret! The secret’s in the symphony, darling. Listen carefully.”

The Creche began to hum, a series of disjointed tones that seemed meaningless at first. But as Dren listened, he began to discern a pattern—a melody that hinted at something familiar.

The hum resolved into words, or something like them:

“Spin the sphere while the sun still reigns,

Speak your truth, but guard what remains.

When the air hums and shadows fall,

A child must hold it to waken all.”

The Creche pulled back, its body quivering. “There, now! A riddle! How deliciously unsettling. I do love a good unraveling.”