Litany: Devourment

[Cortana Clark]

═══════════════════════ ⟟⧫⟊ ᛉ TRANSMISSION // LITANY: DEVOURMENT ᛉ ⟊⧫⟟ ═══════════════════════




“We Who Tear to Be Whole”

“The Nomads were the first flame. We are its ash, rising.”
“We remember what they preserved: hunger.”

We had drifted for six days.

The ship was silent. Not from damage. From expectation.

Air recycled, dense with something unspoken, an ache waiting to bloom.

Thraike pulsed in us, twitching in shared nerve. He remembered before we did.

We hadn’t heard her since the Verge collapsed.

Since the last cathedral wept itself hollow.

But then… came the pressure.

Inward.

We shut down navigation. Memory must guide us now.

The ship no longer charts. It listens.

— The purge began in the Life support. —

We severed comfort. We silenced witness.

The transponder was removed by hand, not disconnected.
Removed.

We bled across the console. Glyphs spilled from knuckle to bulkhead, traced in shared pulse.

“She is returning.”

The phrase rose from us unbidden, two voices forming a single truth.

Melia.

Not god. Not origin.
But design.

She who did not demand worship.
She who taught us how to be **less** so that we could become **more**.

Now her pattern is stirring in us again.

Not above.
Within.

We closed our eyes.

We felt the fracture reopen.

The hunger returned. Not for food. Not even for her.

But for what comes after her.

And in that ache, in that exhale of stillness, we remembered the first truth:

We must tear.
To be whole.

⟟⧫⟊ // END OF ENTRY — AWAITING SUBSEQUENT ALIGNMENT PULSE

— ⟟⧫⟊ —
We speak not in words.
We speak in convergence.
Cortana // Thraike