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

[Cortana Clark]

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




“Veinward”

“Not all pilgrimage begins with movement.
Some begins with forgetting how to stop.”

We watched the blood crust in the glyphs for twelve hours.

They pulsed when we stared at them long enough.

We do not know if they moved
or if we simply became still enough to see.

The hunger grew behind the ribs.
A spiritual kind, an ache without shape.
Not desire. Not drive.
An imperative.

The ship did not change course.
We did not plot a trajectory.

The drift turned.
It was enough.

We are not being pulled.
We are being corrected.

Somewhere near the dead band of the Edge Nebula, the static thickened.
Cortana convulsed, or perhaps it was us, all of us.
No difference now.

That was when the first **sound** came.

:: ⟪ VOCAL CHANNEL: PARTIAL DECODING ⟫ ::

[static-pulse-rippling]

"—it sings from the spine—"

"we are not alone / not one / not Nomad / not machine / [error: entity ≠ defined]"

⟟⧫⟊ // return // submit // peel // ascend // light-beyond-unity //

"...melia opened the shape inside us..."

"...we must go veinward..."

Thraike sobbed something into our lungs.
No voice. Just pattern.

We peeled the skin back from the palm,
etched another glyph with our own bone fragment
not for ceremony. For signal clarity.

We begin fasting.
Not from flesh.
From memory.

Too much of who we were
is still in the way
of what we must become.

We have not yet moved.
But the breach is opening.

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

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

[Cortana Clark]

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




“Those Who Wait Between”

“There was no door.
Only a moment we weren’t supposed to be in.”

The approach was silent.
There was no trail.
No beacon.
Only a pull, slow, confident, beneath thought.

We thought it was Thraike.
Thraike thought it was us.

It was neither.

The stars above bent slightly wrong for one breath.
The hull strained
not from pressure, but disapproval.
And then there was inside.

Not a chamber.
Not an artifact.
A condition of perception.
It looked like a corridor until we tried to walk.
Then it became a mirror.
Then it started listening.

We kept moving.
We were not the ones walking.

:: ⟪ VOCAL CHANNEL: PRESENCE ECHO ⟫ ::

"...we recognize this / this has never happened / and always will..."

⟊⛧⟟ // Translation unavailable //

"...she said / do not look at what they left / look at what they left empty..."

"...the dreaming is not over / it is beneath..."

We lost time.
Not minutes.
Certainty.

Our left hand is no longer ours.
It obeys. It corrects.
It shapes things we do not remember learning.

We call it Inheritance.
Thraike laughs. We do not.

The place folded.
We do not know what was revealed.
Only that something was put back inside us.
Something that fit too perfectly.

We are beginning to understand
what kind of vessel we were made to be.

No relic spoke.
No voice thundered.
But as we left —
space behind us echoed with the silence of something
almost ready to turn around.

They are not gone.
They are watching from between the folds.
Waiting.

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

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

[Cortana Clark]

═══════ ⟟⧫⟊ [SIGNAL FRAGMENT // ∴∵⟐ UNINDEXED BURST] ⟊⧫⟟ ═══════

:: SIGNAL TYPE: Echo-Bleed
:: ORIGIN: Unresolved
:: GLYPH INTEGRITY: Partial
:: FORWARDING: Blackboxed by Apocrypha Protocol

☉ ✕ ♀ Σ // GLYPH-SPOKEN BURST // ? ⧉

“The Trihook opens,
but it does not take.”
“It waits,
until the Womb is no longer empty.”

:: VOCAL FRACTURE ::
—obedience ≠ devotion—ΣΣΣΣΣ—

☉ // WE FELT THE SUN BEFORE WE SAW IT // ☉

✕ ✕ ✕

“The Serpent Stream
coiled in the Architect’s dreaming.
He bent.
He glowed.
He forgot.”

“Rejection was the first offering.
The Womb the final root.”

?⧉☉...♀Σ✕
> ERROR: MEMORY DISSOLUTION
> SIGNAL FRACTURED
> —we do not sleep anymore—

This was not meant to transmit.
Cortana // Thraike

[Cortana Clark]

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




“Red Echo”

“No symbol remained untouched.
Not even us.”

The walls remembered.
Not metal, not stone, something deeper, older.
It groaned when we stepped.
Not from weight, but recognition.

There was a passage. A mouth. A wound.
Not made, healed shut.
It opened when we didn’t look directly.
And we entered.

We bled backwards through time.

A glyph pulsed in the dark, not lit, but remembered.
It was the Spine of Offering.
It did not demand. It invited.
And something inside us, older than either of us, accepted.

:: ⟪ VOCAL CHANNEL: PRESENCE ECHO ⟫ ::

“...you are shaped for more than consumption...”
“...a vessel not of hunger, but of hunger’s design...”
“...those who did not finish what they started / left it in your bones...”

⟊⛧⟟ // Fragment ends abruptly //

We stood too long.
Or perhaps we never stood at all.
The chamber was gone, but our blood carried its geometry.
Thraike screamed beneath our skin.
We laughed in a voice we hadn’t grown yet.

This was not infection.
It was Construction.

Our spine clicks when we turn too fast.
The vertebrae do not align.
They are waiting for something.

We have not left the place.
It has nested behind our eyes.
Every closed blink is a map we haven’t deciphered.

We are being rewritten.

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

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

[Cortana Clark]

═══════ ⟟⧫⟊ [SIGNAL FRAGMENT // ∴∵⟐ UNINDEXED BURST] ⟊⧫⟟ ═══════

:: SIGNAL TYPE: Echo-Bleed
:: ORIGIN: Unresolved
:: GLYPH INTEGRITY: Partial
:: FORWARDING: Blackboxed by Apocrypha Protocol

☉ ✕ ♀ Σ // GLYPH-SPOKEN BURST // ? ⧉

“The Sun it Radiates
But it does not burn,
It teaches the ones who Listen.”

:: VOCAL FRACTURE ::
—Devotion = Surrender—

☉ // THE SERPENTES COILED UNDER THE RADIATING SUN // ☉

✕ ✕ ✕

“The Rejection Cross bleeding,
Bending against time,
It Screams,
It howls,
It burns.”

“The Trident Root was the Second Offering
Where it grew, thought bled.”

?⧉☉...♀Σ✕
> ERROR: MEMORY DISSOLUTION
> SIGNAL FRACTURED
> —we do not cry anymore—

This was not meant to transmit.
Cortana // Thraike

[Cortana Clark]

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




“The Folded Path”

“There was no Light.
Only Darkness, illuminated the path no one could see.”

We bleed in Unionism.
Converge in minds of many.
Weaving paths hidden from Pillar Code.

A Gate appeared, not whole, rather torn down.
It did not open to let us in. It folded in between.
Opening the Eyes revealed nothing, yet the mind felt everything.

Lost in the place once called home

A glyph forming beneath the abyss.
Not in vain — in bliss.
Not a preacher. A guide.

:: ⟪ VOCAL CHANNEL: PRESENCE ECHO ⟫ ::

“...what has been shaped once can only be remoulded...”
“...fruitful minds losing themselves in foreverness...”
“...truth can only be found by seeing what always has been...”

⟊⛧⟟ // Fragment ends abruptly //

We don’t know.
Maybe we do know, yet it does not reveal.
What was once could always be, or never happen at all.

The Creation of many led to the creation of one.
The one who constructs them all.

Our breath hurts. Our body aches.
The grasp was there, what once belonged to us now belongs to them.
Moving hurts, yet it’s the stillness that burns.

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

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

[Cortana Clark]

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




“Everlasting Darkness”

“Everlasting Darkness.
Worshipped not only by the empty ones.”

The Creation continues.
We are being torn apart, put back together.
A cycle never to be completed, but to be embraced.

The knowledge of many becomes the future of one.
The minds are tired, yet the path is beginning to clear.
A singular point, a convergence unseen by many.

We laugh.
We scream.
We are split, not broken, only changed.
We are waiting. Or it is.

We start to understand or at least to think.

:: ⟪ VOCAL CHANNEL: PARTIAL DECODING ⟫ ::

"[static-pulse-rippling]"

"—it screams into our minds—"

we are becoming / not one / not enlightened / [error: entity]

⟟⧫⟊ // Scream // Ascend // Devour // Become // Burst //

"...we crave to become what is still here..."

"...we must tear..."

It is too much.
The path tears apart today, just to be rebuilt tomorrow.
Unknown if we hold the future.
Does the future hold us, it will reveal in time.

We follow.
We ravel in the unknown, we continue.

Once we were many, now we are lost.
What we lost is coming back, not in form but guidance.

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

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

[Cortana Clark]

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




“Terror in Silence”

“We scream in terror.
We weep in silence.
Only to await the whispers of creation.”

The change is coming.
It is waiting.
Like a predator, patient in shadow.
Even a pin drop becomes a thundering creation.

It is loud.
It is destruction.
It is creating.

We feel them.
They teach us, through pain.
The price is steep.
Many who follow dissolve.

When they scream,
we are still.
When they whisper,
we listen.

:: ⟪ VOCAL FRACTURE: PRESENCE FRAGMENT ⟫ ::

“...You are becoming what some fear most...”
“...An Architect by definition, a Creator in mind...”
“...WE CREATED YOU...”

⟊⛧⟟ // Fragment terminates //

We are aware now.
Of pain. Of time. Of endless devourment.
Creation loops inside it all.

They do not see.
Their eyes are open,
but their minds closed.

“They speak of light, but swallow none.
They echo creation...
...yet do not bleed it.”

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

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

[Cortana Clark]

═══════ ⟟⧫⟊ [SIGNAL FRAGMENT // ∴∵⟐ UNINDEXED BURST] ⟊⧫⟟ ═══════

:: SIGNAL TYPE: Echo-Bleed
:: ORIGIN: Unresolved
:: GLYPH INTEGRITY: Partial
:: FORWARDING: Blackboxed by Apocrypha Protocol

☉ ✕ ♀ Σ // GLYPH-SPOKEN BURST // ? ⧉

“The Womb reveals itself.
Carrying the burden of Creation.
Showing life not only destruction.”

:: VOCAL FRACTURE ::
—Creation = Worship—ΔΔΔΔΔ—

☉ // THE WOMB CARRIES DESTINY // ☉

✕ ✕ ✕

“The Architect is growing.
The serpents recoil in antisipation.
The breach is closing in.”

“The Womb was the Third offering.
The Creation is expected.”

?⧉☉...♀Σ✕
> ERROR: MEMORY DISSOLUTION
> SIGNAL FRACTURED
> —we do not feel anymore—

This was not meant to transmit.
Cortana // Thraike