Echoes of the Last Archive

The lights of Zero-VI Station flickered softly, as if the heart of the structure itself pulsed beneath the weight of the silence. Out there, beyond the reinforced windows, the void stretched endlessly in every direction, infinite and unknowable. Most people aboard the station found comfort in their constant connection to the network, the ever-present stream of data and information that flowed between them, transforming the vast loneliness of space into a mere illusion. But for Lira, it was in these moments of absolute quiet that she felt most alive.

Her fingers brushed over the worn spine of a book, an object so out of place in this world that it seemed like an artifact from another dimension. The paper, fragile yet enduring, offered a texture unlike anything else she knew. She opened it slowly, listening to the soft crackle of the pages, letting the familiar ritual wrap around her like a comforting embrace.

There was something she could never quite explain to others. Reading a physical book wasn’t like reading on a screen. The sensation was more complete, more visceral. The ink, the paper, the weight of it in her hands... every element was part of a silent dance that transported her far beyond the station, far beyond the present. Here, in her small library, surrounded by shelves few even bothered to visit, she could be herself. The last archivist of a world that had forgotten what stories truly felt like.

As a child, her mother had given her the first book she ever held, a small, weathered volume with faded pages and cracked edges. “They don’t make them like this anymore,” she had said with a knowing smile, as though passing on a piece of the past. Lira had cherished that moment, and from then on, she spent her life collecting, seeking, and preserving these fragile remnants of a forgotten time.

Most people thought her eccentric, some just didn’t understand. Why would anyone choose paper, so limited and fragile, when the knowledge of the universe was available with just a thought? To them, it was simple logic. But to her, the world was so much more than just data and information. Stories lived between the pages, and every day she found herself diving into those folds, rediscovering the essence of what it meant to be human.

Today, as the cold lights of the station illuminated the quiet room where she read, Lira felt a small disturbance. A faint prickle of awareness, as if someone was watching her. A glitch in the station’s privacy settings? she mused with a wry smile. Probably just one of the engineers doing routine system checks.

"Another small interruption," she thought, returning her focus to the text, letting herself sink back into her private world, where she could disappear and no one would find her.

Lira’s eyes drifted over the printed words, her fingers tracing the edges of the pages as she turned them, savoring each moment of stillness. This was her sanctuary—her escape from the hum of technology and the unrelenting presence of the digital world that surrounded the station. She took a slow breath, inhaling the faint scent of aged paper and ink. Even here, in the farthest reaches of space, surrounded by the cold machinery of progress, the scent felt familiar, grounding her to something timeless, something real.

The station was quiet at this hour. Most of the crew were either asleep or busy within their digital landscapes, fully immersed in worlds that didn’t require tangible touch or thought. For them, life was seamless—a constant stream of data, seamlessly uploaded into their minds. No need for books, no need for archives. But for Lira, the simplicity of it all felt hollow. The more advanced the world became, the more she clung to the physicality of things, the texture and weight of objects that couldn’t just be summoned or dismissed with a thought.

She glanced around the room, her gaze drifting over the shelves that lined the walls. Each shelf was filled with treasures, collected over decades, centuries even. Some were old Earth relics, bound with leather and sewn by hand, their spines cracked and their pages fragile. Others were more recent acquisitions, printed in the early days of the station’s establishment, before digitalization had fully taken over. She had cataloged them all, carefully preserving their condition, knowing that each book was a connection to the past—a past that fewer and fewer people seemed to care about.

Her hand stopped on a particular volume, one she had read countless times: an old poetry collection, the title barely legible on its worn cover. She pulled it from the shelf and cradled it in her lap, opening it to a random page. The words felt like an old friend, comforting and familiar, even though she had read them a hundred times before. It was a small rebellion, she thought, to read like this in a world that had long since moved on.

The faint hum of the station’s systems was the only sound that accompanied her thoughts. It was the sound of life continuing—technological, precise, relentless. But here, in this room, time slowed. Lira let herself disappear into the poem, the words flowing through her mind like music, soothing in their quiet beauty.

"To hold time in your hands, as fleeting as breath..."

She closed her eyes, letting the line linger in her thoughts. Sometimes it felt as though that was exactly what she was doing—holding time in her hands, keeping something alive that the universe had long since abandoned. The irony wasn’t lost on her: here she was, living on a cutting-edge space station, orbiting a planet no one bothered to visit, yet she spent her days among relics that most would consider useless.

But this was her purpose, wasn’t it? To preserve the stories of a world that no longer existed. To make sure that, even as the universe hurtled toward an ever more digital future, the echoes of the past remained.

Her fingers absently traced the edge of the page as her mind wandered. She thought of her mother, the one who had planted this love of books in her heart. It was strange, sometimes, to think of her now—so far away, not just in space but in time. Her mother had always told her that stories were meant to be felt, not just read. Lira hadn’t understood that when she was younger, but now, in these quiet moments, she knew exactly what her mother had meant.

The station’s lights dimmed slightly, indicating that it was approaching the artificial night cycle. Lira sighed softly and closed the book, resting it on the table beside her. She knew she should sleep soon, though sleep never came easily. Not in this place. There was always a part of her that felt out of sync, as though she belonged to a different time, a different world.

Before she could rise from her seat, the door to the library slid open with a soft hiss. She blinked, startled by the intrusion. Hardly anyone came here—certainly not at this hour. The station’s crew had no reason to venture into the archives, and visitors were rare, especially since they had cut off most of the civilian travel routes to Zero-VI years ago.

A tall figure stepped into the room, silhouetted by the dim corridor lights. Lira instinctively straightened, feeling a sudden rush of discomfort. It was unusual, unsettling even, to have someone else in her private world. She watched as the figure hesitated in the doorway, as if unsure whether to step further inside.

"Am I… interrupting?" The voice came out tentative, almost hesitant, as though the speaker wasn’t sure if they were welcome.

Lira's fingers froze on the page. The words she’d been reading blurred as she blinked, lifting her eyes to the doorway. A figure stood there, half-shadowed by the dim corridor lights, the faint hum of the station's systems barely registering over the sudden surge of awareness coursing through her.

She hadn’t heard the door slide open. No one ever came in here—this was her space, her sanctuary, the one corner of the station that still felt untouched by the cold grip of technology.

She recognized him instantly. Kaden, the quiet engineer who spent most of his days elbows-deep in the station's mechanical guts. His uniform was rumpled, his hair slightly disheveled, and his hands were smudged with the telltale signs of maintenance work. He looked completely out of place in her world of dusty books and quiet contemplation.

Lira shifted in her seat, suddenly acutely aware of how isolated she had become in this library, where time moved slower. No one ever came here. Why now?

She cleared her throat, feeling the awkwardness settle between them like a heavy weight. “No… you're not interrupting. I just wasn’t expecting anyone.” Her voice sounded quieter than she intended, almost a whisper against the stillness of the room.

Kaden hesitated at the threshold, his eyes darting around the room, lingering on the shelves, the stacks of books. He seemed lost for a moment, unsure of where to step, as if crossing the invisible boundary into this space felt like an intrusion into something sacred.

“I didn’t know anyone still came here,” he murmured, his voice barely above the hum of the station.

Lira’s fingers absently brushed the spine of the poetry book still open in her lap. “Most people don’t.”

The silence stretched between them, awkward yet strangely charged. She could see Kaden fidgeting, his hands stuffed into his pockets, his gaze flickering back to her, as if he were searching for the right words but kept coming up empty.

"You’re not like most people, are you?" His voice was softer this time, like he was asking something more than just a question about books. His eyes were more focused now, meeting hers, and there was something in them—curiosity, maybe even admiration, though he seemed to be trying to hide it.

Lira shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, unsure of how to respond. She wasn’t used to being seen, not like this. "I guess not," she said, her voice carrying the faintest hint of a smile. "I just… like things that are real."

Kaden stepped closer, almost drawn into the space by her words. "Real," he echoed, like the concept was foreign to him. His eyes moved to the shelves again, lingering on the spines of books as if they were something he hadn’t seen in years. "They feel real, don’t they? More than the… other stuff."

Lira studied him for a moment, noticing the subtle tension in his shoulders, the way his hands were still hidden in his pockets, like he didn’t know what to do with them. There was something different about him, something almost… out of place in the cold, efficient world of the station. He seemed oddly human in a way the others weren’t.

"You sound like you get it," she said cautiously, curious now, watching for his reaction. "Most people don’t. They think it’s strange."

Kaden’s mouth twitched into the ghost of a smile, one that barely reached his eyes. "Yeah, well… most people don’t know what they’re missing."

Before Lira could reply, the lights in the library flickered, just for a second, but enough to break the fragile moment between them. The hum of the station shifted, the steady rhythm faltering ever so slightly, like the heartbeat of the place had stuttered.

Kaden’s posture straightened immediately, his engineer instincts kicking in. His hand shot out of his pocket and tapped the panel on his wrist. He frowned at whatever readout he was seeing, his lips pressing into a thin line.

“Something’s wrong,” he muttered under his breath, mostly to himself, but loud enough for Lira to hear. He turned toward the doorway, his gaze already focused somewhere beyond the walls of the library, as if he could sense the station’s mechanical systems deep within.

Lira’s stomach twisted with a sense of unease. The station was old, sure, but it was well-maintained—Kaden himself made sure of that. The flicker of lights, the shift in the hum… those weren’t things she usually noticed. They were things she never noticed.

Before she could ask what was happening, a sudden tremor rocked the floor beneath them. The shelves rattled, books sliding off the edges and thudding onto the floor around them. Lira’s heart leapt into her throat as she shot to her feet, clutching the edge of the table to steady herself.

“What was that?” Her voice was sharper now, the calm of the library shattered by the sudden chaos.

Kaden was already moving, striding toward the door with quick, decisive steps. "Stay here," he called over his shoulder, his tone urgent. "I need to check the main systems—"

He didn’t get the chance to finish. Another, more violent tremor hit, this one stronger, sending books toppling from their shelves in waves. A loud, mechanical groan echoed through the walls, a sound that made Lira’s blood run cold.

And then, the alarms started blaring. Red lights flashed in sync with the high-pitched wail that filled the station, sending a surge of panic through her. This wasn’t just a technical issue—this was something worse. Something bad.

“Kaden!” she called out, her voice barely audible over the alarms, but he had already disappeared into the corridor.

Lira stood frozen for a moment, her pulse pounding in her ears, the once quiet and safe library now a maelstrom of noise and falling debris. Her mind raced. What was happening? Was it an attack? A malfunction? She hadn’t heard of anything like this happening since…

Then the realization hit her.

Nexus.