Stacy:
They all use the same word.
Caelwyn:
Which one?
Stacy:
Rebirth.
She looked through the observation glass.
Rows of bodies.
Suspended. Maintained. Repurposed.
Stacy:
Different cultures. Different systems.
Same promise.
Caelwyn:
You will live on.
Stacy nodded slowly.
Stacy:
Persephone returns.
Osiris rises.
Inanna comes back.
Caelwyn:
Something goes into the dark.
Stacy:
And something comes back.
She paused.
Stacy:
But not unchanged.
Caelwyn:
Never unchanged.
Below them, a mechanical arm adjusted a body.
Carefully. Precisely.
Stacy:
Servitors.
Caelwyn:
Function continues.
Stacy:
Astartes.
Caelwyn:
Identity reshaped.
Stacy:
Dreadnoughts.
Caelwyn:
War without end.
Stacy:
Necrons.
Caelwyn:
Memory without life.
Stacy:
Chaos.
Caelwyn:
Change without control.
Silence settled.
Machines kept working.
Stacy:
Every culture promises rebirth.
Caelwyn:
Yes.
Stacy:
But none of them say what comes back.
Caelwyn looked at her.
Calm. Certain.
Caelwyn:
Because that’s the part no one wants to hear.
Stacy’s voice dropped.
Stacy:
They promise you will live on…
A long pause.
The hum of the machines filled the space.
Caelwyn finished it quietly.
Caelwyn:
They never say as what.
Beyond the glass, something moved.
Not as it had been.
But exactly as it was needed.
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