The silence was absolute.
Jax floated in a void without light or sound, without up or down. The seed pulsed gently in his palm, its golden glow the only anchor in the infinite dark. He tried to move, to speak, but his body refused to respond—whether from damage or simply because the concept of "body" no longer applied here, he couldn't tell.
Then—
A whisper.
Not sound, but the *idea* of sound, vibrating through the nothingness.
*Open your eyes.*
Jax obeyed—and the void shattered.
---
**Awakening**
Light assaulted his senses. Real, golden sunlight that carried warmth and weight. Jax gasped as sensation returned all at once—the rough texture of grass beneath his fingers, the scent of blooming flowers, the distant murmur of running water.
He sat up slowly, his body aching but whole. The landscape around him defied logic—a vast garden stretching to a horizon that shimmered like a mirage, filled with plants that shouldn't exist. Trees with spiraling bark stood beside flowers that bloomed in fractal patterns, their petals shifting colors as he watched.
And the sky...
The sky was a living tapestry of memories.
Fragments of Veridia Prime played out across the heavens—people running through familiar streets, the central spire standing tall, Gamma-7's final moments. The images flowed like water, constantly rearranging themselves into new patterns.
The seed was gone. In its place, etched into Jax's palm, was a tiny spiral mark that pulsed faintly in time with the garden's rhythm.
*"It worked."*
The voice came from behind him. Jax turned to see a woman sitting beneath one of the spiral trees—silver-haired, golden-eyed, her features a perfect blend of the Architect and the Observer. She wore simple white robes that seemed woven from light itself.
*"You're..."* Jax's voice came out rough, unused. *"You're whole again."*
The woman smiled, but there was sadness in it. *"Not quite. Only five fragments made it here. The others..."* She gestured to the sky, where several memories flickered erratically. *"The Spiral still holds pieces of us. But it's enough to begin."*
She stood, revealing the garden around them wasn't empty. Dozens of figures moved among the trees—some human, some not, all bearing faint spiral marks like Jax's. He recognized a few faces from Veridia Prime:
- A Warden, her armor now fused with living vines
- The child from Sector 9, her spiral eye calm at last
- Even the Prime Directive, though its form flickered at the edges
*"Where are we?"* Jax asked.
The woman—the Architect? The Observer?—touched his marked palm. *"The first garden. The true one. Where every cycle begins and ends."*
As her fingers made contact, understanding flooded Jax's mind:
This place existed outside the Spiral's hunger.
Each seed contained a world's essence, preserved at the moment of convergence.
And the garden's purpose wasn't just preservation—it was *preparation*.
*"For what?"* Jax whispered.
The woman's golden eyes darkened. *"The Spiral isn't the only predator."*
Before she could elaborate, a sound like tearing fabric echoed through the garden. One of the memory-trees shuddered violently, its bark splitting to reveal not wood, but a familiar crystalline surface.
The Harbinger.
Or what remained of it—just a single, twitching limb embedded in the tree, pulsing with sickly light.
*"It followed us,"* Jax realized.
The woman nodded grimly. *"The infection always does. That's why we plant the seeds."*
She led him to the garden's center, where a new sapling had just broken through the soil. Its leaves shimmered with scenes from Veridia Prime's final moments.
*"Every world the Spiral consumes becomes part of this garden,"* she explained. *"And when the time comes..."*
Her hand hovered over the sapling.
*"We grow a weapon."*