Chapter 63:
The Songless Heavens
I. The Withering Choir
Above the stars, in the Seventh Heaven, where divine music once flowed like waterfalls of light, a haunting silence fell.
The Celestial Choir, bound to the god-threads of fate, had stopped singing.
Why?
Because they could no longer see the strands.
Each of the Terminators who roamed the galaxy like storm-born executioners, once guided by these songs, now heard only whispers of static in their minds. They faltered in mid-hunt. One by one, their celestial compasses failed. The symphony of predestination had been muted.
> "Impossible,"
said Arch-Watcher Tharos, as his golden harp cracked down the middle.
"The Heavens have gone mute."
The silence is suffocating.
The cause?
Errin's thread-weaving.
Each time he braided a bloodline's echo into new life, the old order lost its grip.
Each time the child sculpted a piece of his true self, a ripple devoured a songline.
And the usurpers from the Seventh Heaven?
They began to bleed starlight from their eyes, for their power was no longer rooted in divine law—but in something crumbling.
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II. The Quiet Before the Storm
On a silent moon drifting beyond the borders of known constellations, Errin and the child stood alone.
Errin could feel the tension crackle like dry ice on flesh.
> "The songs have stopped," he said.
> "Then they'll scream next," the boy answered, kneeling to place his palms on the cold moonstone. "But we'll hear them first."
The boy sent a pulse through the rock. It shot across the galactic ley-lines like a spider's web, and in an instant, they saw the response.
Thousands of Terminators, confused, regrouping.
Others, malfunctioning, targeting one another.
Some—only a few—awakening to awareness, no longer slaves to heaven's old decree.
> "Do we save them?" the child asked.
> "Only the ones who choose to be free," Errin replied.
Above them, the blackened sky cracked open. From that divine wound, a bleeding comet fell—a warning from the Seven Heavens. One final call: Return the blood, or burn.
But neither man nor child flinched.
Instead, they began forging the next chapter of resistance—not in noise, but in silence, where truth often hides.
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