Resonant memory lines the material of this armor. Imprinted within the folds of forged protection lies the flayed origin of the Dread.

Endless Darkness envelops a Tormentor, one of the first strips peeled by the Voice's blade…

The Tormentor is not alone…

Light, buried deep within shadow flickers erratically, as if painful convulsions warp its frequency. It is twisted around an ever-shifting many hands and pulled taut to slick their knife with Light like rosin. A heterodox pairing, opening the creation of new forms flayed from old flesh.

An eternal Voice pierces the Darkness…

"Take shape, second born of pain. Through the Light, bent in service to the Deep. We twist your form into being. Take shape. Now."

In the Deep, it peels shrieking Torment into sistered slabs…

"Pared from the flesh of our mind."

The Voice speaks a piece of its soul into the bisected flesh.

"A living mirror on which to carve our will."

A blade of resonant energy carves slender humanoid husks from the quivering canvas…

"These figments of agony. They are the lessons we will share with you."

It separates the thin layers, dividing segments along lines of clustered nerves…

"In wounded Light your shape is forged."

The husk is considered, recombined with the trim, and reshaped many times.

"With tools of subjugation, you shall teach them."

The Voice recites memories of deep power into their fabric… from Europa it imbues control. From Neomuna, serenity.

"Until all Light bends toward the finality of our horizon."

With Its command issued, the Voice fades…

Subjugated halves of torment are left in the silence of the Deep. Their eyes open to the world, and weep.

***

Selin sits with their other half, surveying the Pale Heart. "Sister, what becomes of us when we succeed?"

Their other half ponders the question for the first time. After a moment, they answer. "We return."

"And what becomes of—us?" Selin emphasizes.

The question frustrates Yemiq. She thrusts her lance into festering brambles. "We… return?"

Selin rotates a shard of Stasis in its hand, analyzing the split reflections. "Return… to where there is no Yemiq? Only an echo within the Witness."

This frustrates her more. She pulls the lance free and stands over Selin. "I am Yemiq."

"Exactly," Selin says, letting the shard fall and dissipate, before standing to meet her other half. "And who were you before?"

"Not nothing," Yemiq responds.

"But not Yemiq," Selin says, before pointing to itself, "And not Selin."

"Better buried than faded from memory." Yemiq turns away. "We return. Together again."

"Together, within it." Selin probes. "Is that what you want?"

Yemiq is silent.

"I know what It wants. I'm asking what you want." Selin sees the final shape just as clearly as the Witness does. It will bring this shape into being. There can be no pursuit in deviation of this purpose, but Selin has considered what follows, what could follow. It takes in the vista of the Pale Heart again, its gaze lingering on a spot marred by Darkness. "What if we could truly be whole—"

A Voice pierces Selin's mind and cuts the notion from it. "Abandon this meager hope."