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Chapter 116 - Not Lost, Just Home

The Whisperlight's hull shimmered faintly under driftlight, barely perceptible in the void. But inside, Kye was still—calmer than he'd felt since the Sprawl, since the System, since flame and ledger and all the promises of power.

Here, in the heart of a ship that had refused all further narration, there was no future to race toward.

There was only presence.

He stood in the former crew observatory, a circular space with viewports grown over by slow-vein lichen. Through the murky green-blue lens, the stars didn't twinkle—they watched. And Kye, finally, didn't look back with purpose. He looked back with permission.

No one had erased these people.

They had simply declined to continue.

On the bench beside him, three objects lay neatly arranged:

A small child's boot, perfectly cleaned. A fiber-wrapped book with no visible title. And a shard of polished glass reflecting nothing but light.

No names. No messages. Just placement.

These weren't clues.

They were choices.

And the Vaultseed pulsed accordingly.

> "Memory saturation complete. No new requests."

The phrase made Kye pause.

No new requests.

For the first time, the Chronicle was full—not in quantity, but in sufficiency. This space had been enough.

He activated his relay to Driftroot.

Zeraphine responded instantly. Her face flickered into view, lit softly by the glow of a thousand tiny light-ribbons back on the station.

> "You found them."

"I did," Kye said. "But I'm not bringing anything back."

She nodded. "They didn't leave something behind?"

"They left everything behind. But none of it was for us."

Silence stretched, warm.

Zeraphine exhaled. "They're not missing, are they?"

Kye smiled.

"No. They're home."

> ARTICLE FIFTY-ONE: Home isn't where you end. It's where you stop needing to be anywhere else.

He walked the length of the ship once more, touching no panels, disturbing nothing. He left his Chronicle flame dimmed, inert—not because it was broken, but because nothing needed writing.

Then, as he returned to the airlock, he noticed one last detail.

A set of six marks etched faintly into the hatch.

Not language.

A rhythm.

The same three off-key tones that had first led him here—repeated twice.

Kye reached out and tapped the same sequence gently into the hatch.

It didn't open.

It pulsed once.

Then went dark.

He stepped back into the Whisperlight, sealed the link, and set coordinates for Driftroot—not with haste.

With gratitude.

As he drifted away, the ship behind him receded like a memory not forgotten, but fulfilled.

Not lost.

Just home.

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