About
On an isolated deep-space station, the crew believes they are alone with the void. But the silence is not absence—it is a breath held too long.
When the black beyond the windows begins to pulse, something enters the vessel. Not creature. Not machine. It arrives as condensation on the glass, as tremors in the walls, as language reshaped into hunger. One by one, the crew are rewritten—bodies turned to echo, voices fused into chorus. They are not dying. They are being rearranged.
In the end, only Elias, the communications officer, remains aware as he walks into a corridor that breathes like a throat, into a chamber where the Hollow Choir waits. He does not survive. He joins.
This is not a story of escape. It is the record of the first breach—the moment silence revealed it was never empty, but always waiting to sing.
