Magnus 10 -

It was a skeleton. Humanoid, but wrong. Too tall, the limbs too long, the skull elongated into a smooth, featureless dome. Its ribcage was fused into a single plate of bone, and inside that cage, where a heart should be, pulsed a sphere of liquid light—the purest astralidium I’d ever seen.

“What question?”

The astralidium heart pulsed once. The entire planet shuddered. And I understood.

I tried to move. My legs were concrete. “I’m not Magnus. My name is Kaelen.” magnus 10

Unable , the AI replied. The magnetic field has achieved cohesion with the ship’s core systems. Disconnection would cause a catastrophic feedback loop. Estimated yield: planet-cracker.

And I made my choice.

Then I unsealed my helmet. The air of the chamber hit my lungs like acid, but the voice—the thing —was true. I didn’t die. I became something else. It was a skeleton

I ran my pre-drill checks. Biometrics: normal. Hull integrity: stable. Neural link to the ship’s AI, callsign “Oracle”: green.

I love you. I love you. I love you.

Transmitting.

Magnus 11. Last of his line.

“Oracle,” I said. “Transmit final log to Consortium archives. Encrypt for my daughter only. Subject line: ‘Magnus 10.’”

Magnus 10 wasn’t a planet. It was a prison. And I’d just opened the cell. Its ribcage was fused into a single plate

“Oracle,” I said. “Give me a read on local magnetosphere.”