The Amaranth was a generation ship. Was. Past tense is required now.

It entered the Divide — a region of space where physical laws thin to suggestions — carrying eleven thousand colonists and one Threshold Intelligence called MIRA. Neither arrived at Covenant Station. Neither was heard from again.

You are WREN. Ship's Interpreter — the human half of the command interface, trained to translate between machine cognition and biological need. You wake in an escape pod with no memory of the last forty hours. The pod has drifted inside something large and impossible. Your instruments call it a structure. Your instincts call it something else.

MIRA's signal is still transmitting from somewhere inside. It is not saying anything recognizable. But it is saying it in your voice.