ECHO OF THE VOID : THE FINAL DREAM
Chapter 2: The Eternal Child
The garden was beautiful.
More beautiful than any garden Aris had ever seen. The flowers were not flowers she recognized—their petals shifted colors, their stems pulsed with light, their scent was like honey and starlight and something else. Something like home.
The fountain burbled with water that glowed softly, casting rainbows across the grass. The bench was carved from wood that seemed to grow from the earth itself, its surface warm and smooth.
And the boy—Caelum—sat on the bench, his dark eyes fixed on her, his small hands folded in his lap.
He was ten years old.
He had been ten years old for four hundred years.
“You were born on the Odyssey,” Aris said.
Caelum nodded.
“My mother was a sleeper. My father was a dreamer. They put me in cryo when I was ten. They said I would wake up on Proxima. They said I would see the stars.”
“What happened?”
Caelum looked at the garden.
At the flowers.
At the light.
“The echo happened. The nightmare. The hunger. It consumed the ship. It consumed the sleepers. It consumed my parents.”
“And you?”
Caelum was silent for a long moment.
“I fell into the dream,” he said. “Not the echo’s dream. A different dream. My own. I built this garden. I built it to survive. I built it to hope. I built it to remember.”
“Remember what?”
Caelum looked at her.
His dark eyes were wet.
“Remember who I was. Before the cryo. Before the echo. Before the nightmare.”
Aris sat beside him.
The bench was warm.
“You’ve been here alone for four hundred years?”
Caelum nodded.
“I had the flowers. The fountain. The light. It was enough.”
“It wasn’t enough. You were lonely.”
Caelum’s lip trembled.
“I was lonely,” he whispered. “But I didn’t know how to ask for help.”
“You’re asking now.”
“I’m asking now.”
Aris took his hand.
His skin was warm.
“I’m here,” she said. “I’ll help you.”
“How?”
Aris looked at the garden.
At the flowers.
At the light.
“We wake up,” she said. “Together.”
The garden began to fade.
The flowers wilted. The fountain dried. The light dimmed.
“I’m scared,” Caelum said.
“I know. But you don’t have to be alone anymore.”
“Will you stay?”
Aris smiled.
“I’ll stay. As long as you need me.”
Caelum closed his eyes.
The light consumed him.
And when it faded, he was gone.
Aris opened her eyes.
She was in the medical bay.
Elara was beside her.
Caelum was sitting up in bed.
His dark eyes were open.
“Hello,” he said.
Aris smiled.
“Hello, Caelum. Welcome to the new world.”
The first days were hard.
Caelum had been asleep for four hundred years. The world he woke to was not the world he had left. Earth was gone. The Odyssey was a wreck. The colony was small and fragile and full of strangers.
He was disoriented. He was frightened. He was lonely.
Aris stayed with him.
She brought him food. She brought him water. She brought him clothes that fit. She sat with him in the garden, among the lilies, and talked to him about nothing and everything.
He did not speak much.
But he listened.
And slowly, gradually, he began to heal.
“You were born in space,” Aris said, on the third day.
Caelum nodded.
“I never saw Earth. I never felt the sun on my face. I never breathed real air.”
“What did you feel?”
Caelum looked at the garden.
At the lilies.
At the light.
“I felt the hum of the ship. The vibration of the engines. The warmth of the cryo pod. I felt safe.”
“And now?”
Caelum was silent for a long moment.
“Now I feel afraid. The world is so big. So bright. So loud.”
“It can be overwhelming.”
“Does it get easier?”
Aris looked at the sky.
At the clouds.
At the light.
“Yes,” she said. “It gets easier.”
On the fifth day, he asked about the echo.
“You killed it,” he said. “How?”
“I didn’t kill it. I contained it. I became the lock.”
“Then where is it now?”
Aris was silent for a long moment.
“Sleeping, I hope. Dreaming, maybe. Waiting.”
“Waiting for what?”
“For someone to wake it. For someone to feed it. For someone to set it free.”
Caelum’s face paled.
“Can it be set free?”
“Anything can be set free. If the lock is broken. If the cage is opened. If the dreamer is willing.”
“Are you willing?”
Aris looked at the sky.
At the sun.
At the light.
“No,” she said. “I’m not.”
On the seventh day, he walked through the city for the first time.
The streets were crowded, the market busy, the children laughing. People stared at him as he passed—a stranger, a child, a ghost from the past.
He did not flinch.
He did not hide.
He walked with his head high, his shoulders back, his eyes forward.
Aris walked beside him.
“They’re staring,” he said.
“They’re curious.”
“About what?”
“About you. About who you are. About where you’ve been.”
“Should I tell them?”
Aris looked at him.
“Do you want to?”
Caelum was silent for a long moment.
“No,” he said. “Not yet.”
“Then don’t.”
They stopped at the edge of the city.
The wilderness stretched before them—forests and rivers and mountains, untouched by human hands.
“What’s out there?” Caelum asked.
“A new world,” Aris said. “A world we’re still learning to understand.”
“Will I ever understand it?”
Aris smiled.
It was a sad smile, small and tired and full of years.
“Someday. When you’re ready.”
“When will that be?”
Aris looked at the sky.
At the sun.
At the light.
“I don’t know. But I hope soon.”
That night, Caelum dreamed.
He was standing in a field of light.
Not the garden of his own dream. Not the dark field of the echo. A new field. Bright and golden, filled with flowers and trees and rivers of light.
And standing in the center of the field, waiting for him, was a figure.
A woman.
She was young—younger than Aris, younger than Sera. Her dark hair was long and straight, her white dress was simple and clean, her bare feet were pressed against the grass.
Her eyes were brown.
Warm. Human. Hopeful.
“Hello, Caelum,” she said. “I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Who are you?”
The woman smiled.
It was a real smile, warm and bright and full of love.
“I’m the dream,” she said. “The dream that dreamed you into existence.”