Bolt awoke to a sensation of profound calm.
The relentless, chaotic hum of the Ahna'sara, which had been a storm within him since his transformation, had settled into a deep, resonant thrum, like the purr of some colossal, sleeping beast.
His new, powerful limbs felt less alien, more an extension of his will, though still imbued with an unfamiliar weight and strength. He lay on a bed of woven, living moss that seemed to cradle his transformed body perfectly, in a circular chamber whose walls glowed with a soft, internal light, like captured moonlight.
He flexed his clawed hands, then carefully rose to his feet, his husky head almost brushing the gently curved ceiling. Eva was still asleep in an adjoining alcove, her breathing even, her injured arm neatly bandaged with some kind of luminous, leaf-like material.
The air here was different, not just clean, but alive with a subtle energy that soothed his heightened senses.
A soft chime announced a visitor. Lyren, the deer-like Aethelgardian, entered with a gentle smile, carrying a tray with steaming cups and unfamiliar, fragrant fruits.
"The Ahna'sara rests easier within you here, Seed-Bearer," Lyren observed, their voice the usual melodic calm. "Aethelgard resonates with its frequency. Captain Rostova is healing well; the poultice is drawing out the injury's memory. When she is ready, we would be honored to show you more of our home."
Later that cycle, with Eva feeling considerably better though still favoring her arm, they walked with Lyren through the Verdant City. It was less a city and more a colossal, living garden interwoven with structures that seemed to have grown organically from the crystalline rock and light.
Towers spiraled like unfurling ferns, their surfaces shimmering with captured starlight. Walkways of polished, moss-soft stone wound through groves of trees that bore glowing fruit and flowers that sang with soft, chiming notes when the gentle air currents, seemingly guided by the city's design, brushed past them.
The inhabitants of Aethelgard, beings of diverse yet harmonious forms, moved with an unhurried grace, their interactions marked by a palpable empathy.
Bolt, even in his imposing form, drew no stares of fear, only gentle nods of acknowledgement, sometimes a soft smile.
The Ahna'sara within him resonated with the city's atmosphere, a constant, warm hum of shared feeling, of peace. For the first time since his transformation, he didn't feel like a monster, or a weapon, or even a project. He felt… seen. Understood.
"This place… it's incredible," Eva murmured, her voice filled with wonder as they stood on a crystalline bridge overlooking a valley where waterfalls of pure light cascaded into serene pools.
"How have you remained hidden for so long?"
"Aethelgard is not so much hidden as it is… attuned to a different frequency of existence," Lyren explained.
"Those who are not meant to find it, whose hearts are filled with the discord of the Outer Galaxy, simply cannot perceive the path. The Waystone you carried attuned you to our song."
Their exploration eventually led them to a vast, domed structure at the city's heart, its crystalline roof a perfect lens for the soft, eternal dawn of Aethelgard's sky.
"This, Lyren explained, was the Sanctum of Echoes".
Inside, the air was thick with ancient power and unspoken knowledge. Intricate, shifting patterns of light danced across the walls, generated by colossal, floating crystals that pulsed with the same energy Bolt felt from the Ahna'sara. In the center of the Sanctum, a Progenitor artifact of immense complexity – a sphere of swirling, captured nebulae and intricate, living metal – hummed with unimaginable power. It looked like a miniature galaxy, a map of creation itself.
"This," Coria said, her voice echoing slightly in the vast space as she joined them, "is where understanding begins, Seed-Bearer."
Her golden eyes fixed on Bolt. "The Ahna'sara within you is a key, but a key must be turned with knowledge and intent."
As Bolt stared at the Progenitor sphere, it seemed to respond to his presence. The swirling nebulae within it shifted, and for a heart-stopping moment, he saw not stars, but faces – countless faces, Canid, Felid, and beings of a thousand other forms, all caught in the throes of an ancient, terrible sorrow.
Then, a single, brilliant point of light emerged from the chaos within the sphere, a representation of the Heart of Orion, fractured and bleeding raw power. He felt an almost irresistible urge to reach out, to soothe its pain, to mend its brokenness.
"The Heart calls to the Seed," Coria observed softly. "But to answer that call unprepared would be to invite devastation, both for yourself and for the galaxy."
Eva, watching Bolt's transfixed expression, asked, "So, what does he need to learn? How do you teach someone to… to be what he's becoming?"
Lyren gestured towards the sphere.
"He must learn to listen to the echoes of the Progenitors, not just their sorrow, but their wisdom, their final hope. He must learn to control the flow of the Ahna'sara, to use its empathic power not as a raw force, but as a tool for connection and understanding. And he must learn of those who came before him, other vessels of the Seed, their triumphs and their failures."
Coria stepped closer to Bolt, her gaze both gentle and incredibly profound. "Your first lesson, Bolt of Earth, is not one of action, but of stillness. Of listening." She indicated a series of alcoves around the Sanctum, each containing a softly humming crystal.
"Tonight, you will choose one. You will sit with it. You will open your mind, your heart, your very essence to the Ahna'sara, and you will simply… listen. Not to the voices of this city, or the echoes of your past battles, but to the song of the Seed itself. What does it truly yearn for?"
Bolt looked from the Progenitor sphere to the expectant, wise faces of Lyren and Coria. The warmth of Aethelgard was a comfort, but the weight of their words, the immensity of the task ahead, settled upon him.
Listening to the song of a Progenitor seed felt a universe away from chasing space pirates or navigating asteroid fields.
As they left the Sanctum to allow Bolt to prepare for his solitary vigil, he felt a faint, almost imperceptible tremor in the Force that wasn't from Aethelgard. A cold, distant flicker, like the memory of the watcher's gaze.
He glanced at Eva, saw the same fleeting concern in her eyes. Even in this hidden sanctuary, the Outer Galaxy, with its wars and its ambitions, was never truly gone.
It was merely… waiting.