The dim corridor stretched out ahead of Gewai Devore, its sterile walls and flickering emergency lights offering no comfort, no sense of familiarity. He quickened his pace to catch up with the others, swallowing the unease still clinging to his skin after hearing his name whispered from the void.

Then, out of the corner of his eye—movement.

A shadow flickered across the bulkhead ahead of him, shifting unnaturally against the dim lighting. He stopped short, his breath catching in his throat.

“…Did anyone else see that?” His voice wavered slightly as he reached for his tricorder.

Kobai turned back toward him, brow furrowed. “See what?”

“There was—” He hesitated, scanning the corridor. The space ahead was empty, just the same pristine bulkheads and long, sterile pathways. His eyes darted to the floor, the walls, the junction ahead. Nothing. But he had seen something. He knew he had.

“A shadow. It moved.”

Bahn stepped closer, gripping her phaser. “Where?”

Devore steadied himself with a forced exhale. “Ahead, just around that junction. It was… tall. Wrong.” He shook his head. “Like it wasn’t cast by anything.”

Silence hung heavy between them. No one dismissed him outright, but skepticism flickered in their eyes.

“Could be a light malfunction,” Carter offered, but she didn’t sound convinced.

Terengel didn’t speak. He only observed, his cybernetic eye whirring faintly as he scanned the empty corridor.

Sighing, Devore turned back toward the others. “Forget it. Probably just—”

The lights flickered.

And in that instant, the air itself seemed to shift. The silence deepened, growing thick and suffocating. The team turned.

Devore was gone.

Kobai’s breath hitched. “Gewai?”

No response.

Bahn stepped forward, scanning the space where he had stood just seconds before. Her tricorder pinged once, then died in her hand, the screen glitching to black.

A sudden burst of static erupted from Bahn’s communicator. The team flinched as it crackled and whined, filling the corridor with a distorted, garbled noise—like a voice trying to speak through broken frequencies.

Then—

“H—e—l—”

The sound cut off abruptly.

Silence.

“…We need to go,” Bahn said, voice tight.

But as they turned back down the corridor, a shadow flickered against the far wall—this time moving in the opposite direction.

And this time, they all saw it.

    The team broke into motion immediately, sweeping their tricorders in wide arcs, calling Devore’s name into the stifling silence. 

“He was right here,” Kobai whispered. “He couldn’t have just… vanished.”

Terengel’s ocular implant flickered as he analyzed the corridor. “There are no signs of molecular displacement. No transporter residue. He was not taken—at least not by conventional means.”

Carter ran her tricorder over the bulkheads. “I’m getting some kind of interference. It’s like the ship is scrambling my readings.”

Ch’shraonness cursed under his breath. “This corridor should lead us straight back to the main junction.” He pointed ahead. “We go forward, retrace our steps, and—”

They moved swiftly down the passage, feet pounding against the silent deck. The dim overhead lights pulsed dully, a slow, rhythmic flicker that set their nerves on edge. The corridor stretched on, unbroken, identical bulkheads sliding past them as they pushed forward.

And then they arrived at the junction—

The same junction they had just left.

Bahn stopped short, her breath sharp. “No. That’s not possible.”

Kobai’s stomach turned. “We—we went straight. We didn’t turn.”

They tried again. Another direction, another path. The same result.

Back where they started.

Terengel finally spoke, his tone eerily calm. “The ship’s internal geometry is no longer behaving as it should.”

Ch’shraonness exhaled harshly. “That’s one way to put it. It’s like the ship is moving around us.”

Carter’s fingers trembled slightly over her tricorder. “Or… we’re the ones being moved.”

A low, distant creak reverberated through the corridor, the metal beneath them groaning like something shifting deep within the ship’s bones.

Then—

A whisper.

Faint. Almost imperceptible. But this time, there was no mistaking it.

“…You’re not supposed to be here…”

The lights flickered violently, plunging the hallway into darkness.

They flared bright, then stabilized, casting the team in a sickly dim glow. The whispers had ceased, but the silence left in their wake was worse.

Bahn gritted her teeth. “We need a new plan. Wandering in circles isn’t getting us anywhere.”

“Maybe the Eidolon’s crew tried mapping this place,” Ch’shraonness reasoned. “If we can access any logs, we might find some clue as to what’s happening.”

Terengel, who had remained unnervingly still throughout their disorienting ordeal, turned toward the nearest control panel. A thin filament threaded from his wrist into the panel, his cybernetic eye glowing faintly as he interfaced with the system. Despite the corruption, despite the flickering static that scrambled the displays, he sifted through the fragmented data, working to piece together what the Eidolon still remembered.

At last, the console crackled, and a distorted log entry sputtered into existence.

[LOG ENTRY: Stardate 9521.3—Science Officer Aster]

“…Initial observations confirm the anomaly is unlike anything previously recorded. Quantum resonance patterns fluctuate unpredictably. The structure… no, the behavior of space itself, appears altered in proximity to the event horizon. We are seeing distortions in localized regions, deviations from expected spatial cohesion. We—”

A sharp burst of static interrupted the playback before the log resumed, Aster’s voice lower, shaken.

“—No. No, it’s not just the space around the anomaly. It’s inside the ship now. We tried to shut it down, to isolate it, but—”

[DATA CORRUPTED.]

The screen went black. The words FILE INCOMPLETE pulsed across the console like a heartbeat.

Kobai inhaled shakily. “That’s it? That’s all we get?”

“No,” Terengel said, his voice even. “There is more.”

He turned away from the console and back toward the corridor where Bahn had first discovered the strange etchings. His gaze followed the runes, his enhanced vision scanning over the chaotic script with cold precision. He traced the symbols with a gloved finger, his head tilting in consideration.

“These markings are not merely language,” he said. “They are a form of control. Or containment.”

Ch’shraonness frowned. “You mean they’re some kind of failsafe?”

“They resemble security encryption patterns. Redundant. Repetitive. Meant to reinforce a concept. But the meaning is incomplete.” Terengel paused, then added, “They are warnings. Or barriers.”

“Against what?” Carter asked.

Terengel did not immediately answer. Instead, his fingers hovered over one particularly deep carving. The symbol was jagged, intersecting in ways that almost defied logic—angles that seemed too sharp, too wrong. His cybernetic eye flickered, processing.

Finally, he spoke.

“…I do not believe the Eidolon’s crew was simply observing the anomaly.” He turned back to the group. “I believe they were attempting to contain it.”

The corridor shuddered around them, a deep groaning noise reverberating through the walls.

Then, from somewhere far off in the ship—

A distant door slammed open.

The sound echoed through the corridor, sending a sharp jolt of tension through the away team. Bahn instinctively raised her phaser, sweeping the area, but the ship remained still.

Then, a new sound rose.

It was subtle at first, just beneath the threshold of hearing—a faint rustling, like wind moving through leaves. But there was no wind. No movement. Only the sterile, dim corridors of the Eidolon.

Then the sound shifted.

The rustling became a murmur, a distant, collective whisper, rising from the very walls around them.

Carter turned in place, her breath quickening. “Do you hear that?”

“We all hear it,” Ch’shraonness murmured. His antennae twitched, sensitive to the vibrations in the air.

The susurrus grew louder. It came from nowhere and everywhere, layered voices overlapping in a tangled mass of sound. Words struggled to take shape within the murmuring chaos—fragments of phrases lost in a sea of static.

Kobai pressed her hands to her ears. “Make it stop—”

The whispering spiked, converging into a singular, chilling word—

“Stay.”

The sound hit them like a pressure wave, the walls seeming to vibrate with the force of the command. The emergency lights flickered violently, casting jagged shadows that twisted and warped against the bulkheads.

Bahn staggered back, gripping her phaser tightly. “Nope. Nope, that’s bad.”

The ship let out a slow, groaning creak, almost like an exhale. The whispers retreated, fading back into the Eidolon’s bones. A deafening silence remained.

Ch’shraonness swallowed hard. “We are not staying.”

Bahn exhaled sharply, forcing herself to focus. “Agreed. But whatever’s in here? It wants us to.”

The Eidolon had spoken. And now, it was listening.