Bai Cheng nodded slightly and turned toward the keystone. The book of commonality manifested before her, its pages flipping automatically to a blank one.
“It is acceptable,” her voice was gentle and clear. “The first formal record of the Starfire Archives does not require grand narratives, nor does it audit emotional variables or evaluate logical completeness. It only needs to be real.”
She extended her finger, and the light of the oath of starlight transford into a slender stream of light, connecting the light point of the Silent Child and then drawing it toward the keystone.
On the surface of the keystone, the orange-veined area corresponding to the warmth of ho lit up, as if in resonance.
“Now, please cast that feeling into the keystone.
The Archive will preserve it for you in the manner it can sustain.”
The light point of the Silent Child trembled slightly, separating a small orb of the purest orange halo.
That was not energy, but a mark of pure feeling that it had carefully preserved and refined.
The halo drifted and fell toward the keystone; the mont it touched the surface, it seeped in silently, like a water droplet rging into a sponge.
On the keystone's surface, the veins in the corresponding area seed to co alive, beginning to flow and change slowly.
Ultimately, in that area, a small, minimalist, continuously looping image ford: the silhouette of a pair of blurred but gentle hands, lightly patting a smaller orb of light;
Simultaneously, a simple, repetitive, wordless but soothing humming lody emanated from within the keystone at a very low volu, perceived by every life form present through the resonance network.
Both the image and the lody were exceptionally brief, looping every few seconds, yet the peace and love contained within were incomparably clear.
“Record complete.” Bai Cheng wrote on a new page of the book of commonality:
As the words were inscribed, this page of the book of commonality glowed slightly, establishing a resonant connection with that looping image on the keystone.
This ant that henceforth, any authorized life form could access this record and feel that preserved warmth by touching the book of commonality or directly resonating with the keystone.
The first story was so simple, yet so heavy.
It represented the only thing left in the world of a life stripped of its future by the cleanup protocol.
This brief record, however, seed to open a certain floodgate.
After a brief silence, a second request for recording arrived.
It ca from a representative of the Hybrid Civilization, an elderly technician whose half-body was a precise chanical structure, while the other half was flesh and blood covered in scales.
He hobbled forward, his chanical eye and biological eye simultaneously gazing at the keystone.
“My na is Gelong,” his voice was raspy. “My ancestors ca from seventeen civilizations judged as failures and ultimately cleaned up.
Within my body flow their conflicting genes, branded with their incompatible technologies.
For three thousand years, we have been called a collection of wrong answers, surviving in the cracks; every technological breakthrough was accompanied by rejection reactions and pain.”
He raised his chanical arm, palm upward, and a small gear-shaped badge crudely pieced together from different materials erged, rotating slowly.
“What I bring is not a single story, but a map of scars,” Gelong said.
“It records the three hundred and ninety-four major types of rejection reactions generated when seventeen different tech trees were forcibly rged over three thousand years in the Hybrid Civilization, and how we, for the sake of survival, transford them from fatal conflicts into... possibilities for coexistence.
The process was painful, and the results are not perfect, but it proves that even existences judged by the rules as absolutely incompatible can find a 'wrong' way to coexist, driven by sufficient will to live and... love.”
He gently pushed the badge toward the keystone.
“I wish to record this map. Not as a display of suffering, but as «N.o.v.e.l.i.g.h.t» a reference for the possibility of imperfect coexistence.
Perhaps in the future, when other existences face similar dilemmas of incompatibility, this map can provide so... ideas that are not optimal solutions, but at least paths to survival.”
The badge touched the keystone.
This ti, the reaction of the veins on the keystone's surface was more complex.
The composite light stream area representing the fusion of tal and flesh lit up; the veins began to intertwine and reorganize, finally forming a dynamic, constantly evolving 3D structural diagram.
It was precisely that map of rejection reactions and transformation paths.
Beside the map, so brief annotations erged, recording pain indices at key nodes and breakthrough opportunities, with frequent descriptions of emotional drivers such as 'for the sake of descendants,' 'for companions,' and 'not wanting to lose again.'
The second story turned scars into knowledge and pain into a possible revelation.
Imdiately following, an ancient echo from the Edge Echo Belt actively initiated a resonance.
It manifested as a nebula-like play of light and shadow with constantly shifting colors, emitting fragnts of an ancient and desolate ballad from within.
Leng Ningxue guided it, translating and conveying its core ssage:
“We... were once the Dreamweaver Civilization.
We were not skilled in combat, nor adept at calculation; the only thing we excelled at was using collective dreams and imagination to weave brief but beautiful illusory paradises for our kin to rest in during tis of spiritual deprivation.
The reason we were cleaned up: emotional variables were too high, and our output consisted of spiritual products with no physical value, assessed as an invalid civilizational branch.”
“What we bring are the dream fragnts of our civilization's final collective weaving.
It has no practical use, no logical structure, and not even a fixed form.
It is just a passage... of pure imagination about everyone being able to fly freely, fish swimming in the starry sky, and flowers whispering love poems. This is the evidence that we existed, and it is our most cherished 'invalid' legacy.”
A light orb, extrely ethereal as if composed of countless glowing soap bubbles and constantly shifting with magnificent scenes, separated from the nebula-like echo and drifted toward the keystone.
It was so fragile it seed it would shatter at a touch, but the power of the river of light gently enveloped it, delivering it safely.
On the keystone, the area of veins representing ancient ballads and lost arts rippled.
As the light orb rged, that area seed to transform into a miniature fragnt of a fantasy world, constantly appearing and vanishing.
There was no specific narrative, only flowing colors, bizarre sights, and a sense of pure, carefree joy.
More and more light points began to flicker as life forms from different directions and in various forms began to cast their stories—be they grand or minute, heavy or light—into the keystone,
becoming the initial collection of the Starfire Archives.
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