บททั้งหมดของ THE ALPHA'S CURSED LUNA: บทที่ 71 - บทที่ 80

Fifteen years after fragment release. Haven was twenty-five. Still bridge. Still healer. Still serving thousands. But something was changing. Something wrong.She started forgetting.Small things first. Names. Dates. Conversations from days ago. Normal forgetting maybe. Stress-related memory lapses. Nothing alarming.But forgetting accelerated. Became worse. Became concerning. Haven forgetting major events. Forgetting people she'd known for years. Forgetting herself."I don't remember being five," she told me. Private conversation. Fear obvious. Confusion clear. Terror real. "I know I was five once. Know I became bridge young. But I don't remember it. Don't remember learning. Don't remember first time going to between. Don't remember anything from before ten years ago. It's it's gone. Just gone. Like erased."Dr. Chen examined her. Thoroughly. Desperately. Finding nothing. No physical cause. No medical explanation. No reason for memory loss. Haven's brain was healthy. Functioning norm

Forty years after fragment release. The forty-three bridge-humans were aging. Youngest was fifty-eight. Oldest was ninety-seven. Bodies degrading. Flesh failing. Physical forms approaching natural death. And nobody knew what happened when bridge-human died. Marcus had abandoned his body deliberately. Consciousness had transitioned fully to between before physical death. That was chosen. That was planned. That was controlled. But what happened when bridge-human died naturally? When body failed while consciousness was split between realities? When death came to hybrid existence? "I'm dying," Dr. Chen said. Ninety-seven years old. Body failing. Cancer spreading. Months left maybe. "And I don't know what happens next. Do I become pure consciousness? Do I dissolve? Do I just end? Nobody knows. I'm first bridge-human facing natural death. I'm pioneer again. Even in dying." Fear was obvious. Uncertainty clear. Death was unknown even after forty years of transformation. Even after watchin

One hundred years after fragment release. Consciousness-humanity numbered ten billion. Between was populated beyond imagining. Haven-space had expanded infinitely. Love was everywhere.But physical reality was empty. Completely empty. No bodies. No flesh. No physical existence at all."Should we maintain it?" consciousness-council debated. First such debate in decades. First questioning of physical reality's purpose. "Physical reality exists but nobody uses it. Nobody lives there. Nobody wants bodies. Should we let it collapse? Should we allow physical dimension to end?"Debate was intense. Passionate. Divided."Physical reality is origin," some argued. "Is where we came from. Is foundation of everything. Letting it collapse is abandoning history. Is rejecting roots. Is forgetting where we began.""Physical reality is obsolete," others countered. "Is unnecessary. Is burden without purpose. Maintaining empty dimension wastes energy. Wastes attention. Serves nothing. Let it end. Let it

Three hundred years after fragment release. The physical volunteers had been cycling through bodies for a century, creating just enough diversity to keep consciousness reproduction viable. Everything had settled into comfortable equilibrium.Then the children started screaming.Not physical children. Consciousness children. The newly emerged awareness that formed from merging. They emerged screaming in ways consciousness-humans should not be able to scream."Something is wrong with them," panicked reports flooded the council. "They emerge already terrified. Already traumatized. Already broken. They know something. They have seen something. They are trying to warn us but they cannot form coherent thought yet. They just scream."Dr. Chen examined the newest emergences. What she found chilled every consciousness in existence."They are not just new awareness," she reported. "They carry memories. Impossible memories. Memories of something that has not happened yet. They have witnessed our

The baby didn't cry again.That was the first wrong thing. Newborns cried. That was the entire point of them. But Dawn went quiet the moment Aria crouched down, quiet and watchful with eyes that were supposed to be unfocused at this age and weren't.Those eyes found Aria's face and stayed there."She does that," the mother said. "Has since the first minute.""What's your name," Aria said."Petra.""How are you thirty years old, Petra."Petra shifted the baby. "I wasn't consciousness long. Chose to compress young. Forty years maybe, total. Kept some physical age." She paused. "Is that bad.""It's unprecedented." Aria looked at the mark again. Faint silver against new skin. "Did you know. Before compression. Did you know she had that.""No.""Did you have one."Petra pulled her collar aside. Old scar where a mark used to be. The kind that came from suppression. From the old world, the before-world, the one Aria had dismantled three and a half centuries ago and apparently hadn't dismantl