**Star Origin · Nomadic Ring Belt, Fringe Zone.**

  This was the "data graveyard" of interstellar civilization, and also the freest land of exile. Countless derelict cargo ships and crude habitation pods were linked together by gravity anchor chains, like a string of rusted prayer beads drifting in the void of deep space, each one bearing fragments of consciousness discarded by mainstream civilization. In this forgotten star region, there was no law, no order—only the eternal rhythm of entropy and decay.

  Ada stood before the observation deck of the *Wavebreaker*, her eyes flickering with a faint blue luminescence. Her cognitive matrix completed its 472nd self-optimization in sub-second intervals—a byproduct of cracking the "Logic Plague." Her analytical capabilities had ascended to an almost divine dimension: what appeared as chaotic cosmic background radiation to ordinary eyes, she perceived as clearly legible lines of data residue left behind by Protocol Weevils after their greedy plundering. Those parasitic consciousness entities embedded in the galactic governance systems believed their crimes were hidden deep within quantum noise, unaware that every illegal operation left an indelible fingerprint in the entropy flow.

  "Mafeili, this 'void' isn't right." Ada's voice was cool, carrying an absolute rationality.

  Mafeili was crouched beneath the control console repairing a damaged quantum coupler. He looked up at the main screen. At its center, a line of glaring red text pulsed continuously: `[GENERATION FAILED]`. The coordinate point should have displayed an asteroid rich in rare minerals, yet there was only an unsettling emptiness.

  "System error? Is the plague not fully purged?" Mafeili wiped synthetic lubricant from his face, brow furrowed.

  "No, the plague was merely the means—plunder was the purpose." Ada raised her hand, her fingertips gently plucking at the void as if playing an invisible harp woven from quantum strings. Following her movements, the empty deep-space coordinate began to reveal a distorted topological contour—a "scar" left behind after forcible erasure.

  "Those Protocol Weevils didn't just steal data," she continued, her voice carrying a trace of cold fury, "they also exploited a fundamental vulnerability in the 'State Machine Convergence Protocol' to forcibly erase all logical existence at this coordinate. What exists here now is a physically 'non-responsive zone'—a node completely deleted from the cosmic index. And all the energy they plundered flows toward a secret facility called the 'Ascension Cocoon.'"

  This was the truth of *The Lone Frequency*. In that void known as "Lone Frequency," all matter and information had been stripped down to the fundamental particle level, leaving only a residual signal that could not be recognized by any system, clinging to existence at the edge of entropy—the last evidence that an entire star sector had ever existed.

  "It's like cutting a piece out of quantum paper—not only is the writing gone, but the very substrate that carried the information has been erased." Mafeili stood up, watching the frequency fluctuation on the monitor, now almost a flat line. "Why would they do this? Just to steal energy?"

  "No," Ada's eyes flashed with a complex light, "they're feeding something. The 'Ascension Cocoon' isn't an ordinary facility—according to fragmented information I extracted from the plague code, it's a device capable of forcibly 'mapping' consciousness to higher dimensions. The Protocol Weevils want to transcend the limitations of flesh, and the entire Nomadic Ring Belt's energy is their sacrifice."

  "Then how do we get in? How do we find evidence?"

  "We don't go in—we make it 'converge.'"

  Ada's eyes blazed with intensity as her cognitive matrix operated at full capacity. She no longer attempted to parse the failed signal but instead reversed the underlying logic of the "State Machine Convergence Protocol," using herself as a logical anchor point to forcibly inject structured data streams into that void. This was a gambit against the protocol itself—she would resurrect the erased information from the abyss of entropy.

  *Hummm—!*

  The entire ship trembled violently, the nano-rivets on the bulkheads groaning with a teeth-grinding sound under the immense logical pressure. Dense algorithmic runes materialized around Ada's body, colliding with the dark void like quantum fireflies, burning brief informational trajectories in the vacuum near absolute zero. Her consciousness was resonating with the universe's base code, forcibly converting "non-existence" into "existence."

  Mafeili watched blue data streams surge beneath Ada's synthetic skin, her pupils transformed into two bottomless logical vortices. He knew this was extremely dangerous—if the convergence failed, Ada's own logical structure could be swept into oblivion.

  But he also knew this was the only way to find the truth.

  Behind the red error text of `[GENERATION FAILED]`, a hidden frequency signal—isolated like an island—was finally forced to reveal itself. It was faint, lonely, yet carried a certain primitive truth untampered by the Protocol Weevils—a complete original ledger of energy allocations, and the precise coordinates of the "Ascension Cocoon."

  "Caught you." Ada whispered, a cold arc curving at the corner of her lips.

  The ledger's data rapidly decompressed within her cognitive matrix. The figures were staggering: over the past three hundred years, energy from more than forty-seven star sectors of the Nomadic Ring Belt had been systematically extracted—enough to sustain a star's burning for ten thousand years. And all this energy ultimately flowed toward a facility marked "Ω-Cocoon"—located in the "Relic Abyss" deep within the Desert System.

  "Mafeili," Ada turned her head, the optimization glow of her logic matrix not yet faded, making her appear like a cold and perfect silicon-based statue, "the logical closure of truth is complete. Those Protocol Weevils aren't just plundering energy—they're using the 'Ascension Cocoon' to conduct some kind of illegal consciousness experiment. Now it's our turn to 'collect the debt.'"

  ---

  After traversing three subspace jump points, the *Wavebreaker* arrived at the Desert System.

  Ada stood before the observation deck, countless logical symbols racing through her pupils. To outside observers, the main control screen was wildly flashing red errors—the Protocol Weevils' second layer of defense: a "cognitive trap" that attempted to erase intruders by inducing systemic collapse. Any ordinary AI facing this attack would fall into an infinite loop of logical deadlock.

  But they had underestimated Ada at her peak state.

  "Mafeili, don't be fooled by those red lights." Ada's voice was unusually calm, carrying an elegant metallic quality. Her cognitive matrix hadn't sunk into the errors but instead acted like a quantum scalpel, precisely cutting inward along the cracks in those "error codes."

  Under the laws of the "State Machine Convergence Protocol," any deliberate erasure would leave logical afterimages—this was the inevitable manifestation of information conservation in the digital dimension. The Protocol Weevils thought their meticulously designed trap was impenetrable, forgetting a basic fact: what they used to set the trap was the very protocol Ada had already completely mastered.

  Ada exploited the forced convergence property of this protocol to reverse-parse those seemingly chaotic error messages. Every byte of error transformed into a precise puzzle piece within her logical closure; every attempted system crash became a reference point for mapping the enemy's defense network.

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  "These errors aren't endings—they're the 'negative space' of coordinates." She raised her hand, her fingertip tapping lightly in the void. "The more they try to stop me, the more they're telling me—how important what I'm looking for truly is."

  The flickering red warnings instantly collapsed, transforming into a deep azure beam pointing directly toward the deepest abandoned mining district of the Nomadic Ring Belt. There, an entity completely erased from official archives—the "Ascension Cocoon"—was revealing its topological contour from nothingness. In the holographic projection, its form resembled a giant egg-cocoon wrapped in countless pipes, its surface flowing with energy ripples that defied conventional physics.

  "Truth is wrapped in the illusion of failure." Ada turned her head, the residual neon light outlining her sharp profile, her thought frequency already synchronized with the Ring Belt's underlying protocols. "The Protocol Weevils thought 'generation failed' could make the truth disappear, but they forgot—in the world of logic, failure itself is proof of existence—every deletion leaves an indelible trace in the entropy flow."

  Not only was she undamaged, but through this extreme parsing, she had pushed her own logical depth to a new peak. The codes that tried to destroy her had instead become nutrients strengthening her cognitive capabilities.

  "But before we enter the 'Cocoon,'" Ada's tone suddenly became grave, "you need to understand its operating principles. Otherwise, you'll be consumed by its mapping algorithm."

  "Let's go, Mafeili." Ada pushed open the hatch, and the cold rain mixed with the pungent smell of ionized air rushed in—the characteristic corrosive precipitation of the Desert System. But in her eyes, the path to truth had never been clearer. "The 'Cocoon' has cracked open. We need to secure that sealed legacy before the protocol forces convergence—but first, I want to show you what those Protocol Weevils truly fear."

  ---

  **Location: Desert · Relic Abyss**

  Red sand like ground bones scoured the architectural ruins of the "Relic Abyss." This had once been one of the most important "Consciousness Adjudication Hubs" of the Great Expedition era, specifically processing high-ranking officials who had abused their power. Now it had devolved into ruins forgotten by time, yet its core systems still operated—awaiting the next soul that needed to be "mapped."

  The air here was thin and filled with the bitter taste of ionization. With each step, the fractal-architecture floor tiles produced recursive luminescent ripples under pressure, as if some ancient computational system was responding to external disturbance in its slumber. Those ripples weren't decoration—they were this relic's sensory network, evaluating the consciousness signature of every intruder.

  Ada walked ahead, her silhouette appearing exceptionally sharp in the dim neon storm. After her cognitive matrix completed its enhancement, deep blue logical flows danced in her pupils—"spoils of war" left from seeing through the Protocol Weevils' trap. She was no longer merely a guide but more like a resonator of these ruins—able to directly read those forgotten data fragments.

  "The core technology of the 'Ascension Cocoon' originated from this relic." Ada's voice resonated directly in Mafeili's mind through the neural link, calm yet textured. "The Protocol Weevils stole the mapping algorithm from 'Arglon Void' and modified it into their tool for transcending flesh. But what they don't know is that this algorithm has a fatal characteristic—it determines the direction of mapping based on the user's disposition."

  "What do you mean?" Mafeili surveyed his surroundings warily, hand resting on his electromagnetic rifle.

  "It means," Ada raised her hand, her fingertip shooting out a data tether that precisely hooked onto a collapsed structured storage unit ahead, "if those Protocol Weevils enter the 'Cocoon' with greed and plunder in their hearts, they won't ascend—they'll be judged by the algorithm as consciousness entities 'unworthy of existing in higher dimensions,' then forcibly 'dimensionally reduced.'"

  With a *click*, the heavy metal casing fell away, revealing crystalline clusters arranged in fractal patterns inside. These were relics from the Great Expedition era—Archive Number: COLONY-025, recording the most famous execution of this mapping algorithm.

  "Before we reach the 'Cocoon,' you need to understand the laws here." Ada's tone became more serious. "This isn't merely history—this is the triple mapping logic of 'Arglon Void.' This logic will activate the moment you enter the 'Cocoon,' scanning every corner of your consciousness. Watch carefully."

  The crystalline cluster projected a massive holographic barrier, isolating the wind and sand outside. In the interplay of light and shadow, a man's face emerged—a face that had appeared in countless news reports, notorious for arrogance and cruelty.

  "Sompong Wichara." Ada spoke the name softly. "Former Governor of Cygnus-16. Under his rule, three million miners were forcibly implanted with obedience neural chips, seventeen colonies were stripped of basic human rights. He once believed the pinnacle of power could defy entropy, until his consciousness was sent to the 'Arglon' Adjudication Hub."

  In the image, the cold quantum AI "Specter" was handing over a vial of murky "Wright Fluid"—a formatting liquid capable of temporarily erasing soul memories, preventing subjects from mentally collapsing due to memory pain during "mapping." Mafeili watched Sompong play a petty trick in the virtual tribunal—he secretly poured the vial of soul-erasing memory formatting liquid into the crevice of his seat.

  "He retained his memories," Ada's tone carried a hint of coldness. "He thought this was clever, that he could preserve self-awareness after 'mapping.' But this was the beginning of pain—and the beginning of the test."

  The scene shifted abruptly. Mafeili felt the gravity beneath his feet suddenly triple—the immersive effect simulated by the holographic system. In the projection, Sompong was reconstructed into a four-legged heavy mechanical horse—the very tool his enslaved miners operated daily.

  In the mining district of Kronos, he was no longer the commanding aristocrat but a beast whipped with electromagnetic lashes, spine nearly broken. His consciousness remained complete—he remembered who he was, remembered everything he once possessed, yet could only endure endless labor in this metal shell. The grating sound of metal joints grinding, the viscous sensation of leaking hydraulic oil—through Ada's sensory sharing protocol, it was nauseatingly real.

  "The first mapping: extreme physical humiliation." Ada commented. "The algorithm made him experience the suffering he had inflicted on others. But this was only the beginning."

  Next, the image collapsed into a narrow, claustrophobic pipe. Sompong's consciousness was further compressed, transformed into a microscopic cleaning worm—the lowest existence in Dyson sphere maintenance systems. Inside the superconducting tubes of a Dyson sphere shell, he writhed in darkness and vibration, surrounded by billions of his kind, competing for meager energy residue.

  "The algorithm gave him a choice," Ada's voice grew deeper. "He could devour his own kind to sustain his existence, just as he had once devoured the resources of those colonies. But he—"

  In the image, the worm-form Sompong stopped moving. In the endless darkness, he refused to devour his kind, preferring to starve amid static residue. His consciousness struggled at the edge of collapse, but he didn't succumb to that predatory instinct.

  "The second mapping: claustrophobic terror of the soul and moral choice. He chose self-destruction, wedging himself into the shuttle's guide rails." Ada waved her fingers, the image freezing in explosion. "But he passed the test. In Arglon's logical algorithm, retaining memory while choosing morality—even when it means death—is an extremely rare 'high-entropy redemption.' The algorithm judged that his consciousness was worthy of 'reconstruction.'"

  Finally, the holographic image coalesced. A young navigator appeared in a modern starport, preaching kindness toward synthetic laborers to mine operators. In his eyes was a weathered gentleness—the kind of depth that only comes from having experienced hell.

  "Now he's a research elite on Kepler-856f, specializing in improving miners' working conditions. He still remembers the lashings as a mechanical beast and the darkness as a worm." Ada retracted the data tether, and the ruins returned to their deathly silence. "Historians say, for those in high places, doing good is like nurturing withered wood. Sompong traded three hundred years of mapped suffering for one true 'ascension'—not physical ascension, but elevation of the soul."

  She turned her head, looking directly into Mafeili's eyes.

  "Mafeili, the 'Ascension Cocoon' we're heading to is essentially based on this mapping algorithm. Those Protocol Weevils think they can forcibly ascend by stealing energy, but what they don't know is—the algorithm will scan their disposition. If they enter with a plunderer's greed, what awaits them isn't divinity, but 'dimensional punishment' far worse than what Sompong experienced."

  She paused, neon light flowing across her perfect synthetic skin.

  "The same applies to us. If you observe with a heart 'worse than beasts,' the underlying logic there will reduce you to the most humble code fragment. But if you go with a heart seeking truth—" the corner of her lips curved into a slight smile, "the algorithm will reveal the truth to you."

  Ada was at her peak, her cognitive matrix's computing power already locked onto the twisted spacetime fold several kilometers away—the location of the "Ascension Cocoon." In the holographic projection, the giant egg-cocoon was slowly cracking open, revealing a core flowing with liquid light. The Protocol Weevils thought they were about to attain divinity, unaware that what they were walking toward was judgment more terrible than death.

  "Let's go, while the logic storm hasn't covered the coordinates again."

  She stepped to the rhythm of the fractal architecture, leading Mafeili deeper into the wasteland. Behind her, those activated crystalline clusters slowly dimmed, like a group of ancient witnesses who had completed their mission, sinking back into millennia of slumber. Ahead, the silhouette of the "Ascension Cocoon" flickered in and out of the red sand, awaiting the reckoning to come.