Watching her, Jeanne's mind suddenly flashed back to the dreams that had been haunting her nights—that endlessly looping, suffocating vision of a ruined, apocalyptic wasteland. Was that desolate world the true face of the curse the Doctor spoke of?
Jeanne didn't know what kind of catastrophe had brought down the previous civilization, nor did she know who had engineered that literal hell. In the grand scheme of things, pointing fingers at the past was entirely pointless now.
But a deep, persistent urge to understand the truth flared up within her. Why did her spirit repeatedly wander across that barren, shattered world in her sleep, and why, no matter how far she traveled, was there never a single glimpse of the ocean? What was that glaring absence trying to tell her?
Jeanne refused to believe these were just routine nightmares. Blessed with the gift of Revelation, she took these strange, repeating visions incredibly seriously. To her, this wasn't random neurological noise; it was a deliberate, divine guidance trying to steer her toward an unspoken truth.
And the one of the few person alive who could hand her the keys to that past was the fragile woman lying right in front of her. As the one of last humans surviving from the Previous Civilization, she was the ultimate vault of the planet's deepest secrets.
Just as Jeanne opened her mouth to gently press for answers, a crisp knock rattled the door. Jeanne blinked, glancing at the clock. Who on earth could be looking for her at this hour besides the Doctor? Was it Theresa, or perhaps Kal'tsit?
Before she could even call out, the person on the other side didn't bother waiting for the lock to turn. A cool, familiar voice drifted straight through the panel.
"It's me. The Doctor forgot to take her scheduled medication. I'm leaving the tray right outside the threshold. Please ensure she swallows every single dose."
It was Kal'tsit. The ancient physician stood in the corridor, holding a heavy tray loaded with an assortment of pharmaceuticals. She had clearly gone to the strategist's private office first, found it entirely vacant, and immediately tracked her down to this guest suite.
"Furthermore, do not permit her to remain out of her environmental suit for an extended duration," Kal'tsit added, her instructions clipping forward with clinical efficiency. "While these specific residential units feature localized filtration systems capable of shielding her, prolonged exposure to the unshielded atmosphere will inflict a severe, measurable toll on her systemic baseline."
Having delivered her rapid-fire directive, Kal'tsit didn't linger to hear Jeanne's acknowledgment. She smoothly set the tray down on the floor, turned on her heel, and swept away into the shadows of the corridor, completely indifferent to a formal reply.
By the time Jeanne unlocked the heavy door and slid it back, the corridor was entirely empty. The only proof that the Feline had even been there was a neatly arranged tray holding a glass of water and a colorful array of pills. Kal'tsit had already vanished, likely rushing off to check on little Amiya or bury herself back in her endless medical charts.
"I swear, everyone on this ship acts like they don't have a spare second to breathe," Jeanne muttered to herself, picking up the heavy tray. "She couldn't even pause for a moment after dropping off the medicine?"
Jeanne had been planning to ask for a breakdown of which pill did what, but despite her quick movements, she hadn't caught so much as a glimpse of the physician's coat. Was there an active emergency, or was the old Feline just in an exceptionally foul mood?
Honestly, the latter was completely understandable. After walking into her private office this morning only to find it transformed into a literal funeral parlor, the fact that Kal'tsit was still personally delivering the Doctor's life-saving medicine was proof enough that the woman possessed a remarkably patient, deeply dedicated soul.
"There's no helping it. Babel is catastrophically short-staffed," the Doctor groaned from the mattress. Now that she was horizontal, she showed absolutely zero intention of moving a single muscle. Her exhausted body was practically screaming in protest, refusing to even consider the concept of sitting back up. "Right now, the high command wishes we could literally slice every operator into ten pieces just to cover the shift rotations. The only reason I managed to sneak away to see you today was because I pulled a double shift to clear my desk."
"Here. I assume you know the proper sequence for these?" Jeanne said, carefully setting the tray beside the bed and handing over the water. "You were bouncing off the walls like a hyperactive gremlin this morning, yet it turns out you're actually a severe chronic patient. How did you let your health deteriorate to this level?"
The Doctor offered a weak, sheepish smile, taking the pills and methodically swallowing them in a well-practiced sequence. Whether it was the rapid systemic effect of the medication or simply the therapeutic value of a comfortable mattress, Jeanne could see a faint, healthy trace of color gradually returning to the girl's ghostly pale cheeks.
"Phew..." The Doctor let out a long, slow breath, her respirations noticeably smoother and less labored than before. She closed her eyes, savoring the rare, peaceful quiet of the room. Watching her look so incredibly relieved just to have a single moment of physical comfort made Jeanne feel a profound wave of pity.
"Since you're feeling a bit more stable, I have a few massive questions I've been dying to ask you," Jeanne said gently, pulling up a chair as the medicine kicked in. "Given that you're a true human... do you know what originally happened to this world? And more importantly, what exactly is Originium?"
The moment the word 'Originium' left Jeanne's lips, the Doctor's relaxed expression vanished, replaced by a deeply complex, torturous shadow. Her eyes swirled with a volatile mixture of intense pain, suffocating remorse, and a faint, heartbreaking trace of nostalgia. There was no doubt about it—the woman sitting before her was the definitive keeper of the ultimate truth.
As the Doctor sank into a heavy, suffocating silence, the atmosphere within the small suite grew noticeably oppressive. Jeanne watched the raw grief and longing fracturing the strategist's gaze, and a sharp pang of sympathy squeezed her heart.
When you really thought about it, the Doctor's existence was unimaginably tragic. To wake up and wander along on a strange, world that feels alien to her that also carried a twisted, mocking resemblance to the world you once knew... it was impossible to comprehend the sheer weight of the sorrow crashing down on her soul every single day.
Navigating a world where every single one of your kind, your loved ones, and your entire civilization had been reduced to dust was a psychological nightmare.
"Would you mind narrowing down the scope of your inquiry a little?" the Doctor asked after a long, agonizing pause, her voice barely above a whisper. She ran a frail hand across her face, looking thoroughly lost. "That particular chapter of history is such a beautifully catastrophic mess... I honestly don't even know which thread to pull first to start the story."
It wasn't a narrative that could be summarized in a neat little bedtime anecdote. The sheer weight of the accumulated centuries and the political, scientific, and global variables involved meant that if she tried to give Jeanne a comprehensive breakdown, a whole day wouldn't even scratch the surface.
Jeanne pondered for a moment, organizing her thoughts before locking eyes with the strategist. "Let's start with the most pressing mystery, then. What is the fundamental nature of Originium?"
Jeanne's curiosity regarding the black crystals was immense. The substance was a total anomaly to her; she had never encountered a material capable of harboring such a staggering, physics-defying density of raw energy. More importantly, every single facet of life on Terra—from their technology to their geopolitical conflicts—seemed inextricably chained to it.
She had tried asking other scholars and operators about where the crystals came from, but virtually everyone treated the substance as an elemental constant. To the people of Terra, Originium didn't have a point of origin; it was simply something that had existed since before the dawn of recorded history.
"Originium..." The Doctor's voice cracked, her expression fracturing into a look of profound, bone-deep agony. "To put it plainly, Jeanne... it is a monument to humanity's desperate desire to live. A tragedy of our own making."
She took a ragged breath, her knuckles turning white as she gripped the edge of the blanket. "You've probably already noticed it, but the structural behavior of Originium feels entirely alien to this planet. And your intuition is entirely correct—it didn't originate on this world. It was never meant to touch this soil."
The revelation hit Jeanne like a physical blow. Her eyes widened in genuine astonishment. She had spun countless theories about the black crystals, but she had never once associated them with an extraterrestrial origin. It had never crossed her mind that the Previous Civilization possessed the advanced technology required to reach beyond the stars.
To a girl whose baseline understanding of the universe came from an era that hadn't even conceived of atmospheric flight, grasping the concept of deep-space exploration was a massive conceptual leap. Yet, she possessed a sharp enough intellect to follow the grim trajectory of the Doctor's words.
"It was a highly unique, extraordinarily reactive mineral that we experimented and created," the Doctor continued, her face contorting with a raw, visible anguish as she dragged the memory to the light. It was a nightmare she could never outrun, the definitive catalyst for the hell that followed. "When our teams verified that the crystalline matrix contained a virtually limitless, self-sustaining energy yield, and the ability to store massive amounts of information, the entire scientific community went wild with excitement..."
She stared blankly at her hands, her voice trembling. "Back then, during the initial trial phases, the crystals appeared entirely benign. We observed that certain native animal species exposed to the mineral developed localized crystalline growths—what the people of this era call Oripathy—but to a civilization with our level of medical technology, a minor cellular mutation like that was nothing more than an acceptable, easily managed variable."
The Doctor's mind drifted back to the intoxicating thrill that had gripped her world when they uncovered the Originium. Once they verified that baseline human physiology was completely immune to the immediate toxic effects, the infrastructure aggressively converted to the new standard.
It was simply too convenient to pass up. With a few minor adjustments to their existing power systems, the crystals provided a flawless, inexhaustible supply of power. And they never had to worry about running out; the resource was staggering in its abundance, carpeting entire sectors of that distant world.
"But do you want to know the absolute worst part, Jeanne? Originium isn't just a rock... it's alive," the Doctor whispered, her voice dropping to a terrifying, hollow cadence. "We actively cultivated it."
"You might not perceive it, but Originium's assimilation of biology is real. It's just incredibly subtle—acting like a classic frog in a pot of warming water," the Doctor murmured.