Hello everyone. We are happy to debut the first of many drone transmissions! Re-Sonante is a series rooted within the narrative of "A Thread Between Friends", wherein we have crafted long and unfolding soundscapes to be listened to while reading, writing, meditating or simply to nicely fill an empty sound space. While nothing we do comes as a singular experience, you can now read the first companion piece below!
As this piece of literary companionship explores a deep and strange dreamstate conspiracy within the synthetic fabric of the Kylyy-consciousness, where this belongs in the full timeline is ambiguous for the time being. As the nightmares of Dream Detective Lyona Lucida unravel, so do we discover the grand and powerful motives that influence the people that live and walk The Body incarnate.
Thank you all for your kindness and support! We pray to Eliane Radigue herself for the good health and well-being of humanity <3
-spaceseer
Re-Sonante, Part I
The Qyo Canyon Nation had been seeped in dark, discomforting meditation. Every kylyy conscience experienced inflecting frequencies that filled and inebriated nearly their entire species.
After waking from these dreams, many accounts of the experience were recorded. With all severity to the phenomena and those victim to it, it is on-record as an official Qyo fact that unanimously, all witnesses from these dreams experienced the exact same dream with permissible variances due to the individuality of the victim. The account of one Nivea Tacca is considered to be the first to set the preface of the dream, which had skewed the confidence in validity of these dreams proceeding, nonetheless Tacca says quote: “I went to work like any normal day, though something within my brainseed was telling me to focus on these strange tones, and so no matter the work at hand I focused on those converging noises and my thoughts expanded into the strangest and most unsettled of territories. These frequencies persisted long until my shift was finished and I took the Tram Trellises home, like any normal day, but I kept thinking about myself in retrospective. I went to sleep earlier than normal, almost unwillingly, but it wasn’t until I started dreaming that I knew something was wrong.”
This similar phenomena was recounted by many civilians throughout every city within Qyo Canyon. Another account had this description of the dreamstate itself:
“I’ve never experienced any dream like this before. No one in my family was around in these dreams, it was just me walking into a strange marsh and navigating through wisps of disassociated algae. The murky clouds within the waters parted as I walked and caught my attention when the dust formed into sunken eyes. I heard the droning frequencies give way to the most terrifyingly ethereal and beautiful voices I will ever hear in my life. Hundreds of wispy faces became thousands of full floating ghosts that stood silently gazing at me as I pressed forward. With each step I became more terrified, and each new woeful addition to the ghastly choir immerses me into the depths of death’s beauty.
“I remember longing for this experience never to end. In trying to translate their wordless eternal song, I offer my teardrops to their drifting waters, and my contributions are welcomed and this heavenly swamp becomes dense around me. The sandy surface I once walked loosens and I too drift in those placid waters with the heavenly choir of reeds. The wispy figures danced in and through me, and the song continued louder and more harmonious. I closed my anther-eyes and tried to absorb the music, but before they were forever closed I saw a brilliant light pierce into the marshes, far into the distance. I choose to ignore the light, but as soon as my focus was latched eternally to their song, I noticed that the nation of ghosts started drifting away from me, heading for the brilliant light beyond, taking with them their holy voices. I tried to follow them, but my body began to dissipate with their departure as the water around me gave way. I hung silent in an ocean of stillness. I was bodiless, helpless, and hopelessly somber. What remained of me was a memory that was wrapped around those few initial resonating frequencies that permeated into my mind only days ago. I knew I had stopped existing in any world other than my own empty somnus.
“As the voices first rose into their perfect chord I prayed never to awaken and experience anything real ever again, but as they departed for that bright light that pierced through those profound murky waters, and especially after waking, I have felt as though I am being punished without a promised end.”
Though the dream sequence never occurred at the same time for everyone, the description of the ghastly marshes and the wordless choir that parted and dissipated to a bright light was a constant between every single citizen account. Every kylyy individual experienced the dream and are left with the resonating waveforms, and each kylyy was cursed with a depressed longing for that same feeling of bliss once again.
Productivity, and activity entirely, plummeted across the canyon. Laborers, foremen, construction hands, politicians, sewage workers, weavers, nearly everyone was lulled into long and sad slumbers and any and all responsibilities were halted. The river was dirtied and the river-eel population increased without anyone to net them. Livestock were left to fend for themselves. The Canyon Nation had become chaotically serene, and before long every kylyy individual was lost in their dream-states, fighting and swimming towards that brilliant light to be one with the ghost choir again.
A few seasoned lucidae, after nearly two decades of imprisoning nightmares, were able to bloom and rise during the waking depression. Lyona Lucida, a bright and smiling dandylion, is practically head of her profession as a Deep-Dream Immersion-Interpreter, and the first to wake within a reality overcome with the keen nightmare of the advanced silence within a once-thriving metropolis.
Lyona did not wake from her twenty-year nap with a smile. Armed with tears of rage she burst from the tight blanket of overlapping silk covered in unkept branch overgrowth and pried her legs from the sap-infused grasp of an insentient tree. Her silk meadow of hair was frizzed from an agreeable overabundant and although unrestful slumber, though a grand lack of respite wasn’t new to the adorned lucidae. She struggled to stand and fight the sandy crust from her anther-eyes, each and every joint cracking and splitting painfully back to life. The vacuoles through her body and limbs attempted to pulse in response to almost life-threatening dehydration.
Once she became mobile she darted for the fountain sink of her small redvine studio and turned the vertical agate handle towards her, but no warm water or any water at all would pour from the tumbled bismuth spout. She looked around the redvine studio for her companion Amaranthos. Every room was bulging and uneven due to untreated roots that were once thin and neatly intertwined into a carpeted firm surface, so Lyona climbed over them on empty energy to reach the remnants of a front door split in half by act of erosion.
The Qyo River was reduced to rubble, and it was rubble that dammed the river from continuing on through Kylyy jurisdiction. Her initial idea of finding the pressure valves and switch them was banished quickly once she stared longingly down into the dry chasm. The road balcony in front of her studio seemed sturdy enough to walk on but was visibly splintered and broken further on nearby houses, so her mind began putting together a new set of directions, although thirst was her highest priority to take care of on her docket. A recycling fountain sat dry but with yellow-brown tobacco trash water that a beetlesteed would veer away from drinking.
No one was in sight. Lyona began knocking on doors that remained hinged and able to open, ultimately letting herself in and finding nothing at all other than the gracious lukewarm water reserves she yearned for. Nobody at all, just her. As the night came she found that even the automatic solar receptive lights wouldn’t flicker to life.
What is going on? she thought, and the light of Her Mind’s Eye faded as the Body turned away from it. The night was shrouded in deep blanketed opacity and Lyona very nearly felt the need to rest even again, however she shook the idea away and focused on the state of matters at the present reality.
No sign of death, no sign of life for the matter, other than myself and the insentient plantlife that grew in abundance on this governing plane of Qyo. Lyona fell into a somber pool and waded in it until she dispelled tears for her grand loss. After fatiguing herself with her sorrow she packed and headed for the Qyo National Records. If this canyon were truly deserted then there would be no one to guard the grand illegal collection of books and other means of entertainment. The walk took all day and into the deep dark early morning. Still no sign of anyone. Lyona found that the congressional leaders had been installing steel staircases, and while they too seemed staggered and far offset they were easier to climb between than the fraying ends of traditional birchwood walkways after what seemed to be some sort of violent quake that shook this canyon.
She reached the comfortable flat surface of the high-class plateau community. These buildings stood tall and straight, the thick interlocking vines retained their weatherproof structures in near-octagonal design with balconies and electric elevators, and biolume bulbs shining bright from filament windows. Lyona knocked on a few doors, no one answered. The lone lucidae stalled a moment in hopes of catching the soft impulses of a higher-ranking authority. Fear had entered her chest and continually rose and fell from her lungs to her abdomen.
Where is everyone? Where is my Amaranth? The thought of her beloved lasted and ached the longer she went without his signs of life. Everyone living below the exposure to the warm supple light of Her Mind’s Eye had dreamed about what it was like to visit the beautiful emerald cities of governship. She remembered Amaranthos mentioning the Center for Ancient Machinery, where it is said that early and illegal Kahryatt colossi technology was kept and tested.
I’ll head there first and then to the National Records, if it still exists in this nightmare-scape. I have no choice but to pray to the true Body for the safety of my beloved Amaranthos.
Walking with quiet and conserving pace, Lyona decided to look for the CAM building, described by Amaranthos as a sizeable open-air palace. After turning left and tiptoeing down a road preserved in clay, the outline of such a building materialized from granular particles that became more dense and opaque the closer she stepped.
She reached the entrance and the world around fell under an overcast of decay. To her left, a stranger was born from the shadows between archaic pillars.
“You are the first to wake,” said the figure, shrouded in darkness, staring with torn veins fraying from its eyesockets “but everything you do from now on decides the fate of every imprisoned Kylyy soul.”
“What do you mean?” Lyona mustered after a moment’s contemplation.
The ghostly sentinel spoke nearly too soft to hear, but the darkness of its voice cut through the dead wisps of wind around them. “No one is as talented in traversing dreamscapes as you are, Lucida. You have arrived at the correct place, now you must perform a severing of devotion to awaken your kindred. I can speak no more, as I know not the poisonous experience awaiting you within this holy place.”
“What if I choose not to enter? Why couldn’t I turn back and run home and sleep away my sorrow?”
The ghost lingered a moment. “Look behind you. What you saw during your path to the plane of high authority, a deserted wasteland under the serene and gorgeous citrus skies, you would now find ash, and the bodies of those you left behind.”
“I saw no individual in my journey. Only you.”
“It is of no difference,” the ghost pressed on “If you were to return to sleep after such a long time with such a painstaking recovery from your last twenty-year nap, you would wither and wilt without any chance of waking. If you see none of the ghosts that haunt all around this lost canyon, you must change your perspectives.”
“What happened? Why have we all slept for so long? Why would The Body allow this to happen to her saplings?” Lyona pleaded for answers, she wished not to wait and learn herself but she sensed the ghost’s fading presence, just as soon the lights of its eyes dimmed to colorless electric death. It now appeared as an inactive and weathered colossi of Kahryatt’s design, although Lyona didn’t dwell on the matter any longer and cautiously she entered the museum palace.
The main lobby displayed hundreds of quilts and tapestry pieces depicting varying events throughout Qyo’s rich and strange history, but as she approached them to study for a moment she noticed signs of mold and excessive weathering. One incredibly vast visage that caught the anther sight of the Lucid Interpreter displayed a healthy and esteemed family with a noble, full-grown beetle, a mantid and a flying attacus, woven to illustrate the kindred bond between kylyy and animal kind. As she slowly approached the beautifully ornate tapestry, a series of mites crawled out from within the thick overlapped layers of silk and began eating it away, starting around the pupil of the golden-haired beetlesteed standing next to the first of three agamic parents that stood tall and strong behind their children.
A scream tore itself from Lyona’s throat and wailed without control. She ran for the open air entrance, and when she turned to face it she noticed that the amount of tapestries multiplied or were simply drawing near her somehow, but each one that she passed began to dissolve at the fangs of red mite armaments that spawned from a place unknown.
Every weave throughout every tapestry was perfectly executed and a form of fond historical recollection, and previously rumored to never wear. Lyona’s heart had never ached so much in her life. She looked for the mechanical phantom but it was nowhere to be found. The morning rays of Her Mind’s Eye shined bright over the distance, and an infestation of wildfires raged over each and every husk apartment complex and every official building and storefront and marketplace and everything was swallowed by flame throughout the heights of Qyo Canyon. It wasn’t until that moment that she saw the sleepers, every kylyy being that belonged to the canyon that she found no sign of before, all residences screaming, burning alive. But where did they come from? Where were they earlier within my dreamscape?
Millions of kylyy where charred to the vacuole, wailing recycled reverberations that brought return of the merging frequencies long before their great sleep. Nowhere else to turn, Lyona ran as fast as she could once more into the infested museum palace, not stopping to notice that the infested tapestries had been replaced by tall statues of rulers throughout Kylyy history, some of which were from a time she hadn’t even lived to see yet, with enough realism that she felt the ancient rotted-fly breath of King Drosera as she ran passed and down a flight of stairs. She entered a chamber that blessed her with a heavy door that she locked behind her, knowing all too well that every person would be burned to death. She turned and faced blanketed darkness. From a travel bag kept under her many jackets Lyona revealed a small glass jar containing a single lampyrid prime and opened the lid with careful nuance. The lampyrid, small and in a fetal state, awoke and unfurled six long and strong limbs, then activated incredibly bright bulbs throughout its body. The lampyrid carried the jar it was housed in to the middle of the room and waited for Lyona’s signal.
A new voice, multitimbral, called out to the dream interpreter. “Wait. Don’t drop the jar just yet.”
“Why shouldn’t I?” Lyona asked the figure standing in the middle of the room, a silhouetted assembly of inorganic automation complete with lights that flashed sequentially with changes of murmurings.
“Please, don’t drop it!” the organic machine whined, and changes in pressure caused inharmonic intervals to seep from its speakers “You are the only one who can put an end to this madness! You must first hear me out! Please, Lucida!”
Lyona recognized the trembling tenor even with artificial polyphony filling its authoritative voice. She gave the luminous lampyrid the signal, simply throwing her arms into the air, and the lampyrid spit combustible acid into a pool of napalm within the jar and dropped it directly in front of the organic machine. Deep red flames shot high and quickly engulfed the entire room.
The organic machine, revealed by the hungry bright fire, had been wrapped in tight branches and covered with moss but all efforts were a waste to ward off such a tall persistent blaze. “You’ve killed us! We were perfect, and you could have been too!! You broke the laze of the commoner, Lucida, and look what you’ve done now! You can’t stop what has happened to our country, Interpreter!” The skeletal structure of the standing plant-machine displayed blackening iron in the perfect shape of a handsome, high-class and vain-ridden Qyo authority, but the perfect epidermis had melted away. Behind its artificial anthers, a tape head playback/record system was terminally connected to the authority’s brainseed. The tape had caught fire and began burning along its path, unravelling around the idle and pinch rollers and scalding the heads.
The machine began to fail in its processing, and Lyona realized that her rooted feet been plagued with fire, although she felt nothing but determined. There were screams as ore-encrusted cybernetic authorities poured into the room. The fire could not be stopped, and everything around Lyona was fading quickly.
“Your river-sucking kind don’t deserve what we have done for you! Kahryatt doesn’t deserve his own creations! You will die within your own nightmares, and you will never wake us from our perfect unity! You... will.... persshhhhhscccckkkktttttzdddtttbrrrtttttt..........”
Lyona stood defiant. “My stomach is telling me that everyone up here, including you, had a big hand in conjuring this madness. This kind of thing isn’t necessarily new to me, although I have to give credit to your somnus craftsmen. I was almost convinced this was real.”
The nightmarish face was the last thing Lyona would see before she fell into ash, along with everything else within this nightmare.
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Be sure to keep your eyes out for future drone transmissions and story entries! We have also thought long and hard about producing these stories in audiobook podcast form, if you have read these and think they're too confusion without the narrator's guiding voice, let us know!
Praise Radigue
-spaceseer
All music, art and literature by spaceseer. All rights reserved.
www.spaceseer.bandcamp.com
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