Chapter 10: Design choices

A soft gasp escaped Estelle's lips as she extended her fingers into the wall of blue light. They slipped through easily, just as she had expected, but an alien sensation lapped against her skin through her clothes, instantly alerting her to something otherworldly. Rather than retreat, curiosity drove her forward. Within the shimmering boundary, the air felt thick and heavy, as if her hand was plunging deep underwater. The light tinted her hands a ghostly blue—wait, just her hands? Her mind caught on that detail. The effect stopped abruptly at her wrists, leaving her forearms completely normal. And the sensation... there was something odd about how it crossed her skin.

Unable to resist experimenting, she let her hand drift before her, playing against the soft, viscous resistance. There was an odd tugging sensation, like something beyond the light was subtly pulling her in. Her lips parted in awe as her hands continued their exploration, submerged yet strangely dry, through the dense air.

“That’s… weird,” she murmured. Her mind kept telling her it was like water, yet there wasn’t any coolness, no dampness—just this strange illusion of weight pressing against her movements. It was as if the light itself resisted her while refusing to let go.

The foreign element puzzled her; she had never written much detail about this device in her worldbuilding. It was, after all, something she had only recently added. As she observed her hand, her thoughts began to spiral: 'Wait, is this what Architects feel when they teleport? But... weren't their skin autonomous? Or did I write them with actual sensation receptors? I can't even remember if—hold on, they can sense vibrations, right? But is that the same thing as feeling? Did I ever actually define that?'

A quiet groan escaped her as she pressed her fingers against her lips. The absence of her phone hit her suddenly—she would have been searching for answers by now. 'Stupid habits,' she thought, puckering her lips. 'I'm definitely an idiot—but I need those answers.'

With an amused smile, Estelle pushed aside her hesitation and stepped into the wall of pale blue light. The sensation rushed over her like an uncomfortable, cold embrace. Her vision blurred momentarily as her head passed through, and suddenly everything shifted—the Architect's structure, usually dominated by dark blues, greens, and stone-black, now awash in a pale blue tinge.

“Woah,” she gasped. “That’s so… fucking cool… Holy fantasy—woah.”

She found herself at the center of the circle, scanning for changes. The new color scheme impressed her until her eyes landed on the Nous Crux Pattern. Her excitement deflated slightly. 'Right, way to get distracted by pretty lights when there's literally a floating cosmic pattern right there,' she mocked herself, forcing a dry laugh. 'Whatever, whatever. It's cool, so—' The thought cut off as she remembered why she was here.

Swiveling her head, she focused on the more pressing question. ‘How do I activate this? How do I even do the things that the old Architects do?’

Her eyes traced the wall of blue light surrounding her. ‘Could this be used as a terminal?’ The thought struck her, then immediately felt wrong. ‘No, that’s just odd.’

Despite dismissing the idea, Estelle found herself moving closer to the pale blue enclosure. Her gaze followed it upward to where it met the ceiling, perhaps twenty or thirty meters above. Something caught her eye—markings etched into the ceiling, different from the textured patterns on the walls and pillars. They resembled geometric symbols, almost like glyphs or runes. She should know their meaning, but the details escaped her.

She frowned, slowing to a halt near the border. Something felt off—these markings seemed more decorative than functional, just there for atmosphere. Estelle shook her head, trying to force herself to focus. Stretching both hands out, she touched the wall of light. Her hands passed through without response, no hint of activation. The cold air from the hall seeped through her gloves, feeling strangely out of place.

'Thought so,' Estelle mused. 'Was this a bad design choice? I probably should have added a terminal here. The original idea was a transition device—something to help Architects who woke up with unfavorable aspects to their forms. Whether their body functions malfunctioned or they'd forgotten how to use their features...' She paused, memories of her design flowing back. 'There's only one fabricator medium module in this facility, down in the manufacturing area on the ground floor. And the control center...' Her brow furrowed. 'Right—north from the Nous Crux Trigon sphere hall. From there, they could head to manufacturing to repair or renew their bodies.' She rubbed her temples, frustration creeping in. 'Why didn't I think this through more carefully?'

The Society of Architects—Estelle remembered writing them as a hivemind species, advanced enough to transfer consciousness between avatars and mediums. Almost everything about them and their devices relied on signal waves. She nodded to herself, recalling how she had crafted them to be powerful yet with clear weaknesses, a spatial void hive race with depth and limitations.

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'But what signals did they use exactly?' she grumbled to herself. 'Telepathy works through psychic waves patterns, and deitism uses prayer and chanting patterns—wasn't that just for the administrative-class Architects?' Her brow furrowed. 'How do I even do that? I made this avatar years ago, but...'

She looked down at her hands, flexing them open and closed. The tight black gloves, the flowing white gown—details sparked more memories. 'This avatar... it's origin-class, isn't it?' Her eyes narrowed in concentration. 'Origin-class had something to do with their birthplace, one of their so-called heavens. But what signals do origin-class beings emit?' A sudden realization made her pause. 'Wait—sound is also a signal, isn't it? Right... right! They have artificial mouths as backup when signals are dampened or interfered. That's why they maintained their own language—not just written, but spoken too.'

Estelle found herself nodding unconsciously as the pieces came together. Sometimes being the creator meant remembering your own rules piece by piece, she mused

No sooner had this thought crossed Estelle's mind than she reached an abrupt conclusion, her attention drawn to something far more exciting than her current musings. The blue light enclosure stood silent, as if waiting for its creators' songs—and for a moment, Estelle felt a poem forming in her mind for this very scene. But as her eyes fixed on the wall of light, her heart began to pound, so loud it seemed to sync with her surroundings. A cold shiver ran down her spine, her nerves suddenly alert.

Estelle gulped and stepped back at the center of the enclosure. With rising anticipation that cringe her lips, she whispered, “Command—”

She waited, teeth clenched and hands clasped together, eyes searching frantically for any change in the canvas of blue.

Seconds stretched into minutes. Nothing changed. She swallowed hard, and tried again, strangely shying her voice, “C-Command? Uh, Hello? Anything? Architect here.’

No response. Just silence and the loud beating of her heart.

'Shit,' Estelle internally cursed, turning toward the center of the hall. 'Does this thing not even work? How am I supposed to go down—jump?' She immediately halted at that impulsive thought. 'I'd definitely die. This body is an old variant Architect—mostly biological flesh like a normal human.' Her frustration peaked as she ran her hands through the tinted blue of her black hair. 'Why did I design it this way? I'd love to have a word with whoever thought this was a brilliant idea—oh right, that was me! I have absolutely no explanation! Fuck.'

Her lips twisted as a sigh escaped. 'Now what—I'm stuck here... Oh—oh wait, fuck. Am I stupid? Yes, of course. But this is a special kind of stupidity.' She pressed her palm against her forehead. 'Why didn't I try speaking in Veroy when I'm literally in the Architect's realm? Of course they wouldn't understand my dialect, you absolute idiot.' She shook her head with an exaggerated sigh.

When Estelle finally turned back to the enclosed wall of light, she whispered in the Architect's language, "▓▓▓▓▓—"

She jerked backward, the foreign words dying in her throat. The voice that emerged wasn't her own—it was something else entirely, yet carried an unsettling familiarity. She stared at her trembling hands, then at the luminescent wall. There was no doubt she had spoken in the Architect's language, and the words had definitely come from her own lips, but that voice... that voice was different.

Hesitantly, she tried again, slower this time. "Command—"

As the alien words fell from her mouth, the wall of light rippled—flexing like a wave along its towering length. Estelle's breath caught as the Transition Device finally responded. A glow beneath her feet drew her attention to a familiar symbol—the same one from the ceiling. Its lines curved inward toward the ground, simultaneously lighting up in the same ghostly green.

"Woah—" The word slipped out unconsciously. 'It worked! It actually worked!' her mind raced with excitement.

Estelle swallowed nervously, feeling tension return to her arms even as an ever-growing wry smile spread across her face. She continued in the Architect's language, “Transition device… um… activate—”

She stopped abruptly as realization struck. 'Oh, this voice. This is my voice—the one I edited for the Architect's introduction. But why does it only change when I speak their language?' Her eyes widened. 'Wait—the Pattern Frequency! Every Architect has their own pattern, their frequency. They use it to identify each other, to detect imposters, even to filter out mundane signals like radio waves. It's a security measure for their civilization... I think?'

Her thoughts scattered as the Transition Device fluctuated—its wall of blue canvas rippled like disturbed water, gradually thinning before settling still. The device looked unchanged, and Estelle couldn't help but wonder if she had lost her chance by getting lost in thought. She groaned, cleared her throat, and tried again: "Command."

The wall of blue light rippled in response, encouraging her to continue as she pushed her worry aside. "Transition Device Activate."

As the words left her lips, the blue light dimmed then brightened, individual points merging into a unified glow that reflected off their surroundings. A grin spread across her face. 'Okay, that's cool. I like it.'

"And transition to—" Her smile widened. 'That's so fucking cool. Holy Architects.'

“—main floor of the Trigon Sphere Hall.”