Chapter 11: Of Sleeping Songs Finding Voice Again

The fabric of space began to bend with a sound that shouldn't exist—a noise that bypassed her ears and manifested in her mind—a frequency that set every cell in Estelle’s body humming like a living tuning fork. An invisible force pressed against her with the weight of ocean depths, driving her backward. Before she could steady herself, gravity twisted sideways, transforming the floor into a wall. Her gamer instincts kicked in as she reached for any anchor point, but the forces vanished before her fingers could find purchase. In that suspended moment, the universe seemed to forget its own rules, leaving her floating in perfect stillness.

Her knees buckled, sending her down hard against what had reasserted itself as the floor. The alien vibration lingered in her trembling limbs as her thoughts cascaded like breaking glass: the sound—something between a dying scream and a failing engine—the strange transition effects, the impossible physics. Each observation spawned new questions, fragmenting her understanding like light through a broken prism.

A violent shiver raced down Estelle’s spine, setting her body trembling beyond control. Waves of cold crawled across her skin, raising goosebumps in their wake. She hugged herself tightly, desperate to regain some semblance of control. Everything had happened too fast—a blur of sensations and voices that her mind couldn’t quite grasp, leaving only the ghost of their presence behind. Her eyes darted around, searching beyond the blue canvas of the enclosure to the outside world, seeking answers to what had followed her words.

What she saw stole her breath away—a sight so magnificent it felt sacrilegous to witness. Here, impossibly manifested before her, stood her creation brought to life. The world she had only dreamed of , the one she knew would forever exist solely in a digital realm, now stretched out in a physical form. A profound numbness spread across her skin as her mind struggled to process the reality before her. No words in her vocabulary could capture the sheer artistry of what she beheld.

"Woah!" The word escaped her in a sharp exhale, wholly inadequate to express the magnitude of what she was seeing.

A vast chamber stretched before her, its massive pillars encircling the centerpiece of the Trigon Sphere hall. Soft blue light cascaded down their ancient surfaces, bathing the misty floor in an ethereal glow. Estelle’s thoughts stuttered to a halt. ‘Wait, blue? Isn’t it supposed to be—”

The question forming in Estelle’s mind faltered as she took in the sacrosanct hall’s azure tinge. Thick mist swirled below the first level of the hall, and blue lights blinking further some hallway doors—yet everything seemed bathed in an overwhelming blue. Understanding dawned almost immediately, drawing a wry smile to her lips. ‘Right. Of course. How could I have forgotten so quickly?’

She pushed herself upright, her gaze falling on what she had first thought was a glass jar—no, a simple drinking glass—that must have slipped from her grasp earlier. As she reached for it, the lingering numbness buzzed across her body, sharply reminding her of recent events. However, her scattered thoughts were interrupted by the sight of strange etchings on the floor beneath her.

Though her sprawled legs and lab coat obscured most of the markings, she recognized them instantly—the intricate patterns of the transition device. A peculiar conflict arose within her. The urge to trace every line, to feel the ancient stone beneath her finger, warred with the flood of information and memories cascading through her mind. She found herself frozen between these competing impulses, unable to form a coherent thought. Yet she became aware of expression—fingers rising to touch her lips, finding them stretched into a wide arc. Even in her mentally chaotic mind, awe had painted across her face in an irrepresible smile.

“W-what…” Estelle muttered, the question hung incomplete. To whom? It was unclear, even to her. “Damn… Damn… Is this real?”

She clenched her teeth, her smile bordering on manic as pure creator's joy threatened to overwhelm her. 'Holy shit,' the thought pulsed with each heartbeat, spawning endless questions: Real? Divine? Infernal? She should have expected this—known she would encounter this scene eventually. But expectations were one thing; having her favorite creation manifest before her mortal eyes was another entirely. No amount of anticipation could have prepared her for the weight of implications crashing through her mind.

Her gaze swept across the hall once more, and something shifted. Beyond the grandeur, past even her creator's pride, she felt a pull—not physical, but like a whisper weaving through her thoughts, drawing her attention to the shadowed corridors ahead. Perhaps it was just her mind crafting an excuse, seeking permission to step further into this divinity.

Before she even realized it, she was on her feet, her body moving of its own accord. With each step, her awareness heightened; her heartbeat thundered, and her breathing grew loud, too shallow, too present. Memories crystallized with every footfall, and wherever her eyes landed, a thought unfolded. The hall beckoned, and something in her—whether architect or artist, she wasn't sure—answered.

As she passed through the wall of blue light, a cold gust of wind swept through her black hair. The lingering sensations from the Transition Device sloughed away like a shedding skin. Estelle shivered as the world around her sharpened into focus. Her movement halted—thump-thump—her footsteps echoed through the quiet chamber. Thump-thump. The sound repeated endlessly until it died in the far corner, leaving only the rush of blood in her ears and the shallow rhythm of her breathing. Then even those faded, and her eyes met complete silence.

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‘The World bloomed with color once more, blessing the eyes that beheld it,’ Estelle realized, thoughts finally falling into place.

The main hall of the Trigon Sphere defied her remembered design—or rather, her expectations before memory caught up. Where she had previously made muted grays and blacks, white now sprawled across the grand scene, creating textures like marble and quartz where light had flowed. Colossal pillars stretched from floor to ceiling, carrying the weight of the upper levels, their gray surfaces etched with perpetually cascading waves of green. Her eyes traced the black borders that boldly lined the hall, following the numerous rings that encircled both pillars and centerpiece. Thin lines connected these circles in seemingly random patterns across the floor, but she knew better. Like the ancient magical symbols they resembled, each line and stroke held purpose and meaning. After all, she had designed them—though now she struggled to remember exactly why. It had been too long since she had touched the magic of the ancients.

Movement in the hall kept her eyes busy. Mists—now red and green, rarely blue—soared like birds from pillar to pillar. Each vapor embraced the massive columns before dissipating, suggesting some hidden connection between them. The mists didn't just interact with the pillars; they also touched the transparent green filament screens that cascaded from the ceiling like curtains. Now that she noticed, there was a subtle shift in their color. Her eyes followed the filament lining up to the higher floors, where they grew thicker in their ascent, though remaining ethereal and translucent.

Among and above all else stood Nous Crux Pattern, the Trigon Sphere’s core, serving as the grand central processor where data calculations were conducted.

‘Like a CPU,’ Estelle’s mind supplied, commenting on the quiet narration in her thoughts.

Her gaze finally settled on the central station device, positioned atop a platform raised several feet off the ground. A memory flickered, drawing an involuntary smile to her face. Many had mistaken this device for what kept the Nous Crux Sphere afloat—an assumption she'd never understood until now. Standing here, it seemed an undeniable fact, and she found herself nodding in agreement.

The facility's Central Integrated Interface was visible from her position. its controls hidden within the station's seamless, circular construction. The desk formed an unbroken ring, its outer shell a smooth, metallic surface that offered no hint of how an Architect might access its inner workings. A thought suggested adding stairs and a gap for entry—but her mind immediately countered: they could easily teleport. She silently shook her head at the unnecessary proposal.

From her distance, Estelle studied the control panels lining the inner rim. They floated in perfect formation, facing inward toward the empty center like petals of a mechanical flower, their soft displays casting a gentle glow. A red light suddenly manifested among the translucent screens, stark against the ambient blue. She tilted her head, searching her memory for this particular element, and watched as the crimson glow expanded—lines flowing outward from the spherical source like self-writing code.

‘Ish. T’was. Now that's astounding. Very Architect-like,' she thought, an impressed grin spreading across her face. Her mind drifted to deeper implications: 'Lights and colors are more than decoration—they're waves, a language Architects can interpret.' The observation felt important, and her mind was cryptic with their message. To whom those implications were? To herself, maybe. She wasn’t so certain and kept nodding as if her thoughts made any drop of sense.

She stepped forward into her creation’s heart, even as part of her mind insisted none of this could be real. Each footfall—tip-tap—broke the silence that had ruled these ruins since the time of ancients. Though different from the sounds she originally had—commissioned for ambience—these echoes, however, felt oddly fitting. They spoke of awakening, of ancient Architects stirring from their Sarcophagi, of sleeping songs finding voice again. Quite poetic her thought was as she filed away this observation—for a proposal for how she could envision and outline an Architect’s awakening.

Her gaze was drawn inevitably upward to the floating Nous Crux dominating the space. Its upper half remained obscured by the arching ledge of the second level, yet its massiveness was undeniable—spanning easily fifty meters or more, though exact measurements seemed to slip from her grasp as her eyes swept the chamber. The walls bore a metallic quality—perhaps they were metal, though she couldn't be certain. On one section, black engravings stood stark against the surface: intricate symbols and geometric patterns forming a magic circle. Estelle remembered designing it, but years had passed since she had last seen it, and its purpose now eluded her. Something deep within her mind whispered that understanding it wouldn't be as simple as she might wish.

As her eyes traced the repeating patterns across the walls, she recognized their significance—these magical formations served a specific purpose, one she remembered carefully designing. Yet when she reached for the exact details, the precise reasoning, she found only fragments of memory: hours spent bonding with the patterns, gushing over their intricacies. Distrusting her own thoughts, she turned to look over her shoulder, suddenly aware of the vast space at her back.

The open hallway stretched before her, unnecessarily wide and long, until it suddenly plunged downward. Although Estelle couldn't see where this particular passage led, as the ceiling slanted sharply down, she knew what laid ahead. After all, there was only one passage in the main hall that extended further north, and its name materialized in her mind with certainty: 'the control center.'

A sudden sensation tugged at her thoughts—an urgent whisper that there was work to be done in the control center. The specifics remained frustratingly out of reach, yet her instincts insisted on its importance. She halted mid-step, turning to fully face the passage.

As she scanned the corridor, intending to chase down that elusive memory, her gaze caught on the wall of blue light—the transition device. It appeared more translucent now, paler than she remembered from her earlier encounter. Perhaps it was the contrast against the white tiles behind it, their black-lined surfaces still gleaming despite years of abandonment. Something about the device kept drawing her attention, tugging at her memory, until—

"Shooting hells!" She jolted backward. ‘It looks exactly like a game interaction prompt! What in the world?’ A dry, disbelief laugh escaped her. "How did I never notice that before?"

Estelle cringed, taking another step back. ‘Fuck—I need to change that.’