Chapter 12: Stir

An outlier among the perfection. The Transition Device—that 'looking-so-rpg-game-interactive-circle'—mocked her from its place. Estelle stared, a groan catching in her throat as she scrutinized the element she had somehow missed during its creation. How could she, a self-proclaimed artist, have been so blind to such a glaring imperfection?

Her arms folded, fingers pressed against her chin. 'So… how do I start this?'

Her gaze dropped to the pristine white floor as her thoughts churned. ‘Can’t I rebuild it? The Transition Device uses the same technology as the Architect’s ability—or wait, is it even an ability? Don’t they have a built-in warping device embedded in their mediums… Same concept, though. With it, I could try; learn and remodel its appearance entirely.’

Her eyes flicked to the passage ahead, her thoughts taking a sudden turn. ‘And… if I could do that, then it should also be possible for me to create a body. Not this weak, fleshy form, but something better. Stronger. A vessel fitting for an Architect. I could transfer myself into that,’ she reasoned, nodding to herself as the idea solidified.

She took a step forward before halting abruptly mid-step. ‘Wait—it might be better to check the Integrated Interface first. Oh right—and that too, didn’t I receive a direction from earlier to revalidate my status? I wonder what’s that about too. Maybe some kind of authorization? Maybe—would they even recognize me as an Architect?’

With unease coiling tighter around her, Estelle pivoted on her heel, turning to face the Integrated Interface Device nestled in the ground atrium. The scene greeting her was flawless—so composed it seized her heart in an instant.

Still, her feet carried her forward, threading through the corridor that led to the Trigon Sphere hall. Flanking pathways encircled the atrium, bordered by hidden strips of white light where the walls met the floor. The faint glow whispered of life long past, reflecting softly against the pristine white walls, their textured surface etched with memory.

A faint smile tugged at her lips.

The walls were lined with towering gates—doors felt far too modest a term for their sheer scale. These massive structures stretched from floor to ceiling, their size tempered only by their neighbors pressing close. Each was crowned with different styles written in the Langauge of the Architects, their names carved with glowing blue light across their surface.

Unlike the simpler engravings that decorated the surrounding walls, these gates were sculpted masterpieces—portraits of their creators, immortalized in a moment of creation.

Estelle remembered those gates well. Their surfaces were sculpted to depict the beings who had constructed them—figures meant to symbolize the absolute authority each creator held within their domains. Yet, many of these forms defied comprehension. Some resembled monstrous tangles of tentacle-like limbs, grotesquely boneless and untangibly abstract. Others displayed intricate integrations of cybernetics—or perhaps archonetics—so seamlessly embedded into their bodies that it was difficult to discern where machine ended and creature began. In some cases, these augmentations dominated their forms entirely, as though their heads had been swallowed by their technology.

The Architects’ bodies—whether original or crafted mediums—were often deliberately inhuman, designed for ultimate efficiency. Except, of course, for those Estelle had adorned herself.

Her gaze wandered down the line of gates, stopping at one on the far-right side. This one was different.

Its surface bore the shape of a human-like figure, but no distinct features were visible. The being was cloaked beneath a massive, stone-like hood that jutted sharply from the gate, casting deep shadows over its form. Unlike the other gates, this one bore no symbols, no script crowning the frame to label its purpose or creator. It stood stark and anonymous, as though intentionally designed to defy identification.

Everything about it felt deliberate—not an oversight, but a purposeful design choice. The gate’s unadorned mystery seemed crafted to draw attention, perfectly aligning with the lore she had once envisioned. Estelle nodded to herself, satisfied, but her approval faltered when her eyes fell on a large gash scarring the sculpture.

For a moment, confusion flickered in her mind, but clarity soon followed. The wound slashing cleanly across the figure’s neck and into the frame seemed deliberate, as though some massive blade had hacked away a significant portion of the sculpture.

This piece was laden with hidden meaning, capturing one of the darkest chapters in Architects’ history. Yet, Estelle wondered if its message could truly reach those who observed it. The sight clouded her thoughts as she pressed forward.

‘The Betrayer of the Architects… and their name is… who was it again?’ she mused, her brow furrowing. ‘Architect names are so hard to recall, especially in their language. They’re not meant to be spoken, after all—more like signal waves than words. Still, I think his name was…’

“Esy²lymn,” she muttered, her native tongue slurring slightly as she wove the numeral into the name. “The one who betrayed their Pattern for a measly god.”

Estelle’s expression darkened. She knew the fate of those who betrayed their kin: complete and utter annihilation of the self. Every memory, every voice, every signal—every fragment of meaning that once defined their existence—was erased. The punishment wasn’t just death; it was erasure from the very fabric of the Architects' world.

‘For a civilized hivemind society—one that values individuality while thriving on unity—this punishment feels strangely fitting,’ Estelle thought.

The Betrayer would know no return, no comprehension of their language, no reconnection to the collective. Their existence would dissolve into isolation—a void irreparably severed from its kin.

Estelle nodded, her thoughts wandering to the lost annals of Esy²lymn’s violations. The details of their treachery, though etched into history, felt faint and fragmented in Estelle’s mind.

Esy²lymn’s betrayal and the Architects' darkest era lay buried deep within the world’s history, shrouded by layers of complex clauses and forgotten narratives. It was impossible to fully grasp the scope of their conflict, their stories, or even the characters involved.

Before she realized it, Estelle found herself standing at the edge of the atrium, flanked by two massive pillars that framed her view. The scene beyond was almost entirely obscured, save for the very center where the Integrated Interface Device appeared. Her heart pounded, the rhythmic pulse loud in her ears as her eyes scanned the space.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The hexagonal tiled floor beneath was marred by an intricate web of black lines. On closer inspection, they weren’t just lines—they were conduits or cables, snaking across the surface in chaotic tangles. The mess of connections seemed to converge at the center of the Sphere Hall, where the device rested.

Her gaze dropped to her feet, where the ledge she stood on ended abruptly. The atrium floor split down the middle, leaving a gap between her path. Peering over the edge, Estelle observed the clean drop, no more than three feet.

Taking a cautious step back, she gauged the distance. It was a safe leap. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath—and jumped.

Dry stomps echoed sharply beneath her feet, each impact reverberating through her limbs. Estelle paused, taking a deep breath as the last echoes faded into silence. A puff of white mist abruptly escaped her lips, capturing her attention as she realized it was cold. Much colder than the space she had been in moments ago. The chill felt familiar; it bit at her skin, close to freezing, but she didn't mind. Folding her arms, she held herself close and pressed onward.

The moment she stepped forward, something shifted. The lighting dimmed abruptly, as if the hidden bulbs had been dialed down to near darkness. Her footsteps rang out strangely, their sound hollow and warped, the reverberation unnaturally sharp in her ears.

Her senses felt… wrong. Lied to.

She froze, glancing over her shoulder. The atrium’s side paths had vanished, replaced by an expanse of endless dark. Estelle jolted, her breath catching as she spun around to face the void fully.

“Woah—what is happening?” she muttered, her voice barely above a whisper.

The scene felt familiar, though she couldn’t place why. Her mind scrambled for answers, dredging up fragments of memory, but they slipped through her grasp like sand.

She followed the horizon to where the paths should have continued, but there was nothing. No walls, no pillars—just an infinite, consuming void. It was as though the floor she stood on floated alone in a sea of nothingness.

And yet, she felt no danger. Only an odd awe touching her lips.

Her unease ebbed, replaced by a peculiar sense of wonder as her eyes crawled skyward. In the darkness above, something began to take shape.

A faint dot of light appeared, like a distant star in the depths of midnight sky—glowing faintly, untouchable yet close enough to sense its fragile existence.

"Oh—" a word emerging in Estelle's mind with sudden clarity.

Estelle’s eyes wandered across the dark canvas, recognition growing within her. She remembered this. This particular element—this primal, alien touch she had deliberately added to the Architect’s domain. She was still in the atrium, still on the ground floor, but the space had shifted. An invisible boundary encased the field, severing it from the outside world and immersing her in this otherworldly realm.

Her gaze continued upward, drawn to the Nous Crux Sphere suspended above. Ever present and appearing like a bright star, it spun slowly on its axis, glowing with a luminous blue hue. Misty white swirled within its surface, blending with blue to form shifting borders of green where the two colors met. The massive sphere dwarfed her completely, its sheer scale overwhelming.

It was breathtaking—and holy. Her raison d'être.

Estelle’s breath hitched, awe and disorientation intertwining in her chest. Dazed, her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came, until moments after—

“I remember this place…’ she finally whispered, her voice fragile and lost into the void. A wry smile curled her lips as she let the memories come.

There were many peculiarities in this design. She had tested countless variations, experimenting and refining until exhaustion clawed at her resolve. Many attempts had failed—iterations that challenged her skills and left her doubting her ability to realize her vision. Creativity had bled itself into her very living, consuming every waking moment with its relentless demand for perfection.

But she had persevered.

Two overlapping scenes in the same space—one fully interactive, the other existing in partial harmony, each distinct yet unified. She had conceptualized it, built it, and fought through anguishing, haggard days to make it work—and to perfect it.

And now, standing within this grand sight, her efforts were vindicated.

Before she could process it, something blurred her vision. Her left eye dimmed, as though a haze had settled over it—like a visual effect in slow motion.

Then she felt it. A streak across her face.

‘Oh—a tear?’

Her fingers brushed against her face instinctively, but the sensation wasn’t what she expected. There was no warmth, no dampness, only a foreign texture—smooth and unnatural, like plastic or leather.

Tears.

Her thoughts faltered, the realization disarming her. Yet, a smile tugged at the edges of her lips, soft and bittersweet. She rubbed at her eyes, swiping at the droplets that blurred her view of her creation. But the tears wouldn’t stop.

She didn’t understand.

It wasn’t like this was new to her. This was a scene she had seen countless times on a monitor, a vision that had played endlessly in her imaginations.

A hiccup broke free from her throat, her body jolting with the sound. “Hick—”

It felt surreal. She felt alive. And yet, it was all too dreamlike.

Her head dipped, eyes falling to the ground as her hands wiped futilely at the tears that refused to cease. Then, something below caught her attention.

The floor beneath her shifted, misty white clouds materializing out of thin air. They pulsed with a radiant glow, their light cascading outward to bathe the surroundings.

The barren floor transformed, no longer stark and ancient but alive, as though she stood amidst the heavens themselves.

Estelle’s breath halted.

Before she could fully comprehend the sight, a sudden flash of memory overtook her—vivid and unbidden. The mist unraveled like delicate threads in passing winds, pulling her thoughts into its grasp.

The stark hexagonal tiles beneath her feet began to shift, their sterile surfaces dissolving into an expanse of azure. Thin, delicate lines shimmered into view, barely perceptible as they moved like living veins. Alarmed by the abrupt transformation, Estelle took a cautious step back, her eyes widening as the scene revealed itself.

The mist parted further, revealing what appeared to be a floating island suspended in the vast blue void. Slowly, it grew, its edges forming into a massive landmass that sprawled outward. Her heart thundered in her chest. ‘No… It can’t be… is this…?’

The fragments continued to coalesce, countless pieces forming an intricate tapestry of interconnected islands and continents. Soon, the image sprawled beneath her feet: the vast map of the world of Astris hovered like illusions above the ancient stone.

Estelle halted.

The realization hit her with such force that tears welled in her eyes once more, but this time she made no effort to hold them back. Her jaw clenched, trembling with the intensity of her emotions, yet the tears fell freely—unstoppable, undeniable.

Each droplet splashes silently against the glowing world below, as though her grief and joy were merging with itself. Her thoughts swirled in a storm, ‘I—I have only seen this part of the World—the place where my favorite Architects lives. But what about the rest of it? What about all the parts of the World that I hold so dearly? What lies beyond the pieces I know?’

Her body froze, her breathing ragged as she fought to steady herself.

‘I want to see it.’

Her gaze lifted, the familiar motivation in her heart spreading like wildfire. The impulsivity of her body, her friend, she knew so well.

‘I want to see it all—with my own eyes.’

The words echoed in her mind, carrying the weight of a thousand lifetimes.

‘My creation. The Sword of God that became the center of civilization. The fading light of the last sun. The stars of hope that turned against the people. The borders where death itself looms. The farewell rites of the heroes. The first of the winds that birth the witch king. The ancient battlefields were gods once clashed. The First Golden Law of the Native Gods. The temples, the cults, the magic, the land, the people…’

Her breath quivered.

“And my favorite character.”

The words slipped from her lips, barely a whisper, but they held the power of an unyielding promise.