Chapter 15: Creator’s mark ?
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“Estelle Nytelles must maintain connection with the Nous Crux… Pattern… Peering System… Huh,” Estelle murmured, her voice slurred, each word dragged down by the weight lingering on her lips
Her gaze drifted, unfocused, scanning for something—anything—that might offer explanation. It finally settled on the oblate shape of golden light hovering beneath the display. The holographic figure dominated the space, with no other devices present to suggest what the text might be referencing.
Without realizing it, her hand slipped beneath her chin, fingers tracing aimless patterns along her skin as her arms folded across her chest. Her thoughts, unusually still yet piercingly clear, felt unfamiliar—as though they had emerged from a mind not quite her own.
She was certain she had never created these details before—especially the recordings in the log. The embedded log within the display seemed strikingly modern, closely resembling the inner-workings of coding rather than the sci-fi aesthetic she was expecting.
However, putting her attention to detail aside, there was a much more pressing issue than text spacing and styles. It was undeniable that she had heard about account revalidation, yet she had never truly entertained that idea—she was uncertain why. It must have been her attention that had always been elsewhere. Yet now, standing in this place, before this desk, and seeing the words that tied her name to an administrative role, it was only now that she recognized the full weight of the situation.
She drew a deep breath, trying to summon what she could remember of the Architect’s lore—particularly the legends surrounding the so-called administrators. None of it was new to her, of course. If anything, she was supposed to be more familiar with these stories than with her own creations. After all, the administrators were central to the world’s historical progress and pivotal moments—figures who had profoundly shaped both the present and the future.
And yet, the details slipped away with every trying reach. It was understandable, she reasoned. Their sagas had faded into obscurity, and the last remaining Architect had ended with the end of the Ecliptic War. Their history was mostly written, complete, and there was no need for Estelle to revisit it without purpose or reason. She had left it alone for many months without delving further.
Estelle's gaze shifted from the desk to the distant horizon, her thoughts drifting beyond the veil shrouding the atrium. Mindlessly, she thought she might catch a glimpse of the many portraits engraved into the gates of an administrator's private domains—perhaps to remember the official details of these administrators.
But there was nothing. Only the vast emptiness.
Or perhaps not.
A single point of light appeared in the void, distant yet bright, flaring briefly before vanishing. A star. The view portrayed the stars in space, something that was unfamiliar to this world, but not to the Architects. Estelle knew that. Her eyes lingered, following the place where the floor dropped away into nothingness, the veil pressing heavily against the void beyond.
A low groan escaped her lips as she abandoned her attempts to recall the sagas or histories tied with the administrators. None of it seemed to hold the answers she was seeking—if she even knew what those answers were.
A smile, faint and unbidden, tugged at her lips. The implications of the golden text sprawled across the red display filled her thoughts, unspooling into half-formed fantasies. To what she might become—to what she might do? Her heart pounded loudly in her chest, an erratic rhythm that echoed her swelling anticipation.
She stretched her hands forward, her trembling fingers sinking into the oblate hologram. A heavy, alien viscosity immediately clung to her gloves—a cold, slithering substance that crept between her fingers and up to her wrists. Estelle froze, her breath catching as a frown deepened across her features.
The sensation crept further, a slow, unyielding advance that sent a chill spiraling down her spine. Her fingers felt consciously numb, encased in cold tendrils of something she couldn't see, so alive and invasive that it clouded her thoughts, as if something were moving beneath her long sleeves.
She shook her head sharply, an attempt to banish the unsettling imagery taking root in her mind. Yet, even as she fought the rising discomfort, something flickered at the edge of her vision. Her eyes darted toward the red monitor.
The display had changed.
The sprawling text was gone, replaced by four floating cubes, their sharp edges glowing a vivid green against the blood-red backdrop. The sight tugged faintly at her memory, stirring a half-formed recollection—so close, yet frustratingly elusive.
For a moment, she stared, her uncertainty thick in the silence. Then one of the cubes exploded, shattering into fragments of glowing debris. The pieces hovered before another cube followed suit, detonating with the same mesmerizing finality.
Its animation continued, deconstructing and reconstructing in a timed rhythm. A flicker of recognition sparked in her mind. ‘A loading screen,’ she thought, her inner voice tinged with faint disbelief. ‘Like the one from earlier.’
Another cycle began. As the second cube shattered once more, the holographic monitor flickered violently, abruptly transitioning—a cascade of text began to pour down the screen—line after line scrolling rapidly in an unreadable torrent.
Golden letters, written in the Architects' language, illuminated the display. Estelle leaned closer, her curiosity piqued as she murmured the words aloud. “Let’s see… Let’s see… Connectivity handshake confirmed. Alert: Foreign synthetic material detected — Classification: WBQ60v. Impedance metrics exceed acceptable operational thresholds…”
She paused, tilting her head as her brows knitted together. “Hmm. Hard to read… but that doesn’t sound good, does it?”
Despite the foreboding message, one thing became apparent: Whatever she was doing—or had done—was correct. Her fingers unconsciously curled into a fist, only to halt midway as if an invisible force gripped her hand, preventing her from fully clenching.
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Steeling herself, Estelle glanced quickly at her hand, expecting to see something—a change, a clue—but it remained exactly as it had been moments before. Still, the sensation was undeniable. Something was there. Something was holding her.
A chill ran down her spine, a faint tremor in her shoulders betraying her unease. She turned her attention back to the display, her eyes darting across the text, resuming where she had left off. Yet her focus snagged on the first line: Connectivity handshake confirmed.
“Yikes,” she muttered, shivering. The corners of her lips pulled tight in a grimace, her thoughts spiraling deeper into discomfort.
“Stop, Estelle,” she scolded herself silently, her voice sharp in her mind. “Just stop it. Whatever this is—it’s not one of those… those tentacles that do… questionable things. Absolutely not.”
As she was about to resume, a flicker of movement to her left caught her eye. Her gaze darted downward, where a new hologram materialized beside the golden oblate. The projection began transforming into a 3D render of the integrated station, fitting with varying shades of green and deeper hues. At its center, a blue-rendered figure stood—clearly herself—with her hands reaching toward the golden light. But something was wrong. Her hands were highlighted in red, a color too jarring to be part of the scene's design.
Yet, it sent a hint that it demanded her attention. Simultaneously with the hologram's completion, an arrow materialized, pointing directly at the red-tinted areas. Its tail stretched to the side, unfurling a small window dense with text and unfamiliar illustrations. Estelle's intuition whispered an understanding: the red highlight might relate to her gloves or skin—perhaps composed of the material the main display was referencing.
The sheer colume of text overwhelmed her. “Later,” she murmured, sighing. Her focus returned to the larger display, forcing herself to finish what she had started.
Estelle's eyes continued scrolling until she found the familiar line [Acceptable operational threshold], and she continued, muttering, "So... uh, thresh. Thresholds. System functionality: interrupted. Recommendation: Immediately remove material WBQ60v to restore full scanning protocol or permit rapid dematerialization of WBQ60v material."
The word dematerialization was the last thing Estelle wanted to see, especially if it had anything to do with the Architects. She tried to pull her fingers away, but the invisible force held her arm immovable. A chilling imagination prickled at her mind, stealing her breath in a sharp gasp. Panic swelled as she yanked harder, desperate to free herself. Only then did the grip relent, releasing her fingers with an almost spiteful slowness.
Her hands immediately clasped together, trembling as she inspected them for damage, half-expecting something to be missing. She let out a low grumble, muttering under her breath, "Let's be careful, and never forget—'safetiness' doesn't exist in their dictionary, Estelle. Especially you."
Absentmindedly cracking her knuckles, the sharp pops brought a fleeting moment of focus. Her gaze inevitably drifted back to the small display. Something had changed—beyond the live-rendering of her movements, the red markings now covered both hands up to her arms.
'A good sign, lovely,' Estelle thought. 'It's not my skin that's being referred to—Wait, can this material even be possible to have as a skin? Perhaps I'll check that later when I make my own body...'
She leaned forward, her gaze narrowing on the small display filled with dense text, symbols and intricate illustrations filling the spaces to the sides like some kind of documentation. The overwhelming amount of text felt blurry to her gaze, the entire passage felt unnecessarily long, as though it could have been distilled into just a few sentences. With her patience wearing thin, Estelle couldn't force herself to focus, instead letting her eyes flow to the end of the passage—skimming whatever the details were there, but understood absolutely none.
Jargon, she half-expected. Estelle traced the lines back to the beginning, attempting to understand the text, yet her mind continued to skim restlessly. She found herself nodding, soft moans escaping her lips as if the words were communicating directly with her understanding. When her eyes caught the illustrations on the far side of the text, she discerned the molecular structures of Material WB60v, prompting an audible gasp of wonder.
"Ohhh~Damn. I see, I didn't make this… But damn, I like that," Estelle commented, her hand unconsciously massaging her chin. ‘I want to take note of this…I definitely want to read more as to why it's interfering with the connection.’
She began removing a glove, tugging first at her fingertips. A strange numbness spread across her skin as the cold air slipped between fabric and flesh. The white coat against her skin felt like shedding an old layer, revealing something new and untouched.
Estelle shivered uncontrollably, yet continued pulling off her glove. A movement behind her hands caught her attention—the rendering screen. She spotted the red marks mimicking her actions in real time. Amused, she nodded, "Cool, cool."
As the glove slid free, the small display with the live rendering vanished completely. A strange tingling lingered on her skin, more apparent with each passing wind cold air. Despite the chill becoming almost unbearable—white puffs forming beneath her nose and her limbs trembling—Estelle continued, pondering aloud: "I wonder if this will do."
She considered placing her now-glove-free hand back on the oblate hologram, but remembering the previous events, she frowned. Massaging her hands—cold, yet still intact—an undeniable instinct whispered in her ears. She clenched both hands, drawing a sharp breath of cold air and encouraging herself, "It's just a hand… just a hand… There are ways to grow it back… I know… We know."
Her teeth ground loudly beneath her lip. Finally, she attempted to free her hand, still trembling as she moved to touch the oblate hologram. But something on her hand halted her movement—several black markings, like tattoos, resembling the scribbles she had seen on the floor and walls before.
'Huh,' Estelle wondered as fragments of memory materialized. She weaved her hand before her, examining it from every angle—tracing where thin lines merged and circles connected. The markings seemed randomly placed, like scattered ink on her skin. 'I definitely had—oh. Right, creator's mark.'
She continued observing her hand, staring as if memory would spontaneously materialize. Even when she forced herself to recall details, only fragments of creating this avatar and its specific abilities surfaced. Estelle grumbled, 'I don't think I made any powerful abilities. These marks—six of them—might be part of the six gods from the year two-thousand religion. The major six, and their ideology based on the meaning of the marks, if I remember correctly.'
Nodding, she felt the explanation fitting. Recalling fragments of those religions, Estelle continued, 'Foundation... stasis... Uh, what else... I can't remember. I'll definitely think about it later... I'll definitely remember some... but let's do it later.'
Convincing herself, she pulled her hands and placed them into the oblate hologram shape, noticing she was calmer than before. Just like before, something invisible immediately hugged her arms. It squirmed like a living creature, cold tendrils wrapping and climbing up her skin. Estelle shivered involuntarily, trying to ignore the unsettling sensation of this strangeness.
Without warning, a flicker of movement caught her eye, drawing her attention to new changes on the display.
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REVALIDATION SEQUENCE INITIATED
Entity: Estelle Nytelles-AC-A001 [Administrator Class: Original Pattern]
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