Chapter 5: Awakening
Consciousness returned like being pulled from deep water—gradual, heavy, and disorienting. The first breath caught in Estelle's throat, sharp and desperate, her fingers curling instinctively as if she had been sleeping for far too long in the wrong position. The air felt unusually thick, almost metallic, and wrong—not warm, but icily cold, carrying a faint rhythmic whisper she couldn't quite place.
Her fingers twitched against what should have been... something else. She couldn't remember what she expected to feel, but it wasn't this silky, plush surface beneath her. Her hand moved searchingly, instinctively seeking her familiar weighted blanket. Each movement was sluggish, her limbs heavy as if gravity itself had shifted while she slept. The darkness behind her eyelids was the only familiar thing left, and even that seemed to pulse with an alien rhythm she couldn't comprehend.
‘I woke up… from that… dream…’ Her thoughts drifted hazily. ‘So cold… It’s so cold.’
When she finally forced her eyes open, the world refused to settle into familiar shapes. Shadows stretched across unfamiliar angles above her, and what little light existed seemed to bend around corners that shouldn't be there. Through the blurriness, a soft green glow pulsed at the edge of her vision, too regular to be natural. Estelle tried to push herself up, her body protesting every movement as if she had forgotten how to use it properly, but she fell back softly before she could even lift herself.
'What… is happening? Why am I so tired?' Her fingers found her face, clearing the crust from her eyelids and massaging the cold bridge of her nose. She waited for a moment, squinting into the darkness. It was too dark to make out anything clearly, save for the endless green pulses above her—the mysterious light source cast everything in a pale, sickly glow, creating shadowed outlines that bordered her field of vision. These shadows were unfamiliar, as was the glow emanating from somewhere above—it felt wrong, too foreign, as if she wasn't in her private quarters on her bed. But that couldn't be true, she thought, doubting her fleeting worry.
A soft, rhythmic hissing sound filled the air, reminiscent of ambient music. 'Did I leave the computer on... again?'
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‘I did… didn’t I?’ Her eyes twitched, followed by a dry scoff escaping her cracked lips. Her throat felt like sandpaper. ‘Water…’
The announcement—that metallic, artificial voice echoing with an electronic undertone—made her wonder if she'd fallen asleep with sci-fi spaceship ambience playing on her personal computer. She tried to remember last night's details—why she had collapsed onto her bed without shutting down her computer—but her memory stopped at starting a "campaign" on her world. Everything after that was too blurry to process.
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The ambient audio rang again. The announcer's androgynous voice was followed by a sharp emergency alarm, breaking any illusion of peaceful ambiance. Estelle wondered if this jarring sound had pulled her from her deep slumber. The darkness was so thick she couldn't even see the contours of her ceiling—surely it must still be night, or perhaps just before dawn. Though the darkness beckoned her back to sleep, the burning dryness in her throat demanded attention.
She summoned her strength again, but before she could move, a loud thump echoed through the space. Then came the descending sounds of systems powering down, reminiscent of a massive power interruption. The green pulse flickered and died, plunging the room into absolute darkness as even the ambient hissing cut to sudden silence.
Estelle’s eyes twitched. ‘Fuck… Did the power go out? That’s just… perfect. Though I’m sure I charged the battery—the backup power should switch on.’
She twisted her body, pressing her face into the soft fabric before pushing herself up to a sitting position. Her bones creaked in relief, but her body wobbled precariously—her head felt unsettlingly loose on her shoulders, the world spinning despite her fixed gaze into the darkness. With a groan, she hunched over, dropping to all fours.
She crawled forward through the thick darkness, ignoring the dizziness. Her hands slid slowly across the fabric—once, twice forward—before abruptly hitting something solid. Unable to see, Estelle guided her hands over the object, trying to discern its shape—a cold, flat surface, like a wall. As she reached upward, the surface ended abruptly in what felt like a metallic ledge. She tilted her head in confusion. 'What is this? I don't remember having anything like this in my bed...'
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Her hand moved over the ledge, searching for solid ground beyond it. Instead, she found only empty space—a drop-off. She mounted her hands on the ledge, trying to make sense of this unfamiliar terrain. Could she have fallen asleep somewhere else? Had she been drinking, and her memories were now playing tricks on her?
Then—suddenly—an announcement boomed through the darkness, that same mechanical voice filling the void:
[SUPPLY GRID RESTORED. SWITCHING TO SECONDARY POWER CAPACITOR MODULE. PRIMARY POWER BANK WILL BE UNDERGOING MAINTENANCE FOR 4 HOURS.]
Her attention fixed on those words—the audio still carried an ambient quality, filtered through what sounded like radio static or stereo speakers. Estelle looked toward where the green glow had pulsed moments ago but found only darkness. Something felt deeply wrong. Her personal computer never had an idle screen or sleep mode, and even if the power had failed, its supply should have lasted an hour. Before that, her house's emergency power would have kicked in. Yet here was this announcement, speaking of power switches as if by weird coincidence. A doubt grew within her mind—everything had felt alien since she'd awakened.
Her fingers trembled against the ledge, and she tried to steady them by tightening her grip. Taking a deep breath, Estelle had a fleeting thought if this was still part of her dream. She gathered her strength to step out—but before she could move, something in the distance flickered. A light—a single pulse in the darkness. She raised her head to follow it but found only void.
She waited, thinking perhaps it was just the power grid returning to life. Another flicker appeared in the distance, longer this time, casting strange shadows across her vision. Shapes began to take form: tall, geometric silhouettes that had no place in any bedroom. The light pulsed again, stronger now, and Estelle caught glimpses of metallic surfaces where there should have been wallpaper, of angular structures where her dresser should have stood. Then, with a low hum that she felt in her bones, all the lights blazed to life at once.
The world that materialized before her wasn't her room at all. Hundreds of pillars filled the vast space, their geometric shapes rising from floor to an unseen ceiling. Each pillar bore intricate textures—engravings that might have been letters or alien markings—and from their peaks, green light waves pulsed downward in steady streams. Not all pillars glowed; some flickered slowly in their descent, while others faded before reaching the ground.
It was a familiar sight for an unfamiliar world. This wasn't her room, she realized with growing shock, but it closely resembled one of her creations: the Architect's Hall of Sarcophagi. Her eyes widened as she whipped her head around—pillars in black stretched to every corner of the hall, their hidden lighting illuminating the vast chamber.
In the distance, black walls of unknown material curved upward to form a massive dome. Similar etchings marked these surfaces, interrupted by smooth, unmarked sections. Red light outlined where the floor met the walls, while waves of green pulsed randomly through the etching. A pathway caught her attention, leading to one of the closed gates. Above it, familiar language glowed in light blue engravings, like a sign beckoning her forward.
This place. This world. She remembered it intimately, having spent hundreds of hours perfecting every detail. Blinking twice, three times didn't change what she saw—the scene before her remained unchanged. This was unmistakably the chamber where the remaining Architects rested in their sarcophagus.
"Am I..." she whispered, her breathing shallow, the words dying on her lips as they transformed into thought. 'Dreaming?'
It was strange—to end one dream only to wake into another. Yet she knew that wasn't the case. Estelle knew her body well enough to recognize the truth, even as her mind refused to accept it. Her fingers reached for her soft cheeks and pinched hard with her nails, drawing a strange, numbing pain.
It wasn't a dream. It was real.
The reality felt more surreal than any dream could be. If her mind and eyes were playing tricks, she would have welcomed their end. Estelle couldn't find the right words, couldn't form proper thoughts—her mind was too busy racing to understand how she had arrived here, in this world she had created. Her thoughts overlapped, desperately trying to piece together every detail.
That particular evening, in that state of mind—she had wanted to delete the world, to free herself from its chains, but couldn't bring herself to do it. Instead, she had created a campaign, an escape from deciding her world's fate, and then—a flash of light.
Estelle's eyes widened. Something clicked in her memory. She was certain of it now—clicking that button to start the campaign, watching as her monitor's screen exploded with light—bright enough to blind her. And... and—an ache throbbed in Estelle's mind, drawing out a groan.
That dream—she remembered it now. The opening sequence, an introduction to the Architects' origin. The very same Architects who, according to the lore, had built this realm where she now found herself. The evidence surrounded her, screaming the truth of her predicament—some mystical, unknown force had transformed fiction into reality.
Estelle looked down at her hands, now wrapped in black gloves. She stretched her fingers wide, then clenched them tight. The sensation felt foreign, as if this wasn't her body at all, or perhaps it was simply the unfamiliar touch of gloves she typically never wore. Her clothing had changed as well—matching what she had seen in that dream: a heavy white gown that folded over her legs and spilled onto the white bedding below, layered over a woolen black mockneck and slick leggings, all wrinkled from her rest.
'Am… I an Architect?'