Glass didn’t shatter in the Collective.

Not physically, not normally.

Environmental fields softened impacts, modulated vibrations, corrected flaws before fractures could propagate. But when the lattice pulse struck the Custodian Chamber…

…it shattered everything anyway.

Panels burst like fragile shells. Light conduits cracked. The ceiling projection split into cascading shards of luminous data. CUs flickered wildly, some collapsing to the ground, others rising erratically like frightened birds.

Lira fell to her knees, hands over her ears—

—but there was no sound.

The pulse wasn’t auditory.

It was inside her.

A single thought pressed through the collapsing world, not in words but in shape and pressure and meaning:

Are you ready?

Aren grabbed her shoulders.

“Lira! Stay with me!”

Kael shielded her from falling debris that disintegrated into harmless dust before hitting the floor. Rho-7 hovered violently, its rings spinning in opposite directions like two gravitational fields locked in combat.

Seris barked orders to the Custodian CUs, but half of them didn’t respond. A few emitted unsettling violet waves that made the air ripple.

The chamber lights flickered.

The floor vibrated.

The alien question repeated—this time sharper.

Are you ready?

Lira gasped. “I—I can’t—”

Kael gripped her arm. “Lira, breathe! Focus on my voice!”

But the pulse twisted around Kael’s voice, warping it, threading through his words:

ARE YOU READY?

Aren’s grip tightened. “Lira! Look at me!”

She couldn’t.

The question wasn’t for her eyes.

It was for her mind.

And the alien presence was pushing deeper.

She felt it brushing the edges of her consciousness—curious, probing, patient in a way that made her bones ache. It didn’t feel malicious. But it felt vast. Incomprehensible.

Like trying to stare at a star from one inch away.

Rho-7’s voice cut through the fog.

“Lira! Anchor to me!”

Lira reached instinctively for the CU, grabbing its outer ring. The moment her skin touched the metal, the pulse softened—shifting from unbearable pressure to a throbbing warmth.

Her breath steadied.

Rho-7 glowed brighter.

Aren exhaled shakily. “Good. Good—keep holding it.”

Kael sagged in relief.

Seris stared, stunned. “It’s using her CU as a stabilizer?”

Rho-7’s voice deepened—no longer mechanical.

“She is the stabilizer.”

The question resonated again.

But this time, it wasn’t a command.

It was an invitation.

A calm ripple spread through the chamber. Cracks in the walls sealed themselves. Shattered glass reconstructed like reversed gravity. CUs recovered, their rings flickering uncertainly but functional.

Light returned.

Silence followed.

Aren ran a hand through his hair. “What the hell was that?”

Kael whispered, “Phase Shift Three.”

Seris stepped forward cautiously. “Lira… did it speak clearly?”

Lira opened her mouth—

—but another pulse bloomed behind her eyes, gentle, as though waiting.

She whispered, “It’s waiting for me. It won’t move without an answer.”

Rho-7 hovered closer. “Correct.”

Maren’s voice wavered. “Can you answer? Should you answer?”

Lira wiped her trembling hands on her knees. “I don’t know.”

Aren knelt beside her. “Hey. You don’t owe it anything.”

Kael added, “And the Council doesn’t get to tell you what to do.”

Seris glanced down, visibly conflicted.

Lira swallowed.

The question echoed again:

Are you ready?

This time, though, she sensed something beneath it.

A second meaning.

A mirror meaning.

Not Are you ready to evolve?
But Are you ready to be honest about what you are?

Her breath caught.

Aren touched her arm. “What does it want?”

Lira looked up at him, eyes wet. “Truth.”

A Custodian across the chamber scoffed. “Truth? Truth about what?”

Lira closed her eyes.

“About us,” she whispered.

Maren stepped forward. “Lira… what do you want to say?”

Lira took a shuddering breath.

She didn’t answer verbally.

She let the substrate read her.

Rho-7 pulsed, syncing with her heartbeat.

The chamber dimmed—but not in fear. In preparation.

And Lira projected a single thought outward, unsure if it was words or just meaning shaped into human form:

I’m here.

A low hum spread across the entire Collective. Light rippled across the lattice outside. Every CU flickered in unison once—then stabilized.

Rho-7 glowed brilliantly.

Kael whispered, “Did it accept that?”

Aren helped Lira stand. “Yeah.
It heard her.”

Seris looked up at the ceiling, her voice barely audible.

“So begins Phase Shift Three.”

A new pulse radiated outward—gentle, steady, rhythmic.

Not a question.

A statement.

A message.

We will speak.

The chamber lights brightened.
And the substrate opened the first channel.

Lira felt it.

Aren saw it.

Kael understood it.

Seris feared it.

Maren braced for it.

A new Directive appeared in Lira’s vision:

Directive Update
Resonant Interface Engagement Authorized
Begin: First Dialogue Protocol

Aren whispered:

“Lira… what’s a Dialogue Protocol?”

Lira’s pulse trembled.

“It’s…”
She swallowed hard.
“It’s how the system communicates with humanity.”

Rho-7 confirmed softly:

“Phase Shift Three:
The substrate will ask its first real question.”

The chamber darkened.

The pulse deepened.

And the alien system spoke—not to Lira alone, but to everyone in the Collective.

WHY DO YOU EXIST?

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