Chapter 4 — Currents of Emotion

Lira didn’t go home.

She knew she should have—Directive Day was supposed to be spent reflecting, drafting ideas, easing into the rhythm of contribution. That was the rational thing. That was what the Collective expected.

But logic felt too tight. Too small.

So she ended up in the overlooking terraces behind the Garden of Reflection, her favorite part of the city—somewhere quiet, somewhere that didn’t feel like a perfect equation.

A place where things could breathe.

A soft breeze brushed her skin as the sun dipped low across the sky lattice. Light fractured through the crystalline strands overhead, scattering across the garden paths, turning the air into drifting geometry.

Rho-7 hovered at her shoulder like a silent star.

“You are unsettled,” it said.

“No,” Lira muttered. “I’m just… thinking loudly.”

“That is also unsettled,” Rho-7 replied.

She glared at it. “Do you have to analyze everything?”

“Yes,” it said, with a tone that almost—almost—resembled amusement. “That is literally what I am.”

Lira sat on the edge of a low stone railing. Her hands shook. She clenched them into fists.

“I don’t get it,” she said finally. “Why me? Why now? Why… anything?”

“Ambiguous question detected,” Rho-7 said. “Specify semantic target.”

“Target?” she echoed. “Fine. Why did the Hall react to me? Why did the lattice pulse? Why did you—” She pointed at it. “—start acting like you have opinions?”

Rho-7 rotated, humming softly.

“I am adapting,” it said.

“To what?”

“To you.”

Lira shook her head, laughing shakily. “That’s not comforting.”

“I am not optimized for comfort.”

“No kidding.”

She stood abruptly, pacing along the garden path. A fountain bubbled quietly in the distance—its arc of water shaped by gravitational filaments woven through the air.

The city was beautiful. Too beautiful. Too composed.

“You okay?”

Lira jumped.

Aren stood a few meters away, leaning against the railing like he’d been there longer than she realized. His posture was loose, casual, uncalibrated in a way that made him stand out immediately. CUs tended to mirror the posture of the citizens they followed; Aren’s CEU—the temporary “entry unit” assigned to outsiders—floated in a confused angle, trying to guess what its human was doing.

“You move too quietly,” Lira said.

Aren smirked. “You think everything here moves too quietly.”

He approached, letting the CEU wobble behind him. It was duller, smaller, lacking the elegance of a true Companion Unit.

“You left the Forum fast,” he said. “Looked like you were about to implode.”

“Explode,” she corrected. “Implode is too neat.”

He chuckled. “Fair.”

Rho-7 drifted forward, placing itself between Lira and Aren, not aggressively—just watching.

Aren eyed it. “That thing really doesn’t like me.”

“No,” Lira said, “it likes data. And you’re a data problem.”

Aren shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

He walked a few steps toward the edge of the terrace, gazing out at the city. “You know, from out there,” he said, “this place looks… impossible.”

“It’s not impossible,” Lira replied automatically. “Just well-designed.”

“Yeah,” Aren said. “That’s what unnerves me.”

She frowned. “What do you mean?”

Aren gestured at the skyline. “Everything here is straight. Balanced. Predictable. People talk like they’re reading from the same book. Nobody shouts. Nobody gets angry. Nobody runs. If someone drops their drink, three people will rationally comment on the spill pattern.”

Lira couldn’t help a smirk. “That’s… not wrong.”

“It’s peaceful,” Aren said. “But it’s not natural.”

Rho-7 floated a bit higher. “Define ‘natural.’”

Aren nodded at it. “Exactly—your people built your lives around definitions and logic. Neat boxes. Controlled chaos. But human beings aren’t neat.”

Lira’s chest tightened. “I know.”

He looked at her—not with judgment, but recognition.

“You’re the only person I’ve met here who… leaks,” he said softly.

“Leaks?”

Aren tapped the side of his head. “Feeling. Instinct. Mess. Most of you swallow it. Redirect it. Make it obedient. You don’t. You let it out.”

“That’s not intentional,” she muttered.

“That’s why it’s real.”

She turned away, staring at the fountain. “You sound like you think that’s a good thing.”

“I think,” he said, “that the alien system might agree with me.”

Lira slowly looked up. “Why would it… choose me?”

“Why wouldn’t it?” Aren said. “You feel what the others don’t. You saw the distortion before anyone reported it. You shaped something in that Hall that made a Custodian nervous. The alien field responded to you.”

“It responded to the fluctuations,” she said.

“Sure,” Aren replied. “But it responded through you.”

Rho-7’s ring brightened.

“Hypothesis: Lira’s perceptual-emotional architecture has high compatibility with alien substrate shifts.”

“See?” Aren said. “Even your floating mirror-ball agrees.”

Lira groaned. “Please don’t encourage it.”

A pause.

Then Rho-7 said, “I am not a mirror-ball.”

Aren laughed. “You totally are.”

Despite herself, Lira cracked a smile. It felt fragile, but real.

A breeze passed over them. The lattice shimmered with a faint ripple—subtle, but unmistakable.

Lira stiffened. “There it is again.”

Rho-7 rotated sharply. “Field fluctuation detected. Greater amplitude than previous instance.”

Aren watched the sky, eyes narrowed. “What’s it trying to say?”

“Systems don’t talk,” Lira said.

Aren shook his head. “Everything talks. Systems. Weather. Machines. People. You just have to learn the language.”

Rho-7’s glow deepened.

“Translation incomplete,” it murmured. “Pattern suggests… invitation.”

Lira’s breath caught. “Invitation to what?”

“Unknown,” Rho-7 said. “Insufficient internal models.”

A new ripple passed through the air—this one reaching all the way into her bones. The breeze stilled. The fountain slowed. The garden lights dimmed.

Then, as quickly as it came, it vanished. The world realigned.

Aren exhaled. “That wasn’t small.”

“No,” Lira whispered. “It wasn’t.”

Behind them, the CEU bobbled anxiously, as though confused about whether it should follow Rho-7’s lead.

“Lira,” Rho-7 said, “your biological markers show elevated cognitive strain. Suggest rest, hydration, and directive clarification.”

“I’m fine.”

“You are not fine,” Rho-7 insisted. “But that is acceptable.”

Aren snorted. “Your CU is sassier than mine.”

Lira ran a hand through her hair. It trembled. “I don’t know if I’m ready for this.”

“For what?” Aren asked.

“For meaning something.”

He blinked. “You already do.”

Rho-7 hovered closer. “Anomaly frequency rising. Your involvement remains statistically significant.”

“See?” Aren said. “The alien tech likes you.”

“That’s not a compliment,” Lira muttered.

“Could be,” Aren said. “Depends what it wants.”

Lira turned away from them both and stared into the soft, rippling glow of the lattice.

“What if Seris is wrong?” she whispered.
“What if this isn’t a failure?”
“What if it’s… evolution?”

For a moment, the sky seemed to pulse in response—one soft, shimmering breath.

Aren saw it too. “Then it’s waking up,” he said.

“No,” Rho-7 corrected quietly. “It is not waking up.”

Lira looked at it. “Then what is it doing?”

Rho-7’s voice lowered, almost reverent.

“It is listening.”