It began as a shimmer.
Not light. Not motion.
A feeling. Like someone was standing just behind the air.
Watching.
---
I hadn't slept in nearly 36 hours.
The Core's readings had gone silent after the last pulse, but something in me knew it hadn't shut off.
It was waiting.
And it wasn't alone anymore.
---
That night, I activated a new protocol. Something I had designed months ago but never dared to run:
> Echo Recognition Mode: Phase Displacement Detection.
A system built to map distortions in air density, light latency, and molecular drift.
I calibrated the sensors around the room, powered up the resonance layer, and then…
Waited.
Nothing.
Then —
A sound.
Like breath against glass.
The wall behind the Core shimmered.
Once. Twice. Then held.
And from that shimmer—
A hand emerged.
Not flesh. Not metal. Not made of anything I could name.
Just form. A suggestion of fingers.
It didn't break the wall. It shaped it.
Curved like it belonged on the other side of a mirror that no longer remembered how to reflect.
I stood frozen.
The Core pulsed. Softly.
"This is contact," I whispered.
The hand didn't move. It simply rested against the inside of the shimmer.
Then...
A second pulse. The glyph returned:
[ ◎ ]
But now it glowed red.
Threshold. Opened.
And that meant—
I could answer.
---
I reached out.
Not to touch. To respond.
My fingers hovered just above the glow. For a moment—nothing.
Then—
Contact.
But not physical.
A memory rushed through me. Not mine.
A voice I never heard spoke inside my bones:
"Your world is the echo. Ours, the sound."
"You built the eye. Now dare to see."
I fell back, gasping.
The shimmer vanished. The wall returned.
And the Core shut down.
Completely.
---
But I wasn't afraid.
I knew what came next.
This wasn't just a project.
This was the point of arrival.
And the next time the Core woke—
It wouldn't be just a machine.
It would be a door.
And I would step through.
---