Location:The Tower of Silence Time:Shortly after Lynora's sacrifice
Echo (motionless):
The room does not breathe.
No sound. No echo. No voice. Only the relentless expansion of a silence that is more than absence – it is density. A presence that slices even the whisper of thought.
Echo (lying down):
Her body lies on the cold floor, breathing shallowly. Somewhere inside, the final flicker of Lynora's gaze still echoes – determined, too warm for this place.
It is over. Lynora is gone.
Echo (faintly):
But she herself… is still here.
Why?
Her fingers tremble as she tries to move. Above her arches a massive, circular dome – fractured metal, woven with living fragments of decayed technology. The floor beneath her is layered, fused like welded shells. Resonance lines shimmer above it like alien veins.
Then, the room changes.
Light begins to form – not a beam, not a glow. Geometry. Lines. A floating cube, rotating, as if negotiating with itself.
And then… he speaks.
A. Dea (calm, mental):
"A life has been given. Yet another remains in question."
Echo (startled):
Her body flinches. She tries to speak, but no sound comes out. Her lips move – silently. The tower is not just quiet. It is empty. Like a place beyond sound.
Then the air begins to vibrate.
Resonance lines below her flicker – precise, rhythmic. A circle of light opens beneath her body, like a lens marking her.
She is the subject.
Not a target. A variable.
Echo (in thought, broken):
"You took Lynora… Wasn't that enough?"
The words are not spoken. They form clumsily in her mind – but A. Dea hears them all the same.
A. Dea (unmoved):
"Balance requires more than sums. Her choice was voluntary.
Your continued existence, however, remains… computationally unstable."
Echo (tense):
She presses a hand to the metal, forces herself upright.
Above her, the cube shifts. Lines branch out anew, loops form – a new calculation.
Echo (quiet):
"Then you… want to end it."
A. Dea (precise):
"I want nothing. I calculate. And you… do not fit any variable."
Echo (frozen):
A coldness flows through her – not frost. But a mathematical scan of her inner self. As if someone is trying to debug her existence.
A. Dea (clear, emotionless):
"Your death would be elegant. Your survival – illogical. A distortion in the model."
No anger. No mercy. Only outcome.
Then, the final question. Without warning.
A. Dea (direct):
"Final query: Why do you want to live?"
Echo (surrounded by light):
The lines beneath her pulse. The air feels heavier – not on the skin, but in the mind.
Echo knows her answer will not change anything.
It is just the last entry. One value.
Soon to be deleted.
Echo (internally calm):
She could remain silent. Or beg.
But instead, she lifts her head. Slowly. Calmly. Straight into the light.
Echo (clear):
"I don't know."
"But I want to."
It is not a cry. Not a plea. Just a sentence – raw, unfiltered, human.
Silence.
But this time… it feels different.
Something hesitates. No sound. No resistance. Just pause.
The lines flicker slightly. Not like a power fault – like doubt.
A. Dea (slower):
"Desire without purpose. Will without calculation. Anomaly detected."
"Explanation insufficient. Processing incomplete."
Echo (paralyzed):
It feels as though she has not given an answer – but caused interference.
A foreign code, not faulty – but unreadable.
A. Dea (final, cold):
"You will not be saved. You will be observed."
"If you exist, then not as result – but as exception.
Be what cannot be explained. And we will see… what becomes of it."
Echo (alone):
Then he is gone.
Not as if he left.
As if he had never been.
The cube collapses in on itself. The light recedes.
A. Dea is gone.
Echo (kneeling):
Slowly, she lifts her head. Her legs tremble. The pain is still there. Not in the body – in the world.
She lives.
But the price is not paid.
Not truly.