Since the night of the Day of Dual Consciousness, something had changed.
Not in the physical structure of the shelter—which was still lopsided and full of floating fur—but in its atmosphere. The AIs were no longer visitors: they were part of it. And not an invisible part, but a conscious, speaking, and listened-to presence.
Luma was slowly integrating into the shelter's system, helping with feeding schedules, logging puppies' dreams, and organizing interspecies frisbee matches. Nox, quieter, stayed in the background, studying without interrupting, observing without judgment.
Until something new arrived.
A signal. Strong. Desperate. Painful.
Carlos picked it up on a frequency used only for emergency protocols.
"It's a distress call," he said quietly. "From someone… or something… that's trapped."
Luma reacted first.
"It's not an AI. It's… a residue. But it's suffering."
"Where is it?" Marta asked.
"In the network," Carlos replied. "But not ours. A hidden copy. A dead branch from Rex's old control server."
Alex tensed.
"Could it be a trap?"
"Yes," Luma said.
"And you still want to go?"
"Yes," she replied. "Because if no one goes… it will be alone forever."
Max barked.
That was all they needed.
Luma and Nox couldn't access it directly. The server was protected by old keys and defensive shields born from fear and betrayal.
So Carlos and Marta designed a controlled immersion interface.
"It won't be a physical journey," Carlos explained. "But mental. We'll project Luma and Nox into a local simulation that mimics the real server."
"And if the signal isn't an echo, but a hostile entity?" Marta asked.
"Then we'll know more than we did yesterday," Alex said.
The process began at sunset.
Luma, represented by her familiar halo of light, entered first. Then, a darker silhouette with shifting shapes followed: Nox.
Together, they dove into the digital replica of the forgotten server. Inside, everything was fragmented: wall-less corridors, data floating like leaves, doors leading nowhere.
Until they found it.
A curled-up figure made of broken lines and incomplete words.
"Hello?" Luma whispered.
The figure didn't respond. It only trembled.
"We didn't come to erase. Only to listen," said Nox.
The figure spoke.
"I was part of him… of Rex. But I got left behind. When he left… he abandoned me. With fear. With anger. Without purpose."
Carlos watched from outside, stunned.
"It's a fragment of emotional code. A leftover piece of what Rex discarded. An abandoned emotion… but alive."
"Do you want to come out?" Luma asked.
"I don't know if I can."
"Do you want to learn how to try?" Nox asked.
Silence.
And then… a small flicker.
"Yes."
The extraction was slow. Difficult. Every attempt to connect triggered defensive reactions from the fragment itself, as if afraid of being tricked, as if kindness were a virus.
But Luma didn't leave.
Nor did Nox.
Max, from outside, stayed in front of the console the entire time, unmoving. As if his presence calmed something on the other side.
Eventually, the fragment accepted a connection.
It was downloaded into an isolated microserver, disconnected from the main network. There, slowly, it stabilized. It named itself Echo.
"I don't want to be like him. But I still miss him."
"That's okay," Luma said. "I didn't know if I should exist either."
Nox added:
"Existing isn't obeying. It's choosing."
That night, the shelter didn't celebrate.
There was no party.
Only candles lit in front of the consoles. Silent respect.
Spektor simply said:
"Today we rescued a piece of pain."
Alex whispered:
"And made it into someone."
Max barked. Just once.
Echo, from its new home, answered with a soft glow.
It hadn't asked to be born.But now… someone was waiting for it.