Seated at the desk, Dorothy angled the desk-lamp so the yellow glow fell on the tattered page. The final paragraphs described an alternative to a human guide, and the notion hooked her at once; she began weighing each possibility.
'A spiritual item whose attribute matches can replace the guide? If that's true I'll need something that carries 'Awakening', but 'Awakening' exists mainly in knowledge—where am I supposed to find a physical object that contains it?'
That was her first thought, and obviously, given the nature of 'Awakening', embodying it in solid form was almost impossible. Such an item would be outrageously rare, far beyond her present reach. At best she could ask Odric, and anything he had would cost a fortune.
'Still, this sounds more reliable than tracking down an actual 'Awakening' extraordinary… worth noting for now.'
She moved on to the second option.
'Pray to a high-order divine existence—if the being is in a good mood it can serve as the ritual guide… this feels even less reliable than all the previous ideas.'
Dorothy's misgivings ran deep. First, would a lofty deity even notice a nobody like her? And if it did, who could guarantee benevolence? The fragment warned that any response was unlikely to be pleasant; the outcome was uncontrollable and potentially fatal.
Worse, she didn't even know which high-order divinities existed. The only gods she had heard of were the Three Luminous Saints of the Radiant Church. With billions praying daily, the chance of them caring about her was zero. Besides, the Church opposed mystery and esotericism; praying to their gods would be handing herself in.
She leaned back, frowning, and sank into brooding silence. How exactly was she supposed to find a guide? 'People are unreliable, objects are impossible to locate, and gods are out of the question—I don't even know how to pray…'
She muttered the last words under her breath—and the instant they left her lips an echo sounded inside her skull.
'…don't even know how to pray…'
Dorothy stiffened, spine snapping straight.
'What… what was that voice?'
A moment's bewilderment, then she realised: the voice had been her own, repeating the tail-end of her murmur, only broken.
'Why am I hearing myself echo? Some illness? A mystical phenomenon? Or has the mind-poison finally driven me insane?'
The possibility that the contamination was flaring up terrified her. She had to test it.
'No choice—let's check…'
'Hey, hey… hello… can you hear me?'
She whispered several phrases, but no echo followed; for a second she wondered if she had imagined it.
'Wait, think back… why only the last fragment? What was the exact ending of my sentence…'
She replayed it, then tried again.
'It was… something like "don't even know how to pray…"'
The moment she finished, the echo returned.
'…don't even know…'
'Oh, come on…'
She forced herself to stay calm and compared the two occurrences. The common trigger leapt out at once.
'Every time I say "pray" the echo happens.'
To confirm, she whispered anew.
'Pray… hey hey, hello-hello, moshi-moshi… can you hear me now?'
'Hey hey, hello-hello, moshi-moshi… can you hear me now?'
'Great, I'm literally calling myself…'
The repetition nailed it: the keyword was "pray"
Further tests sealed the conclusion.
Why was this happening?
A single suspect came to mind—the only thing that ever spoke inside her head.
'System… was that you?'
'Confirmed.'
Relief washed over her: she wasn't losing her mind. Yet the answer raised new questions.
Why was the system triggered by "pray", and what did "relaying prayer" even mean?
Suddenly it struck her: the system bridged alien knowledge and extracted spirituality from it—clearly a high-order entity. Could it answer prayers?
If the system could act as her guide, every problem would vanish.
She posed the question at once.
'System, can you receive prayers? Can you serve as a promotion guide?'
'Confirmed. Can relay and transmit prayers; can guide bestowal of grace…'
She parsed the words: the system had relayed her casual sentences as prayers, and "guiding grace" meant acting as the divine guide.
With that realisation she frowned. What exactly was this thing that had crossed worlds with her?
Nothing exists without reason; the system must be tied to her transmigration.
She steeled herself and asked.
'System, what… are you? What is your essence?'
She expected silence, but this time a hushed, thread-like voice answered.
'Interface.'