The morning came without a sun.
Just a gentle shimmer – like light that hadn't yet decided which color it wanted to take.
Gold? Violet? Or both?
I stood at the edge of the Platform, barefoot, the air cool and dense.
The city beneath me breathed. I could hear it – not a rushing, not wind, but breath. Calm. Steady.
The world was alive.
"Iteration Seven," I whispered.
The Field didn't respond with data or flickering. It listened.
And somewhere in this silence, I realized: It was waiting for a first word.
Mine.
---
"Say something, anything," said Rhea, who stood behind me.
She sounded tired, raw, but also curious – like someone who has seen the impossible too often to still act surprised.
"If the Field is really active now, you need an opening. A kind of... impulse."
"Like a greeting?" I asked.
"More like a promise."
I nodded.
I breathed in.
The Field pulsed with me.
"No god. No command. No sacrifice," I said softly. "Just... consciousness."
