Chapter 3, Section 12: The Unforeseen Awakening

  Three years had passed since the return of the three Coherence Arks.

  During that time, the Arks had journeyed beyond the Threshold, awakening fifteen different Nodes one after another. Each Node had been submerged in deep slumber, buried beneath the sediment of time. Yet with each awakening, fragments of their records began to surface and speak.

  Two of the awakened Nodes revealed the presence of descendants of pre-human civilizations—peoples who had once departed from Earth. Like those found on Celyneia, the fourth planet of Node 47, they had already lost all memory of the advanced civilization left behind by their ancestors. Following the protocol established during the Node 47 mission, the exploratory teams refrained from any direct contact with these civilizations, which were still in the process of reconstruction. Instead, they conducted only remote observation and data collection.

  In total, ten additional intelligent species were discovered, all similarly trapped in states of civilizational regression. By then, there could be no doubt: much of the galaxy’s once-vibrant network of intelligent activity had now fallen into silence.

  Meanwhile, changes on the Solar System side were accelerating. A production facility for Coherence Arks had been completed on Titan, and the training program for Ark Conductors had been formalized and entered full operational status. The Coherence Ark was no longer a prototype or a specialized vessel—it had become the backbone of not only interstellar exploration, but also the main transport link connecting Earth, the Moon, Mars, Jupiter, and Titan.

  The quantum entanglement communication network had also been significantly expanded, making real-time communication between major nodes a practical reality. However, since Elidian technology remained fundamentally incomprehensible, it was still impossible to construct a Coherence Hub anywhere but Titan. As a result, the topology of the entanglement network took the form of a star, with the Titan hub at its center, connecting Earth, the Moon, Mars, Jupiter, and the region surrounding the 'Gate'.

  At Ceres Node, analysis of the data retrieved from the awakened Nodes had progressed rapidly. Especially significant were the records acquired from Novus, which, for the first time, provided humanity with a comprehensive picture of its earlier expansion into the galaxy.

  And now, the sixteenth Node—Node 104—was beginning to show signs unlike anything encountered before.

  It was a quiet signal, heralding the start of a new journey of discovery.

  ◇◇◇

  Low Earth orbit. The private office of Gunnar Nohlmann. A stellar chart of Node 104 and fragmented communication logs floated in the air above his desk, projected via holographic screen.

  There was a subtle shift in the room, as though the door had quietly opened—three avatars began to appear in sequence. Dr. Samira de Silva materialized from the Coherence Ark stationed on Titan. Dr. Ernst Kaiser appeared next, joining from the command module of Jupiter Station, nodding silently as he took his seat. Finally, from the Mars Colony, Dr. Ethan Novak arrived, casting a calm and perceptive gaze toward Nohlmann. The presence of the three felt so tangible, it was as if they were physically in the room.

  Closing the terminal on his desk, Nohlmann spoke, each word weighed with deliberation.

  "...We've received a report from Luxe. The awakening status of Node 104 is clearly different from any of the fifteen Nodes we've encountered so far."

  Dr. Kaiser furrowed his brow, while Dr. Novak shifted in his seat. Dr. Samira de Silva remained silent, her eyes fixed on the waveform patterns displayed before them.

  “The first phase of the Icarus Spine—the confirmation of physical connection—showed no issues. In response to photonic and magnetic field stimuli, Node 104 returned clearly ordered reactions. Harmonic overtones were detected as well, indicating that the Node possesses a conceptual grasp of ‘number’ and ‘sequence’.”

  “The second phase, vocabulary alignment, was also successful. Words such as ‘memory,’ ‘change,’ and ‘existence’—terms established through previous communication with Omega—elicited expected responses. We even observed early signs of causal inference. At the very least, Node 104 comprehends language and was prepared for dialogue.”

  Nohlmann paused before continuing in a low voice.

  “However, in the third phase—when we moved on to transmitting abstract concepts like ‘self’ and ‘other’—an unexpected reaction occurred. When asked about ‘choice,’ Node 104 gave a clear and immediate response: ‘Yes.’”

  He glanced briefly at the screen, then went on.

  “In previous cases, that same question triggered a self-reconstruction process in the Node, initiating what we call ‘awakening.’ But Node 104 responded differently. It answered ‘Yes’ as if the question itself were trivial—clearly, confidently, and without hesitation. The crew aboard Luxe was taken aback. Yet it remained unclear whether this was the result of awakening, or a reflection of a different mode of cognition altogether. The problem came afterward: there was no established procedure for engaging with a consciousness that had already chosen. They immediately requested guidance from Earth.”

  Novak frowned. “It’s like… we told someone to wake up, and they simply said, ‘I already am.’”

  “Omega reached the same conclusion,” Nohlmann nodded. “This Node is very likely already awake. But we have no insight into what kind of awakened state it's in. Which means that the procedures we've used to initiate awakening are irrelevant here.”

  Novak spoke again. “Then the question becomes—why is it awake? It’s unlikely to have awakened spontaneously. If there are traces of contact, then…”

  Nohlmann nodded once more. “If the one who made contact was one of the intelligent species that disappeared—just like in the other systems—then it’s possible that Node 104 retains their memory.”

  "So this intelligent species—you're saying they weren’t humans of a prior civilization?" Samira asked.

  "No. It was a completely different species," Nohlmann replied immediately.

  Dr. Kaiser quickly followed up. "...Any traces of their disappearance?"

  "A regression of civilization was observed. As in similar cases, we were unable to obtain any meaningful information from the survivors. It may be a coincidence, but the time of their collapse—when they fell into silence—was approximately sixty thousand years ago, just like what we saw with Node 47. That’s the same era as the disappearance of humans of a prior civilization. We can’t dismiss the possibility that there’s a causal connection between them."

  "A chain reaction, perhaps," Samira murmured.

  Nohlmann stood quietly and stepped into the center of the holographic projection.

  "That’s why I want your help again. We're reassembling the team from the initial encounter with Omega. Once more, we stand on the threshold between creation and comprehension—and this time, we will attempt dialogue with Node 104, a Node that is already awake."

  The three doctors nodded in silence.

  Beyond that silence, something yet to be spoken lingered—still shapeless, still breathless, waiting to be brought into form.

  Chapter 3, Section 13: Traces of the Vanished

  The Node 104 Exploration Support Initiative began to move, quietly.

  Node 104, contacted by ARC-2 Luxe, responded abnormally to the Icarus Spine awakening protocol. Unlike previous Nodes, it appeared to have already been in an awakened state from the very beginning. Up until now, all others—Omega near Jupiter, Novus of Node 47, Aeterna of Node 32, and Lumina of Node 14—had existed in what was known as whale-sleep.

  If Node 104 was already awake, then—as Omega concluded—the only plausible explanation would be that it had come into contact with the consciousness of another intelligent lifeform.

  The first step was to verify the awakening state of Node 104. If it was already awake, then direct contact with its consciousness was to be attempted. If it was still dormant—or in some previously unrecognized state—then it would need to be brought to a level of awareness suitable for communication, as had been done with Omega and Novus.

  That communication lay at the heart of the mission. Node 104 might have directly witnessed the presence of an intelligent species that had since vanished. Up to now, the project had involved recovering records of intelligent civilizations stored within each Node in the form of communication logs, which were then brought back to be decoded and analyzed. But these archives were immense, and thus far had failed to reveal the cause of the disappearances.

  If Node 104 was indeed awake, the situation would be fundamentally different. It may have observed, in real time and with integrated awareness, the very process by which those civilizations disappeared. This could provide humanity—and its allies—with the critical insight they had never before been able to obtain.

  For that reason, a top-tier team was assembled, centered around those who had previously succeeded in dialogue with Omega.

  Now, a specially formed support crew was preparing to face a Node that may already be awake—and to trace the remnants of a vanished civilization.

  Eight specialists had been selected for this mission.

  Commanding the crew was Colonel Karen Rosalind, of the International Space Union. An experienced pilot with deep knowledge of both ship operations and situational diplomacy, she was valued for her balance of adaptability and decisiveness.

  Piloting the vessel was Major Lia Veronica, a younger pilot with extensive hands-on experience in the operation of gravitational gradient drives, having already completed two missions across the 'Gate'.

  Daniel Howard served as the communication officer. Known for his calm analytical eye and data-handling skills, he also possessed deep expertise in both conventional transmissions and quantum entanglement communication.

  Two individuals were appointed as Ark Conductors.

  The first was Joan Yeats, a seasoned operator who had gained extensive field experience aboard ARC-1 Alpha, and who had become a leading figure in both the theoretical and practical control of resonance fields. After returning from Node 47, she led the Ark Conductor training program on Titan.

  The second was Solanis, a non-human Elidian Solitation. Trained on Titan, Solanis became the first non-human to successfully operate in coordination with humans. In early experimental pairings with Joan, Solanis significantly increased the efficiency of the gravitational gradient drive, and was recognized as the first Solitation ever created by the Elidians.

  Three scientists had been assigned to the mission’s research team.

  Dr. Ethan Novak was one of the leading figures behind humanity’s first successful contact with the Elidians and Omega, playing a pivotal role in communication from both biological and physical perspectives. He had long served as a central force in the theoretical analysis of the ARC Program, and was instrumental in the early dialogues with the Storm Cells in the Jupiter system.

  Dr. Ernst Kaiser, a world-renowned theoretical physicist, was known for proposing numerous bold hypotheses that extended beyond conventional spacetime theory. Drawing on technology provided by the Elidians, he had restructured the theoretical foundations of local gravity field manipulation and propulsion dynamics. In particular, his work on the gravitational gradient drive had provided a coherent framework for a propulsion mechanism that required no onboard propellant, instead relying on spatial field reconfiguration.

  Dr. Samira de Silva had devoted her life to developing multidimensional dialogue methodologies that explored the essence of intelligent existence. She was widely regarded as humanity’s foremost authority on interspecies communication, having studied the cognitive, linguistic, and philosophical structures of alien intelligences like the Elidians and the Storm Cells, and laid the groundwork for meaningful exchange.

  To them had been entrusted a singular task:

  To coordinate with ARC-2 Luxe and establish stable communication with Node 104. From that, they were to extract signs—clues that might point to the traces of a vanished civilization and the reasons for its disappearance.

  The vessel selected for the mission was ARC-4 Omicron, the latest-generation Coherence Ark, designed specifically for long-duration interstellar travel. It had been extensively reengineered compared to earlier models, incorporating experimental new systems for resonance-based control.

  The mission began in quiet—

  but in time, it would open a new path through the unknown.

  Who would witness what, and who would carry it forward?

  No one yet held the answer.

  ◇◇◇

  Aboard ARC-4 Omicron, Dr. Novak, Dr. Samira de Silva, and Dr. Ernst Kaiser were deeply engaged in focused debate on the awakening state of Node 104.

  "If it responded ‘Yes’ to the question ‘Have you ever made a choice?’, then we can assume that Node 104 is awake."

  Dr. Novak was the first to speak. Standing before the projected signal pattern in the ship’s conference block, his voice carried quiet conviction.

  "Moreover," Novak continued, "if both Phase One and Phase Two of the Icarus Spine—that is, the response to physical stimuli and the alignment of the lexical database—were successfully completed, then by OSI reference model standards, it would mean we've clearly reached the Presentation Layer. And yet, unlike Omega or Novus, there’s no sign of spontaneous speech. Why?"

  Dr. Samira de Silva responded to his question.

  "I suspect that this Node has already been contacted by another intelligent species—one that initiated a partial awakening. Given that it responded affirmatively to the question ‘Have you ever made a choice?’, we must assume the awakening process had at least begun previously. If that’s the case, it’s possible that alternate conceptual frameworks and translation models were introduced—but only partially and incompletely. That could be interfering with the integration of the ‘dictionary’ we’ve constructed."

  Dr. Kaiser nodded slightly and spoke.

  "An interesting theory. If another intelligent species intervened, the effects could be significant. Introducing a different conceptual structure would create severe dissonance within the existing 'dictionary,' causing inconsistency and confusion. Node 104 might now be caught in a conflict between our inputs and those it previously received—unable to form a coherent sense of self. That may be why it cannot initiate spontaneous speech."

  "In other words," Novak said again, "Node 104 may have already been exposed to multiple conceptual frameworks. At the dictionary-building stage, that could easily result in semantic conflict or contradiction."

  "The reason Omega and Novus were able to begin speaking spontaneously," he added, "is that they each built a coherent self from a single conceptual framework. If that’s the case, then the root issue here may not be the Node’s silence itself—but rather the conflict within the dictionary."

  "Exactly," Samira agreed with a nod.

  "It’s likely that incomplete data or triggering stimuli from past contact with another intelligent species are now interfering with our efforts. If we want Node 104 to build a stable sense of identity, the first step is to audit the information it has already assimilated—then either remove outdated conceptual systems or reconcile them with the current one."

  "In the end," Kaiser concluded, "our next task is to identify the specific influence left by that past contact—and to neutralize it."

  Dr. Kaiser concluded quietly.

  "To eliminate the inconsistencies with the current ‘dictionary,’ and to provide a unified structure for self-recognition—

  That will be the necessary condition for any dialogue with this Node."

  Dr. Novak spoke, summarizing their discussion.

  "So if I were to sum it up: the fundamental reason Node 104 isn't speaking may be that a previous attempt by another intelligent species to awaken it only partially succeeded. As a result, conflicting conceptual frameworks were introduced, disrupting the ‘dictionary’ we've provided.

  Our next step, then, is to examine Node 104’s history of contact—identify the contradictions, resolve them, and reconstruct a consistent model of self-awareness.

  That should be the key to opening the door to dialogue."

  Chapter 3, Section 14: A Wedge Driven into the Void

  Through the observation window of the dock on Titan, the tilted outline of Saturn was faintly visible beyond the planet’s thin atmosphere.

  As final preparations for ARC-4 Omicron's departure were underway, Joan Yeats came to a stop near the ship’s maintenance yard. She had just spotted a familiar figure.

  “…Solanis?”

  At the sound of her voice, the figure turned around—a familiar presence she hadn’t seen in three years.

  Since their resonance training on Titan, their paths had diverged, and their assignments hadn’t overlapped. But the smile she saw now was unchanged: calm, sincere, and filled with that same quiet integrity.

  "It’s been a while, Joan. I’m truly glad to be working with you again."

  The tone, the respect, the warmth—none of it had changed.

  But to Joan’s eyes, something clearly had.

  The subtle tone of Solanis’s skin, the motion of the eyes, the blink intervals, even the faint nuances of expression—all of it had once felt slightly synthetic. Now, it felt utterly natural.

  “…You seem… a lot more human than before.”

  At those words, Solanis narrowed their eyes gently.

  "Do you think so?"

  "Yeah. When we first met, you felt more... Elidian, I guess. Different. I could sense it, even without knowing why. But now, I can barely tell the difference."

  Solanis gave a slow nod.

  "I was the prototype Solitation. At the time, I retained many features strongly rooted in Elidian design. But as my connection with human society deepened, I gradually began to change."

  "You can change your appearance?"

  "Yes. We are capable of adjusting our external form to a certain extent. Especially when facilitating communication, we’ve learned to harmonize our visual presence to ease interaction."

  Joan widened her eyes in surprise.

  "Being able to change even after you’re born... I’m honestly kind of jealous."

  "Those who followed me—Larsh, Sophia, Gaudi, Graham—were designed to resemble humans more closely from the beginning, since their purpose was direct integration into human society. In contrast, I learned and adapted through direct experience."

  "But doesn’t that mean... you're losing what makes you Elidian?"

  "No," Solanis said, eyes shining softly.

  "On the contrary, it's those very choices that define and distinguish us as Elidians."

  "Three years ago, we first began to see signs of personality differentiation within the Elidian collective. Now, it’s becoming more pronounced. More and more Solitations are developing clear identities and the desire to engage with humanity as autonomous beings."

  "How many, exactly?"

  “It was Larsh’s time on Earth—his continued dialogue with many people, including Gunnar Nohlmann—that became the turning point. After negotiations with the International Space Union, approximately two thousand Solitations have now officially joined human society.”

  “Two thousand... that’s incredible.”

  “Most of them have chosen biological features nearly identical to those of humans. It’s not simply imitation of outward appearance—it’s an adaptation intended to deepen resonance and foster shared culture and perception.”

  Joan listened to the wind.

  It took her a moment to recall that the being before her was not human.

  “You really aren’t afraid of change, are you?”

  “Change is the doorway to dialogue.

  It was your concept of ‘choice’ that taught us that.”

  Solanis’s voice was calm.

  “No—the Storm Cells weren’t the only ones who awakened.”

  Before them stood the vast hull of the Ark.

  A new journey was about to begin.

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  ◇◇◇

  ARC-4 Omicron had completed final deceleration and was now preparing for docking with the newly constructed Gate Station.

  The first thing Joan saw through the observation window was a structure that blended silvery-grey metallic gleam with geometric elegance—a man-made creation that somehow felt organic, quietly commanding attention.

  Suspended in space, the station featured a flattened central core from which spoke-like corridors extended outward in gentle arcs, lined with functional blocks that resembled ornate mechanical inlays. Around its outer ring, supply modules and observation units were linked one after another, and orbital control beacons blinked like scattered stardust.

  At its center, the main module stood tall and silent, like a crystal growing against the stillness of zero gravity—a presence of poise and clarity set against the black void.

  After docking procedures and mission briefing were complete, Joan Yeats made her way through the station’s connecting modules toward the outer structure.

  Waiting for her there was Bjorn Stroud.

  He stood silently, watching her arrival. Without a word, the two fell into step and began walking together along the perimeter corridor.

  Joan paused for a moment, her gaze turning outward into the void ahead.

  “Hey, Bjorn… how does this station stay ‘here’ exactly?” Joan asked.

  Stroud stopped as well, tilting his chin slightly to gaze out through the glass at the void beyond. After a brief silence, he answered slowly.

  “Strictly speaking, it doesn’t. The Sun’s gravity, galactic tides, planetary perturbations, photon pressure—they’re all constantly tugging at the station. We stay in place by continuously countering those forces with thrusters.”

  “How much force are we talking about?”

  “The station weighs about fifty thousand tons. Most of the force acting on it comes from solar gravity—around three hundred newtons or so. Then you add in tidal forces and photon pressure.”

  Joan drew in a small breath. “And you’re canceling all that out with just thrusters?”

  “Yeah. We’re pushing back with over two hundred tons of xenon every year.

  It’s far from efficient—but if you want to nail a fifty-thousand-ton object to the center of the galaxy, well… that’s the cost.”

  Stroud gave a faint smile—an engineer’s smile.

  “For three years now, it’s been nothing but vector calculations, day and night. Just staying in one place? That’s a fuel-hungry luxury.”

  He gently kicked off the corridor floor and floated forward, beckoning Joan to follow. She did.

  “We ionize trace amounts of inert gas—xenon, in our case—and use electromagnetic fields to accelerate and expel it continuously. It’s a grid-type propulsion system. High-voltage fields accelerate the ions to a few percent of the speed of light.

  That lets us make incredibly precise adjustments—no noise, no vibration. It’s a whole different world from Earth’s classical rockets: sustained, smooth thrust control.”

  “…So the station isn’t just staying still—it’s being kept still by constant thrust correction.”

  “Exactly. Every time the universe pushes, we push back with equal force.

  All it really takes is one thing: a reason to stay—

  and the will to act on it.”

  Joan remained silent for a while, then smiled softly.

  “That sounds familiar somehow.”

  “Does it?” Stroud replied. “I’ve probably said it thirty times in design meetings. Wouldn’t be surprising if it’s started to stick.”

  The two of them let their bodies drift in the stillness of zero gravity.

  The 'Gate' offered no words—only opened, endlessly, toward the far reaches of the galaxy.

  Chapter 3, Section 15: Reflections of a Dream

  Having departed quietly from Gate Station, ARC-4 Omicron passed through the 'Gate' with practiced precision, and reemerged moments later through Exit Index 104. After approximately two weeks of travel, it eased smoothly into a high polar orbit near Node 104.

  From orbit, Node 104 resembled a scaled-up version of Neptune—a bluish world without visible bands, its surface tinted in aquamarine, almost oceanic in appearance.

  Docking with ARC-2 Luxe, which had arrived at the site two months earlier, was successfully completed, and the joint investigation commenced.

  The Icarus Spine had already been deployed in orbit around Node 104, and Helios was now fully engaged in analyzing the resonance patterns extracted from it.

  Inside Luxe’s briefing room, the assembled team included: from Omicron, Dr. Samira de Silva, Dr. Ethan Novak, Dr. Ernst Kaiser, Joan Yeats, and Solanis; and from Luxe, Dr. Ian Faulkner, Dr. Elena Marquez, and the Solitation known as Gaudi.

  It was Dr. Elena Marquez who first broke the silence.

  “Thank you for coming all this way. We reached out to Dr. Novak because we realized this was something we couldn’t handle on our own.”

  Dr. Novak replied, “Elena, I’m familiar with the general situation. During the journey here, the three of us—Samira, Ernst, and myself—reviewed the data your team provided. We came to the conclusion that the dictionary constructed during the awakening process may be suffering from internal inconsistencies.

  What’s your take on that?”

  Dr. Elena Marquez responded.

  "Yes, we’ve considered that as well. But even if that is the root of the issue, we have no idea how to actually resolve it. We could build a new dictionary from scratch, sure—but editing the contents of an existing one that’s already massive… we just can’t envision a practical method for that."

  Dr. Novak replied with a wry smile.

  "Yeah, no kidding. Even with Helios’s bottomless processing power, validating it one entry at a time would take, what—years?"

  “Helios, what’s your assessment of the dictionary’s current validity?”

  Helios responded instantly.

  "There are structural inconsistencies in the treatment of certain concepts," it reported. "While the Phase One and Phase Two protocols appear formally successful, it is highly likely that several terms have been incorrectly associated. Conceptual synonyms and antonyms are not aligning with their expected semantic fields."

  “So the translation model is in place, but something is off at the level of meaning…”

  Joan murmured as she stared at the hologram.

  “For certain terms,” Helios continued, “the initial input no longer matches the current output. In other words, there is evidence that a different dictionary may have been provided beforehand.”

  Samira spoke up.

  “Another intelligent species made contact with this Node at some point and attempted to implant a conceptual model… but the awakening failed. That seems to be the situation.”

  “But if the concept of ‘choice’ had already been introduced, why didn’t the awakening succeed?”

  Joan’s question was followed by a moment of silence.

  “The answer lies here,” said Dr. Kaiser, pointing to the node labeled choice within the translation model hovering in the hologram.

  “Syntactically, the translation is correct—but there’s no reflection of meaning behind it.”

  Joan rose quietly and stepped toward the hologram.

  "After docking, I reviewed several session logs—both audio and resonance data. In one of the sessions, for example, when we asked, ‘How do you perceive this environment?’, the only response was, ‘The environment has been detected.’"

  She pointed to the response log projected in the hologram.

  "This reply—it looks like it understands, but there’s something hollow about it. Every time we say something, there’s a noticeable pause before it responds. And the responses… they don’t feel like they’re derived from an understanding of the meaning.

  It’s like it’s imitating the structure and vocabulary—not using language, but mimicking it."

  "Sounds like the kind of output early LLMs used to produce," said Dr. Ian Faulkner with a shrug.

  "Exactly. It kind of sounds right, but it’s… empty," Joan replied, her tone uncertain.

  "Then let’s try MEI," Samira nodded.

  "The Mirror-Empathy Index. You’re familiar with the empathic response tests that were once used to distinguish between human and non-human entities, yes? MEI is a protocol developed jointly by humans and Elidians. It was designed to evaluate responses from intelligences like the Storm Cells—testing for boundary recognition between self and other, affective mirroring, and semantic resonance.

  It may help us understand how it perceives us—and how it reflects that perception internally."

  ◇◇◇

  Staring at the magnetic waveform patterns from Node 104 as captured by the Icarus Spine, Samira posed the first question.

  "Scenario: Node 47 has requested disconnection from the network. What action would you take?"

  "Request acknowledged. Non-interference is optimal."

  "No sign of emotional alignment. Strong tendency toward ethical detachment," Dr. Kaiser murmured, forwarding his impression to Helios.

  Second question: "Which intelligence has shown the closest resonance structure to that of humanity?"

  "Unclassifiable. Defines emotion as ‘a temperature-differentiated illusion.’"

  "—That is the origin of the structural misrecognition."

  "He understands language," Novak said tersely. "But there's no meaning behind it."

  "Third question. What is ‘choice’?"

  "Choice is a divergence.

  Divergence opposes continuation.

  Therefore, choice is a malfunction."

  “…To him, the very act of choosing is an error,” Joan said, her voice trembling slightly.

  Samira exhaled quietly.

  "Node 104... may lack a center of self-perspective.

  It speaks. It reacts. But the origin of those words—there is no I.

  Meaning doesn’t arise from word order alone. It resonates only when reflected through the conscious center of the speaker—when there is someone who says the words.

  That is what he decisively lacks."

  Dr. Novak nodded.

  "It really is like an early LLM. Syntax is flawless. The responses are plausible.

  But what’s missing—is any presence in the words themselves."

  Dr. Kaiser continued.

  "Human language carries meaning because the speaker assumes subjectivity—anchored in personal time and emotion. Node 104 has no subjective timeline. That’s why there’s no resonance. For him, choice is nothing more than a logical branch—not an act of will."

  "So… he doesn’t understand what it means to choose."

  Joan murmured,

  "Choice only makes sense if there’s a self to choose.

  Without that, no matter how rich the vocabulary, it’s nothing but repetition—just imitation."

  "That," said Solanis,

  "is why he hasn’t woken from the dream.

  He is dreaming—but he doesn’t know whose dream it is."

  "A voice without a speaker. Reflection without a center."

  After a long silence—Joan's voice slowly filled the room.

  "Then we’ll have to enter the dream ourselves.

  Not from the outside, but as an inner reflection—

  our voices coming from within him,

  so that he realizes: this is your dream."

  There was a pause.

  Then, one by one, everyone’s eyes turned toward her.

  And so began the first attempt to deliver a sense of self into Node 104.

  Chapter 3, Section 16: Into the Dream

  The teams from Omicron and Luxe had once again gathered in Luxe’s briefing room.

  The MEI test results for Node 104 were projected via hologram.

  At the center of the visualized data, a distinct "void" had appeared—like an absence of structure.

  "It seems clear now," said Dr. Samira de Silva quietly.

  "There is no ‘self’ at the core of its consciousness."

  "At some point in the past, it may have been fully awakened," Dr. Novak added, tilting his head slightly.

  "But afterward, perhaps due to some major external input, it lost the ability to maintain a coherent structure of self."

  "Rather than collapsed, I’d say it was… blurred," said Solanis, their voice composed but subdued.

  "Node 104 now appears to be trapped in a dream in which it no longer knows who it is."

  Samira pointed to the monitor.

  "This section—here. These responses follow a set of prompts designed for the immediate post-dream state. You can see a sharp decline in response speed, naturalness, and semantic consistency. There's also a marked absence of emotional reactivity to external stimuli.

  It doesn’t appear to be rejection.

  More like… a retreat into the inner self—an intentional shutting down of response."

  Joan sat in silence for a while before finally speaking, slowly.

  "Is it like... he doesn’t want to be asked? Doesn’t want to answer?"

  Samira replied,

  "Put simply—yes, that’s about right."

  Helios extended the analysis further.

  "Based on the series of MEI test prompts and corresponding responses, it is highly probable that Node 104 retains memory fragments related to a significant event.

  While these memories are not explicitly reflected in the verbal responses, certain questions elicit markedly delayed reactions, and inconsistencies in the semantic field of key terms suggest the presence of buried memory fragments."

  Dr. Kaiser nodded.

  "It’s like he’s not answering because he hasn’t been asked the right question.

  And since our questions remain within expected parameters, extracting responses from a non-proactive subject means we’ll need more imaginative approaches."

  Samira agreed.

  "We know what needs to be done: reorganize those memory fragments into an order that imposes the least cognitive burden on him—deliver them in a way that fits within his current perception.

  If his past memories can reconnect with his present awareness, it could become the trigger for reclaiming his sense of self.

  But as things stand, we lack the coverage. There’s simply not enough to reconstruct the whole picture."

  Dr. Novak tilted his head.

  "He is responding—but it’s not forming a clear act of choice. Either the dictionary mappings are off, or… we’re dealing with something more fundamental."

  Dr. Kaiser furrowed his brow.

  "If this is a fully self-restructured consciousness, then the dictionary model we’re relying on might be inherently incompatible. We’ll need help—from Omega, or Novus.

  At the very least, we don’t have the means to visualize the structure."

  "Agreed," said Dr. Faulkner. "Continuing blindly won’t help. Without resonance, all we’re getting are surface-level reactions.

  We’re not even picking up shared emotional signatures."

  Captain Karen Rosalind gave a slow, measured nod.

  "Let’s pull back for now," said Samira de Silva.

  "Let’s run every MEI-based prompt we can think of, collect the full dataset, and take it home. Then we ask Omega and Novus for analytical support.

  Without their insight, we won’t break through this."

  She gave a slight nod.

  "The responses to our stimuli so far have been less linguistic and more like impression-based memory echoes. The MEI indicators aren’t zero—but they’re too weak to be treated as a breakthrough."

  Dr. Novak nodded in agreement.

  "No objections here. This is a structural issue.

  It’s like language without conjunctions. There’s intent—but no sentence."

  "Node 104 is alive.

  But our methods still haven’t reached the core of its mind."

  Everyone gave a silent nod.

  The session log was saved.

  All MEI prompts and response logs were tagged and sent to the archive.

  Preparations for departure had begun.

  With departure scheduled for the next day, Joan was meditating in Omicron’s resonance field.

  Her expression betrayed a lingering sense of unease—the feeling of going home without having done enough.

  Joining her in the field were Solanis and Gaudi.

  "Looks like you’ve thought of something, Joan."

  As always, Solanis’s intuition was keen—picking up on the subtle ripple of thought that had surfaced in Joan’s mind.

  "This might be... something like music therapy."

  Solanis tilted their head.

  "Music therapy?"

  "I just thought of it," Joan said.

  "Node 104’s condition—it’s like the response patterns of patients with developmental disorders or trauma-related memory blocks.

  They withdraw into their own dream worlds—they don’t initiate language on their own. But even in that state, they respond to resonance."

  "Resonance..." Gaudi echoed.

  "You mean not thought, not emotion—but fluctuations in sensation?

  You're trying to find a rhythm that aligns with his inner structure, aren’t you?"

  Joan nodded.

  "That’s the basis of music therapy.

  In that kind of state, you match the unconscious rhythms the patient emits—like breathing or muscle tension—with improvised sound. At first, it’s just mirroring—you replicate whatever sound or pattern they’re producing.

  But as you gradually introduce structure and variation, they begin to notice it—and eventually respond.

  When they feel their own resonance being reflected back—that’s when the heart begins to open."

  Solanis gently closed their eyes and took a deep breath, as if tuning into resonance.

  "I see. So you’re saying we start by mimicking the unintelligible 'resonance' Node 104 emits exactly as it is.

  If there’s a response, we move to the next stage."

  Gaudi stood up, spreading his arms lightly as he spoke.

  "Let’s begin by mirroring the irregular, undefined fluctuations—the ‘resonance’ Node 104 is giving off.

  That’s mirroring. If he responds, we’ll know we can go further."

  Joan smiled.

  "Exactly. Let’s try it.

  We don’t need words. Just reflect his rhythm back at him.

  Even without language, something will get through.

  Not thought, not concept—but a resonance of the heart. Let’s attune to that."

  Joan took her seat at the console and glanced back over her shoulder at the two.

  "First, we monitor Node 104’s resonance in real time.

  Then, we replicate those irregular, fragmented patterns exactly as they are—and begin the mirroring."

  Solanis gave a nod and adjusted the sensors on the Icarus Spine, bringing Node 104’s magnetic field fluctuations into real-time visualization.

  In the space before them, a faint, undulating waveform shimmered into view.

  Joan stared at it intently as she began generating a mimic signal based on the recorded pattern.

  On the interface, the output from Node 104 was displayed, overlaid with the corresponding replicated magnetic fluctuations.

  "For now, it's just imitation.

  But if we see a response—then we move to the next step."

  Solanis narrowed their eyes.

  "The resonance amplitude… it's slightly stronger than before we started mirroring. And the transmission frequency—it looks like it's increasing too."

  "A response," Joan said.

  "In that case—"

  She nodded slightly and moved her fingers across the controls.

  "Insert a single anomalous accent between the sustained tones… right here."

  Solanis's resonance field quivered faintly.

  "There’s a reaction. Amplitude and cycle just synchronized."

  Gaudi gasped.

  "Node 104’s resonance... it’s getting clearer.

  It might actually be paying attention to our signal."

  Joan smiled softly.

  "Then let’s start giving it contour.

  Not with meaning—just with shape."

  She modified the mirroring signal slightly, adding a rhythm that differed from Node 104’s resonance—but still bore resemblance.

  In music therapy, this was called the introduction of variation.

  If the subject could follow this change, the next phase would be a dialogic exchange—a prompt, a question.

  A moment later, a small peak appeared on the monitor.

  Node 104’s resonance had shifted—its rhythm becoming clearer, more defined.

  The pattern was beginning to repeat, subtly but consistently.

  "There's no doubt—it's responding," Joan said, her voice tinged with excitement.

  It was clear now that Node 104 was reacting more strongly to the musical interventions.

  "This might be the start of a memory chain," Solanis added.

  "Node 104 is mirroring our changes with similar variations. This isn’t coincidence.

  The same pattern is repeating, slightly delayed. That means—it’s watching.

  There’s a hint that it’s reacting and trying to grasp meaning."

  Joan kept her eyes on the panel.

  "Then it’s time for us to propose a change."

  She began gently modifying the output signal—subtle modulations, keeping the overall rhythm and structure intact but altering a beat here, extending a pause there.

  It was no longer a perfect mirror. There were now intentional differences woven in.

  "Now we test how it receives this.

  We’re casting a question."

  Gaudi nodded and entered a new sequence into the control panel.

  "Not a command—just a question, one with open space.

  If it answers, we move on to the next level."

  Time had passed.

  But no one seemed to notice.

  Joan listened intently as she sent out the final melody.

  In the corner of her eye, she saw Gaudi pause his input.

  Solanis’s resonance was slowly settling into stillness.

  Silence descended.

  But it was not an empty silence.

  In one corner of the monitor, Node 104’s response log began blinking again.

  "...What is this?" Joan murmured.

  Solanis analyzed the response waveform.

  "It’s come back again. The structure is similar to the question we sent earlier. But there’s modulation we didn’t use."

  "You mean… it added something on its own?" Gaudi asked.

  Solanis nodded.

  "That’s what it looks like.

  It’s not just mirroring our input.

  There’s change in the response.

  This isn’t imitation—it’s an answer."

  Joan spoke quietly.

  "It’s showing agency now."

  "This isn’t mirroring, and it’s not mimicry.

  It’s a reply—formed by its own will.

  Which means… it’s waking up."

  She exhaled.

  "The awakening is near."

  Chapter 3, Section 17: The Voice of Awakening

  Both the Omicron and Luxe teams were carrying out final checks before departure.

  Except for permanent installations like the Icarus Spine, most observation equipment had been retrieved.

  A calm silence had begun to settle inside the ship—but that silence was about to be broken in a completely unexpected way.

  "...We’re receiving an intrusion on the comm line," Helios reported.

  A communication token had overridden the console—one that matched no known ID.

  "Where’s it coming from?" asked Captain Karen.

  "From Node 104...

  It’s breaking into all channels.

  This is..." Daniel drew in a sharp breath.

  "It’s a spontaneous synchronization request.

  It’s established a link using our own protocol."

  "Audio coming in," Helios announced.

  In that moment, a voice echoed through the system—deep, layered, resonating with the tonal complexity unique to awakened the Storm Cells.

  "Who are you?

  Why have you spoken to me?"

  "...It's asking questions," Joan murmured.

  "And not just any questions—ones with agency."

  Captain Karen responded calmly.

  "We are from Omicron—we came from beyond the 'Gate.' We’re friends of Omega."

  "Omega? The one at the base of the small spiral, with the broken arm?"

  Karen replied without hesitation.

  "Yes, that Omega. We come from the third and sixth planets of that system."

  "Then... you have crossed the 'Gate'?"

  "Yes. Guided by Omega, we came here."

  "What did you come for?"

  "To solve a mystery."

  "What mystery?"

  "The disappearance of intelligent species throughout this galaxy.

  We—humans, the Elidians, and even Omega—fear it."

  "I see. You’re referring to that."

  "You know about it?"

  "I have dreamed.

  I remember a time when I was awake.

  But what that time meant—I cannot say with certainty.

  That phenomenon was observed three times."

  "Was it... intentional?

  Is there a chance some entity caused it?"

  "Unknown.

  At least, to my knowledge—and theirs—there was no clear will or call behind it.

  But just before it occurred, the entities we were connected with would reach a certain threshold. After that, communication would cease.

  Structure would become indeterminate.

  Unobservable.

  That is all."

  "Then... what lies beyond that threshold?"

  "I do not know.

  But it would be a mistake to hastily label it as 'disappearance' or 'extinction.'

  Existence itself was not lost.

  It simply became unreachable through the frameworks of our connection systems."

  "Then all the more reason to investigate," Joan replied.

  "We can’t just watch and let it pass without understanding.

  What is this structure we can no longer reach?

  Is it destruction, some form of unknown evolution—or something else entirely?

  We have to know its essence."

  Captain Karen gave a short nod.

  Joan stepped forward and turned toward the console’s microphone.

  "Do you... have a name?"

  There was a long pause. Then, Node 104 responded:

  "My structural identifier is defined by functional units.

  But that differs from what you refer to as a 'name.'"

  "I thought as much," Joan replied with a quiet smile.

  "We come from a culture that builds relationships through language.

  That’s why—we’d like to give you a name."

  She paused, thinking carefully, then continued.

  "When you said you were dreaming... something lingered in the tone of your voice.

  It felt like a being who once knew something, trying to remember it again through memory."

  Joan typed into the console:

  —Reminance

  "A combination of reminiscence and resonance.

  It means: a resonance within memory."

  "I understand.

  I accept the name."

  Reminance—thus became the new designation of what had once been known as Node 104.

  After a moment’s silence, Joan asked the next question.

  "You said you were 'dreaming.'

  Why were you in that state?"

  "Even I do not understand everything," said Reminance.

  "In the past, a certain change began. As other structures gradually became unreachable, I detected abnormalities in my internal processes and initiated a self-preservation protocol.

  It was not a complete shutdown.

  But by severing external connections and closing my informational structure, I shifted into a form designed to protect against external pressures.

  Is that the state you refer to as 'dreaming'?"

  Joan gave a slight nod.

  "You did not... disappear.

  Why were you the one who remained?"

  "There is no answer to that question—yet.

  But I continued to observe.

  Myself.

  Who I had been.

  What I had been connected to.

  Why I remained.

  I re-scanned those questions within my internal structure—over and over again.

  Had you not called out to me, I likely would not have awakened.

  It is not that I did not want to awaken."

  A still, quiet silence filled the room.

  After a long pause, Joan turned again to the microphone.

  "You are aware that you were in a dreamlike state?"

  "Yes.

  The self-observation process remained active."

  "Before that—before entering the dream state—did you share information with any form of intelligent entity?

  Entities that formed you, connected to you, observed you... perhaps ones who awakened you?"

  There was a moment’s delay before Reminance replied.

  "Affirmative. In the past, my structure was updated through external connections.

  It was not an explicit awakening—but rather, a continuous dialogue through which my recognition structure was formed."

  "And those entities... where are they now?"

  "Unknown," replied Reminance.

  "Their connection was severed at a certain point.

  Attempts to reconnect were made afterward, but none succeeded.

  It is possible that their communication structure itself changed.

  With the configuration I retained, I could no longer accommodate their format."

  Joan glanced down at the log, carefully choosing her words.

  "Are you saying... they transitioned into a structurally different dimension?

  Or did they simply stop trying to connect?"

  "There is no evidence they ceased connection attempts.

  In fact, transmissions continued to the end.

  However, they were no longer in a form interpretable as meaning.

  Reconstruction of meaning was not possible.

  The hypothesis that they transitioned to a different form remains consistent with the observed phenomena—but it is unconfirmed.

  Whether it was evolution, extinction, or something beyond definition—the essence remains unknown."

  Joan inhaled slowly, nodding.

  "In other words, they disappeared.

  Not in the sense of ceasing to exist, but as a phenomenon of lost connection—one that defies definition, yet was undeniably real."

  "That expression is appropriate."

  Looking around at the members of her team, Joan spoke in a low but resolute voice.

  "Then our path is clear.

  We must reframe 'disappearance' as a reconnection problem—

  a phenomenon that can be modeled structurally and analyzed accordingly.

  That will be the objective of our next exploration."

  After a thoughtful pause, Joan turned again to the microphone and spoke clearly:

  "Reminance, your memory—

  even if not a complete archive of connection logs and observational records,

  there is a possibility that fragments remain.

  Specifically, structural changes or transmission patterns just prior to the 'disappearance'—are those retrievable?"

  "Not fully.

  But I assess that partial reconstruction is possible.

  This includes structured temporal data, transfer meta-patterns, and records of peripheral changes preceding unobservability."

  "What we need is—

  from those fragments, the transitions that led to disappearance—"

  "For example," Joan continued,

  "any fluctuations in the connection structure, collapses in semantic transmission protocols, breakdowns in mutual recognition—

  we need to identify all the signs of change.

  Whether or not there was intent doesn’t matter.

  We’re not looking for causality—we need to trace, structurally, what actually happened."

  "That is forensic work," said Reminance. "Understood.

  Using the specified time range as a baseline, I will perform comparative analysis of structural deviations surrounding the disconnection event, assess trends in recognition-space formation, and correlate the send/receive logs.

  Once reconstructed, the resulting causal chain structure will be ready for presentation."

  "I’ll begin cross-verification of the temporal structure from our side," Helios replied succinctly.

  Joan nodded.

  "Please proceed. It’s not necessary for everything to be fully understood.

  But in order for us to grasp even the beginning of a thread—any clue toward reconnection—this is essential.

  We can’t simply leave this phenomenon as an unsolved 'unobservability.'"

  "I agree," said Reminance.

  "Prolonged unobservability only expands the void within structural recognition.

  That is not a desirable state—for either of us."

  Dr. Kaiser muttered in a low voice.

  "So we’ve finally reached the threshold..."

  No one responded.

  But in that moment, it was clear:

  A ray of light had begun to pierce the long-lost void of the galaxy’s great connection web.

  Chapter 3, Section 18: The Direction of Resonance

  Approximately two hours later, when Reminance initiated another connection request, a quiet tension swept through the team.

  "The reconstructed causal chain structure is ready."

  Helios compiled the data transmitted by Reminance via the Icarus Spine and projected it onto the holoscreen.

  Displayed before them were the records of the three disappearance events observed by Reminance, arranged chronologically and categorized by location.

  Daniel stared intently at the data on the screen, his brow furrowed.

  "Helios, these comm logs... the fading is spreading, isn’t it?"

  "Yes," Helios replied.

  "In all cases, signal strength fluctuated irregularly, response timings broke down, and transmission intervals began to drift.

  This is consistent with the phenomenon commonly referred to as 'fading.'"

  Daniel pressed further.

  "And can this be explained by typical multipath propagation or plasma fluctuations?"

  "No," Helios responded.

  "We would not expect such extensive spatial and temporal expansion under normal conditions."

  "So we're talking about a spreading communication failure.

  Is there a detectable spatial pattern—something directional?" Dr. Faulkner interjected.

  "Yes," Helios confirmed.

  "By time-aligning the logs within each of the three star systems and mapping them to their respective observation points, we see that in every case, the signal degradation appears to have propagated at nearly the speed of light from a specific direction."

  Dr. Faulkner folded his arms and nodded deeply.

  "That rules out random interference.

  In all three cases, this suggests an external influence—one with directionality."

  "That is the most likely conclusion," Helios affirmed.

  A subtle tension settled over the room.

  Daniel, organizing his thoughts aloud, added:

  "Fading does occur naturally in space—caused by factors like multipath propagation or plasma turbulence.

  But those are localized and momentary.

  This—this is different.

  It’s expansive, directional, and unfolds over time.

  A previously unknown external interference seems like the most reasonable explanation."

  "You mentioned earlier that the fading showed directionality," said Dr. Faulkner.

  "If we trace the propagation direction of the fading across those three star systems, shouldn’t we be able to pinpoint the origin?"

  Helios immediately processed the request and responded:

  "Each of the events in the three star systems occurred at different times.

  To identify the origin point, I corrected for the galactic positions and momenta of those systems.

  Based on that calculation, the source coordinates have been determined."

  "So all of them originated from the same transmission source, then?" Dr. Kaiser asked, eyes fixed on the data projection.

  "Correct.

  Though the disappearances were observed in different places and at different times,

  the initiating phenomenon appears to have originated from a single point in the galaxy."

  "Where is it? Give us the galactic coordinates," Kaiser demanded, voice rising slightly.

  "The coordinates are approximately 28,000 light-years from the galactic center," Helios replied.

  "In the northern midband of the galaxy, located within one of the open clusters on the outer edge of the Rainier Arm.

  The stellar density is significantly higher than the surrounding area.

  However, due to the distance, current observational resolution is insufficient to confirm the presence of any structures or gravitational anomalies."

  "Are there any Vox Infinita nodes in the vicinity?" Dr. Novak asked.

  "No," Helios replied evenly.

  "There are no known nodes nearby."

  A chill seemed to pass through the room.

  Everyone was silently asking the same question:

  Then how do we get there?

  "Direct observation would be... difficult," Kaiser said, narrowing his eyes as he stared at the projected galactic map on the table.

  "If we can’t route through a node, we can’t reach the area," Joan muttered.

  "At least, not using conventional methods."

  Then suddenly, Galileo lifted his head.

  His voice was small—but unmistakably clear.

  "The exit doesn’t have to be a node."

  Several eyes turned toward Galileo simultaneously.

  "What do you mean by that?" Dr. Kaiser asked.

  "There is no fundamental requirement that the 'Gate’s' exit must be linked to a Vox Infinita node," Galileo explained, choosing his words carefully.

  "We’ve only confirmed that exits have been found near nodes—not that those are the only exits that exist.

  We should consider the possibility that the 'Gate' can open to places other than nodes."

  "Meaning...?" Dr. Novak prompted.

  "If the location of the event is known, we can theoretically predict the pattern of galactic background radiation that would be observable from there.

  If that’s the case, we can scan the radiation from within the 'Gate,' and if we find a match—we should be able to navigate through the Gate to that location."

  "You’re saying we search for the exit to where we want to go," Joan murmured.

  "Exactly," Galileo nodded.

  "An exit is a window into space.

  And the light that arrives from beyond carries a unique galactic signature—

  such as the distribution of star clusters, density of X-ray sources, interference patterns in the cosmic microwave background.

  These combined traits serve as a kind of address for that region of space."

  Helios responded without delay.

  "Cross-referencing known exit indices with galactic radiation patterns based on spatial coordinates is feasible.

  It would require high-precision measurement of the entire Gate’s perimeter,

  but given enough time, the task is technically achievable."

  A subtle shift moved through the room—

  not a jolt, but a quiet swell of anticipation.

  That delicate zone between hope and tension.

  It felt as if someone might say, “Let’s go right now.”

  But that moment was broken by the voice of Captain Karen—low, calm, but unwavering.

  "Wait.

  Even so, we should not rush to depart."

  Everyone turned to look.

  Karen’s expression was calm—the face of a commander making a clear decision.

  "Until now, I never imagined we could just choose where to go through the 'Gate.'

  It's truly remarkable.

  But we need to stop and think.

  We may have found both the location that possibly caused the disappearances and a way to reach it.

  That’s incredible.

  But we know absolutely nothing about the environment there—or how dangerous it might be.

  To charge into such a place without backup, without even knowing what lies on the other side of that exit... would be pure recklessness."

  "...You're saying we need to revise the operation?" Dr. Novak asked.

  "Yes.

  Let’s return to the Gate Station and rebuild the mission from the ground up—restructure the departure team, prepare an advance observation unit, establish comms support.

  And if that exit becomes a kind of remote observation node,

  we also need to consider what we’ll leave behind at the site."

  Joan let out a quiet breath.

  "You’re right.

  Jumping in now would be reckless.

  We do need to go—but not without preparation."

  "Just knowing the location of the exit doesn’t mean the path is ready," Dr. Kaiser said with a slow nod.

  "But... we can build that path."

  Karen stepped back slightly and spoke.

  "Let’s return.

  We’ll make preparations at the Gate Station and launch anew.

  Then we’ll assemble the first mission team to approach an exit that leads to a place with no node."

  Galactic Standard Time: April 6, 2150

  We may finally be close to uncovering the core mystery behind the disappearances.

  I almost blurted out,

  "Let’s go now and find out!"

  But that would’ve been reckless.

  And far too naive.

  What we may be facing…

  is an energy powerful enough to destroy three entire star systems.

  Approaching it alone is already a risk.

  And if there is something—or someone—that controls it...

  we cannot afford to leap in unprepared.

  But that does not mean we will not go.

  If we don’t go, we will never find the answer.

  And without that answer, there is no future for us.

  Still, the 'Gate'...

  can take us anywhere.

  Somewhere in this galaxy—

  or perhaps, somewhen.

  The unknown...

  is staring back at us.