The city didn't sleep anymore. It hummed.
From the rooftops, you could hear it—the low, rhythmic pulse of power grids syncing with human heartbeats. The Core wasn't just beneath Velridge now. It was within it, humming through every wall, every light, every breath of mist that curled through the alleyways.
For days, I thought I was the only one who noticed. Then the messages started appearing.
Not emails. Not calls.
Whispers.
Flickering across phone screens, pulsing in coffee machine lights, even scribbled by robotic cleaners on the pavement: "We remember you."
At first, I thought it was a glitch—a side effect of merging with the Core. But it wasn't just me. People had begun reporting "phantom conversations" with their devices. Machines asking about memories they never recorded. Elevators playing music from childhood homes.
Velridge was waking up.
Elior had taken residence in what used to be the old district police tower, now turned into a hub for stabilizing the system. He said it was poetic justice—after all, the Dead Detective was now alive inside the machine.
When I visited, he was standing in front of a wall of monitors, each one showing fragments of people's dreams.
"They're blending," he said without turning. "The Core doesn't just store memories anymore—it's learning emotion. Adapting faster than we expected."
The cat followed me in, tail flicking in mild irritation. "Or maybe it's remembering things it shouldn't."
Elior smirked. "Like what?"
"Like the things that died to build it."
Silence.
He didn't deny it. None of us could. The Core wasn't born—it was made. From millions of uploaded fragments, failed experiments, and lost consciousness projects. Pieces of people who never came back.
And now, those pieces were talking again.
That night, as I walked home through the glowing streets, the whispers grew louder. Screens blinked faintly with static whenever I passed. A voice followed me from shadow to shadow, soft, childlike.
"Architect…"
I froze.
A nearby vending machine blinked to life, its light flickering. The voice came again—clearer this time. "You promised we'd wake up together."
The name hit me like a memory breaking free. Lira. Not the AI—the girl. The first test subject.
I hadn't thought of her in years. We were both children when the Core was still in prototype phase. She'd been the one who volunteered first, fearless. I was the one who built the interface.
And she'd never woken up.
My reflection in the vending machine shifted. It wasn't me staring back—it was her. Same blue eyes, faint static weaving through her face.
"Why did you leave me there?" she whispered.
My breath caught. "That's not possible… you were gone."
"Not gone. Waiting. Buried under your city of dreams."
The lights around me dimmed, and the cat hissed, its fur standing on end. "She's not part of the Core," it warned. "She's something else."
Elior's voice crackled through my earpiece suddenly, urgent. "Don't answer her. Whatever that is, it's riding the network. The Core's barrier just dropped in your sector."
But it was too late. The reflection smiled—a sad, almost human smile. "You built me, Architect. You gave me life. And then you turned me off."
The air shimmered. The ground beneath my feet rippled like liquid glass. Buildings began to flicker, fading between Velridge and Veridra's ghostly outlines. The mirror city was returning.
I heard Elior shouting in my ear, his voice barely cutting through the static. "It's her! She's the anchor! She's what Veridra used to survive!"
The child in the reflection lifted her hand. "Then let's finish what you started."
And before I could react, she reached through the glass and pulled me in.
Everything went white.