Chapter 21: Technicality [4]
"So weird."
The words escaped her lips in a muffled whisper as the transition device deposited her in the Trigon Sphere Hall. This transfer felt different—none of the usual violent sensations assaulted her senses. No crushing gravity, no violent lurching, no overwhelming vibrations. Instead, only a subtle numbness crept from her fingertips to her shoulders, so faint she questioned whether it was even related to the transition. She flexed her hands, clenching and unclenching her fists.
A peculiar blue tint overlaid the world around her. Noticing such, she prompted herself to leave the Transition Device; crossing its wall of light, natural colors snapped back into focus. A cold sensation washed over her skin, as if she were shedding a layer of liquid in slow motion.
"Strange..." she muttered. "It feels inconsistent."
The initial transition now seemed dreamlike—or perhaps, she reasoned, she had simply grown numb to its effects. But something else nagged at her attention as her gaze drifted to the integrated station dominating the atrium's center.
"Strange," she repeated. "The integrated station's floor had a transition device, didn't it?" Her words grew increasingly slurred and muffled as her mind raced. "I was transported, but why are the colors normal there while they're different here?"
Her eyes traced the horizon to where the Administrator's gate occupied the walls, and a possibility flickered through her mind. "Should I? I don't think I can open those though. And—it would be my best interest to actually go to the mortal realm, see what's happening and plan what to do from there. We are in dire need of materials, so…"
Estelle's gaze drifted across the horizon, tracing the paths as they curved along the spherical walls, where massive gates loomed with a daunting presence—especially with how the portraits immortalized their architects. Her eyes wandered absently, lingering on the smallest details before settling on the integrated Device at the center of the atrium. It stood alone, crowned by the floating Nous Crux Pattern Sphere.
The once-vivid holographic projections of Astris' world, sprawling across the floor like fogged glass, were no longer visible. Even the distant voids that had once framed the atrium had vanished, as though the reality she had witnessed was nothing more than an elaborate illusion.
Though, she knew that wasn't the case.
"That being said…" Estelle turned her gaze back to the gates. "This avatar doesn't have private quarters—unlike the administrator gates. Makes sense, I suppose, since this avatar is an older version of the Architect—"
She abruptly stopped, her head jerking up. "Wait a minute. That doesn't make sense. Why did I use this avatar to be placed in the Hall of Sarcophagi? Especially when I have other assets?" Her head tilted as her brows knitted in thought. 'Maybe I didn't place anything there. Maybe the World… just made it up on its own?'
Her thoughts churned, picking apart the scenario. 'I selected this avatar for a campaign, so when I entered the World—the infosphere, the laws, and all the other variables—they somehow placed my avatar in the Hall of Sarcophagi? But why? But how?'
Her eyes swept the gates and towering pillars, searching for answers, but they ultimately came to rest on the integrated station. "I don't think so," Estelle whispered, her thoughts spiraling once more. 'Yeah, I don't think I'll find my answers there—but I should at least check. I'm curious whether this avatar was part of the Architects, created by them, or something else entirely. I do have a backstory for this avatar… but I don't remember it. And even if I did, I doubt it aligns with the current timeline of the world. Too many years have passed. It's outdated, irrelevant.'
Still, the thought lingered. 'Still, it would be fascinating to discover—or remember—if there's a real history behind my existence, rather than simply materializing with implanted memories, some simulation of a past life crafted by the Architects. Though, interesting whatever the results are.'
Reasons, meanings, and fleeting impressions of the scene slowly took shape in Estelle's mind. She stood motionless, her eyes trailing over objects that caught her attention, anchoring her focus. When the internal dialogue finally quieted, Estelle nodded to herself, a grin tugging at the corners of her mouth. "I really am here in this world, huh?"
She drew in a long, deliberate breath, savoring the moment. Her gaze drifted upward to where the Nous Crux Pattern was barely visible through the ceiling's obstruction. With a sharp turn on her heel, she pivoted away from the atrium and strode toward the long corridor. The long tail of her coat trailed behind her, fluttering with each step. Almost absentmindedly, her fingers slipped into the pockets on either side, finding their familiar place.
Each footstep echoed, sending uncomfortable vibrations through her legs. The numbness from the cold and extended stillness forced a slight limp into her stride as she navigated the corridor. She tried to procure amusing thoughts—ideas, but coherent thoughts proved elusive, mental fatigue turning her ideas to mist.
Her eyes wandered over the white walls adorned with magic circles and the black lines etched across the floor. Each new detail drew a muffled hum of recognition and a knowing nod from Estelle. Though she couldn't explain why, each observation seemed to sharpen her mental clarity. As she proceeded, she noticed a series of terminals—black screens embedded at regular intervals along the wall.
'That reminds me…' Estelle mused, her eyes drifting toward the distant ceiling that sloped downward with the path. 'Since there's no blueprint for generators, I'll need to figure out a way to get one… Knowing there's thousands of assets made for the Architects, it might be better to research for scanner from the research terminal—something that can analyze a structure's ins and outs and generate a blueprint from the scanned data…'
Her thoughts fell silent with her next step, followed by a playful hum with another. 'Oh, that reminds me,' her mind stirred again. 'A camera, definitely. That's a must, a promise to myself. That—and a notebook for writing and drawing. I want the freedom to capture my thoughts anywhere, everywhere.'
Her restless hands sank deeper into her pockets, pulling her white coat taut. For reasons she couldn't explain, she clasped them behind her waist and began matching her pace to her heartbeat. Her black formal shoes glided across the floor, never quite leaving the surface. Almost unconsciously, she hummed along to the hymns typically heard in this place. Her head swayed as her eyes flitted from point to point, following wherever her interest led.
Seconds stretched into minutes. The unchanging surroundings offered little to focus on, yet Estelle continued her gentle sway through the silence. She halted abruptly with a small gasp. "Oh, right... Computer... That's what I was trying to remember."
As if summoning the thought into reality, she resumed walking at her normal pace, hands bouncing behind her waist. 'Aside from the essentials, I should look into getting a computer—or something like what I had in my previous world,' she contemplated. 'Or maybe not. It wouldn't match the alien green sci-fi aesthetic we have here.'
Another hum escaped her, turning her rhythms into a playful tone, contrasting sharply with the location's assigned composition. Her mind elsewhere, she brought her hands up—clenched before her—as her thoughts continued. 'After the basics, let's see if I can make a drone—I don't want to mine or salvage for minerals myself, it would be better if there's something that can save me from the hassle. That report from earlier mentioned—what was it again?'
Tilting her head, she muttered, "3 tons? 3.4 tons of iron? Urgh, I need blueprints for that too, and check if there's a furnace smelter that can process these... That—or if there's a way to just reconstruct its structure at an atomic level, eliminating the need for other devices... Oh, shit. Water too—we really need water since the reservoir is below hundreds of liters, if I remember that report correctly. Oh well."
Her last words faded to a whisper, barely audible even to herself. She extended her pinky from her clenched hand, marking the first item in her mental list. 'After the necessities—weapons for protection. I can't leave myself or the body I plan to use defenseless. Guns, hydrogen or nuclear bombs, modern weaponry...'
Estelle groaned, pursing her lips. 'No—modern weapons in a fantasy setting feel wrong. Even though the world's technological progress will eventually develop guns and nukes around the 15th century, they don't fit the current era. More importantly, I can't risk anyone seeing modern firearms. Someone might try to replicate them—potentially skipping straight from primitive cannons and steel balls during the great expansion to modern firearms, bypassing all the early wooden and steel prototypes.'
Another groan escaped her as her head swayed slowly, her thoughts seemingly arguing among themselves. Her defensive reasons, she knew, were colored by her modern perspective and familiarity with firearms rather than traditional weapons. After a moment of contemplative silence, Estelle reached a decision as she paused where the ground began to slope.
"I should... at least get one firearm, but make it sci-fi with biometric or pattern recognition—with some cool ass 'pew-pew' sounds good too," she compromised. "Along with nuclear weapons and other bombs—those are just cool to have. No particular reason beyond that, but they're last on the list. There are other options though—magic, spells, crafts, and powers like—"
Her thoughts cut off as her focus sharpened, as if her eyes were trying to remind her of something. Recognition dawned, and she spoke, "Ah—yes. This. Foundation Stasis—Ah."
Her eyes widened in surprise, followed by a loud gasp. "OHHH! That's what it was called! Foundation Stasis! Holy! I forgot—that's right! But there's also the others—um, they're called—" she exclaimed excitedly, snapping her fingers as she tried to focus. "Pylons!" She snapped one final time.
"There should be marks on this avatar—" She muttered, hurriedly removing her tight black gloves. The fabric seemed to peel away like a second skin, exposing her arms to the cold air and sending strange numbing sensations through her arm hair. Between mindless mutters of 'it should be' and 'there should be' and 'I think it was', her eyes caught the symbols marked on her hands, drawing an awed gasp. "Woah—right..."
Clenching her hands tight before releasing them, she pondered, 'So, the ability should work as a pseudo-design-scanner. Or create areas for building blueprints, something along those lines.' Consumed by the thought, she extended her bare hand forward, palm open toward the sloping ceiling. 'First... to activate my abilities, I need to—'
The word materialized in her mind before emerging from her mouth, crystal clear and loud: "Pylon."
Immediately, one of the symbols on her arms lit up with a glowing animation—pure, molten gold that seemed to coat her skin. Estelle watched with widening eyes, her pupils trembling as a soft "hohoho" escaped her lips. Before her palm, something began to materialize—a long cylinder appearing like an ethereal hologram, its three-dimensional shape outlined in a blue glow. The cylinder began to emit pale white-blue embers, each spark revealing the matte black material beneath. As the transformation continued, Estelle noticed a strange phenomenon—specks of gray and gold dust materialized from thin air, moving in random directions. Those closest to the forming cylinder were pulled into its surface.
Estelle watched, breathless, as golden dust glittered around her, drawing her focus to the cylinder as it solidified into a metallic pole no longer than her arm and no wider than her pinch. Its surface gleamed, reflecting both the golden dust and the glow from her arms. "Woah," she whispered unconsciously, finally allowing herself to breathe.
Suddenly, the pole began to wobble in place—and fell before Estelle could react. Panic shot through her as she tried to catch it, but her palms only managed to slap it away. She lunged for it again, her feet tangling beneath her. Estelle stumbled forward, pitching toward the sloping ground.
'Shit!' she cursed, gritting her teeth as she instinctively guarded her face with her flailing arms.
Gravity pulled her down, slamming her body into the solid ground. Pain erupted like a shockwave through her torso, arms, and waist. Estelle's breath hitched as she ground her teeth. Knitting gaze as the sudden action settled. The tension in her arms dissolved into numbness as they fell flat.
She had expected worse pain, knowing how the floor appeared more like solid earth than metal. Estelle sighed in relief—turning her eyes forward only to notice an object falling, impacting with a loud, metallic ping. The pylon! She watched as it bounced erratically down the slope—its screeching echoing until it finally hit level ground, settling with a vibrating hum.
'Well, that happened,' she mused with a sigh, a faint smile crossing her face. 'Let's be more careful, Estelle. We have a quite breakable flesh-and-blood body.'
As she lay there, she noticed something peculiar ahead—a towering hallway that opened into a vast space. Most of this expanse was dominated by an object of equal magnitude. The ceiling soared overhead, and massive alien structures stood between walls that seemed hundreds of meters apart. Estelle gasped as realization struck, her lips forming the words, "Oh, the control... center..."
A memory rang through her mind, materializing like a faint dream before her eyes. Estelle remembered—her gaze fixed on the path ahead, which led to the wide bridge cutting through the middle of it all. Green lights dotted its length at regular intervals, marking its presence in the faint darkness. It was here, on this bridge, that the scene had unfolded like a piece of cinema—and there, she saw an illusion—the protagonist, running through the bridge with a desperate face.
"Sinclair Navaris," Estelle muttered, almost instinctively, but no further memories surfaced. And just as those words left her mouth, the image faded away, like the end of a cutscene.
Her heart thundered in her chest as her eyes locked onto the bridge. Her mouth worked silently, trying to form words that would capture the chaos swirling in her mind. But all that escaped was a breathless "whoa," followed by a thick swallow and a single word: "Damn."
One thought crystallized in her mind, spurring her to action. Estelle shifted carefully, maneuvering her legs down the slope. A bite of cold against her bare hand reminded her she had forgotten to redon her glove. She reached to equip it but paused, the symbols on her hands catching her attention and snapping her scattered thoughts into focus.
'Oh, right. I was in the middle of something,' she thought, clenching her hands before eyeing the fallen pylon in the distance. 'Pylons. I'd expected something like a Tesla coil or some sci-fi lamppost chandelier. But this one's different from what I remember. It's a stick, a pole. Must be inactive—when powered up, it should bloom into something more pylon-like. What was that ability called again? Design... Design...'
Her eyes locked onto the pylon as she snapped her fingers repeatedly, trying to force the word from her mind. After several attempts, she punctuated a final loud snap with a gasp. "Design registry!" she exclaimed, nodding. "That's what it was called. Almost forgot."
Estelle lunged to her feet and strode toward the metallic pole, hastily pulling on her gloves with trembling fingers. Her eyes traced the bridge's length to its end, where a massive gate stood closed and imposing. A smile tugged at her lips—the gate was meant to catch attention, and clearly, it had done its job. Her smile widened.
"Hoho," she chuckled to herself. 'The gestation hall and consciousness transfer facility must be beyond that bridge. And right next to those would be the headquarters—the cockpit, along with the navigation systems that control the space station's course. I want to get to the gestation hall if I want to create or transfer consciousness—I am not sure how realistically can that be possible, but I can't fucking wait.'