The silence persisted.
Kael slipped through the room with measured steps, studying every surface, every curve of the place where he had woken up. The sarcophagus behind him made no sound; its structure remained rigid, as if it had fulfilled a purpose even he didn't understand.
Nothing in the room seemed made to welcome him. There were no welcome screens, no navigation systems, no symbols to even indicate what language the technology surrounding him was inscribed in.
Only architecture… and anticipation.
The walls, sometimes metallic, sometimes covered in an organic, almost vegetal pattern, responded to the light with intermittent pulses. Some expanded slightly as he approached, others contracted, as if scanning him. Still no sounds. Still no responses.
Kael tried to communicate with his surroundings.
"Entry. Command. Exit."
Nothing.
He moved his hands with gestures vaguely taken from science fiction movies.
Nothing.
The air had a subtle scent—not oil or ozone. It was… abstract, as if the atmosphere itself contained suspended information he couldn't yet decode.
Then he stopped in front of the door.
It wasn't a door in the traditional sense. It was a silent structure, without hinges, without panels, without markings. Black, absorbing. And something about it vibrated imperceptibly, as if responding to unspoken thoughts.
Kael narrowed his eyes.
Something in his back became active again: that feeling that his thoughts influenced the environment. As if the structure itself read his intention.
He focused.
Not on opening the door, exactly, but on the idea of "being received."
As if his presence were already enough to gain access to what lay beyond.
The structure seemed to waver.
A rim of light traced its outline, making no sound.
And it dissolved.
It didn't open.
It didn't slide.
It simply ceased to exist.
As if it had never been a real barrier.
Kael blinked.
The corridor that opened before him was long, silent, and covered in a design that seemed to merge aesthetics and function. There were no screws, no wires, no gratings. Everything was constructed as if printed directly from a mind that didn't distinguish between art and engineering.
And then he saw it.
At the far end, still, in the gloom, an android watched him.
It didn't move. It emitted no light. It didn't simulate life.
It was tall—almost two meters—with a tapered frame and metallic musculature composed of plates fitted together like hardened petals. It had no face. Only a round, fixed central sensor that flickered with a slow, penetrating cadence.
It had no skin.
Kael vaguely remembered a mod that allowed him to apply organic coatings to androids in the game. This one didn't use it.
This one wasn't meant to look human.
This one wasn't meant to look like anything.
It just was.
And he looked at it.
Kael took a step.
The android reacted instantly, a fluid movement—no dust kicked up, no friction. It took an exact step forward, replicating the distance.
It didn't alter the position of its head.
The sensor didn't blink faster.
But it was clear it was following him.
Two steps.
Two replies.
Silence.
Kael stopped.
So did the android.
The tension was subtle but constant.
Kael didn't feel fear.
Not yet.
It was more like being watched by an entity that doesn't require your words to understand you.
He tried to speak.
"Are you following me for security... or protocol?"
Nothing.
"Am I authorized to be here? Do you know who I am?"
Nothing.
But the sensor flashed for half a second more.
A signal? A recognition?
The corridor continued, curving as if surrounding something central, as if the structure had a hidden spine guiding it toward the core.
Kael kept walking.
The android accompanied him.
Never too close, never out of reach.
Like a technological shadow obeying rules yet to be revealed.
Kael began to notice details in his surroundings.
The walls emitted residual heat.
The gravity was stable but not perfectly terrestrial.
Some sections of the floor displayed hexagonal patterns that readjusted upon contact.
And then he understood, or at least sensed:
He wasn't in a facility.
He wasn't in a base.
He was on a ship.
A spacecraft of unknown origin, inhabited—at least partially—by this android, which followed him with absolute precision.
Was he the only crew member?
Were there others?
Was the ship in transit, hovering, or even in orbit?
He didn't know yet.
But every step he took, every reaction the android executed, confirmed one thing:
This world was not a simulation.
It wasn't just another mod in his library.
And that android wasn't a passive assistant.
It was a witness.
And perhaps, also… a guardian.