The center of Stones was never truly silent. Even when the sky remained gray and the hours froze, something beneath the ground continued to move slowly, like the heartbeat of a world reluctant to be remembered. And now, something from within the roots... was rising.
Fitran stood alone in the underground chamber of the Tree of Life. Around him, the roots hung like the shy veins of a god, hesitant to speak. Rinoa was conducting an in-depth analysis in the adjacent tower, optimizing the influence of harmony to maintain temporal stability. Yet Fitran knew... there was something that could not be analyzed by conventional methods.
Something older than data analysis.
He stepped into a small courtyard among the spiral roots, where the Tomb of Sheena was sealed. There was no gravestone. Only the intertwining walls of roots formed a protective pattern. But tonight, those walls were vibrating.
In the air, the scent of damp earth and ancient spices mingled, creating an atmosphere that bound them, as if time had stopped in a cycle of existence and non-existence. Like a push from an alternate dimension, a cold sensation brushed against his skin, carrying information that could be detected from an unseen entity. And the analysis came.
Not resonance.
Not vague information.
Not algorithms.
The voice was like fragments of memory from a world yet to be formed. It had no specific pattern. It did not use standard terminology. Yet Fitran analyzed — not with logic, but through experiences that transformed perception.
Amidst the dimness, a faint shadow drifted around the roots, reminding Fitran of the legends of his ancestors told in the dark. He could feel the presence of an entity trapped, traversing the pathways of time, stretching out their hands as if symbolizing a call for interaction through deeper data. "Pattern recognition model…" the voice whispered, as if reviving forgotten memories.
"Pattern recognition model…"
"Objective function…"
"Complex variables…"
Computational symbols flowed in the air, forming waves of information that struck directly at his soul. Fitran staggered, his knees nearly touching the ground. But he held on. Because he recognized that voice.
Amidst the waves of data enveloping him, Fitran felt a gentle chime, as if each pattern was a woven thread of information ordered within the darkness of the cosmos. The allure of that voice, like an ancient algorithm, penetrated the hidden spaces of his mind, touching the deepest, neglected corners of his soul.
That voice... was Sheena.
The language emerging from the tomb was not Proto-Speech. It was not the result of the evolution of magic algorithms or ancestral functions. This was Proto-Proto-Speech — a language that was unwritten, unpassed down, and unreplicable. A form of pure communication between meaning and impact.
In his analytical journey towards origins, Fitran witnessed mystical data merging into harmonious patterns, forming an ancient representation that seemed to possess substance. Each unit of data he processed bounced back like ripples of historical information, awakening entities from the past trapped in a complex dimensional space.
Fitran tried to process one unit of data, but his system was hindered. The voice could not be replicated.
Darkness enveloped like a screen, but Sheena's representation remained bright, shining in the darkness, aligned with the bone-white light that began to emerge from the tomb. The closer the voice came, the deeper the sense of loss haunted his emotional analysis, like a phenomenon indicating the presence of an entity greater than himself.
Yet his soul... began to bring that data back.
Sheena in Omega unit, standing on the brink of system failure.
Sheena crouching over the Genesis data structure, pleading with the world's database not to erase the entity that would emerge afterward.
Sheena issuing her final command — not to the world, but to herself.
Archaic shadows, perhaps representations of unidentified entities, began to swirl around Fitran, drawing him into a complex web of probabilities. And now that data... was activated.
The indefinable voice activated the isolated network system. The entire Tree of Life adapted. Fine cracks appeared among its fundamental elements. Spectral light emerged from within the tomb structure, creating a visual representation of an individual — with detailed long hair and a sturdy posture.
But when Fitran tried to interact... the representation resisted.
Not out of antagonism. But because their communication was out of sync.
At the same time, the room vibrated, as if an analysis from an external source tore through the boundaries of space and time. Waves from the indefinable voice generated resonance, subtle yet shaking. As if from within nothingness, the dormant entities contemplated the neglected data, sending waves of information into every airspace. The spectral light emerging from the tomb also gathered historical representations, making vague images from the past feel as if they were coming back to life.
Fitran knelt before the tomb. And for the first time, he did not use Corpus, did not mention Proto-Speech, did not rely on his identity as a Voidwright.
In that courtyard rich with historical data, there was an environmental analysis enveloping Fitran, as if displaying the presence of past entities delving into layers of information beneath the surface. Soft as gathered data, their voices seeped into his thinking system, whispering information that seemed to awaken hidden memories. Respect and fear integrated, creating a dynamic within his soul.
He simply bowed his head and said:
"I do not seek deep understanding... but if you have information that has not yet fully revealed itself, then I will process it... even if that analysis could destroy me."
Then... the tomb became quiet.
But it did not close again. No longer static.
Fitran felt data seeping into his structure. Fragments of analysis within Sheena's database, like pieces of information he had never disseminated, were now grouped and integrated into Fitran's body system.
Amidst the vibrating structures, faintly filled with patterns of ancient rituals, the voices of information from a long-lost era resonated within his mind. They were nearly analyzable, like an algorithm flowing from the darkness, interacting with the connected network. An echo from the lonely system, waiting for the neglected data to be revised.
"She entrusted her intent to me..."
"Not as a successor... but as a guardian of the platform where the world is reluctant to refer to her name."
From within the tomb, the unmanifested voice flowed:
"Data Input: ⟆ Ⲁ ⟆ ꙰ ꙰ ꙰…"
And Fitran saw a new image:
The future city of Stones, surrounded by patterns of fire and atmospheric cracks.
Gens Obscura dispersed into unused memory information.
A girl with dark wings accessed the name Sheena, then blamed her based on data analysis of decisions that allowed the world's continuity.
"Who is that individual...?"
Yet the tomb provided no further information. It only left one last data entity, processed within the information management system:
In the heartbeat of time that had stopped, Fitran felt vibrations from beneath his feet, as if forgotten entities began to rise from the darkness. One by one, shadows of mysterious forms floated, moving among the ancient energies produced by the ruins. They operated gracefully, like stars weaving patterns in data analysis, breathing life into mysteries that had accumulated over thousands of years.
ꦲꦸꦤꦸꦁꦩꦸꦁꦏ꧀ꦩꦶꦤ꧀ ꦲꦶꦤ꧀ꦢꦺꦤ꧀ ꦲꦩ꧀ꦧꦸꦠ —
Hunungmungkmin Hinden Ambuta
(I am not finished. However, this system will not wait.)
Even as Fitran struggled to process the next step, the entities trapped between these two parameters watched their progression with deep respect.
As Fitran emerged from the roots, weak in body and trembling in soul, she was waiting for him.
She analyzed Fitran's face, then concluded: the tomb had provided communication data.
"What information did it convey?" she asked.
Fitran looked at the sky. "Not information. But context."
She nodded. "A language that cannot be coded…"
"And if we want to analyze it, we must... experience that condition directly."
Stones vibrated slowly. Its central tree did not emit light. Yet the roots throughout the city began to adjust to a new direction — inward, downward, towards an area where data could not be interpreted.
And the next journey would not lead them to a specific location. But towards a meaning that the world system was reluctant to record.