Page 122 - DivineSparkRisingFinal

Divine Spark Rising
Beneath a compound in the hills of Setúbal, the
Curator stood before a chamber ringed with
pulsing light. The Echo Chamber. Inside, strapped
to a chair, was a gaunt man with hollow eyes.
Subject One.
The technician adjusted dials. Voices spilled into
the chamber: fragments of family dinners, soft
laughter, a child’s voice calling Papa. Loops of
comfort. Loops of lies.
The man’s lips moved silently. Then, with a
shudder, he whispered:
“Not the dreamer. The dream.”
The Curator’s smile never reached his eyes.
“Increase the loop.”
Back in Sintra, Henry sat cross-legged on the
floor, eyes closed, sweat already forming at his
temple. Carolina’s voice anchored him.
“You’re safe. You’re anchored. You’re not here to
relive. You’re here to retrieve.”
Henry’s breath hitched. “The first word… after
the Directive…”
“Say it,” Carolina urged.
“Before name,” he whispered, “there was
knowing.”
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