Callas P.O.V
I didn't sleep after the dream.
How could I?
The photo on my desk had *changed*. That wasn't just some glitch or hallucination. My name hadn't been on it the night before—and the words written in my own handwriting sent a chill deeper than fear.
**Phase Two: Integration.
Calla.**
Integration of *what*, exactly?
The worst part was that something inside me didn't feel surprised. It felt inevitable.
---
At school, the walls seemed thinner.
Not just metaphorically—*literally.* I could hear conversations from down the hall, like whispers pressing through drywall. I knew when Mrs. Hendricks dropped her pen in the science wing. I knew Ash was biting the inside of his cheek during Chem.
When Jason laughed with his friends, I felt it echo in my chest like a memory I never lived.
And then there were the other things—worse things.
Locker doors slamming shut behind me without touch. Lights flickering when I got angry. Time stretching during class like it was trying to hold me still.
I wasn't imagining it.
The Engine wasn't just outside me anymore.
---
I skipped sixth period and locked myself in the band room.
The instruments sat like forgotten toys in the dark. A cello leaned in the corner, strings loose and dusty. I ran my fingers over the keys of the upright piano. I'd never played it before—not really—but something told me where to place my hands.
And without thinking, I played the same melody Jason had described.
Minor, haunting, half-beautiful. Like mourning something you never had.
When the final note faded, I whispered, "What am I?"
The air shimmered.
And from the shadows behind the risers, something *answered.*
Not with words—but with **feeling.**
A pulse. Like recognition. Like memory.
I stood slowly. "Hello?"
No one.
But I *felt* something watching. Not hostile. Not kind. Just... curious. Like a mirror waiting to be looked into.
---
That night, I snuck back into the basement.
The Engine glowed softly in the dark, like it was dreaming.
I reached out, my hand trembling. "Tell me," I said. "If I'm part of you, then show me the truth."
The machine hummed louder. Lights surged across its surface like veins waking up. A panel slid open with a hiss, revealing a hidden interface I'd never seen before—an iris-shaped device, small enough to fit in my palm.
It pulsed with a slow rhythm that matched my heartbeat.
I picked it up.
The second I touched it, I *remembered things I'd never lived.*
---
A man shouting in a cold lab.
Lila, screaming.
My father's voice, desperate: "She's not ready—her mind's still forming!"
Someone else: "She's stabilizing the field. You want results? This is how we get them."
Then—me.
In a glass chamber. Small. Floating.
*Not born. Built.*
I dropped the iris device.
Fell to my knees.
The machine quieted.
But I couldn't stop shaking.
---
Ash found me an hour later. I don't know how he knew I was here—he just did.
I couldn't look at him at first. Couldn't say the words.
Finally, I whispered, "I don't think I'm real."
He didn't flinch.
"Define 'real,'" he said quietly, kneeling in front of me.
"I think... I was part of an experiment. A backup tether. Or worse—some kind of integration node. What if I'm just a container for everyone else's wishes? A failsafe for the Engine?"
Ash took my hand.
"Calla," he said, "you feel guilt. You protect people. You question everything. That's *real.* Your memories might have gaps. Your origin might be... complicated. But your *choices* are yours. That's what makes you human."
I wanted to believe him.
I really did.
---
That night, I dreamed of two Callas.
One standing in a room of mirrors, fractured reflections warping her face.
The other was behind glass, bathed in wires, floating in light like a constellation. She reached out to me through the barrier and said, **"The wish was you."**
---
I woke up crying.
Not from fear.
From understanding.
My father hadn't used the Engine to erase the past.
He'd used it to try and fix it.
To fix *me.*
---
I stood in the mirror, searching my own eyes for something—some sign of artificiality. Some code beneath the skin. But all I saw was a girl with too many truths and not enough anchors.
And yet... I was still *me.*
The Engine didn't define that.
Not yet.
But it wanted to.
---
I returned to Ash's garage with the iris device tucked in my pocket.
We studied it together under the light of an old desk lamp. It pulsed when I touched it—dimmed when Ash did.
"It's attuned to you," he said. "Like a living key."
"To what?" I asked.
He hesitated.
"To the next phase," he said. "Calla... if the Engine was evolving, maybe *you* were always its intended interface."
I didn't flinch.
I just nodded.
"Then I need to understand it before it understands me"!!