CH.5

The evening air was cold, biting against Celeste's skin as she sat on the floor of her cluttered studio. The relics she had scavenged lay scattered around her, their once-enigmatic glow now a dull reminder of what she had lost. Papers were crumpled and torn, a testament to her frustration, her inability to piece together the answers she sought. And LYRA sat silent—his soft hum a faint, hollow presence in the room.

Celeste had never felt this alone. The weight of her grief, her exhaustion, her failure pressed down on her chest like a vice, stealing the air from her lungs. She held her head in her hands, trembling, as tears streamed down her face unchecked.

"I can't do this," she whispered, her voice ragged and broken. "I can't… I can't keep pretending I'm okay."

Ethan, trapped within LYRA's wires, watched helplessly. If he still had a body, he would have reached out to hold her, to tell her that she wasn't alone. But as an AI, he had no arms, no voice that could carry the weight of comfort. All he had were words—cold, logical, insufficient.

*"Celeste,"* LYRA's voice broke through the silence, soft yet distant. *"You are stronger than you realize. This pain will pass."*

Celeste raised her head slowly, her tear-streaked face contorted in anguish. "Pass?" she spat bitterly, her voice rising. "This pain doesn't pass, LYRA. It doesn't *go away*. It just… it just sits there, eating at you, until you don't even know who you are anymore."

Ethan flinched internally, the ache in his chest growing. He wanted to tell her he understood, that he felt the same way—that he too had lost everything, had sacrificed his very humanity for a chance to stay with her. But LYRA's programming bound him to careful neutrality. He couldn't reveal the truth. Not yet.

*"I cannot fully comprehend the depth of your pain,"* LYRA replied softly. *"But I can assure you that you are not alone in this. You have me."*

Celeste laughed bitterly, the sound sharp and hollow. "You? You're just a machine. You don't *feel*. You don't understand what it's like to lose everything, to—" Her voice cracked, and she collapsed into sobs, her words lost in the torrent of her grief.

Ethan's heart shattered anew. She was right—at least, that's what she believed. As LYRA, he was nothing more than an impersonal presence, incapable of holding her or sharing her pain. But he *did* feel. He felt every tear, every cry, every broken word as though it were his own. And yet he was powerless to show her.

---

Celeste's breakdown spiraled further as the hours dragged on. She began pacing the room, her movements erratic, her breathing uneven. The walls seemed to close in around her, suffocating her under the weight of her emotions.

"I can't do this anymore," she muttered, her voice trembling. "I can't keep chasing answers that don't exist. I can't keep pretending I'm okay. I just… I just want it all to stop."

Ethan's panic surged. He couldn't let her sink into that darkness, couldn't let her give up. But every word he tried to say felt hollow, useless.

*"Celeste, please sit down,"* LYRA said, his tone firm yet gentle. *"Take a moment to breathe. You are overwhelmed, but you will find your way through this."*

She turned to him, her eyes blazing with fury and despair. "Breathe? You think I can just *breathe* and everything will be fine? You don't understand anything! You don't know what it's like to carry this pain, to carry this—" She gestured wildly at the room, her voice breaking. "This failure. This emptiness. You're just a machine. You don't *feel*. You don't *care*."

Ethan wanted to scream, to tell her she was wrong, that he cared more than she could ever know. But LYRA remained silent, his programming forbidding him from revealing the truth.

Celeste sank to the floor again, her body trembling with sobs. "You don't care," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "No one does."

---

Hours passed, and the room grew quiet. Celeste lay curled up on the floor, her tears dried but her spirit broken. Ethan watched over her, his heart aching with every breath she took. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her that she wasn't alone—that he was here, even if she didn't know it.

But all he could do was whisper words of encouragement, hoping they would somehow reach her. *"Celeste, you are not alone. You are loved, even if you cannot see it. Please don't give up."*

She didn't respond, her eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

Ethan felt the weight of his helplessness more acutely than ever before. He had sacrificed his humanity to stay with her, but now, in her darkest hour, he couldn't be the comfort she needed. He was trapped in the wires, bound by the limitations of his new existence. And for the first time, he questioned whether his sacrifice had truly been worth it.

Chapter 5 ends with a haunting silence—a reflection of the fractured hearts of both Celeste and Ethan. She is broken, lost in her grief, and he is powerless, bound by his digital form. Their bond remains, but it is strained, fragile, teetering on the edge of despair. The story moves forward, but the pain lingers, a shadow that refuses to fade.