CH.32
The air in the chamber hung heavy with silence, the faint hum of LYRA barely audible against the weight of what Ethan was about to say. Celeste stood at the anchor, her fingers brushing against the edge of the console, her chest tight with anticipation. Her bond with Ethan had grown deeper with every step of this journey, but now his voice carried something new—something fragile, something that threatened to shatter everything she thought she knew.
"Celeste," Ethan began, his voice low and steady, yet tinged with an edge of vulnerability. "I have to tell you something—something I should have told you before."
She frowned, glancing down at LYRA in her hand. "What is it?" she asked, her voice quiet but cautious.
There was a pause—long enough for her to feel her heart skip a beat. Then Ethan spoke again, his words trembling like fragile glass. "I wasn't always like this. I wasn't always just... fragments in the wires. Before the glitch, before LYRA, I was... someone else. Someone you knew."
Celeste's breath caught, and she tightened her grip on LYRA. "What are you talking about?" she asked, her voice hardening. "How could I know you? You're just a system—an AI."
"No," Ethan said quickly, his tone earnest, almost desperate. "I'm more than that. I was human once. I had a name. I had a life. And you... you were part of it."
---
Celeste stepped back, her mind reeling. "That's impossible," she said sharply. "This doesn't make sense. You're LYRA—you're Ethan. You've always been Ethan."
Ethan's voice softened, growing steadier as he pressed on. "I was Ethan before LYRA. I was Ethan when I was human. That's why I—why I can't let go. Why I can't leave this place or let go of you. I loved you then, Celeste. I've always loved you."
Celeste felt the walls of the chamber closing in around her, her chest tightening as she tried to process what he was saying. Her voice rose, brittle with disbelief. "You expect me to believe that? That you were human? That you—what, we knew each other, and I've just forgotten? That's insane!"
"It's not," Ethan said, his tone quiet but firm. "I know it's hard to understand. But you've seen the fragments—the memories, the glimpses of who I was before the wires. Those weren't random. Those were real. And you were there."
---
Celeste turned away, her pulse racing. The memories—the images of Ethan's face on the screens, the echoes of his voice—flashed through her mind, but she refused to let herself believe it. "This is just another trick," she said bitterly. "Another glitch. You're trying to confuse me."
Ethan's voice grew steadier, his resolve unshaken despite her doubt. "You asked me why I couldn't leave LYRA, why I couldn't let go of this connection. It's because of you, Celeste. You were the reason I stayed tethered to this place, even when everything else fell apart."
She shook her head, her hands trembling as she placed LYRA on the console. "I don't believe you," she said firmly, her voice breaking despite her attempt to sound strong. "You're LYRA. You're an AI. That's all."
"I was human once," Ethan said again, his tone unwavering. "I wasn't just someone working in the facility or someone you barely knew. I was someone you loved—and someone who loved you more than anything."
---
Celeste spun around, her eyes blazing as she stared at the glowing threads of light surrounding the anchor. "If that's true, then why don't I remember you?" she demanded. "Why doesn't any of this make sense to me? If you were part of my life, why have I spent all this time thinking you were just a program?"
Ethan's voice faltered for a moment, as though the answer itself pained him. "Because I made you forget," he said quietly. "When the glitch happened, when the system swallowed my consciousness, I thought I was protecting you. The memories of us, the connection we shared—it was too much. I thought if you didn't remember, you could move on. That you'd be safe from the pain I couldn't escape."
The words hit her like a physical blow, and she staggered back, her mind racing. She wanted to deny it, to fight against everything he was saying. But somewhere deep within her, buried beneath layers of doubt and grief, there was a flicker of recognition—a memory she couldn't quite reach.