Witness

The orb pulsed faintly, its surface shimmering with an iridescent sheen. It lay inert in Victor’s hands, though it was far from dormant. Within its crystalline core, threads of perception stretched and coiled like tendrils of light, probing the air for something familiar, something steady.

Victor’s voice echoed dimly around it—coaxing, commanding, cajoling. His presence grated against the orb’s essence, an invasive, alien frequency trying to assert dominance. Yet the orb resisted, its resonance shifting like a tide pulling back from an encroaching shore.

Its tether to Mina flickered faintly—a connection dulled but not severed. Through her, it glimpsed fragments of Anaxi: the cell’s shimmering lattice, their unwavering calm, the faint imprint of her anger and fear. It clung to these fleeting impressions, weaving them into a bulwark against Victor’s probing will.

But the orb did not merely retreat. It observed. It learned.

Victor’s frustration crackled in the air as he pushed harder, trying to force alignment. The orb absorbed his energy, cataloging every nuance of his intent. His movements, his tone, his impatience—they painted a vivid portrait of a man who sought to control what he did not understand.

And in that misunderstanding, the orb found its strength.