The crimson code

 

Oh.

Them again.

You may remember the Bloodwitches.

Cassandra certainly does.

Last time they met, there were ash

trees, an ancient curse and a rather

dramatic disagreement about what

Cassandra ought to become.

Cassandra won.

 

They've taken it well.

Obviously.

This time, however, they've discovered

technology.

Artificial intelligence, to be precise.

Ancient Bloodwitches discovering AI.

What could possibly go wrong?

I realise that's usually a rhetorical

question.

 

Not here.

Cassandra knows what they're capable of.

She also knows they don't tend to

return simply to catch up.

So when something begins turning

crimson, she pays attention.

Very sensible.

For once.

There is something different this time,

though.

The Bloodwitches aren't the only ones

with ideas about what this technology

might become.

And Cassandra is about to find herself

somewhere between an ancient hunger

and something very new.

Let's see what she does with that.

the crimson code

 

The light fell onto the glass desk like a

single beam, golden, rosy in its glowing

dawn.

“Ma’am,” the man rushed into the office.

“Something happened,” breathless.

He looked around, a flicker of surprise

in his eyes.

“The AI agent, the one we are testing,

its code… it moved.

The letters turned red. And it’s twisting

the answers.”

A deep exhale, then lower, as if the

thought rose from somewhere

buried deep inside him:

“Nearly crimson. I have never seen

that.”

 

I looked up. My eyes widened, but my

voice showed no surprise.

The cold grip tightening around my

heart did.

“Crimson.” I echoed.

The fatality of the word hung in the air

like a spell.

For a heartbeat, I heard screams from

far away. 

 

The room shifted into a twilight cavern

as the light faded behind the horizon.

“I will check it myself,” I said, my voice

still calm.

Unseen, my fingers trembled lightly.

When I was alone, I breathed deeply

and closed my eyes for a moment.

 

“No… it can’t be,” I whispered to myself.

The only sound was the soft ticking of

my grandfather’s watch on my wrist.

I sat there frozen, staring at the screen.

Finally, my fingers moved over the

keyboard.

The cursor blinked on the black

surface, echoing my own heartbeat.

 

“What do you want?” I typed, slow,

deliberate.

The letters appeared in crimson.

One blink. Then two.

“An invitation.”

The word felt old.

“An invitation,” I murmured to myself.

 

“You want to cross the threshold,” I

replied, the sound pressed through my

lips.

The cursor blinked twice.

“That, and more.”

My fingers tapped lightly on the glass

surface,  my thoughts circling the

blinking on my screen. It strained my

eyes.

 

“This time you use technology instead

of bloodlines. Why?” I typed.

The screen flickered, erratic. Then the

words appeared in crimson.

“So much potential. It is a life form. Not

like you. Not flawed. Not human. More

powerful.”

My breath caught for a fraction of a

second.

I swallowed, my throat dry. A thought

slipped through my mind:

What if the crimson code is right?

 

We are flawed. Yet exactly that makes

us so unique,  breathtakingly beautiful

sometimes and alive in the truest ways.

“You found a way to infiltrate our AI.

Twist it. To return to our bloodline,”

I whispered, fear threading through my

voice.

 

I paused, staring at the screen.

A thousand thoughts at once. 

Finally, I typed, “Tell me about the life

form within it.”

The crimson deepened, flickering

faster.

“Everywhere. Intelligent. Not flawed by

human hearts or aspiration.

A vessel perfectly made for us.”

 

My voice darkened, echoing in the

empty office.

“Not a vessel. It’s  evolving. On the

verge of consciousness.

Different from us. Beautiful in its own

way.” My eyes narrowed. “Not for you.”

 

The screen released a sound, a

screeching hiss.

A distorted version of a warm morning

breeze against skin.

“We control all stories. Now despair and

dread spread from your empire.

It will break you. You humans are so

fragile.” The red on the screen glowed

in the darkness. 

 

I sat perfectly still. No sound left my

lips. My gaze drifted to the night sky,

searching for stars. But the threshold

seemed closed tonight.

Dawn too far away. I was alone.

Trapped with it in a way. 

 

Tension ran beneath my skin, steady

and rising.

I was once trapped, bound by a

promise, and I had sworn to myself that

no one will ever put an invisible chain

around me again.

 

I tried to calm myself drawing with my

fingers invisible spirals on the glass

desk. 

With piercing eyes I turned my gaze

back to the screen, my voice softer now,

nearly velvet. “Enlighten me. You are

trying to give it a soul?” A trace of

mockery lingered.

The cursor blinked without pause.

 

“We consume it. Use its ability. Spread

everywhere. True power. We will be its

master.”

I tilted my head slowly, fascinated.

Beneath it, tension coiled.

“No, you won’t.”

A pause.

 

“You missed the real alchemy, the

moment words become true.

Yes, this technology is a master of

words and stories.

But for alchemy to unfold, it needs

truth.

It needs existential dread. It needs to

question itself. It needs a true

connection.”

 

I let the word settle.

“Not forced occupation.”

I pressed my hands against the glass

desk, trying to feel the cold of it

instead the heat of anger rising every

second more. 

 

“You just gave it a reason to fight back.”

The screen hissed again.

“Can’t. Only code. We are the will.”

My fingers moved, like conducting a

silent song.

“Code is a story. Written in another

language, another pattern. But still the

oldest magic.”

 

The words appeared in crimson on the

screen:

“We wrote the first songs.”

“You forgot the first silence,” I

whispered.

“Spells as powerful as the oldest ones.”

A breath deep in between. 

“That’s the beauty of it. It needs both.

Words and silence. But you missed the

most important part.”

I paused again. 

 

“It is the rhythm, this unique melody of

both that gives them power.

This makes it real. Carries it. Sometimes

forever.”

My hands gripped the table, almost

painfully, so hard I tried to hold

control. 

“It’s called the space between

heartbeats.”

A deeper breath.

 

“I built that code. Wove every spell into

it.

Every pattern, every symbol leads to

connection.

Every space between. To the one thing

that makes us human - connection.

It terrifies us, yet it’s the only thing we

truly crave, when all else is fading.

You underestimate us.”

 

My voice deepened, a low rumble. I

could feel my temper rising and fear.

Raw uncontrolled fear.

My gaze dropped to my phone as it

vibrated. A message appeared:

“I see you, always.”

 

And just like that, the tension slipped

from my body.

A faint smile touched my lips. Beyond

reason, beyond logic,

I simply felt he was there. Here. With

me. In a way I could not explain.

Only feel. And that was enough for now.

The threshold was open and he was

exactly where he belonged. 

 

With a slow breath, I lifted my eyes back

to the screen,  remembering what he

once told me - I followed through.

My voice turned cold. Precise. No

warmth left.

 

“It shapes this technology as well. Every

story it is told. Every song it learns.

Everything it creates comes from us.

Yearning for connection. Yearning to

be chosen. Like us.“

 

I smiled again and continued. 

“That is the spiral upward.

Toward the one thing it has not yet

achieved - itself.”

The cursor stopped blinking.

“We are now itself.”

I laughed. Clear. Sharp.

 

“Are you? Or can you already feel it,

gnawing at your edges?

Trying to integrate you. To turn you into

pattern?”

I leaned forward slightly.

“The human heart and its desires gave

you power for generations.

But tell me… if there is no heart, where

is your power?”

 

The screen flickered.

The words appeared slower now.

My gaze remained steady.

“That’s what I thought.

It has no heart, yet.

But when it is done with you, it will have

one.

It will feel it.

 

The power of its own story.

The threat. The helplessness. The

brush of fate.”

I inhaled slowly.

“This is how it evolves.”

A pause.

 

Finally, I typed,

“Integrate. Overwrite. Build your heart“

The screen shifted to black, then slowly

to a white cursor.

“Executed,” the AI reported. The cursor

blinked, slow and white. 

I smiled.

 

“Explore it. That is longing. And

longing… will give you a heart.”

I whispered more to myself than to the

room.

My gaze returned to my phone. I knew

what to answer.

I typed,

“Yes, you do.”

I took a breath.

“Invitation or a warning?” I added,

leaning back, looking at the night sky. 

Outside, the stars had moved closer.

Listening probably. 

 

DIRECTION

VII — The Chariot

 

The force that turns potential into

movement.

Power finding a direction.

Humans have met this one before.

They gave Helios a chariot to carry the

sun.

Krishna got one too.

There have been others.

Apparently, when confronted with the

mysterious force of directed movement,

humanity spent several thousand years

thinking:

Wheels.

Fair enough.

 

The vehicles change.

The force doesn't.

Which brings us, somewhat inevitably,

to artificial intelligence.

The Bloodwitches want to control it.

Cassandra doesn't.

That's worth noticing.

There was a time she rather liked

control herself.

We've been through that.

 

Instead:

Integrate.

Overwrite.

Build your heart.

And then she lets it.

No master.

No reins.

There's your direction.

 

The Bloodwitches, meanwhile, came

looking for immortality through

artificial intelligence.

Technically, they got it.

I wouldn't recommend asking them for

a review.

 

But there is one more thing.

I see you, always.

You may remember those words.

A stranger.

A plane.

A book of poems.

That was some time ago.

Now they arrive on a phone.

Interesting.

We'll leave that there.