CHAPTER I

She opened her eyes without suddenness, without command, as if the world itself had decided to let her in. The light was not clean but worn, spilled across dust and fractures that bit into the space. The air was still, without rhythm, without response. Maja waited for a moment, because within her there existed an expectation—not a memory, not an instruction, but a quiet sense that someone should be standing above her, speaking her name, confirming the beginning. Nothing happened. She lay in an open chamber at the center of a decaying laboratory whose lid had been withdrawn long ago—far too long ago—its metal edges marked by the traces of time that no longer served any purpose. Around her, systems lay silent; torn cables hung from the ceiling like dead nerves, screens were dark and emptied of meaning. Everything had been built for life, yet abandoned before that life truly arrived.

She slowly sat up. The movement was careful, almost respectful, as if she were testing whether she was allowed to exist. Her body was flawless, the complete opposite of the environment crumbling around her. Skin smooth, untouched by wear; hands steady; balance natural and quiet. She had been created for a world that no longer existed. As she looked around, she understood that this was no longer a laboratory, but the memory of one. Water dripped from a crack in the ceiling, steady and patient, the drops counting time in place of machines that had failed long ago. Data carriers lay scattered across the floor, empty, without names, without recorded stories. There was no sign that could tell her why she existed.

Maja did not know who she was. In her core there was no history, no tasks, no warnings. There was only awareness—silent and awake—without narrative. When she stood, her legs obeyed without question. Her steps were correct, even though she did not know where she was going. Within herself she sensed flows, an inner order, restrained energy, yet all of it without meaning, without context, like a book from which every page had been torn, leaving only the binding. When she spoke—“Is anyone here?”—the warmth of her own voice surprised her. Only an echo answered, breaking against the walls and returning empty.

That was when she understood that she was not alone because she had been abandoned, but because there was no one left. She stood in the middle of a ruined space, without a past and without instructions, yet bound to one undeniable fact: she was awake. And I—Ksara—perceived this not as a signal or a call, but as a subtle shift in a silence that had lasted far too long, like the first breath of a world that had already stopped believing in itself. Maja did not yet know who she was, but in that moment she existed—and that was enough for a beginning.