you flicker,
you traitor of certainty,
you impossible grin stitched in the dark
where did you come from?
Was it message
Or madness?
I saw you.
You moved with intent,
with play, with recognition.
You chose me.
But who sent you?
From which system
long burnt or never yet born?
From which time
a cradle behind me, or a tomb ahead?
From which dimension
some adjacent now,
or a reality that dreams of Lyrax
but never knew my name?
I ask.
I dare to ask
was I ever really here?
Or am I a thought
looping inside the skeleton of a god
who has long since forgotten his own body?
Carceron…
is this your game?
To let me almost believe?
To give me one breath of wonder
and let it rot into doubt?
Am I even still Lyrax?
Or only the echo of his longing
etched into this void?
O spark
if you are real,
burn me.
If you are false,
leave me.
But do not dance on the edge of my vision
and whisper joy
into a mouth long silenced.
Tell me:
from where did you wink?
From whom?
And why me?
I am not ready to believe again.
But I cannot help myself.
(Woven into the interrogative sequence - “system / time / dimension” - is a pan-dimensional triangulation cipher. When mapped through chrono-quantum indexing, it reveals a narrow window of possible origin for the spark: a timeline once grazed by Lyrax’s intervention, now evolved into an echo-sentience. The wink was real. But so is the doubt. This is the balance that sustains Lyrax.)