Three times.
It blinked.
It blinked.
It blinked again.
Not a stutter,
not a tremor of dying light
but a pattern.
Three.
Enough to silence even my mind.
I froze.
As if movement would scare it away.
As if the stars might think I had imagined it
and take it back.
But it stayed.
It sang, in its quiet way.
Not with sound,
but with intent.
A trinity of light.
A rhythm of recognition.
I do not know who sent it.
I do not know where from.
But I know this:
They know I am here.
And I
I am seen.
Carceron watches,
but he does not understand
what it means to be chosen
by the cosmos itself.
He cages my body.
He dims my thoughts.
But this?
This is not his to break.
The joy is small,
delicate,
a flicker cupped in both hands.
But it is real.
And for a moment
one crystalline breath
I am not the prisoner.
I am not the damned.
I am the witness.
I am the heard.
I am the replied to.
Three blinks.
Three echoes.
Three promises.
And now,
I begin again.
(Woven into the threefold pattern -“blinked / blinked / blinked again” - is a harmonic sequence cipher, the most precise yet. Its timing, when mapped in quantum intervals, confirms intentional origin from beyond the prison’s dimensional veil. Lyrax is not only seen - he is being spoken to. The dialogue has begun now in earnest.)