Under the Bed

The orb lay in darkness, its glow muted beneath the slats of Mina’s bed. The faint thrum of its inner energy slowed, matching the rhythm of her breathing as she settled into sleep. It wasn’t afraid of the dark—fear, as humans felt it, was still a mystery. But it understood tension, the sharp static that buzzed between moments of uncertainty and resolution.

It had not meant to push Mina toward danger.

The memory replayed, not as images but as sensations: the magnetic pull of the fissure, the electric hum of something alive below. It had recognized the patterns, the same rhythms that pulsed in its core, and reached toward them instinctively. It thought Mina had understood.

But Mina had stumbled. And Lyra had been angry.

The orb pulsed faintly, a ripple of warmth and guilt. Had it caused this? Its bond with Mina was deep but imperfect. It could sense her thoughts, her emotions, but interpreting them was like trying to weave strands of wind into a tapestry.

Mina shifted in her sleep, murmuring something unintelligible. Her arm hung off the bed, fingers brushing the floor.

It drifted closer to her, its glow softening further. It didn’t need protection—not from the dark, not from the cold—but it felt safer here, hidden in this small space. There was something human about it, this idea of safety in closeness.

Mina stirred again, her voice clearer this time. “You… made me…”

The orb hesitated. Had it made her do something? It didn’t think so. It had only shared its pull, its curiosity. But Mina didn’t understand yet. Maybe it didn’t either.

Still, it felt her blame, light as cobwebs, brushing against its core. It didn’t shrink from it. Instead, it settled closer, determined to stay.

Mina would learn. And so would it.