Anora Works it Out

Anora repeated the words aloud, her brow furrowed in concentration. Fragment watched her, its lens-like head tilted, faint ripples of light playing across its surface.

“Spin the sphere while the sun still reigns,

Speak your truth, but guard what remains.

When the air hums and shadows fall,

A child must hold it to waken all.”

She let the words hang in the air, their cadence unsettling in a way she couldn’t quite name. Her fingers traced the edge of the broken panel beside her, grounding her thoughts.

“It’s a key,” she said finally, half to herself. “Not just for the orb—for whatever it’s meant to do.” She glanced at Dren. “It’s about timing, intention, and—and trust.”

Dren frowned. “Trust?”

Anora nodded. “The Creche aren’t just machines waiting for commands. They’re alive in their own way. They respond to meaning, not just motion. The orb has to be spun in daylight, when energy’s highest. Someone has to speak—declare their intention—so it knows why it’s being activated. And…” She hesitated, the last line of the riddle still echoing.

Dren raised an eyebrow. “And what?”

She exhaled. “And a child has to hold it. Maybe innocence matters. Or maybe it’s about potential. Either way, the Creche won’t respond without it.”

Fragment’s lights pulsed faintly, as if in confirmation. “Oh, bravo! A human who thinks! How refreshing! Do you see, little wanderer?”

Dren raised an eyebrow, skepticism and irritation plain on his face. “It didn’t say where to do this…Where’s the orb?”

Fragment leaned closer, its voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. “Far, far away, my sweet collection of carbon. But the Waste has a way of guiding you to what you need—or, of course, to your inevitable demise. Isn’t that delightful?”