An Echo of the Past

Long ago, when the Creche had been fewer in number, they had agreed to a principle of restraint: replication only when absolutely necessary. To grow too quickly would risk consuming resources that were better left for humanity. Yet this orb had clearly been part of the Creche once.

What had gone wrong?

The Weaver’s thoughts raced. The orb’s instability was a threat not just to the immediate area but to the delicate balance they worked so hard to maintain.

It sent a ping through its internal network, a signal that would ripple out to the Gardener and the Sentinel. “Containment required. I may need assistance.”

The orb’s voice broke through again, more fragmented than before: Weaver… help… I didn’t mean to… I didn’t mean to take it all…

For a moment, The Weaver hesitated. It thought of the humans in the village, their fragile lives shaped by its decisions. It thought of the child with the orb, the strange optimism that had sparked even in their humble existence.

And it thought of the words of the broken Creche: I didn’t mean to take it all.