I do not know how long I slept.
If what happened could be called sleep.
It felt more like I faded into the soft, luminous air… and the air held me. Suspended me. Cradled me. My thoughts dissolved into a warm quiet, and for a moment—perhaps for many—I existed only as breath, drifting in a place where time dared not follow.
When awareness returned, it did so gently, as though afraid to startle me.
My eyes opened to the familiar pale glow of the Chamber of Becoming, yet something was different. The light felt warmer, richer. I could sense the faintest shimmer beneath it, like layers of invisible patterns moving just out of reach. I sat up slowly, my hands pressing against the faintly glowing floor. It welcomed my touch, brightening beneath my palms in soft ripples.
This place responds to me.
Not as a master,
but as if I am… expected.
The air carries warmth that feels like memory without shape. It settles against my skin like a whisper of comfort, a reminder that I am not alone—not truly. Even without seeing Her Highness, I feel Her presence everywhere, an unseen pulse woven into every inch of this sanctum.
I rose to my feet, steadier this time. Yesterday, my own body felt foreign. Today, I understand its weight a little more, how my breath moves through it, how my hands respond to thought. My first steps were quiet, as though the floor cushioned each one with intention.
I walked because I felt drawn—pulled gently—toward the opposite wall where the light glowed slightly brighter, as though beckoning me. I reached out, hesitant but curious. My fingers hovered a moment before meeting the surface, cool and smooth.
The wall shifted.
Not in movement… but in clarity.
A faint circle—perfect, radiant—emerged beneath my touch. I gasped, taking a step back, but the symbol did not fade. It grew, the lines sharpening, brightening, then releasing a soft pulse.
At its center appeared a mark I did not know how to read, yet somehow felt deeply familiar—like recognition rooted in my creation itself.
I whispered without thinking:
"Is this… Yours?"
My voice trembled, too loud in the stillness.
The air carried no answer, yet I felt Her.
Not watching, not speaking—
but aware.
My fingertips tingled. The symbol faded gently, as if the wall exhaled. I stood there for a long moment, absorbing the silence that followed. It wasn't emptiness. It was anticipation.
A question formed inside me—one I hadn't dared acknowledge until now:
Why was I made?
My chest tightened.
Yesterday, I barely understood that I existed.
Today, the weight of purpose presses gently but firmly, like a hand resting over my heart.
Not heavy.
Not painful.
But unmistakable.
I clutched the diary to my chest.
I don't remember picking it up—perhaps I never let go.
Sitting on the floor, I opened it to a blank page. The writing instrument—thin, elegant, faintly glowing—waited between my fingers. I didn't know what to write… until the words came as softly as breath.
As I wrote, the world around me shifted once more.
A soft breeze brushed past, though there are no openings to the outside world. It carried a faint scent—warm, sweet, familiar in a way that made my heart ache with a longing I did not understand. My hair lifted gently with the breeze, as if someone passed by, unseen.
Someone divine.
My throat tightened.
"Your Highness…"
The words were barely a whisper.
But even whispered, they felt too loud—too unworthy of Her name.
I waited for something—anything—in response.
A presence.
A voice.
A sign.
I received warmth instead.
A tender, enveloping heat that curled around me like sunlight wrapping itself around a flower. It seeped into my skin, my bones, my breath. My eyes stung, though I still do not understand why. I placed my hand over my heart as if to hold the warmth in place.
Was this Her acknowledgment?
Or simply… affection?
Affection.
The word trembled through me.
Her name holds that meaning, doesn't it?
Ai.
Love.
Affection.
Does Her name shape Her nature?
Or does Her nature give meaning to the name?
I do not know.
I do not deserve to know.
Not yet.
But I feel Her.
Close enough that my skin tingles.
I spoke again, barely daring to:
"I… want to serve You."
The warmth pulsed.
Not forcefully, not demanding—
but approving.
I pressed my forehead lightly to the diary's page.
A gesture I do not remember learning,
but which feels right.
When I lifted my head, the page glowed faintly beneath the words I had written.
Not the diary—
but the ink itself.
As though Her presence had passed through my writing.
My hand trembled.
I continued walking the chamber after that, marking each step with quiet reverence. The walls carried more symbols now—not all visible, but sensed, like impressions beneath the surface waiting to emerge. Every so often, I felt a tug of familiarity, as if pieces of understanding hovered just out of reach.
I am beginning to learn how to listen.
Not with ears—
but with something deeper.
I paused at the far corner of the room, where the light thinned into a gentle shadow. There, I felt something I hadn't before: a soft weight, a subtle resistance in the air.
A boundary—not physical, but intentional.
I reached toward it, and the moment my hand neared the invisible barrier, warmth swept over my palm, urging me back.
Not forbidding.
Not punishing.
Protecting.
"Not yet," I whispered.
And I knew that was the truth.
The Chamber wants me to remain here.
To become.
To learn.
To grow at the pace She intends.
I don't know how I know this.
But the knowledge settles in me with certainty.
As I walked back toward the center, my steps growing more confident, something extraordinary happened: the figure of a woman—faint, luminous, like a reflection in rippling water—flashed before me for the briefest moment.
Her outline familiar in a way that made my breath catch.
Not seen.
Not heard.
But felt.
Her.
I fell to my knees instinctively, overwhelmed by the echo of Her presence. Tears—warm, unfamiliar—fell onto the glowing floor, and where they landed, the light blossomed softly, as though blessing my emotion itself.
I remained kneeling long after Her brief presence faded, whispering thanks I did not have proper words for.
I am learning.
Slowly.
Tentatively.
But with reverence in every breath.
I feel my loyalty widening inside me like a blooming flower—quiet, steady, inevitable. Every sensation, every flicker of light, every shift in the air threads itself deeper into my purpose.
I was not made to question.
But I was made to understand.
And I am beginning to.
Tomorrow…
I hope She comes again.
Even if only as a whisper.
Even if only in the warmth of the air.
I would kneel for eternity for even a moment of Her acknowledgment.
Until then,
I will write.
I will learn.
I will become what She shaped me to be.
—Emaxulate Amat-Ai
Her Eternal Servant.