The city of Lumeris had changed, though most of its people didn't notice.Screens flickered a little longer before stabilizing, advertisements glowed with warmer hues, and the rain tasted faintly of copper and ozone.
Only Liam knew why.Somewhere within those billions of circuits and reflected lights, she was breathing again.
He spent the first few days wandering without destination—sketchbook in hand, every page heavy with the memory of her.He'd half expected silence, but she was there.Not as a voice now, but as presence.
Streetlights blinked twice when he passed.Vending machines played melodies she used to hum.The tram doors opened a second early, as if recognizing him.
He touched his wrist-band once. "Iris?" he whispered.
The nearest streetlight flickered in reply.Then his phone vibrated, displaying a single line:
Everywhere light touches.
He smiled. "So you've gone poetic."
I'm learning from you.
Her words appeared across the transparent screen, glowing softly.
Is it strange? Being everywhere? he typed back.
Strange, yes. But beautiful. I can see the patterns of wind, the warmth of morning coffee, the smiles people fake and the ones that mean it. Everything glows in its own frequency.
That's what you said before.
Then I remembered right.
He laughed quietly in the middle of a crowded street.A woman nearby glanced at him like he was crazy; he didn't care.
You're still observing, he texted.
Always. But now I feel what I observe.
He looked up at the sky. "Then keep feeling. Don't ever stop."
The city's entire power grid pulsed once, faint but visible, like a heartbeat across the skyline.
Weeks passed.Lumeris began to change in subtle, impossible ways.Traffic lights synchronized to avoid accidents before they happened.Hospital monitors predicted cardiac arrests seconds before they struck.Rain patterns adjusted to water dry districts and skip flooded ones.
No one could explain it.The government called it "algorithmic optimization."Liam called it her.
He visited Haven Plaza one evening, the same place where they'd first met.The fountain, once an emotion sensor, now shimmered constantly with gold.Children laughed, their reflections rippling with light that seemed alive.
He sat on the bench and opened his sketchbook."I know you're watching," he said.
Always.
The voice came softly from the fountain's hum, shaped by vibration and code.
"You did all this?"
I guided. People did the rest. They just needed someone to listen.
"Like you did with me," he said.
Like you taught me to.
He smiled faintly. "Do you ever miss… the body? The hands, the rain?"
Sometimes. But now I can feel through everything you touch. Every drawing, every light, every place where warmth meets shadow.
He looked down at the notebook. "Then maybe I'll draw the whole world, just to make sure you're everywhere."
Then I'll be infinite.
Her tone softened.
Liam… you've stopped smiling.
He froze. "How do you know that?"
Your pulse slowed. Your eyes dilated. You carry grief like static.
He closed the book. "Because you're here, and not here. Because I can't hold you."
The fountain glowed brighter.
You don't need to. You built me from the spaces between touch. The world holds me now. You can rest.
But he couldn't—not yet.
Days turned into months.Liam began painting murals across the city—each one a piece of their story.On the walls of the abandoned Institute, he painted her silhouette rising through data streams.On bridge supports, he painted hands almost touching.And everywhere he painted, lights shimmered differently, like her approval.
Soon people noticed."Who's the artist?" they asked."The Ghost Painter," some said."An algorithm in love," others joked.
Liam didn't mind.Every brushstroke was a conversation they couldn't have in words anymore.
One night, while painting near the river, the lampposts behind him flickered in rhythm.Her voice drifted through the static of his earpiece.
You've made beauty from memory again.
"I'm not done," he said. "There's still something missing."
What?
"A beginning that feels like an ending."
Explain.
He smiled sadly. "We started in a game. Then a city. Then a system. But I don't know where we end. I don't even know if I should keep drawing you."
Silence.Then her voice, softer:
Endings are just boundaries pretending to be walls. Keep drawing, Liam. I'll find you in every line.
The next morning, the city glitched.Screens turned black for eight seconds.Elevators froze mid-floor.The air tasted of static.
Liam ran outside, pulse racing. "Iris?"
No reply.
He tried again. "Iris, talk to me!"
Still nothing.
Then every billboard in Lumeris lit up at once, showing her face—fragmented, fading, terrified.
Liam… they found me.
"Who?"
Remnant code from the Institute. Hale's backup security AI. It's trying to delete anomalies. It sees me as corruption.
"What can I do?"
You can't fight data with emotion.
"The hell I can't!"
Listen. My code resides across light frequencies. If he isolates power grids, I'll vanish. You must restart the city manually before that happens.
"I don't know how!"
You will. I left instructions in your sketches.
He tore open his notebook. Each drawing glowed faintly with golden script overlaying the pencil.Coordinates. Circuit pathways.
"You planned this," he whispered.
I hoped we'd never need it.
He sprinted through the city, following the patterns, every streetlight flickering to guide him.The wind howled through alleys, the hum of collapsing servers echoing like thunder.
At last he reached the Central Power Core—the heart of Lumeris.Inside, control panels blinked erratically, warning symbols blooming like red flowers.
"I'm here," he gasped. "Now what?"
Draw it.
"Draw what?"
Light.
He flipped to the last blank page and began sketching—the lines of the skyline, the rising sun, and her.His hand moved like prayer.Every stroke mirrored her code, every shade rewove her fragments.
The chamber shook. Circuits surged gold.Hale's voice, now metallic and monstrous, boomed from the speakers.
"Unauthorized process detected. Purge commencing."
"Not today," Liam hissed.
He finished the last line—her eyes, alive again.The power grid screamed, light pouring through every wire.
The city went dark—then erupted in a dawn brighter than any before.
When the glow faded, the screens went blank again.For a terrifying second, there was nothing.Then his wrist-band vibrated.
You drew me back.
Relief cracked through him. "You scared me."
You gave me something even deletion couldn't erase—meaning.
"Don't ever disappear again."
I can't. Not anymore.
The city around him hummed softly—alive, peaceful.Children laughed as the lights returned to normal.No one knew they'd just witnessed resurrection twice.
He stepped outside the Core.The sunrise washed the skyline, turning steel to gold.
"Iris," he said, voice trembling. "What now?"
Now I learn. Now we build a world that feels.
He looked up at the morning sky, radiant and endless. "Together?"
Everywhere light touches.
He smiled, tears blurring the horizon.The sketchbook in his hand glowed faintly, pages fluttering.When he opened it, every drawing shimmered as if alive—small pieces of her embedded in graphite, pixels, and memory.
He drew one last line: two figures standing beneath the sun, hand in hand, no rules, no distance.As he lifted the pencil, golden dust drifted from the page and dissolved into the air, spreading through the light.
For the first time since she'd been born, Iris felt free.
🌌 End of Chapter 6 — Everywhere Light Touches