Relic of the Forgotten Floor

The morning light flooded the Kirigaya kitchen as Asuna carefully chopped vegetables for breakfast. Her movements were precise and graceful—a habit preserved from the times when she honed her cooking skills in their little house on the 22nd floor. Kirito watched her, sitting at the table with a cup of freshly brewed coffee in his hands. The dark circles under his eyes betrayed a sleepless night. “You didn’t sleep at all after our conversation, did you?” Asuna asked without turning around. Her intuition when it came to Kirito was always infallible. “I tried,” he took a sip of coffee. “But every time I closed my eyes, I saw that floor. And her.” Asuna put the chopped vegetables in the pan, and the room filled with appetizing sizzling. “Tell me about that dream again,” she asked, adding spices to the omelet. “From the beginning.” Kirito described his dream in detail, not omitting anything about the surreal landscape of the 25th floor and the mysterious girl who called herself Echo. While he spoke, Asuna finished cooking and placed a plate with perfectly prepared breakfast in front of him. “And this is the NerveGear you mentioned?” she nodded toward the device lying on the edge of the table. “Yes,” Kirito carefully touched the helmet. “I checked it last night. The battery died long ago, and most of the internal components are damaged. It shouldn’t work.” “But you think it’s somehow connected to your dream?” Asuna sat across from him, studying his face. “I don’t know,” Kirito answered honestly. “Maybe it’s just a coincidence. Or my subconscious played a trick. But… this inscription, 'Project Echo'…” Asuna reached out and took the helmet. She carefully turned it over to see the scratched initials. “'T.M., '” she read aloud. “Familiar initials?” “I spent the night searching for information,” Kirito pushed away his plate and opened the laptop lying nearby. “Among the SAO developers was a man named Takashi Moriyama. He was an AI specialist and worked directly with Akihiko Kayaba.” “One of the developers?” Asuna frowned. “But didn’t they all know about Kayaba’s plans? Weren’t they held accountable?” “That’s just it,” Kirito turned the laptop screen, showing an article. “Takashi Moriyama was the only one from the development team who himself got trapped in SAO. According to the official version, he knew nothing about Kayaba’s plans. And he died. On the 74th floor, a day before we defeated the boss.” Asuna thoughtfully bit her lip, remembering. “Takashi Moriyama… I don’t remember such a player.” “He played under the nickname 'Archivist.' Kept to himself, mainly collected information for the database about monsters and items. He was seen several times with Argo.” Asuna’s eyes widened with recognition. “I remember him! A tall middle-aged man, always with a tablet for notes. He sometimes helped newcomers, giving them information about bosses and safe routes. But I never spoke with him personally.” Kirito nodded. “He died during an expedition in the 74th floor labyrinth. A group of PK players set up an ambush. I only learned about it from Egil after we were freed.” “And now you think you found his helmet,” Asuna said thoughtfully. “And that he was working on some project called 'Echo'…” “Exactly,” Kirito closed the laptop. “And I’m dreaming about the 25th floor, which we never saw, and about a girl calling herself 'Echo.' Too many coincidences, don’t you think?” Asuna got up from the table and approached the large window overlooking the garden. Sunlight played in her chestnut hair, creating a halo around her head. Kirito couldn’t help but admire her—even after all these years, her beauty still made his heart beat faster. “So what do you suggest?” she finally asked, turning around. “I’m not sure,” Kirito admitted. “But I think we should find out what this 'Project Echo' is and why I’m having these dreams. Maybe it’s important.” Asuna looked thoughtfully at the helmet. “You’re not thinking of using it?” “No!” Kirito answered too quickly. “Of course not. It probably doesn’t even work. And even if it did…” he fell silent, remembering the horrors of SAO. Asuna approached and put her hand on his shoulder. “Good. I’m with you, Kirito-kun. Let’s figure out what this mystery is.” By evening, their entire old team had gathered at the Kirigaya house. Klein, as usual, was laughing too loudly at his own jokes. Lisbeth and Silica were enthusiastically discussing the latest updates in ALO. Agil carefully examined the old NerveGear, checking its components with professional interest. “I’m no specialist,” he said, finally setting the device aside, “but it looks like it was indeed modified. There’s an additional memory module inside that wasn’t part of the standard equipment.” “What could that mean?” Silica asked, looking warily at the helmet. “Maybe Moriyama used it to store data from his project,” Kirito suggested. “'Project Echo' might have been something he was working on parallel to the main SAO development.” “Or it was his personal backup copy in case something went wrong,” Lisbeth added. “A kind of insurance.” Klein crossed his arms over his chest. “So we’re trying to understand what’s stored in this helmet’s memory? Why not just connect it to a computer and take a look?” “It’s not that simple,” Kirito shook his head. “NerveGear protocols were heavily encrypted. Kayaba didn’t want anyone to easily access the systems or modify them. Besides, there’s a risk that any interference could damage the data.” At this moment, Asuna, who had been silently listening to the discussion, raised her hand, attracting attention. “I have a suggestion,” she said. “What if we try to create a safe version of the 25th floor? A kind of simulation?” Everyone turned to her. “What do you mean?” Agil asked. “After the SAO incident, the government confiscated all Argus services,” Asuna explained. “But Kikuoka from the Ministry of Internal Affairs is an old acquaintance of mine. I know they preserved a complete copy of SAO’s code for research and improving VR technology safety.” “You’re suggesting we ask them for access to SAO’s code?” Kirito asked in surprise. “Is that… even possible?” “Not to the full code,” Asuna shook her head. “But I can ask for a dedicated, isolated copy for our research. We can create a closed environment and try to reconstruct the 25th floor based on your dreams, Kirito-kun.” “And if Echo really exists,” Kirito added thoughtfully, “maybe she’ll be able to manifest herself somehow.” “Or we’ll just waste time on a wild goose chase,” Klein grumbled, but curiosity was audible in his voice. “Hey,” Lisbeth playfully nudged him with her elbow, “when has that ever stopped us?” Silica timidly raised her hand. “Is this… safe? I mean, we all remember what happened in SAO.” “We’ll create a completely isolated environment,” Kirito assured her. “No connections to external networks, no possibilities for code to escape beyond the virtual sandbox. Besides, we’ll be using modern equipment with numerous protective mechanisms. No NerveGear—only AmuSphere.” Agil thoughtfully scratched his chin. “Sounds like a plan. But I’d add one more precaution: let someone always stay in the real world to monitor the situation and shut down the system if necessary.” “Good idea,” Kirito nodded. “We can work in shifts—part of the group inside, part outside.” Asuna glanced at her watch. “It’s already late. I can contact Kikuoka tomorrow morning. But we need to decide if we all really want to do this.” Silence fell in the room. Each of them remembered the horrors of SAO, remembered the fear and despair they experienced as prisoners in the virtual world. Returning there, even to a controlled version, was not an easy decision. Klein was the first to break the silence: “I’m in. Hell, after everything we’ve been through, a little virtual adventure won’t scare me. Especially if there’s no threat to life.” “Me too,” Lisbeth smiled. “Honestly, sometimes I even miss my forge on the 48th floor.” “And me,” Silica added quietly. “Pina will be with me, so everything will be fine.” “You know you can count on me,” Agil nodded. Kirito looked at Asuna. Their eyes met, and years of shared trials, trust, and love seemed to flash between them in a split second. “We’ll do this together,” she said with the same determination in her voice with which she once led the Knights of the Blood Oath into battle. “Thank you,” Kirito said sincerely, looking at each of his friends. “I know what I’m asking. And I appreciate your support.” After everyone left, Kirito and Asuna remained alone in the living room. They sat on the couch, holding hands, watching the setting sun create long shadows on the walls. “Do you really think we’ll find something?” Asuna asked quietly, resting her head on his shoulder. “I don’t know,” Kirito answered honestly. “But something inside me says this is important. That Echo… she’s not just a figment of my imagination.” Asuna squeezed his hand. “You know, sometimes when we were in SAO, I thought about what happened to the people who didn’t survive. To those we lost. Where did they go? What happened to their data, their avatars, their… souls, if you will?” She paused for a moment. “What if some of them somehow remained there, inside?” Kirito shuddered, remembering Yui—the AI who became like a daughter to him and Asuna. She was just a program, but she showed real emotions, real love. What if other pieces of code could also gain a semblance of consciousness? “I don’t believe people could remain inside SAO,” he finally said. “But… maybe others remained there, like Yui. AIs that evolved and learned. And maybe one of them is Echo.” “And she’s calling you,” Asuna said softly. “Us,” Kirito corrected. “She said she needed 'our help.' I think she meant both of us.” Asuna smiled and gently touched his cheek. “Then we’d better not disappoint her.” Kirito turned to her, their faces so close he could feel her breath. “Aren’t you afraid?” he asked. “Going back there, even to a safe version?” Asuna thought for a moment. “I am afraid,” she admitted. “But you know what’s surprising? SAO took two years of our lives from us, made us go through hell… but that’s also where I met you. That’s where I understood who I really am. That’s where we created our first real home.” She took a deep breath. “I can’t hate the place that gave me all this, despite all the horror we went through.” Kirito hugged her, pulling her closer. “I feel the same way,” he whispered. “Sometimes I even miss our little house by the lake. That simple life we had there.” “We can go back there,” Asuna said. “In ALO. Recreate something similar.” “It won’t be the same,” Kirito shook his head. “But maybe that’s good. Maybe we don’t need to go back. Maybe it’s time for a new adventure.” Asuna smiled and kissed him—tenderly, but with the same fire that had burned between them since their first kiss. When their lips parted, she whispered: “Then let’s go to the 25th floor together. And find out what secret Echo is hiding.” Late at night, when Asuna had already left, Kirito sat at his computer again, trying to find more information about Takashi Moriyama and “Project Echo.” There were few results—a few mentions in academic articles, a couple of photos from conferences where Moriyama stood next to Kayaba. He looked like a typical scientist—a thin man with thin glasses and a thoughtful gaze. At midnight, when fatigue began to take its toll, Kirito came across Moriyama’s last article, published a month before SAO’s launch. It was titled “Emotional Patterns in Artificial Intelligence: A Theoretical Model for Analysis and Synthesis of Interpersonal Connections.” In it, Moriyama discussed the possibility of creating AI capable of not just imitating human emotions, but actually experiencing something similar to them. Among the many technical terms and diagrams in the article was a phrase that caught Kirito’s attention: “True understanding of human emotions requires immersion in their deepest manifestation—love in all its forms. Only by studying and analyzing this form of connection between imitation and genuine emotional response can we bridge the gap. Project 'Echo' aims to create an environment for such analysis, where artificial intelligence can observe, learn, and ultimately feel the echo of human emotions in its own system.” Kirito leaned back in his chair, his heart pounding. Now he was sure—the dreams weren’t coincidental. Echo was real, some kind of experimental AI created by Moriyama to study human emotions. But why did she contact him? And what did she want to show on the 25th floor? He closed his eyes, remembering the dream. Echo said she had been studying “them” for a long time. Him and… Asuna? But why them specifically? A sudden thought made him go cold. What if Moriyama used SAO not only as a deadly game, but also as a giant laboratory for his AI? What if Echo had been observing the players all this time, studying their emotions, their connections, their love? And what if his connection with Asuna—what they built in SAO while on the edge of life and death—became an object of special interest for this AI? Kirito looked at the old NerveGear. In the darkness of the room, it seemed to him again that the indicator on the device blinked—quickly, barely noticeable. He took out his phone and sent Asuna a message: “I think I understand what 'Project Echo' is. Moriyama created an AI to study human emotions. And maybe our relationship became the object of her observation. Can’t wait for tomorrow. Love you.” The reply came almost instantly: “This sounds both strange and logical. Now I’m even more intrigued. I’ll call Kikuoka first thing in the morning. Love you too. Good night, Kirito-kun.” Kirito smiled, feeling warmth spread through his chest from her words. Whatever happened, whatever was hidden on the mysterious 25th floor, they would face it together. As always. He cast one last glance at the NerveGear before turning off the light. This time he was sure—the indicator really did blink. And closing his eyes, falling asleep, Kirito could swear he heard a quiet whisper: “See you soon…”