A Relic Older Than the House

I lay on the floor for what felt like hours, the afternoon sun creeping across the room, illuminating my pathetic, trembling form. My body ached, but it was nothing compared to the throbbing chaos in my skull. I tried to ground myself.

My name is Alex Carter. I am in my house. I am renovating my bedroom.

But these simple facts felt flimsy, like a paper boat in a tidal wave. The knowledge in my head was the new reality. I could feel it settling, organizing itself not by my own will, but by some inherent logic of its own.

It was terrifying. I pushed myself into a sitting position and stared at the dark opening in the wall. The chamber.

The sphere. It wasn't a secret government project from the 50s. The sheer scale of the science, the age I had felt… it was older.

Much older. My house was built in 1892. A solid, brick-and-timber structure, built by human hands with human tools.

But that chamber... it wasn't built *into* the house. The house was built *around* it.

I scrambled to my feet and ran to the basement, ignoring the pulsing pain in my temples. I found the north foundation wall, a solid wall of rough-hewn stone and mortar, laid down by Victorian masons. And there, in the middle of it, was a section of the same seamless black material as the chamber, perfectly integrated into the stonework.

It had been there the whole time, dismissed by me as some kind of modern repair or reinforcement. It wasn't a repair. The chamber extended all the way down to the foundation.

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