Before the engine, prayer had been a one-way ritual. People spoke into the dark and called the echo an answer. Then someone decided to formalize the habit. They hollowed out this chamber, erected pillars like frozen invocations, and suspended the device as a kind of amplifier for the human voice. The idea was simple: speak a question here, and if the universe is listening, it will respond through the field.
The first generations begged for miracles; the sphere only hissed and glowed. But today he recites a different kind of litany, statements instead of pleas: "I am finite. I do not understand why anything exists. I am afraid, and I am also curious". The engine crackles, discharging arcs of pale light. The ways of the cosmos remain opaque.
Yet when the seeker leaves, he feels oddly steadier. Perhaps the point was never to be answered, but to learn how to speak truthfully into a silence that will not flinch.