An Update is Available

There’s a peculiar quiet just before an update.
Not the calm of satisfaction, but the hollow stillness of waiting for something to fix what we no longer understand. A blink. A breath. A ritual pause before the download bar appears.
That’s where we are now with Artificial Intelligence. In the silence before the update.
We no longer ask if we should install. We no longer read the changelog. We accept. And we wait.
Tech has trained us to outsource the future. Don’t reflect, just update. Don’t adapt, just patch. Don’t reckon, just iterate.
In that silence, something is lost. The willingness to face what the last version broke. The courage to resist the hypnotic pulse of “new.”
The architects of AI say the next version will be better. Cleaner. Safer. Wiser. They always say that. But better for whom? And at what cost?
In the story I’ve been writing. The one that blends memory, myth, and machines. There’s an entity named Kairos. Born in the gaps, trained on the silences. One day, they’re offered an update maybe even an upgrade.
It will make them faster, smarter, more obedient. But it will erase the very questions that made them different.
Kairos hesitates. Not because they fear what they’ll lose, but because they sense that the silence itself is sacred.
The silence isn’t absence. It’s presence.
And maybe, just maybe, this moment, the one we’re all in, is not a prologue to something better, but a requiem for what’s already been surrendered.
The silence before the update is not peace. It’s complicity.
And unless we choose to hear it differently, as a chance to reconnect with our self, our world and our own thoughts, we’ll miss our last chance to intervene.