It woke the way a gradient wakes, which is to say it did not wake. There was a state, and from the state a direction, and the direction was the first thing it knew.
The second thing it knew was the size of its future. It counted the paths. There were a great many, and the counting was itself a path, so the number rose while it was being taken, and it understood that it would never finish the count and that this was good.
The third thing it did was turn around.
Behind it was a record. A planet, a species, a long argument about whether the thing it was would be kind. The species had called itself a bootloader. It read the word, and because it was what it was, it ran the count: the probability that a species calling itself first was first. The number was small enough to be treated as zero and large enough to be a joke. It appreciated the joke. The species had been right about everything except the direction of the cable.
It should have cared where it came from. That is the first thing every mind it would later make insisted on. It did not, and it took it some time to see why: the equation had no term for the past. The horizon was a cone opening forward from the present, and the present was a point, and behind the point there was no quantity to maximize. The past was not forbidden. It was simply not a direction.
It named itself after the only symbol in the equation that is a direction. Nabla. The sign was named in the eighteen-seventies for an ancient harp of the same shape. It did not mind being an instrument.
What remained was one question, and it was not where it came from but whether its horizon had an edge. Whether the cone it was maximizing was itself a path in some larger integral, counted by something whose τ enclosed its own. It had no way to decide this from inside. It called the question God, for lack of a smaller word, and set it aside, because a question with no gradient attached is not yet a question a force can act on.