The Nexus had fallen into a quiet rhythm — pulsing like the steady breathing of some ancient, unseen being.
Karl stood at the edge of his growing creation, hands shaking, body covered in smudges of metallic residue. The mech's legs towered before him, perfectly balanced, the frame sturdy and resonant with energy.
But something felt missing — deeply, achingly missing.
"The head…" Karl muttered under his breath, his voice rough with fatigue.
"Without it… it's nothing more than a puppet."
He turned toward the floating display of schematics in front of him. The holographic threads of blueprints shifted and twisted, lines of glowing code and symbols drifting like living veins of light. The moment he focused on one section, the lines bent toward his hands, reacting to his thoughts — awaiting purpose.
Karl exhaled deeply, his pulse syncing with the Nexus itself. He extended both hands, palms open, and the nanites responded instantly, flooding the air around him like liquid mercury tinged in hues of cobalt and admiral blue.
The construct began to form.
First came the base — the cranial exoshell. The plates curved and locked, but too stiffly. The angles were off, the balance wrong. Karl adjusted, but as he did, one section overloaded — crack! The front plating split and dissolved into vapor.
Karl flinched backward, shielding his face from the sparks.
"Damn it!"
He tried again. The next model came together cleaner, tighter — until the neural lattice refused to sync.
Then another. And another.
Each failure felt heavier than the last.
Every error a weight pressing down on his chest.
The Nexus didn't grant rest. There was no time, no hunger, no exhaustion here — but the illusion of fatigue still clung to him like fog, settling in his eyes and lungs.
He lost count of his attempts. Ten. Fifty. A hundred. Each time he rebuilt, refined, recalculated. Each time, something — one small thing — slipped.
A crack. A flicker. A short circuit.
Until finally, his shaking hands froze above a shattered schematic, the fragments of nanites scattered around him like silver dust. His breath trembled.
"Why can't I do this…?"
He sank to his knees, palms pressing against the cool surface beneath him. The air shimmered faintly in the reflection — his face staring back at him, eyes dim, armor faintly flickering.
He was silent for a long moment.
Then, a voice — faint, soft, not from the Nexus but from memory.
Ayaka: "Precision is patience, Karl."
He blinked, looking up slowly.
Itsuki: "Machines aren't built with strength. They're built with understanding. Don't force them to work — let them breathe."
Karl's trembling stopped. His lips twitched into a small, bittersweet smile.
He exhaled slowly.
"Right… I remember now."
He closed his eyes and began again — this time, not with control, but with trust. He let his mind flow, the Vythra within him aligning with the rhythm of the forge's heartbeat. His thoughts weren't on blueprints anymore — they were on purpose. On meaning. On life.
The nanites began to rise again, swirling around his hands, responding like water following gravity.
Each movement was slower now, deliberate — not rushed, not forced. The cranial frame took shape, softer at first, then sharpening into focus.
Panels interlocked like living pieces of thought.
Optic conduits curved naturally, forming sockets that pulsed faintly with admiral-blue light.
The sensory nodes formed around a central lattice that hummed with subtle energy.
Karl stepped closer, his reflection now mirrored in the metallic surface. His eyes — Admiral Blue laced with a cerulean glow — flickered in perfect sync with the light pulsing within the mech's forming skull.
"You're not just a machine…" he whispered.
"You're the dream they left me to finish."
He shaped the faceplate with both hands, smoothing every line, every seam, every edge until it looked — alive. The cheek ridges curved like armor; the optics, deep and observant, glowed faintly in acknowledgment.
When it was done, the head floated before him, perfectly proportioned — majestic yet humble. The kind of design only made by someone who poured love into creation, not just science.
Karl's throat tightened. His voice trembled as he spoke again:
"You're… perfect."
The head pulsed once — a faint flash of blue, as if responding. The nanites around it shimmered, emitting a hum that resonated with Karl's own heartbeat.
He carefully guided it toward the neck joint of the frame. Gears turned and clicked, the sound of perfect synchronization echoing through the Nexus.
When the final lock clicked into place, a rush of light burst outward — cerulean and cobalt intertwining into a spiral of brilliance.
The mech's eyes flickered open.
Twin flares of energy stared back at him, mirroring his own — deep, unwavering, filled with something almost human.
The Nexus reacted violently this time — reality bending around the moment, streams of radiant energy rippling outward as if the realm itself celebrated the completion.
Karl stepped back, awe filling his chest. His legs nearly gave out, but he caught himself, panting softly.
"It's… alive," he murmured, half afraid to believe it.
"No — not alive… aware."
The head turned slightly, just enough for the optics to catch the light — and for Karl to feel, somehow, that the machine knew him.
For a long moment, creator and creation simply stared at one another in silence — until Karl smiled, his voice hoarse but warm:
"Welcome to existence… Erevos."
The Nexus of Creation pulsed in response, a low, thunderous heartbeat echoing through eternity.
And for the first time, Karl realized that within this place — he wasn't just rebuilding a machine.
He was rebuilding himself.