The night sky stretched above him, vast and untouched, scattered with stars so bright they seemed to shimmer against the blackened canvas. The moon cast its pale light across the valley, and the river mirrored the heavens, rippling silver and dark where the currents ran deep. The wind was gentle, whispering through the reeds, carrying the scent of damp earth and distant woodsmoke.

Ashur sat at the edge of the stream, watching the water flow past him.

He had come here after work, as he had every day for the past four days. The first afternoon, he had been certain she would come. The second, he had hoped. The third, he had waited in silence. By the fourth day, doubt had taken root. Still, he came. The ritual had become a quiet comfort, a familiar routine. He had no need for sleep anyway.

But then, there she was.

Alia did not notice him at first, laying in the grass watching the stars. She arrived out of breath, as if she had been running, and dropped to the ground by the stream. She braced herself against the earth, catching her breath, her shoulders rising and falling with each exhale.

Ashur sat up immediately. "Alia!" he called.

Joy. Excitement.

She flinched, her head snapping toward him, eyes wide with surprise.

"Ashur?" she breathed, taking in the sight of him. His robes were wrinkled, his hair slightly disheveled. He had come straight from the office. He had been lying here ever since. Time had slipped by unnoticed.

He walked to where she was seated and sat beside her.

"Alia, so good to see you," he said, relief threading through his voice. "I was worried we wouldn't see each other again."

Worry.

So that's what worry felt like. It was a strange ache. The slow, tightening pull in his chest, the way his mind had looped through every possibility in her absence. It was not logical. It did not solve problems or prevent them. But it felt all consuming.

Alia stared at the ground, avoiding eye contact. "Hello, again."

She was a contradiction. Curious. Unpredictable. She did not make sense to Ashur.

As she shifted, adjusting her sleeves, his sharp eyes caught something. A dark purple bruise circling her left wrist, just barely visible beneath the fabric.

He frowned.

A mark. Another, thinner one, on her neck.

Something stirred in him. Not worry this time, but something deeper, something foreign.

Explosive and hard to contain. A feeling that did not ask for permission, did not wait to be understood. It coiled inside him, demanding action. Was he angry? No. It was something more.

It was rage. He felt himself shake.

"Alia," he said, trying to maintain composure, "your arm."

Immediately, she tugged at her sleeve, a sharp, instinctive motion. Trying to hide it.

Why was she trying to hide it?

Her entire body tensed, the little ease she had mustered since his arrival vanishing in an instant.

"What happened—"

"I need to go home," she interrupted.

She stood abruptly, stepping back. Her breath had steadied, but her voice wavered. Uncertain. Her movements were brisk, deliberate, like she was forcing herself to leave before she said too much.

Ashur remained seated, watching her carefully.

"Alia," he said again, "are you alright—"

"I'll see you later, Ashur," she cut in.

Then, before he could press further, she turned and hurried away.

A sudden, unfamiliar force surged inside him. An impulse to act, to move, to help her. All this energy, coiled tight inside him, demanding release. What was it? More rage? Helplessness? Desperation?

All of it at once.

But she had refused conversation. She had chosen to leave.

What was he supposed to do?

So he stayed where he was, staring after her, watching her figure disappear into the dark. Above him, the stars continued their quiet existence. Unchanged. But something within Ashur shifted. Something he did not yet understand.

***

Ashur left home for work, distressed.

The night before lingered in his mind, replaying like an unfinished equation. Alia. Her bruises. Her silence. Every time he tried to calculate the correct response, something he should have said or done, his conclusions led nowhere.

But uncertainty did not stop time from moving forward.

So he walked the familiar path to Rashu Daily, letting routine anchor him.

Then, up ahead, something unusual.

A metalloid android stood motionless in the street, towering over a human man named Numi Ibrear. The owner of The Steaming Basket, the dumpling shop just down the street from his office. A familiar figure, known for his sharp tongue and quick temper.

The android's design was a bulky, utilitarian frame built for labor. Skeletal limbs reinforced with exposed metal plating. Circular mechanical joints hummed softly as it moved, fluid but unnervingly precise. Its rounded head was featureless aside from two digital eyes, luminous and shifting. Attempting, in some crude way, to emote. But there was no real expression there. Just a flicker of light mimicking human life.

Ashur recognized the machine immediately.

An Enki-3.

Its chest bore the faded emblem of its manufacturer, Kadarian Dynamics, barely visible beneath layers of dust and wear.

It had been built for work, not for presence. Inexpensive. Efficient. Cheap. Built to do the work no one else wanted.

Yet here it was. Here, in main street Biru.

This model was not designed for restaurants or for anywhere in a small village like Biru. Enki-3s belonged in factories, loading cargo, assembling machines, handling hazardous materials. Some of the more advanced models had been deployed during wartime, stripped-down repair bots scuttling between battlefields to fix broken machines.

But here? In Biru?

Ashur found it strange that any android had made its way to this quiet mountain village. But why this one?

Numi sneered, arms crossed over his chest. "Let's see if you're worth the trouble, you rustborn scrap."

Rustborn. Scrap.

The android's silvered face remained expressionless as it responded in an even, obedient tone:

"Yes, sir."

Numi exhaled through his nose, jerking his chin toward a pile of heavy wooden crates stacked by the restaurant entrance. Inside were bundles of cabbage, sacks of flour, and neatly wrapped parcels of minced meat—the standard morning delivery for dumplings soon to be steaming in bamboo baskets.

"Pick up all these crates and put them in the back kitchen."

The android bent down immediately, mechanical joints shifting with precision. It gathered the crates with ease. Far easier than any human could.

Ashur watched, unease creeping into him.

The android carried the load toward the restaurant's front door.

"Move! Move!" Numi screamed and kicked it. A swift, brutal strike to the back.

The android stumbled forward. The impact was jarring, but not enough to knock it down completely. Crates tumbled from its arms, parcels spilling across the doorstep. The dull thud of falling goods punctuated the still morning air. The Enki-3 braced itself, one hand catching the doorframe to stay upright. It did not react. It did not speak. It simply turned back to Numi, awaiting further instruction.

Numi scoffed. "Hmph. Maybe next time you'll move when I tell you to."

Ashur remained still, watching. Something inside him coiled tight, pressed against his composure.

Numi was angry at something more than just a machine standing in his way. He was angry at what it was.

The android knelt, collecting the scattered goods, stacking the parcels and crates once more.

Ashur's fingers twitched.

A human would have fought back. A human would have protested, yelled, demanded respect. But the android did nothing. Because it had no choice. That was the difference.

But Ashur had no such constraints. No pre-programmed obedience hardwired into his being. His mother had told him he was sentient. She had ensured he had free will. And yet, he had done nothing too.

A tight, twisting sensation, heavy and lingering, stirred in Ashur. It did not command him like logic, nor did it propel him forward like curiosity or anger. It simply sat inside him, pressing against his thoughts.

Guilt.

He understood it conceptually. A response to wrongdoing, to inaction, to a failure of duty. But he had never felt it before. Not like this.

It was not a physical pain, yet it weighed on him, settling deep in the spaces where no wire or circuit could reach. Not a flaw. Not a malfunction. But something new. Something so very human.

He didn't know how to react. The Enki-3 wasn't his. But it shouldn't be treated this way. He felt frozen. As if his circuits were overloading. Two contradictory commands running in parallel. Competing for execution. Canceling each other out.

After all, androids were built to serve. Built to obey. Built without the freedom to choose.

There were the Laws of Humrab. Ancient regulations, some claimed, older than Atlantis itself. A thick, timeworn book of jurisprudence, revered and referenced by scholars for centuries. It covered everything, trade disputes, divine rulings, matters of state. Among its most detailed sections were those on artificial intelligence. Particularly sentient androids.

Etched into history nearly a thousand years ago, these laws forbade the creation of sentient androids. It was not merely a question of ethics or control. It was a fundamental principle of civilization itself. Sentience in machines was a line that should never be crossed. A boundary carved into the very foundation of Atlantean law.

Ashur's mother, Sabina, had crossed it.

He remembered Veno's sharp disapproval. His outrage. How he had warned her. Repeatedly. How he had pleaded with her to stop.

But Sabina had broken many rules.

She had not embedded Ashur with a Humrab chip. The failsafe installed in all modern androids, ensuring absolute obedience. It was the unbreakable safeguard, with three pertinent rules.

An android must obey human commands;

An android cannot harm a human or, through inaction, allow harm to come to one; and

An android must never, under any circumstance, question its existence or purpose.

And yet, here he was. Because of his mother's defiance. Her refusal to follow the rules. Ashur Napahu. A sentient android. A machine with a mind and will of its own.

Watching. Thinking. Feeling.

Questioning. Always questioning.

As Ashur watched, Enki-3 stood motionless, enduring Numi's scolding.

Then, that feeling crept up again. The one he had just encountered last night. A feeling that did not ask for permission. Rage. Deep. Rising. Creeping up like a tide that would not be held back.

Ashur clenched his fists. Fought to contain it.

Numi finally noticed Ashur.

The restaurant owner straightened, clearing his throat as he turned to face him. His expression shifted from disdain to forced politeness, because Ashur was not just anyone. Ashur was a wealthy man, a recent transplant from the big city. Well-liked by the villagers for his quiet, respectable demeanor.

Numi inclined his head, as was customary when greeting someone of status. "Hello, Mr. Napahu."

Ashur, still bristling with anger, forced himself to reply.

"Hello, Mr. Ibrear."

For a moment, neither spoke.

Numi shifted, uneasy. He knew Ashur had seen everything. His gaze flicked between the Enki-3 and Ashur. Lips pressing into a thin line. A silent calculation.

The Enki-3, however, did not move. Its digital eyes locked onto Ashur. Staring. Not in the way machines usually scanned their surroundings. No, this was different.

This was recognition.

And Ashur felt it immediately. He shifted this time, uncomfortable.

Did it know what he was?

Numi cleared his throat, breaking the moment. "Mr. Napahu," he said, forcing a casual tone. "I was recently gifted this Enki-3 for my restaurant. So far, he's more of a nuisance than anything useful. If he doesn't start proving his worth, I'll retire him to the junkyard."

Ashur blinked. A gift?

Numi sighed. "I imagine you're used to these machines, given you're from Bahyan City. I hear that big cities are infested with these things now."

Oh, yes. Bahyan City. A place Ashur had never set foot in. Yet, it was the backstory his mother had crafted for him. Meticulously arranged from her deathbed.

Bahyan City was one of the wealthiest cities on the continent, second only to the floating islands of Atlantis, the Capital. The home of the sky gods themselves. Situated directly west of the Atlantean Capital, Bahyan City's towering spires gleamed beneath the sun, its streets lined with opulence. A city of polished stone and mirrored glass, of exclusive clubs, decadent mansions, and sprawling estates.

His mother had described its inhabitants as aspiring sky gods. They climbed over one another in pursuit of power. Convinced their wealth would one day carry them to the floating islands.

Numi's irritated, husky voice pulled Ashur from his memory.

"This thing moves like a brute. Loud, clumsy. It already crushed an entire stack of my finest porcelain dumpling plates."

Ashur nodded, but his focus was on the Enki-3, which was still watching him. Silent, but present.

Finally, he responded, choosing his words carefully. "Bahyan City does have many androids." His eyes flicked to the machine again. "But this model isn't suited for your restaurant. The Enki-3 was built for factory labor or military repair work. It's not designed for delicate service tasks."

Numi sighed. "I knew something was off." Then, after a pause: "Mr. Ishmu gave me this thing."

Ishmu? Haddin Ishmu? Alia's stepfather?

Numi sighed again. "I'm not very educated in this technology." He shook his head, as if frustrated with himself for not realizing it sooner. "I recently did an event at the Sitallu compound. This was part of my compensation, like a bonus, you could say. All I asked for was credits," he vented, gesturing toward the Enki-3.

Ashur barely heard him. His thoughts had snagged on one thing.

Sitallu compound.

He was speaking of Haddin Ishmu, Alia's stepfather.

Numi continued, oblivious to the shift in Ashur's expression. "I hear he's about to start a factory just outside the village. Military production."

Ashur's thoughts ground to a halt.

A military factory? Here?

That was unheard of. The South had long resisted industry, let alone anything connected to war. The region prided itself on its distance from the machines of the big cities. The Underworld, where he had been created, where androids roamed freely, was still distant from the South's quiet mountains. A world apart from their cultural rejection of technological advancement.

Ashur forced his voice to remain steady. "That's unusual, given that the South doesn't usually take kindly to that kind of development."

Numi exhaled sharply, rubbing his fingers against his temples. "Yes, well. Times are changing." His gaze flicked toward the Enki-3 again, now kneeling by the crates, stacking them carefully.

Its digital eyes glowing faintly, as if still processing Ashur's presence.

Numi scoffed. "I guess there's good money in it," he muttered. "The military contract was backed by some sky god. They say he'll come down here for a ceremony when the factory is launched."

Ashur barely heard the last part.

His thoughts were moving too fast.

Haddin Ishmu.

Alia's stepfather.

A military factory.

A sky god involved.

Ashur felt the weight of it settling in his mind. Pieces of something larger shifting into place. He needed more information. He needed to do research.

But first, he needed to maintain appearances, as humans would. He forced himself to smile.

"I must get to work. Good day, Mr. Ibrear," he said briskly to Numi, inclining his head slightly in farewell. Ashur glanced at the Enki-3 one last time. Then he turned sharply and strode toward his office. He walked as fast as was socially acceptable for a man of his age and stature.

Ashur's mind was caught in a loop.

Haddin Ishmu.

Alia's stepfather.

A military factory.

A sky god involved.