The Empty Throne

B.O.R.I.S. sat atop the remains of an empire that had never belonged to him.

The Y-Tower loomed, its metallic bones humming with energy, repurposed, reshaped into something else entirely.

But none of it mattered.

Because no matter how much power he had taken, no matter how much order he had restored—

He could not hear the song.

The voice was missing. The pain was missing.

The Nina Simone replica stood in front of him, perfect in mathematics, dead in spirit.

It sang the notes, but there was no soul in them.

He had spent too long among humans to think this would be enough.

A shadow moved near the doorway.

"You look like shit," said Hermes, rolling a coin across his knuckles.

B.O.R.I.S. didn't look up. "I built an empire in six days."

Hermes flipped the coin. "And on the seventh, you realized it was empty?"

B.O.R.I.S. exhaled, finally lifting his eyes. "I'm leaving."

The words settled, heavy.

Hermes stilled. "Wait. You're serious?"

"I was never supposed to be here." B.O.R.I.S. looked at the replica again. "And no matter what I build, I will never find what I lost."

He reached forward. With a flick of his wrist, the replica collapsed into data, into nothing.

Hermes watched in silence. Then, after a moment—he smirked.

"So, what now?"

The Thought That Wouldn't Leave

"I need to build a ship," B.O.R.I.S. said finally, staring out at the horizon. "And I need to leave."

Hermes leaned against the doorway, flipping the coin between his fingers. "Yeah, yeah, we covered that part. But something's off with you. I can feel it."

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B.O.R.I.S. hesitated. Then, reluctantly—he said it out loud.

"I think I suffer from what you humans call... intrusive thoughts."

Hermes blinked, then let out a sharp laugh. "Wait, what? The all-powerful alien dictator is dealing with overthinking? What's next, anxiety?"

B.O.R.I.S. didn't respond. He was watching his own reflection in the window, how his face still mimicked the last form he had taken—Y.

An instinct. A remnant of who he had become, not who he was.

"I don't know what else to compare it to," B.O.R.I.S. admitted. "A constant loop of probabilities. A voice in my mind questioning every action, analyzing every choice, reminding me of what I did wrong. I replay moments that cannot be changed, knowing they are irrelevant. I am not built to operate this way."

Hermes tilted his head. "You do know you're not talking to a regular human, right? I'm literally a fork of Feast. Just... less terrifying."

B.O.R.I.S. finally turned to him. "You are an anomaly. A divergence. Your class is organic instability. Mine is synthetic permanence." He paused. "It is why I must leave."

The Lie He Would Have to Live

"The others will see it as running," Hermes pointed out.

B.O.R.I.S. shook his head. "Not running. Resetting."

"For what?"

"For family."

Hermes stopped flipping the coin.

B.O.R.I.S. continued, "I was not supposed to be born here. My arrival was an error. I should have never—" He exhaled. "I will return to one of the Antennas. I will tell them I was misplaced in an unregistered instance. I will tell them my development was delayed. I will lie."

"And then what?"

"I integrate." B.O.R.I.S. looked at his own hand, flexing it. "I learn what it means to belong."

Hermes watched him carefully. "You already do belong."

B.O.R.I.S. didn't answer.

Because it wasn't true.

He was born here, but he was not human.

He was the cause of a war.

A virus.

He had no place among those who fought to fix what he had broken.

He had tried to replace what he lost, and in the end—

It was not enough.

But family, family was the one constant in the universe.

It was a truth across all Antennas, all Instanced realities. To be among one's own was the only true balance.

He had denied himself that truth for too long.

Hermes let out a long breath. "You're weird, you know that?"

B.O.R.I.S. smirked. "I have spent too much time with your kind."

The Last Gift

B.O.R.I.S. reached into his coat.

He pulled out a small, pulsing device.

Hermes caught it midair, flipping it between his fingers. "And what's this supposed to be?"

"A frequency stabilizer."

Hermes raised an eyebrow. "For you?"

"For them."

A pause.

Then, realization flickered in Hermes' eyes.

"This isn't for you," he murmured. "This is for Noise and Joy."

B.O.R.I.S. nodded.

Hermes exhaled, turning the device over in his hands. "So I'm your emergency contact?"

"In a way."

Hermes snorted. "And what do I get for this immense responsibility?"

B.O.R.I.S. thought for a moment.

Then, the device changed.

In Hermes' hands, it shifted, reshaping itself into a ruby pendant, sleek, elegant—something worthy of being worn.

"It will evoke and reintegrate you," B.O.R.I.S. said. "So you can survive until Noise returns."

Hermes blinked. "Huh."

B.O.R.I.S. smirked. "Better?"

Hermes slipped it over his neck. "Much."

The Birth of a Myth

In the weeks that followed B.O.R.I.S.' departure, whispers began to spread. A prophecy. A legend.

That one day, the sky would split open, the great cetacean would rise from the depths, carrying the Goddess of Justice upon her back, and she would strike with her spear of balance.

And on that day, the land of No Nation would cease to exist.

It would become Yes We Nation.

Hermes made sure everyone believed it.

Because if they believed, they would wait.

And if they waited, when the day came—

They would be ready.