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The jungle pressed close around us, its green walls thick with vines and shadows. Abraham moved ahead, its steps unnaturally quiet despite its imposing frame. Each motion was deliberate, calculated—the slow turn of its hooded head, the way it paused to scan the dark with that faint blue glow beneath its hood.

I followed carefully, placing my bare feet where Abraham had stepped. The knife they’d given me felt small, useless, but I clutched it tightly regardless. The silence between us was heavy but not empty. Every so often, Abraham would glance back, the glow of its eye catching faint reflections on leaves slick with moisture. Watching. Waiting.

Time became a blur. Minutes? Hours? I couldn’t tell. Then Abraham stopped abruptly, one skeletal hand rising with fingers splayed in a gesture so sharp and sudden that I froze in place.

Ahead, through a break in the tangled foliage, something glinted faintly in the weak light.

A shuttle—Zydril make. Its black, insectoid hull was wedged between two colossal trees, its plating scarred and burned. It looked less like a machine and more like some vast, dead beetle caught mid-flight.

The faint tick of cooling metal echoed from somewhere deep within its structure, like the heartbeats of a dying animal.

Abraham's hood tilted upward, the glow narrowing.

“Zydril,” it said. The word was clear this time, almost natural.

I swallowed hard and nodded. “Yes... Zydril.”

We advanced cautiously. Abraham glided forward with purpose, its robe brushing against low-hanging leaves. I trailed behind, the knife trembling slightly in my grip.

“Zydril are raiders,” I said softly.

Abraham paused, its hood turning toward me, the glow of its eye dimming slightly as if focusing.

I fumbled for the words, the fragments of stories and warnings passed down by the elders. “They come... from the stars. They take. Food. Water. People.”

Abraham’s head tilted slightly. “Hurt people?”

I nodded, my voice barely above a whisper. “Yes. They hurt people.”

For a long moment, Abraham said nothing. Then, it turned back to the shuttle.

“Raiders,” it said, its voice like gravel under ice.

We reached the shuttle. Its boarding ramp hung partially open, warped and twisted. Streaks of black ichor stained the metal—Zydril blood, thick and tar-like.

Abraham knelt beside the entrance, one long, skeletal hand brushing lightly across a smear of blood shaped like a palm print.

“Conflict,” Abraham murmured. “Casualties... high.”

I nodded, though I didn’t fully understand.

We stepped inside.

The shuttle’s interior was dim, lit only by dying strips of flickering lights along the floor. Broken cargo crates lay scattered across the deck, their contents spilled in chaotic tangles of wires, metallic cylinders, and translucent canisters filled with some pale liquid.

A scorch mark marred one of the walls, its edges still faintly warm to the touch.

“They fought,” I said slowly. “But they didn’t win.”

Abraham turned toward me, its hood casting deep shadows across its skeletal faceplate.

“Not strong here,” I continued. “Not jungle. Not home.”

Abraham rose to its full height, its weapon still clutched loosely in one hand. It scanned the shuttle, its head sweeping slowly across the wreckage.

“Flee,” it said sharply. “They... flee.”

I nodded. “They ran. They were scared.”

Abraham knelt beside one of the cargo crates, its long fingers carefully prying the lid open. Inside were cylinders—some cracked, others intact. Its skeletal digits brushed over them, careful, almost reverent.

“What is it?” I asked.

Abraham paused, then turned its hood slightly toward me.

“Fuel.”

I didn’t understand, but I nodded anyway.

For a while, Abraham worked in silence, inspecting the remains of the shuttle with the meticulous care of someone revisiting an old memory. I stayed close, watching, listening, clutching my knife.

Then I heard it.

A faint sound, distant but unmistakable.

Chittering.

My stomach turned to ice. Abraham froze, its hood lifting slightly as though it could hear better in stillness.

“Zydril,” I whispered.

Abraham rose to its full height, its weapon lifting in one skeletal hand.

“Unfinished,” it said coldly.

I swallowed hard. “Go?”

“Yes,” Abraham replied. “Go.”

Without hesitation, Abraham turned and began to move, its robe flowing behind it like liquid shadow. I followed, feet light and quick against the metal floor.

We slipped back into the jungle, swallowed by green shadows and damp air. Behind us, the sound of chittering grew louder, sharper.

Abraham moved faster now, its presence cutting through the foliage like a blade. I stumbled once, nearly falling face-first into the undergrowth, but Abraham’s skeletal hand shot out, gripping my arm with surprising gentleness.

“Stay close,” it said, its voice low, steady.

I nodded, clutching the knife to my chest.

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The jungle closed around us, and the sounds of Zydril voices followed—thin, sharp, and angry. Ghosts chasing us through the dark.

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Night fell hard and fast, wrapping the world in damp black velvet. Abraham finally stopped in a small clearing. The jungle canopy above broke in patches, allowing slivers of pale starlight to drip onto the forest floor.

“Rest,” Abraham said, its voice softer now, faint static crackling at the edges.

I hesitated, glancing at the uneven ground alive with crawling things. But exhaustion weighed heavy on my shoulders. I sank onto a patch of moss, clutching my knife tightly.

Abraham moved a short distance away, its hood scanning the ground. After a moment, it reached into the underbrush and pulled free a thick root. Its long fingers snapped it open, revealing fibrous strands inside.

It held the root out toward me.

“For... eating,” Abraham said.

I stared. “Food?”

“Yes. Safe.”

Hunger gnawed at me, overpowering hesitation. I took the root, scraped away the dirt, and bit into the bitter flesh.

Abraham sat across from me, unnervingly still, watching with that steady green glow.

“You... care for me?” I asked, my voice small.

Abraham tilted its head slightly. “Directive: Protect. People.”

“Why?” I pressed. “Why protect me?”

For a long moment, Abraham was silent. The glow under its hood flickered faintly.

“Directive... unclear,” it said. Then, softer: “You... important.”

The word hung between us.

Abraham tilted its head upward slightly, staring into the dark sky beyond the canopy.

“Name,” it said softly. “Do you have one?”

I shook my head. “No. I was supposed to get one. Before...”

Abraham was still for a long moment. Then it spoke again.

“Jakob.”

I blinked. “Jakob?”

The green glow pulsed faintly.

“It means... held by the hand.”

My breath caught in my throat.

Abraham nodded once, slow and deliberate.

“You are... not alone, Jakob.”

In the silence that followed, I lay down on the mossy earth, clutching my knife. The faint glow of Abraham’s eye painted soft shapes on my closed eyelids.

Sleep did not come easy.

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merlin_os\MnemonicEngine>Current system time: May 14, 3413 8:19:04

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The jungle gave way to devastation. Trees lay flattened in every direction, their trunks stripped and stacked in towering piles. The earth was scarred and churned, carved into sharp trenches and leveled platforms. Smoke hung low over the clearing, thick with the acrid scent of burning metal and something sharper—something chemical.

In the center of it all, the remains of the crashed ship were unrecognizable. Its hull had been dismantled and repurposed into towering black metal walls that framed a perimeter, stark and geometric against the wild chaos of the jungle. Heavy cranes—mounted on tracked platforms—moved with deliberate precision, lifting enormous slabs of armor plating into place.

But it wasn’t just labor machines anymore.

They stood like sentinels along the perimeter: hulking war machines, twice the height of Abraham and bristling with angular weapons mounted across their skeletal frames. Their green-lit optics swept across the clearing, methodical and unyielding. Their arms—heavy with reinforced plating—held weapons that pulsed faintly with energy, cables trailing behind them like sinews.

“Abraham,” I said softly, clutching the dull knife the elders had given me. “What… is this place?”

Abraham stood at the ridge’s edge, its hooded head tilted slightly downward as it observed the relentless activity below. The green glow from under its hood flickered faintly, like distant lightning trapped in glass.

“Fortress,” it said.

The word felt heavy, sharp, like stone dropped into still water.

“Fortress?” I repeated. “Why? For what?”

Abraham turned its hood toward me, the green light steady now, clear and sharp.

“War.”

The word cut through the humid air, and I felt the weight of it in my chest.

Abraham began moving down the slope, and I followed.

At the base of the ridge, the scale of the operation became clearer. The labor machines, hunched and tireless, carried supplies—metal plating, coils of wire, crates of ammunition—between assembly lines and construction platforms. Their smaller frames were dwarfed by the war machines, which stood motionless at key points, their weapons trained outward, scanning the jungle’s edge.

In the heart of the camp, factories hummed with purpose. Enormous structures built from scavenged ship parts and reinforced with thick metal beams spewed steam and smoke into the air. Conveyor belts carried half-assembled weapons, ammunition crates, and metallic limbs down their lengths. Sparks rained from welding tools as fresh war machines were forged in the glow of molten steel.

I stopped beside Abraham as we passed a massive trench, freshly dug and lined with jagged spikes welded from scrap metal.

“You’re… building an army,” I said softly.

“Yes,” Abraham replied. “Defend… survive.”

“From the Zydril?” I asked.

The green glow beneath Abraham’s hood brightened faintly.

“Yes. The Zydril vessel… in orbit… called for reinforcements. They… come.”

It lifted one long, skeletal hand and pointed toward the distant sky, obscured by smoke and jungle canopy.

“Time… short.”

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “How do you know they’re coming?”

Abraham turned its head back to me, the green light narrowing into a sharp slit.

“Intercepted… transmission. Their anger… loud.”

A shiver ran down my spine.

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We moved deeper into the clearing, and the labor machines paid us no mind as they worked.

Abraham turned away from the towering factories and the rhythmic hum of assembly lines, guiding me toward a quieter corner of the compound. The noise of grinding metal and heavy machinery faded slightly as we walked, replaced by the faint chirping of distant insects and the rustle of leaves stirred by artificial winds from ventilation shafts.

The northern edge of the compound was different. It felt… softer.

There, the sharp angles and brutal efficiency of war machines gave way to something smaller, more deliberate. A cluster of labor units moved carefully over a cleared patch of earth. They carried wooden beams, salvaged metal panels, and rolls of fabric. The beginnings of a structure were taking shape—a home, or something close to it.

It wasn’t grand. A rectangular frame of wooden supports anchored into the soft earth, half-covered by overlapping sheets of metal that would form the walls. A roof frame was being assembled nearby, pieces laid out neatly on the ground. There was even a space carved out for a doorway and what looked like a small window.

“What is this?” I asked, my voice barely more than a whisper.

Abraham stepped forward, raising one skeletal hand and gesturing toward the structure.

“Home,” it said.

The word hung in the air, simple yet heavy with meaning.

“For… me?” I asked, incredulous.

“Yes,” Abraham replied. Its hood tilted slightly, the green light beneath flickering faintly. “Safe place. North perimeter… least danger.”

I stepped closer, my bare feet sinking into the churned soil. One of the labor units shuffled past me, clutching a bundle of rough fabric in its clawed arms. It paused for a brief moment, its dim green eye locking onto me before it moved on.

I turned back to Abraham. “Why? Why would you… do this?”

Abraham was still, its hooded head angled downward toward me.

“You were cast from your home” it said softly. “I make a new home"

The word felt strange, foreign, yet warm in a way that made my chest tighten.

I looked back at the half-built shelter. It wasn’t much. It was crooked in places, and some of the beams didn’t quite align. But it was mine.

“You built this… for me,” I said again, almost to myself.

Abraham’s green eye pulsed softly.

“Yes. You… need rest. Shelter. Place… to be.”

I stepped under the half-constructed roof, running my hand along one of the wooden beams. The texture was rough but sturdy. The space was small, barely enough for me to stretch out fully on the ground, but it felt solid.

One of the labor bots nearby adjusted a metal panel along the far wall, its claw-like hand making faint clicking noises as it secured it in place.

“What happens if… the Zydril come here?” I asked hesitantly.

Abraham stepped closer, the edges of its robe trailing faintly against the churned earth.

“They will… come,” it said plainly. “This place… will not be safe forever.”

It turned its hood slightly, scanning the structure with its unblinking green eye.

“But you… must have a place. A start.”

I nodded slowly, sitting down on one of the wooden support beams that crossed the floor. The faint sounds of industry echoed in the distance, but here it felt… quieter.

Abraham turned its head toward the labor units, and they paused in unison. A faint vibration passed between them—a silent command I couldn’t hear. They returned to their work immediately, more focused now, their movements sharper.

“I don’t know what to say,” I whispered.

Abraham tilted its hood downward, the glow of its green light softening.

“No need… for words.”

I stayed there for a long while, watching the labor units work as they carefully pieced together what would become my home. Abraham remained close by, its tall form standing sentinel at the edge of the clearing.

But I knew it wouldn’t last.

Nothing ever did.

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