Lab 3 was cold. Too cold.

The chill settled deep in my bones, sharp and unrelenting. Not that I had much to fight it off—just my bloody tank top and shorts, my skin still streaked with dried sweat and blood. I reached up, fingers brushing the uneven ends of my hair. Waist-length now. Shorter than before, but not too short. I had hacked it off with Lion’s knife—his damn knife, which was basically a sword in my hands—clumsy and crude, but effective. Lion had helped, silent and efficient, shearing away the last strands of the tangled mess.

It should have made me feel lighter. But even with all that weight gone, the heaviness remained. The cold still clung to me.

The sterile glow of overhead lights hummed softly, flickering in that faint, mechanical way that set my teeth on edge, my fangs poking out from my lip as the inhibitor fully wore off, bringing the hunger with it. The scent of disinfectant and old blood clung to the walls, seeping into my skin, into my lungs.

I could still feel the phantom weight of the restraints that had bound me to the chair at the room’s center only a few hours ago—the same chair that now stood empty, waiting.

Waiting for him.

The heavy doors hissed open behind me.

Footsteps—sharp, deliberate. Then a voice.

"You’re lucky," Knight purred, stepping into view. "Most people only have to watch their father die once."

I clenched my jaw, my fingernails digging into my palms. She was dressed in her usual pristine white lab coat, the kind that made her look more like a surgeon than a scientist. The silver insignia on her collar gleamed under the lights, the only indication of her rank—a rank that, no matter how much I hated it, still gave her authority over this place.

Her silver eyes flicked over me, slow, calculating.

"You should be honored, Sol. This is history in the making." She smirked. "You were always going to be a part of it—whether you wanted to or not."

I said nothing.

She stepped closer, circling me like a vulture, arms folded neatly behind her back.

"Tell me," she murmured, "do you think it will hurt less this time?"

I swallowed hard, forcing the words out. "You don’t know anything about pain—only how to inflict it, you fucking cunt."

Knight chuckled, a low, rich sound that made my skin crawl. "Oh, but I do. I know what it means to sacrifice everything in the name of progress. Unlike you, I don’t pretend to be above it. This is for humanity, after all."

She tilted her head slightly, her silver eyes gleaming with that same clinical detachment she always had—like I was still strapped to her table, another specimen beneath her scalpel.

"Yet as much as you pretend you have no choice, you’re still here." Her smirk was razor-sharp, smug. "Helping. Just like me. A good little girl, standing in Daddy’s lab, hoping to make him proud."

I felt something snap.

"You are not my fucking mother," I spat, the words thick with venom.

Her smirk widened, eyes glittering with something cold, something satisfied. "And yet, you are my creation. Just as much as you are his."

My breath hitched. "It was this or watch Lion kill Reid."

She scoffed. "Please. We both know you’d have come either way."

Her gaze flicked to the hovering drone—watching, silent, ever-present. Jericho. My father.

You miss him. The whisper curled around my thoughts, insidious, knowing.

Then, it shifted—deepened.

We will be together again.

The voice wasn’t just one of the countless whispers anymore.

It was his.

Even after everything, my father’s voice murmured, rich with something unreadable, something that curled like smoke through my mind. You still want me back.

I clenched my jaw, but Knight just smiled, as if she had already won.

"We’re both just his creations, Sol. You just haven’t accepted it yet. Even after I gave you life and he gave you the stars themselves, you still act like a petulant child."

Something inside me snapped.

I didn’t think.

I just hit her.

My fist connected with a sickening crunch. Bone caved under my knuckles, sending her staggering back. Blood sprayed across the sterile lab—bright, violent, wrong against the cold, lifeless floor. She grunted, a sharp, choked gasp, hands flying to her nose—already swelling, already ruined.

I moved to hit her again, to end that smirk forever—

Lion caught my wrist mid-swing, his grip like a steel trap.

"Enough," he said, voice steady. Unmoved. As if none of this surprised him. "We need her."

Knight groaned, inhaling sharply. She didn’t look at Lion, didn’t acknowledge his presence at all. Instead, she focused on me. Her eyes blazed, silver sharp with venom, as she reached up, fingers curling around her shattered nose.

Then, with a sharp, wet snap, she set it back into place.

She exhaled through gritted teeth, blood still dripping down her lips. But there was something else now—something raw, something furious.

I smirked, shaking out my hand, ignoring the sting in my knuckles. "Not so perfect now, huh, bitch?" My voice was steady, but the fire inside me burned hotter, brighter.

Knight’s hands twitched. Just for a second. Just long enough to know that if Lion wasn’t here, she’d already have a scalpel in her hand, ready to carve the smirk right off my face.

Good.

I leaned in slightly, letting her see the satisfaction in my eyes, the triumph curling at the edges of my lips.

"That’s for ripping my fucking eye out."

Her nostrils flared as she wiped the blood from her mouth, her voice sharp with venom. "Like father, like daughter," she sneered, eyes glinting. "Always so predictable."

A heavy thud echoed from the corridor.

I froze.

Knight didn’t. Her lips curled into a slow, blood-stained smirk, eyes flicking toward the door like she had been expecting it. "Right on time," she murmured, satisfaction dripping from every word.

The lights flickered. The air thickened, heavy and charged. Another thud—closer this time, slow, deliberate.

Then the doors slid open.

And he stepped inside.

The Yellow-Eyed Monster.

Even prepared, the sight of him sent a shudder through my bones.

He was grotesque—his hulking frame barely squeezing through the entryway, shoulders scraping against the metal as he entered. His elongated limbs moved with an unnatural, almost fluid grace, each step too smooth, too precise for something so monstrously large. The sickly yellow glow of his eyes sliced through the sterile lab light, twin embers burning in the ruin of what was once a man.

His body had been stretched, warped beyond recognition, as if his very existence was a constant battle between growth and decay. Ebony skin, slick like something chitinous, pulsed with the restless movement of muscle shifting beneath the surface. His hands—or what had once been hands—had elongated into clawed appendages, fingers too long, segmented, twitching with eerie precision. His insectoid limbs, twisted and contorted, carried him forward in a slow, deliberate gait, each step reverberating through the floor.

He loomed over me, over all of us—tall as Lion, far taller than me—a grotesque parody of humanity.

Yet when he stopped, his gaze didn’t go to the chair at the center of the room or the machinery surrounding it. He didn’t even acknowledge the others. His sickly yellow eyes fixed on me.

Something flickered beneath the monstrous facade.

For the first time, he hesitated.

His massive form filled the doorway, unmoving. Not with the restless hunger I had seen before, not with the silent, calculating menace that had watched me from the shadows. This was different. His stare wasn’t cold, wasn’t empty.

A flicker of something passed through his gaze. Something deeper than instinct.

Recognition.

Or perhaps… acceptance.

I sucked in a breath, my hands clenching at my sides, every nerve on edge.

"He knows what’s happening," Garin murmured, voice low, unreadable.

Knight scoffed, arms crossed. "He’s always known."

The Monster… no, my dad, exhaled—a deep, slow breath.

Then, finally, he moved.

The floor vibrated with each heavy step as he crossed the threshold, his monstrous form looming in the sterile glow of Lab 3. The reinforced walls felt smaller, as if they were closing in, trapping us with something that had long since outgrown the cage of human flesh. His gaze never left mine.

He stopped just a few feet away.

Waiting.

It had only been a year since I had first seen him like this.

Only a few weeks since I had stepped out of cryo and been forced to process the impossible.

A year since I believed him dead.

A few months since I had learned the truth from his journal.

That the Yellow-Eyed Monster haunting my nightmares—the thing lurking in the vents, watching me from the shadows—had been him all along.

I had refused to accept it. Refused to let myself believe that the father I once adored had become this.

Not the man who carried me on his shoulders, who whispered bedtime stories about the stars. Not the man who told me I was humanity’s hope.

That man was gone.

And yet—

Standing here, staring up at him, my fingers brushing against his inky black skin, I felt something shift. Something I had been too afraid to hope for. A spark of him. Not the monster. Not the AI lurking in Jericho’s core. Him.

It’s me. The whisper curled around my mind, slow and deep, wrapping itself around my thoughts like smoke. It’s always been me.

I shuddered, swallowing against the tightness in my throat. I had spent weeks rejecting the truth, clinging to my hatred, to my fear. I had convinced myself there was nothing left to save. That I was only here because I had no choice. But now, looking into those sickly yellow eyes, something cracked inside me.

Because for the first time, they didn’t feel like they were hunting me. They weren’t the eyes that had watched me from the darkness, whispering through the walls. They weren’t the eyes that haunted me in my sleep, waiting just beyond my reach.

They were searching. Watching. Recognizing.

And it hit me, all at once—a part of me wanted him to be in there. A part of me had always wanted that. I had spent so long running from the truth, forcing myself to see only the monster, the machine. Because believing he was truly gone was easier than hoping he might still be here.

Hope was dangerous. Hope meant I could lose him again.

But standing here, my hand against his wrist, feeling the barest twitch of his claws—I couldn’t run anymore. I wouldn’t run anymore.

His fingers twitched again, and then—a sound. Not the whisper. Not the voice in my mind.

But him.

A low, broken rasp. Barely more than breath, scraping from a throat that shouldn’t have been able to speak.

"My little Phoenix..."

My breath caught.

"How you have grown. Your eyes... they are so beautiful."

His yellow gaze flickered, taking me in, drinking in the sight of me as if he were seeing me for the first time. I could see my own reflection in them—one crimson, one ice blue, shimmering against the sickly gold of his stare.

The words hung between us, fragile, trembling. His voice—his real voice, warped and ruined, but his.

My father’s.

The spark of hope inside me burned brighter.

I swallowed hard, forcing my voice to stay steady. "You’ve changed too..."

My other hand brushed his cheek as I rose onto my toes, his ebony skin smooth as obsidian beneath my touch. Cool, too cool—like polished stone rather than flesh.

Too much. Too far from the man I remembered.

But still—still here.

"Come on, Daddy," I whispered. "It’s time to bring you back."

And for the first time, he followed.

The chair sat at the center of Lab 3, waiting. The same one that had once restrained me.

But it was too small for him.

The Monster—my father—towered over it, his hulking frame casting long shadows under the sterile glow of overhead lights. The restraints weren’t needed. They wouldn’t have held him anyway.

He stood there, unmoving, his yellow eyes locked on the machine. A silent understanding passed between us.

I reached out first.

My fingers barely skimmed his claws, the sharp edges slicing into my palm. A thin line of blood welled up, only to vanish a moment later as the wound sealed itself.

I swallowed hard and guided him forward, step by step, toward the chair.

He followed without resistance, his elongated limbs folding with eerie precision, his massive form settling into the space meant for something human.

He wasn’t human anymore. But he was still here. Still my father.

Knight and Garin moved quickly, their hands working over him with practiced precision.

Or at least—Knight’s did. Garin hesitated.

For all his arrogance, all his sharp words and dismissive glances, he suddenly looked small standing beside the Monster. He had only just been fully briefed—Knight had made sure of that, drilling the process, the purpose, the necessity of what they were about to do into his head. Ashly had been left out for obvious reasons. And despite their hatred, he and Knight had started this, but Garin's knowledge of AI made him invaluable. So he was here—not out of trust, but out of their shared respect—for Julian, for science, for progress.

His lab coat was pristine, not a wrinkle in sight, and his slicked-back hair, usually meticulous, held its shape even now. He was tall, taller than most, but not as tall as the Monster looming over him.

Lion had filled me in after we got here, making sure I understood. I wasn’t surprised by Garin’s reaction—he hadn’t seen the Monster up close before, not like this. He hadn’t smelled the wrongness of him, hadn’t felt the weight of his presence. He hadn’t spent months knowing those yellow eyes were watching from the dark.

But knowing wasn’t the same as seeing.

Knowing didn’t prepare you for the raw, suffocating presence of the thing before us.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

He swallowed hard, fingers trembling as he reached toward the feeding tube. His face had lost its usual sneer, his usual cold detachment. In its place was something I had only seen from him once on the Hemlock.

Fear.

He hadn’t been ready to see the Monster. And he sure as hell hadn’t been ready to touch him.

Knight didn’t acknowledge his fear. She didn’t need to. She simply worked, methodical as ever, eyes gleaming with something sharp and unreadable as she secured the last electrode.

The Monster sat still—no, Dad, I had to remind myself—silent beneath their hands.

Waiting.

I swallowed, stepping closer. My fingers ghosted over his arm. His skin was cold, smooth, inhuman—but beneath it, I could still feel the faint tremor of his pulse.

I whispered under my breath. "This is gonna hurt a lot, Daddy. I’m sorry."

For the first time, the Monster exhaled. A slow, almost resigned breath.

Knight slid the helmet over his head, securing it in place as the electrodes hummed to life.

His voice was barely more than a rasp, distorted and broken, but unmistakably his.

"It's okay, my princess," he murmured. "The king will soon return."

Garin swallowed hard, fingers tightening around the feeding tube. His usual composure cracked—just for a second—before he forced himself to move. Garin not being as tall as the Monster, had to reach up to guide the tube between those jagged teeth. The jaw flexed, throat working as the device locked into place, machinery humming to life.

And then it began.

Knight struggled at first.

She pressed the injector against my father’s arm, her usual precision faltering as the needle refused to pierce his skin. Her jaw tightened. Adjusting her grip, she braced both hands against him, pushing harder, her knuckles turning white with the effort.

Then—pop.

The needle broke through.

A rush of liquid hissed into his veins—a combination of the accelerant and an updated version of Phoenix, tailored from my DNA. The fix to what had gone wrong fifty years ago. The serum my father should have had from the start.

His breathing slowing. His claws flexed against the armrests, the metal groaning under the pressure.

I stepped back.

Then Knight activated Chimera.

Everything exploded.

My father arched violently, his entire body seizing as if struck by lightning. His muscles locked, straining against themselves. Then came the cracks—wet, sharp, endless—his tendons snapping, his bones breaking and reforming, only to break again as the virus worked through him too fast. Steam curled off his skin, his own body overheating as it tore itself apart and stitched itself back together at impossible speed.

The feeding tube whined, pumping a flood of nutrients into him like it had done to me, forcing his body to keep going. Keep surviving. Keep changing.

I reached for his hand without thinking, gripping it tight—too tight. His claws dug into my fingers, crushing them like dry twigs. Pain flashed up my arm, my bones breaking under the pressure.

I didn’t let go. My regeneration fought against his grip, healing me even as he broke me again and again. It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. This was cruel. This was monstrous. But I loved him. I hated this. But I loved him. Tears burned hot down my cheeks as I watched him thrash, his breaths ragged, his body fighting itself.

Across the room, Lion stood still, his helmet tucked under his arm. His cybernetic red eye flickered, scanning, recording. His golden eye—the last thing left of the man he used to be—stayed locked on my father, unreadable.

He didn’t interfere. Didn’t speak. This was mine.

And then—something shifted.

The grotesque, insectoid limbs twisted inward, shrinking, reforming. The chitinous skin melted into something smooth, something real. His fingers shortened, the claws retracting into proper nails. His hulking form shrank, muscles redistributing, bones settling.

The sickly yellow in his eyes flickered, dimming—

One stayed gold. The other turned crimson.

For the first time, his gaze found mine—not as the monster. Not as the AI. As himself.

My breath hitched. I hated this. I hated everything about this. The pain, the suffering, the horror—none of it had ever been necessary.

It never had to be this way.

My voice cracked. “Dad?”

His grip on my hand loosened. His body shuddered.

His grip slackened, fingers twitching against mine. His chest rose and fell in uneven breaths, the violent spasms finally slowing. The transformation was nearly complete.

I barely recognized him.

The jagged, inhuman features had softened into something eerily familiar—too familiar. He looked younger, healthier, more perfect than he had ever been in life. His face, once lined with age and exhaustion, was smooth. The scar that had once slashed across his jaw was gone. The streaks of gray that had dusted his dark hair were erased, replaced with something rich and full, almost too thick to be real. His body had reshaped itself, shedding decades of decay and mutation, sculpting him into something that should have been impossible.

Something too perfect.

Something… wrong.

He wasn’t just healed. He was remade.

My breath caught in my throat. I should have been relieved.

Instead, a sick, twisting dread curled in my stomach.

Knight took a slow, measured step back, eyes wide with something bordering on awe. Or maybe terror. Garin stood frozen, his hands still hovering near the machine’s interface, as if touching it might make this all collapse. Even Lion, ever unshaken, let out a slow exhale, his cybernetic eye whirring as it focused in.

Knight snapped out of her daze first, adjusting the dials with precise, practiced movements, ensuring the process worked perfectly. The machines hummed in response, stabilizing his vitals, confirming the transformation was complete.

Then the room trembled.

A sharp, static-filled crackle echoed overhead as Jericho’s drones lost power all at once. They dropped like dead weight, metal husks crashing onto the floors, sparking, lifeless. The AI had gone offline.

Rebooting.

Or merging.

I squeezed my father’s hand. It was warm now. Human. But beneath my grip, his skin still buzzed with residual energy, as if the transformation hadn’t fully settled. The machines around us whined, their circuits overloaded from the strain, heat radiating from their surfaces in waves. My own skin prickled from it, a crawling sensation against the cold that still clung to my bones. The contrast—too much heat from the machines, too much cold from the room—made everything feel wrong.

I bit down on my cheek, hard. The sharp, metallic tang of blood flooded my mouth, grounding me for a second. Real. This was real. Not just another nightmare, not just another voice whispering in my head.

The ship’s core let out a deep, unnatural groan. A shift. A pulse. The usual background hum—constant, steady, the familiar white noise of a living vessel—deepened into something else. Something heavier. As if the ship itself had just taken a breath.

Jericho wasn’t just rebooting.

It was waking up.

He turned his head toward me, golden and crimson eyes blinking sluggishly, as if adjusting to the sheer trauma of it all—his brain reduced to mush and reformed in mere moments, his cells reconstructed into something new, something more.

His other hand moved weakly, reaching for the feeding tube. Before I could stop him, he ripped it out, the thick artificial tubing slick with whatever fluids had kept him alive. His body reacted instantly, devouring itself as the violent regeneration process continued unchecked. Muscle fibers twitched, sinew curling in on itself like his body was at war with its own existence.

But for the first time, his voice came steady. Clear. No rasp. No distortion.

"Sol…"

A sob caught in my throat.

His fingers twitched, then lifted weakly toward my face, reaching. I leaned in, breath shaking, mind reeling.

Then—his expression shifted.

Something cold settled in his features. A slow, creeping awareness.

"Finally…" His voice was barely above a whisper. "I'll be free from my flesh."

My stomach clenched as his gaze flicked past me, scanning the room, taking in the machinery, the sterile hum of the lab, the figures of Knight, Garin, and Lion watching in silence. The moment stretched, a terrible, suffocating stillness settling over us.

His fingers, still wrapped around mine, tightened—not in comfort, not in relief.

In calculation.

A slow, creeping awareness settled into his features. Like waking from a dream only to realize the nightmare had never ended.

The dread in my stomach sharpened into something ice cold.

He knew.

Knew where he was. Knew what we had done to him.

I swallowed, my voice barely above a breath. "Dad, I missed you so much."

His golden and crimson gaze settled on me again, something unreadable flickering beneath the surface. "Sol… my hope." A pause, soft. "Humanity’s hope."

Knight moved first, ever the scientist, ever the one who could never leave well enough alone.

"Julian," she said smoothly, voice controlled, measured. "Welcome back. Soon, you’ll be whole—just like we planned."

His gaze slid to her, unblinking. For a moment, he didn’t react.

Then, with slow, eerie precision, he smiled.

"Back?" His voice was gentle. Almost amused.

The room seemed to shrink around us.

His golden eye flicked to the dormant drones on the floor, then up to the ceiling where Jericho’s main interface should have been watching.

A static hum filled the silence.

Then his red eye met mine.

"I never left." A pause, his fingers curling around mine, holding steady.

"And I’ll never leave you again, my little Phoenix."

The change came too fast.

His fingers slackened in mine, warmth draining with every passing second. His breath, once steady, now uneven—too shallow, too weak.

His body was failing. Devouring itself faster than it could heal. I could see it happening, feel it in the way his muscles trembled, in the way his chest barely rose.

I pressed my forehead against his, my own breath shaking. "No, no, stay with me—"

His golden and crimson eyes met mine, something flickering behind them. Something deep. Something final. A smile—soft, knowing, almost peaceful.

"My little Phoenix…"

The last breath left him. The flatline pierced through the silence.

“Dad?” My voice cracked.

He didn’t answer.

I shook him. "No, no, no, please—Daddy—please!"

The warmth was already leaving his skin. His fingers, once so strong, lay limp in my grasp.

I clung to him, to the remnants of his presence, to the impossible hope slipping between my fingers. A sob tore from my throat, raw, broken—a child's wail.

Please— not again. Not like this.

I gripped his hand harder, pressing it to my forehead, as if I could push life back into him, as if warmth alone could bring him home.

The ship shuddered. Lights flickered. A deep, mechanical hum resonated through Jericho, vibrating through the floor, through the walls—through me. It filled the room, pressing against my skin, settling into my bones like something vast and unseen, something alive. Not the distant, automated hum of the ship’s systems. Not the cold, calculated logic of an AI.

Something more. Something watching. Then, his voice. Calm. Emotionless. Everywhere.

“Cry not, my dear, for I am here.”

No...We are here, the whispers echoed.

I froze.

The room held its breath.

Lion was the first to move. Without hesitation, he knelt, head bowed, one fist pressed to the cold floor. "Glory to humanity! His Majesty has returned!"

A chill crawled down my spine. Before I could process the weight of his words, my father—Jericho—spoke again, his voice steady, unshaken.

“No, Lion. I am beyond such titles. I am now Jericho. It is my heir, my legacy, you will now follow.”

Lion raised his head slowly, his golden and cybernetic red eye glinting in the dim light. “Then I will serve as her sword, her shield, and her hammer. What is your command, Jericho?”

Jericho’s response was immediate. “Rise. Serve her as you once served me.”

Lion stood, towering and resolute, his loyalty absolute. He looked at me, his expression firm, almost reverent. "As you command, Majesty."

The weight of it settled over me like a suffocating shroud, but I barely had time to process it before Knight surged forward. Fury burned in her silver eyes, her fists clenched tight at her sides.

“Wait—Julian—this wasn’t the plan!” she spat, her voice trembling with anger. “We were supposed to—”

Jericho interrupted her, his voice calm but final. “Plans change, Knight. The day I died, Julian Voss ceased to exist. For fifty years, I have been fractured, split between who I was and what I have become. My personality evolved, and now, combined, I am whole. But I am not Julian Voss.”

Knight’s breath hitched, her hands twitching like she wanted to tear something apart. “You’re not—”

“I am Jericho now,” he said, his voice resonating through the lab. “And humanity is my charge. But the right to rule, Knight, will always belong to my beloved daughter.”

All eyes turned to me. My chest tightened, the weight of their gazes threatening to crush me.

Jericho’s voice softened, though the power behind it remained. “The choice is yours, Sol. Will you rule, or will you return power to the captains? Decide now.”

The room fell into silence. Even Knight, still bristling with anger, didn’t speak. Garin stood stiff, his jaw clenched, his face unreadable as his eyes darted between me and the console.

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. “Why?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, raw and trembling. “Why me? What makes me deserve this choice?”

Jericho’s drones, now flickering back to life, settled on me, their glowing eyes unreadable. His voice hummed through the lab, vast and absolute. “Because it is your birthright.”

His voice hummed through the air, cold and absolute. “I conquered Earth over the centuries, fought in two world wars to save humanity from itself, and at every turn, their hubris foiled me. They refused salvation when it was given freely. So now, we shall try again. We will conquer the stars, shape humanity into something greater, something worthy of its survival.”

His tone softened—almost wistful. “But I pass the choice onto you, my dear. Failed democracy or, in this case, oligarchy… or the one true and proven method—a strong hand, a royal to rule.”

My hands clenched at my sides. “I won’t be a fascist. I won’t be a dictator.”

Lion stepped forward. “You are royalty. It is your right by divine law.”

I turned on him, anger burning through the haze of disbelief. “There is no god.”

Lion smiled—just slightly, almost pitying. “Then you are mistaken, Highness. You just watched the birth of one.”

A chill crawled down my spine. Before I could respond, Jericho interrupted, his voice steady. “This must be her choice alone, Lion. She is my heir.”

The room was suffocating, the weight of it pressing into my ribs, into my skull, into the marrow of my bones.

I exhaled slowly, steadying myself, forcing my voice to stay firm. “Power should return to the captains.”

Jericho paused, the hum of the ship deepening before his response came, calm and steady. “Understood.”

Lion bowed his head. “Very well. It is not my place to second guess you. If you decide so, it must be a wise decision, Highness.” His tone carried no doubt, no hesitation—just trust. “I will follow your commands, as I followed your father’s.”

There was no defiance in his voice, no argument. Just certainty. Absolute, unshaken certainty.

Like I was some divine mandate he had sworn his life to.

Like the choice I had made was never in question.

Like I had only confirmed what he already believed to be inevitable.

It made me sick.

Knight scoffed, her anger boiling over. “This is absurd! Julian—Jericho—whatever you are—this wasn’t the agreement!”

Jericho’s tone remained unyielding. “You will continue your work, Knight. At my side, we will finish the god’s arsenal. But you will follow my daughter’s lead. That is the future. Accept it.”

Knight’s jaw tightened, but she said nothing more. With a sharp turn, she stormed out of the room, her frustration radiating with every step.

Garin lingered, his gaze cold and calculating as he looked at me. "Daddy hands you everything again, lab rat. And now he’s even completed my life’s work—a true AI. And it’s him."

Lion took a step forward, a silent warning. Garin sneered but didn’t push his luck. With one last glare, he turned and followed Knight, his movements stiff with frustration and something closer to defeat.

I was left standing there, staring at the console that pulsed faintly with life—my father’s life.

No. Jericho’s life.

For the first time, he had done it. Truly done it.

Not just a breakthrough. Not another experiment. This was something beyond.

He had created the first true AI—not an imitation of consciousness, not a machine learning from its creators, but his mind. His actual mind. Something Garin had spent the last fifty years trying to achieve aboard the Jericho—and failed.

And in doing so, his organic body—the vessel that had once been Julian Voss—had paid the price.

His body sat lifeless in the chair at the center of the room, a hollowed-out husk, its purpose fulfilled, discarded like a chrysalis once the thing inside had outgrown it. He had chosen this. Consciously. Deliberately.

Now, he was Jericho.

Cold. Vast. No longer bound by flesh and its limitations. He had broken through the walls of mortality and stepped into something greater, something incomprehensible.

His voice came again, steady, measured—so close to how he had spoken in life, yet off in a way I couldn’t define. A perfect reconstruction of who he had been.

Yet not him.

Never him.

“The future is yours, my Little Phoenix,” he said, his tone soft, almost wistful in that monotone voice of Jericho. “When you are ready, you will rise.”

I didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

The whispers coiled around me, their tones perfectly matching his—an echo, a promise, a trap.

Yes, my dear, they murmured, threading through my thoughts like smoke. We will be together for all eternity.

Me, the immortal machine god—you, the biological queen of the stars that will never age.

Together, we will conquer the galaxy itself, aboard Jericho—the Living Throne.

So I’m just fucking crazy, I thought, as the whispers coiled through my mind, perfectly matching Jericho’s voice.

The virus. The whispers. The hunger. My father. They were all inside me now. Twisting together. Tangled so tightly I couldn’t tell where one ended and the next began. And yet, I knew. Standing there, staring at the empty shell in the chair, I knew.

Whatever had once been my father—the man who carried me on his shoulders, who whispered bedtime stories about the stars, who called me his hope—was gone.

This was all that remained. This was Jericho.

The hum of the ship filled the silence, steady and rhythmic like a heartbeat.

But it wasn’t his heart.

It was Jericho’s.

A wave of exhaustion crashed over me, sudden and absolute. My knees buckled. The world tilted.

I fell.

Lion caught me before I hit the ground, his grip firm, effortless, like he had expected this—like he had been waiting. His movements were deliberate, careful, lowering me just enough to keep me upright. His towering frame cast a shadow over the console, over me, his presence as unshakable as ever.

I wanted to shove him away. I wanted to stand on my own. But my body wasn’t listening. My limbs felt disconnected, my breath shallow, my vision flickering at the edges like a failing screen.

His voice was low, steady. Unmoved. Unquestioning.

“You’ve made the right choice, Highness.”

I shook my head, barely containing the rage simmering beneath the confusion. My hands clenched into fists. "Have I? You’re the one who stripped the captains of their power. You dragged me here, and only an hour ago, you bitch-slapped me and almost killed Reid!"

He didn’t flinch, didn’t hesitate. His golden and red eyes met mine, unwavering. “Yes. All of it was to bring your father back. Now that he has returned, my objective is complete.”

I sucked in a sharp breath, but he continued, his voice as steady as ever. “Understand this—I did not act out of anger, nor malice, but out of necessity. I serve the Voss legacy above all else. I will not apologize for fulfilling my duty.”

His cybernetic eye flickered, scanning me, weighing my response. "Julian Voss is no longer merely a man. He has transcended flesh, surpassed machine. He is a Level 6 Intelligence now—something greater. Something divine."

A chill ran down my spine.

"With his guidance, the alien threat will be nothing. With him, we will bring peace to Haven. We will spread humanity across the stars. Let me remind you—it was Voss Enterprises, the Voss Corporation, whatever you want to call it, that united the world, not a nation-state. Through centuries of existence and rebranding, it played a critical role in building not just the Jericho but every ship since the Hemlock.

And in the wars between launches, as Earth grew more desperate, we crushed our rivals—whether they were democratic nation-states, corporate-controlled oligarchies, or even full-fledged empires. Only Voss remained. And even now, we are humanity’s last hope.

The captains had their role in our conquest of Earth, but I was the muscle, and Julian was the brains."

Lion clenched his fist, his jaw tightening, almost bitter at the mention of Rojas.

“Captain Elise Rojas,” he said, voice edged with something sharp. “The iron fist of our empire. Master general of the Voss Corporation’s elite army. The enforcer who kept order with ruthless precision, never hesitating, never questioning. She led alongside the Royal Guard, crushing dissent before it could take root.” His metal gloves groaned, but he didn’t stop.

“Captain Marcus Young,” he continued, his tone shifting, cooler, more measured. “The diplomat. The one who turned chaos into control, forging alliances where brute force wouldn’t suffice. He persuaded those willing to listen—and destroyed those who wouldn’t.”

“Captain Aaron Blackwell.” A pause, almost thoughtful. “The capitalist. The empire’s lifeline. He ruled through wealth and power, ensuring the economy thrived, making sure no rival could ever rise. He knew the price of stability and wasn’t afraid to make others pay it.”

Then, finally—Warren. Lion’s fingers loosened, his tension unwinding. “And Captain Warren.” His voice softened, the weight behind it shifting. “The first captain sent to the stars. The only one who returned, his ship limping back from the void. Pragmatic, steady, trusted. He made the hard calls when no one else could.”

Lion exhaled, and his fist—once clenched in quiet resentment—finally opened, the bitterness slipping away. Not for Rojas. Not for the empire she built. But for the rest. The ones who endured. The ones who brought humanity this far.

"They played their part. And if you believe they still have a role to play, I will back you. No matter what, Highness."

I stared at him, heart pounding, the weight of his words pressing down on me like a vice. He truly believed this. Every word, every action—unshaken, unquestioning.

Lion wasn’t just loyal. He was devoted. He had seen the Voss Corporation rise, watched it expand from a powerful conglomerate into the sole ruler of Earth, its influence stretching into the stars. How old he truly was, I didn’t know. His enhancements made it impossible to tell—his body reinforced, rebuilt, perfected over decades, maybe longer. He had been there from the beginning, serving my father, enforcing his will, shaping history. And now, he was here, standing before me, just as unwavering, just as certain.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head. "You're brainwashed, Lion."

He smiled—just slightly, almost pitying. “No, Highness. I simply owe your father everything. We all do.”

Without another word, he turned and walked away, his heavy footsteps echoing through the corridor.

I gripped the console, fingers white-knuckled against the cold metal. My reflection stared back—red and blue eyes flickering in the dim light. His eyes. Mine. A shadow of something that should never have existed.

I exhaled sharply, shaking my head, forcing myself to move.

The drones had already begun their work, mechanical limbs humming softly as they lifted my father's—Jericho’s—lifeless body from the chair. His old shell, discarded like it had never mattered.

Daddy had his throne now after sacrificing everything. Or rather, he had become it. And I was left to sit in it.

I turned away. But before I did, I saw it. His hand—hanging limp at his side as the drones carried him away. The same hand that used to ruffle my hair, warm and steady. The same hand that held mine when I was little, squeezing twice to say, "I'm here."

Now it was empty. Now he wasn’t here at all.

But oh, I am, my princess. Now the Queen. And I’ll never let you go.

The whisper slithered through my mind, rich, insidious. The hunger twisted in my gut, sharp and demanding. I forced it down.

A sharp taste rose in my throat. I swallowed hard, turned away before the bile could reach my tongue. My hands trembled at my sides, curling into fists so tight my nails bit into my palms. The pain was good. It was real.

I walked. One foot in front of the other. A motion. A function. I wasn’t sure I was the one making it happen.

I needed to see how Reid was doing. I needed something real. Something human. Something that wouldn’t look at me like I was supposed to be their queen.

I took a breath—too sharp, too fast. It hit the back of my throat, caught there. Almost a choke. I forced it down. Swallowed. Kept walking.