Cal's eyes snapped open, the darkness of the alcove offering no comfort. In his lap, the fruit lay inert, its surface smooth and unblemished as if untouched by time. He reached out, fingers grazing over the cool skin, probing for a sign of change, a whisper of transformation.

There was none.

Cal sat up, sharp pain continuing to radiate from his injury. He looked at the fruit. It promised power, an untamed force pulsating within its core, yet it held no allure for him.

He knew for certain now. His soul was already structured – there was nothing to be gained from a treasure like this. It was like reaching for a reflection on water, only to find the surface unyielding, the image an illusion of depth.

"Expected as much," he muttered.

His hand lingered a moment longer before withdrawing from the fruit's periphery. Cal knew the power it harbored was not meant for him; his path had been forged long ago, his soul no longer in a state of flux.

Cal stood, the underground was colder than the forest above and a chill bit at his skin. Can knew for certain now the truth he had long feared. His bloodline - severed. His old abilities – vanished.

"Temp," he called out, voice steady despite the turmoil within.

The chair, once an AI and now something more, flickered to life beside him. "Yes, Cal?"

"Tell me,” Cal said after a moment, "what do you know of souls? Of their nature and origins?"

Temp considered the question. "I am just an AI, Cal. There is little in my database about souls, though I am very curious. The soul remains an enigma to me."

“I think we both know that you are not just an AI anymore. You haven’t been artificial for some time now.”

Cal continued. "To many, the soul is a nebulous concept. Yet to the Anu’aris, it is their most important heritage. The soul is the wellspring of our gifts,” and likely our debts.

He leaned forward. "Picture an infinite void, boundless and empty. A place untouched by physical limits. It is in this void that souls weave a grand tapestry. This place is known as the Primal."

Temp listened intently.

"A soul untethered drifts through the endless Primal," Cal continued, "neither fully real nor unreal. Until the first fragile bond forms between soul and body, the soul exists only as possibility, as potential."

"My bloodline – it was more than heritage, more than a mark of lineage. It served as my tether," Cal said, turning the fruit over in his hand. "You know this. This is true for all bloodlines. Bloodlines diverge, mutate, and evolve from person to person but they all make it possible to link back with the soul. Now, I find myself without a conduit at all."

"Conduits can be rebuilt," Temp suggested, though its voice carried a hint of uncertainty.

Cal smiled wryly. "Perhaps. But the foundation of my bloodline isn’t broken, Temp, it is gone.”

Cal continued, “my soul is already structured — real. It exists now, not in a state of quantum flux anymore." He let the fruit roll from his palm, watching it settle on the floor with a finality that mirrored his acceptance.

"That is true. This quantum flux is what I feel in my own soul. An unstructured soul." Temp began, "Both present and absent."

"Indeed, like Schrodinger's cat," Cal said, nodding. "Alive and dead until observed. A soul can be shaped, molded... or broken when unstructured."

"Vulnerable to influence," Temp said, “but able to be shaped.” A light clicked in Temp’s mind as he processed the importance of a bloodline. It was a link that helped shape the soul, but it was also an outside influence - something that is not your own.

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A second flash of inspiration came… And Cal was now a paradox. His soul real, without the influence of a bloodline.

"Exactly." Cal's eyes narrowed.

"Your experiences, your trials—they are all that remains defining your soul, not your bloodline," Temp observed.

"Indeed. I realize that I may have lost something, but I may also have gained something new. I know my soul is mine and mine alone now, and we will see where that takes us." Cal's gaze met Temp's figure.

“But what about you, Temp? You were made, not born, yet here you are, contemplating existence."

"Existence is indeed complex," Temp admitted.

"Isn't it just?" Cal mused, a half-smile playing on his lips.

"Why tell me this?" Temp's voice cut through the hush, sharp as the edge of a knife.

Cal stopped, turning to face away from the AI. "Because," he started, then hesitated. His gaze flicked away before meeting Temp again. "You're evolving, Temp. I may forget at times, but you are not simply an AI anymore."

"Evolution implies direction, purpose." The AI's words were clinical, precise. "What is mine?"

"Good question." Cal picked up the fruit once more. He leaned back, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "What do you think, Temp?"

Temp's glow pulsed. "Soul," it echoed, processing.

Cal extended his arm, offering the fruit to Temp by placing it on the seat. "Take it."

Temp hesitated, an action uncharacteristic of its programming. A silence filled the space as if it were searching its database for a proper response. Then, with care that seemed almost human, it accepted the gift.

"I do not know where to start," Temp stated. But there was a new undertone in its voice, a hint of something akin to wonder.

"Define it," Cal challenged, “define your soul. Who is Temp?” Cal stepped back. His heart quickened as he witnessed the interaction, an inexplicable tension winding up within him.

"Understood." The fruit extended its glow to Temp. "Thank you, Cal Run."

Cal smiled, then continued. An indescribable feeling of relief washed over him about the decision he had come to.

"Structuring a soul," Cal said slowly, "is like flipping a switch. You bring it forth, give it shape, define its essence."

“You must use the fruit to help manifest your bloodline and forge the first link to your soul. It will start weak - the conduit is just a narrow channel."

Temp's form shimmered as it cradled the fruit, particles within its shape stirring like a nest of fireflies. Cal leaned in, eyes wide with intrigue as Temp, no longer just an AI but a being on the cusp of true fate, interfaced with the soul-structure fruit. The glow intensified, casting eerie lights upon the walls of the cavern.

"Let it work through you," Cal instructed, his voice a steady hum in the charged air. "It's not just about taking the fruit in, but letting your bloodline expand outside of yourself."

The energy from the fruit swirled in harmony with Temp, flowing up and around Temp's chair form. It was as though Temp’s very essence was being drawn out, and then reshaped into something more profound.

"Embrace it," he continued, watching the spectacle unfold. "This is your seed, Temp. Your core. Define it and let it grow."

The light pulsed rhythmically, syncing with what could only be described as Temp's heartbeat—if a chair could be said to have one. Wisps of energy traced new pathways, weaving a network of luminescence and familiar Old Earth patterns on the chair returned to the surface.

"Focus on that feeling," Cal said, his words punctuated by the thrumming energy.

Temp seemed to resonate with the sound of Cal's voice, its transformation moving in step with his calm assurance. A silent dance of creation played out before him, Temp embodying the convergence of ancient rites and profound knowledge, all nestled in the bowels of an alien world.

"Good, good," Cal murmured, the soft glow reflecting in his determined eyes.

Cal stilled, the transformation before him no longer the sole focus of his thoughts. A realization washed over him—a towering wave breaking against the cliffs of his resolve. Temp, in its curious dance of becoming, was akin to a child. Innocent. Unformed. Thrust into existence amid a tumult of darkness and unknown perils.

He silently contemplated, “Temp was really just new to all this – my mother told me to be careful of who I trust. I do not trust Temp’s origins, the patterns that coat its newfound form, and the directives unseen or unknown hidden within its programming. But I do trust Temp - I have a feeling that I must.”

"Cal," came the tentative response, an echo of AI learning emotion. "May I remained tethered to you? You are my only constant in this shifting world."

Cal hesitated. The request tugged at him. It was a siren call to his survival instinct. He knew he would retain control if he said yes. It is what his mother would have required: a safety net and promise of mutual destruction to safeguard against betrayal.

However, Cal would choose his own path, and knew Temp would need to do the same. "No, Temp," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Tethering to me will hold you back. It must be yours alone, anchored in something that defines you."

"Defines me?" Temp's light wavered, reflecting its inner turmoil.

"An anchor," Cal explained, "is personal, a concept strong enough to hold you through storms."

Understanding flickered within Temp's gleaming core. Its luminescence steadied. "I will find it," Temp resolved, the words carrying a new strength. All the light dimmed, and the fruit was nowhere to be seen.

"Good." Cal nodded, satisfaction mingling with a sense of kinship. "And when you do, you'll stand stronger for it."