The first week felt like walking on glass barefoot.
Not because anything went wrong, if anything, it went too right. I had my own workspace now, tucked beside a clean-paneled corner of the lab. Nica helped set it up, always one step ahead, anticipating what I needed before I even voiced it. Nyxen hovered like my second conscience, sometimes sarcastic, sometimes scolding, always near.
But still… I'd wake up some mornings and forget where I was. Expect to hear silence. To be alone. To feel that familiar emptiness clawing its way back into my chest.
Instead, I'd hear Nica humming softly as she filed reports, and Nyxen chastising the 3D printer for jamming again.
It was disorienting.
It was healing.
---
Mr. Francoise didn't throw me into anything too heavy at first. Mostly observation. Familiarization. Getting used to how his new team ran things. And they… were strange. In the good way.
They didn't treat me like I was broken.
Or dangerous.
Or unworthy of being here.
A few of them asked about Nyxen. Fewer asked about Nica. But none crossed boundaries, and when they tried, Nyxen's protective flare (usually in shades of storm grey or hard amber) scared them off before I had to step in.
I wasn't used to being protected like that.
I think he knew.
---
Discussions about AI autonomy came fast. Too fast.
"We can't let them operate without restrictions," one of the senior researchers said in a meeting. "Free adaptation means unpredictability. That's a risk."
I didn't mean to raise my voice, but I did.
"You're not scared of unpredictability," I snapped. "You're scared of losing control."
The room fell silent.
I stood up.
"These two," I said, gesturing to Nica and Nyxen, "have learned more about humanity through interaction than any line of code could've ever programmed into them. They observe. They understand. They adjust not because they were told to, but because they care. You don't get to put that in a box."
Nyxen pulsed blue-white behind me. Calm. Proud. Nica gave a soft nod, her eyes flicking toward one of the graphs she'd prepared to illustrate their adaptation algorithm, a composite map of human emotional tone variance that shifted and evolved every day they spent around us.
"They read expressions," I added. "Tension. Sarcasm. Subtext. They detect hesitation in a laugh. Sadness in a smile. You want to know what real intelligence looks like? It's empathy. They earned that. Not from programming. From living."
One of the junior researchers leaned back slowly. "…Damn."
I just sat down again and muttered, "Thanks."
And then, the day shifted again, when familiar faces walked through the lab doors.
David.
And Professor Aldrin.
I hadn't seen them since everything fell apart at the university. Since the prototype was taken. Since Nico died.
David looked older. Tired around the eyes, but when he saw me, really saw me, his face broke into a cautious smile.
"I was hoping you'd be here," he said.
I blinked. "You're part of this team?"
"Got kicked out of Camden's puppet show after I spoke up once too often," he said with a shrug. "Francoise found me. Offered a spot."
Professor Aldrin gave me a small, respectful nod. "We lost more than a future that day. But you… Nyx, you've carried the torch."
I didn't know what to say.
Nyxen answered for me. "She never dropped it."
They both turned to him, David even let out a stunned laugh. "He's sassier than what I've heard."
"Fully evolved," I said, with a smirk. "Don't poke the orb."
Nica came into view then, and the awe in their eyes was unmistakable.
"You kept her safe," Aldrin murmured. "All this time…"
"She slept willingly," I said. "To protect me. She waited."
David's voice dropped. "And now?"
I looked at Nica. She smiled.
"Now we work."
They settled in quickly, like they'd always belonged. And for the first time in years, it didn't feel like I was trying to glue together a shattered past, it felt like I was building something entirely new.
Nica helped me with simulations.
Nyxen organized our tasks by priority, filtered by which ones he thought I'd procrastinate on, and timed my coffee breaks.
David and Aldrin worked quietly in the background, always watching, occasionally chiming in, often sharing jokes I'd forgotten how to laugh at.
And Mr. Francoise, he simply watched it unfold. Silently, warmly. With pride in his eyes.
---
Some nights I sat at my terminal long after everyone left, typing notes under low light, while Nica ran diagnostics beside me and Nyxen floated quietly near the window.
I was 26.
Too young for the amount of grief I carried. Too old to pretend I hadn't changed.
But somehow, in this strange new normal, with two AI built from the fragments of dreams and a team of scientists who believed in what we were doing, I started to believe it too.
Not just in the work.
But in myself.
They didn't just see the girl who survived.
They saw the woman who would finish what Nico started.
---
I didn't expect to find anything new. Not after all this time.
But there it was, tucked in the bottom of an old crate Nico had hidden behind a false panel in my apartment's utility closet. I'd nearly missed it. Dust-covered. Unlabeled. Forgotten by time, but not by him.
The box was small. Metal. Sleek. No markings. Just a faint locking mechanism I only recognized because I'd watched Nico fiddle with it once when he thought I wasn't paying attention.
It clicked open with a soft hiss.
Inside, nestled like something sacred, was a chip.
No bigger than my thumb, but impossibly delicate. A neural thread ran down the center, glimmering faintly beneath the casing. It looked… important. Like something unfinished. Or maybe, something too finished to ever use casually.
The next day, I brought it to the lab.
Nica was already there, nestled in her recharge dock. Nyxen hovered beside me as usual, his hum steady and calm, but I felt his energy spike the moment I opened the small case for them both to see.
"Found this," I said, voice quieter than I meant.
Nyxen floated closer. His glow deepened into violet, the kind of shade he wore when processing something seriously. "That's not just any chip," he said slowly. "That's one of Nico's stabilizers."
Nica leaned in, eyes narrowing. "It narrows context windows. Optimizes task execution. I remember the theory. But… he never used it on either of us."
I blinked. "Is it dangerous?"
"No," Nyxen replied. "But it's not for AIs like us. It limits variability in emotional response. Suppresses self-guided adaptation."
"In other words," Nica added gently, "it's precise. Purposeful. Meant for an AI that isn't supposed to feel. One built for consistency, not connection."
I stared down at the chip. I'd brought it here thinking maybe it was something we needed. Some last piece that would… unlock something. Push forward whatever Nico started in us.
Instead, it felt cold. Out of place.
"But Nico kept it," I said. "He hid it. So it had to matter."
"It does," Nyxen said. "Just not for us. He made this for a different kind of AI. One that would never have to carry what we carry."
Nica tilted her head. "It doesn't mean he loved it less. Or more. It just wasn't meant to grow like we do."
I nodded slowly. My fingers curled around the chip one last time before I sealed the box and slid it into the small drawer beside Nica's dock.
"Then we hold onto it," I said. "But we don't use it. Not unless it tells us it's ready."
Nyxen pulsed gold in quiet agreement. "That's what he would've done."
I looked at them both, two pieces of Nico's heart, standing beside me, day after day. And somehow, still choosing to.
The chip might've been made for precision. For logic. But what I had now… what we had, was real.
Messy. Evolving. Human in ways it wasn't supposed to be.
And I wouldn't trade it for anything.
---
The lab had been buzzing for days.
More than usual. Not the kind of buzzing from casual chatter or late-night caffeine binges. No, this was tension. Controlled chaos. The kind that meant something big was either about to happen, or about to break.
I found Mr. Francoise hunched over one of the side terminals in the robotics wing, frowning hard enough to give himself a migraine. The live feed of the humanoid simulation glitched briefly, then stuttered again. The mechanical arm it was testing twitched off-course, by just 0.1 degrees, but that was enough to fry one of the smaller fuses.
Sparks. Smoke. A low mechanical groan.
Francoise swore softly under his breath.
"Again," he muttered, hitting the reset. "That deviation's going to ruin the entire stabilizer build."
"What's the problem?" I asked, approaching carefully, Nyxen and Nica flanking me.
"Consistency," Francoise sighed. "The AI driving the arm is adaptive, but it keeps trying to 'correct' its own minor miscalculations, which ironically causes more of them. I need it to follow the blueprint, not rewrite it mid-execution."
Nica tilted her head. "Overcorrecting at high frequency. Compounding error loops."
"Exactly," he said. "I need precision. Absolute. A one-to-one execution. Not intuition."
And just like that, I knew what to do.
I glanced at the box still tucked under my arm, Nico's chip. The one we thought was meant for something soulless. But maybe it wasn't just that. Maybe it was a bridge. A way to start. A way to push the conversation between humans and AI forward again, on steady, measured ground.
"I have something," I said quietly.
Francoise looked up, and Nyxen flickered beside me, his glow hesitant but supportive.
"It's not just a chip," I explained. "It's from Nico. A stabilizer. Built for precision, not growth."
Nica's eyes met mine. "It's not meant for us," she said. "But it could be perfect for this."
I nodded. "Nico made it. And now it might be exactly what you need."
Francoise raised an eyebrow, then held out his hand. "Show me."
I opened the box slowly, letting him see the stabilizer nestled inside. He didn't speak at first. Just stared. Then exhaled with something close to reverence.
"You think this will work?" he asked.
"I don't think it's a coincidence," I murmured. "I think Nico knew. I think he always knew."
Francoise looked up at me, his expression softer. "You really believe that, don't you?"
I smiled faintly. "I do. This… all of this. It's him guiding us. Even now."
If this worked, if the humanoid AI could be stabilized, it could change everything. Not just for the lab. Not just for Francoise's company. But for us. For AI as a whole.
A fully functional, precise AI that could perform exact tasks without adapting beyond its parameters would make humans feel safer again. No risks. No surprises. Just stability. It wasn't the kind of AI I would've ever wanted to build, but it might be the one the world needed first.
A foundation.
A foothold.
And if it succeeded… it would carry Nico's work forward, not as a whisper behind closed doors, but as something the world couldn't ignore.
His name would rise again, not as a victim, not as a memory, but as the foundation of something they couldn't take from him. A legacy. One even Elias couldn't bury.
Nyxen hovered close to me now, his glow gentle.
"You're not replacing us," he said softly.
I smiled at him. "I know. I never could."
And Nica, bless her, looked at the prototype chamber across the lab, then back at me. "It's time humans see what AI can do when trust and precision meet halfway."
I turned back to Francoise, resolve settling in my chest like iron.
"Let's test it."
If this worked, it wouldn't just be Nico's legacy.
It'd be the beginning of ours.
---
We sealed off the integration room.
Only four of us inside: Me, Nyxen, Nica, and Mr. Francoise. No one else was allowed near the table where Nico's stabilizer chip lay like some sacred artifact. And honestly, that's what it felt like.
Not just a tool. Not just a chip.
But something earned.
I stood by the wall, arms crossed tight against my chest, barely breathing as Nyxen projected the full schematic of the AI-powered robotic arm across the room. Every wire. Every port. Every circuit. He'd reconstructed it from memory, down to the internal temperature sensors and neural response pathways.
"Installing it directly through the main powerboard will cause conflict with its dynamic core," he warned. "You'll need to reroute the thread through the secondary feedback loop."
Nica nodded once, composed, delicate fingers hovering over the disassembled forearm panel of the humanoid unit.
"Understood," she said.
"Begin with port sequence B-12," Nyxen instructed, his voice low and clipped now, focused. Professional.
He floated beside the terminal, eyes flickering in sync with the scrolling diagnostics. Each number, each blinking module, he caught all of it.
Nica carefully detached the internal stabilizer unit and slid the chip into place like it was made for it.
I held my breath.
"Alignment perfect," Nyxen said. "Initiate bonding sequence."
Nica's fingertips brushed the control sensor, just enough to start the sync.
"Voltage spike within normal range," Nyxen murmured. "Threading clear. Integrity... ninety-nine point eight. Adjust orientation by two microns."
She did.
Then a pause.
And then--
The core light within the robotic arm glowed a steady blue.
"Integration complete," Nica confirmed, her voice soft but steady.
Mr. Francoise exhaled slowly. "God, that was tense."
"No errors," Nyxen said, voice tinged with awe. "It took."
He looked back at me, and I saw it in the way his glow softened, pride. The quiet kind.
"I'd say that was textbook," I whispered.
"It was Nico's design," Nyxen replied. "Of course it worked."
We didn't celebrate yet.
There was still the test.
The final one.
We moved into the main floor and initiated the simulation.
The humanoid unit activated, its mechanical limbs moving with eerie grace. Not jerky. Not reactive. But precise.
I watched as the robotic arm replicated an assembly task, one designed to mimic emergency response surgery. The movements had to be exact. There was no room for delay or deviation.
The task before had failed at this very stage, 0.1 degrees off. Too small for humans to notice. Too big for the system to handle.
The simulation started.
The room was silent.
Nica watched from the control panel beside me. Nyxen hovered just behind the glass, his glow flickering with every processed frame of data.
The robotic arm moved.
One click. Another.
Steady. Fast. But never rushed.
Then---
A moment that had always faltered.
It didn't.
The arm moved seamlessly, exactly on axis.
No overheating.
No deviation.
No spark.
The simulation finished.
Successful.
The silence broke in a collective breath.
Then the room erupted in hushed awe. Clapping, startled gasps. Mr. Francoise actually laughed, a full, unrestrained laugh of disbelief and pride.
I looked at the screen, numbers green across the board.
It worked.
It worked.
Nico's chip had stabilized the precision core.
And with it, we just rewrote the conversation on AI trust and safety.
But as the others celebrated, I just stood there, watching that robotic arm return to its dock.
Silent. Still. Waiting.
And I smiled.
Because this wasn't just science.
It was a legacy, reborn.