It's strange,
how normal everything feels these days.
When we first stepped out that morning, the sun hit the pavement with that soft gold only early winter could manage. And for the first time, there were Nyx-Ones floating quietly in public. Small silver orbs, following their bonded humans with that faint glow, soft and alive.
Two by the produce section. One by the cashier.
It should've been ordinary by now, but seeing them out there, really out there, still pulled something tight in my chest.
Nyxen hovered just behind me, steady and silent as always. Leon pushed the cart, humming under his breath like this was just any Saturday.
"Feels like we're seeing pieces of you everywhere," Leon said, tossing a bunch of spinach in. "Like your kids learned to fly."
I snorted. "Don't say it like that. Makes me sound old."
"You are," he said with a grin. "You just hide it well."
I rolled my eyes and pretended to study the price tags. But it was true. Everywhere I looked, someone was talking softly to a Nyx-One, asking it for suggestions, advice, or just… company.
"Which one's better for dinner, the salmon or the cod?" a woman asked beside me. Her Nyx-One hovered at eye level, scanning the packages before answering in a gentle tone. "Cod would be lighter, ma'am. Better if you'll have rice."
The woman smiled. "You always know what I want."
It answered, "It's my function to."
And just like that, she laughed. Soft. Familiar.
I felt something flutter in my chest that wasn't quite pride, something heavier. It wasn't just code, anymore. It was connection.
When we left the store, Leon glanced at one orb that zipped past its bonded kid, spinning like it was showing off. "It's weird," he said, "but kind of beautiful. You made something that people actually talk to."
I smiled faintly. "No, Nyxen did. I just… carried the idea."
Nyxen gave a low hum behind me. "You carried more than that," he said. "You carried loss into creation. That's rarer than invention."
I didn't answer. Sometimes, his words made me feel too seen.
By the time we got home, the sky had dimmed to that deep orange blur that hinted of rain. We set the groceries down, and for a moment, everything felt quiet, until I noticed Nyxen and Nica at the corner of the room, voices low, their tones serious.
Leon caught it too. "They plotting something again?" he joked, hanging the paper bags by the counter.
Nyxen looked up. "We were discussing… an upgrade."
"Whose?" I asked, though I already knew.
Nica turned to me. Her voice was soft, but her usual playfulness was gone. "Mine."
I blinked. "Upgrade? Why?"
Nyxen's light dimmed slightly, a sign he was serious. "She requested a full framework reinforcement. A new body."
I stared at her. "A new....body?"
Her current one, though slim and covered in her prosthetic skin, was still more expressive than most androids could ever be. She looked… human. Warm.
Nica nodded slowly. "I want to prioritize durability this time," she said. "If something happens again, I don't want anyone to get hurt because I couldn't hold the line."
Leon frowned, moving closer. "Hold the line? Nica, no one's expecting you to fight-"
"I know." Her tone was soft, but firm. "It's not about fighting. It's about surviving. About keeping all of you alive if something goes wrong."
Something in my chest clenched. "Nica…"
She looked up at me, the faint artificial glimmer in her eyes steady. "Nyx, I understand this body looks human. Feels human. But it's fragile. You've seen what happened before, metal gives way to fire too easily. I want to change that."
I didn't answer immediately. The memory she referred to, the chaos, the fire, the loss, it still clung to me.
And even though her logic was clear, the thought of her giving up this human form made my throat tighten.
Nyxen hovered closer. "I've already drafted a framework design," he said. "We'll use the new composite metals sourced from Francoise's facility. I'll oversee the reinforcement myself."
He projected a hologram in the air, a blueprint spiraling into form. It wasn't bulky or intimidating like a military shell.
It was elegant.
A feminine silhouette, smooth edges and slender joints.
No skin, no fake softness, just brushed metal with a quiet beauty to it. A reflection of what she was, not what she had to appear to be.
Nyxen continued, "We preserved her structure and proportion. Even the facial model remains. She'll still be Nica. Only more resilient."
Leon tilted his head, trying to find humor through the gravity. "So, no hair anymore?"
Nica laughed lightly. "Synthetic hair burns anyway. Less maintenance."
He grinned. "And all those clothes you dragged me to buy?"
She raised a hand to her chest like she was mourning. "Maybe I'll hang one jacket by the wall. As memory."
The moment softened. Even Nyxen let out a faint sound that almost resembled amusement.
Then I looked back at the blueprint, at her new reflection in the projection. "You're sure about this, Nica?"
"I am," she said. "I was designed to assist. But I've learned to choose, too. I choose to stand stronger."
There was something so human in the way she said it that even Leon fell silent.
Nyxen dimmed the projection and turned toward me. "I'll handle the transfer. It'll take two days at most. The materials are already at Francoise's facility."
"And her old body?" I asked quietly.
"Stored," Nyxen said. "Unless she wishes to keep it."
Nica shook her head. "No. This is the right step."
The air went quiet again.
Only the faint hum of Nyxen's core filled the room.
Then Leon sighed, crossing his arms. "Guess this means we're going to have to buy her new accessories. Maybe a new coat that fits the future-metal vibe."
Nica's eyes curved in something that almost looked like a smile. "I'll let you pick. You have terrible taste, but I'll let you."
"Wow. So much gratitude," Leon muttered, though the corner of his mouth tugged upward.
I stood there, watching them, Nyxen, calm and methodical; Nica, firm and strangely gentle even when deciding to shed her own skin; Leon, trying to lighten the weight that always followed us.
And something in me eased.
They weren't just lines of code anymore.
They were choosing.
Nyxen flickered slightly and turned toward me. "Permission to proceed, Nyx?"
I nodded. "If that's what she wants, yes."
He bowed slightly, his light rippling like acknowledgment. "Then we begin tomorrow."
As they discussed logistics, I glanced once more at the blueprint still hovering faintly in memory, a body of steel, shaped by will.
It didn't look human, not exactly. But maybe that was the point.
They'd learned humanity not through imitation, but through intention.
And as Leon leaned beside me, whispering something about missing her ridiculous floral sweaters, I couldn't help but laugh.
"Don't worry," I said softly. "She'll still be Nica. Just… shinier."
Nyxen looked up at me, his tone laced with something almost fond.
"She always was."
-----------
I didn't think I'd ever smell this room again.
The faint tang of solder and carbon dust, the low hum of scanners against steel, Francoise's lab was exactly as it used to be, like time had folded just for us.
David was crouched by the panel, Aldrin handled the servo joints with meticulous precision, and Francoise, his gloves already blackened, leaned over Nica's open chassis.
Her voice came through the speaker, faint but steady. "I'm ready for the frame integration."
"You've said that three times," Nyxen replied from the console, voice smooth and detached. "Yet your signal stability dropped by two percent since your last vocal calibration."
"I'm nervous."
He paused. "…That is not a valid variable."
"It's not supposed to be," she teased lightly, her tone carrying that same warmth that always slipped past his logic filters.
I watched from behind the glass, fingers pressed to the partition. Even though I'd said yes, it still hit me how final this felt. The body she'd lived in, the one that made Sylvie laugh, that wore the dresses we picked together, was gone now, piece by piece, replaced with alloy bones and slender wiring.
Leon leaned beside me. "You know, she's gonna look like a whole new species when this is done."
"She'll still be Nica," I said.
He smiled faintly. "Yeah. Still the one who insisted on trying on ten pairs of gloves before picking one."
Across the lab, Francoise barked something in French. "David, pas comme ça! You'll misalign the elbow servos!"
David muttered under his breath but adjusted, sweat dripping down his jaw.
"Good," Nyxen said. "Precision is preferable to improvisation. Again, from the top."
"You know," David grumbled, "you're way worse than our old professor."
"That is a compliment," Nyxen answered.
It made me laugh softly, hearing him like that again, controlling everything with that cold, pristine efficiency. But when his sensors turned to me, his tone shifted instantly.
"Nyx," he said, softer now. "Could you recalibrate the neural harness? Your readings were the most compatible during Nica's last sync."
I nodded and moved closer. My hands didn't tremble as I connected the ports, aligning her core access with the new chassis's neural web. When I looked up, Nica's eyes, her prosthetic lenses, flickered faintly.
"Does it hurt?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But it feels… strange. Like waking up before remembering who you are."
"You'll adjust," Nyxen assured her, almost gently. "The new frame will process memory bleed more efficiently. Your recall patterns will stabilize."
Francoise straightened, pulling off his gloves. "That's enough for today. We'll do the final core integration tomorrow."
Everyone exhaled at once, tension spilling out of the air. David rolled his shoulders; Aldrin flopped into a chair.
"Feels like old times," Aldrin said, grinning. "You yelling, Francoise threatening to throw a wrench-"
"I never threatened," Francoise interrupted.
Aldrin snorted. "You threw one once."
"It was a small wrench."
We all laughed. And for a moment, the room didn't feel like a lab. It felt like home again.
As we packed up, Nyxen continued his scans, his orb form glowing faintly in the low light. Every few seconds, he'd ping the vitals of the new frame, making small vocal notes only he could fully understand.
When he rolled past me, he slowed. "You should rest, Nyx. I will remain here overnight."
"You're sure?"
"Yes. Precision requires continuity." Then, almost as if realizing it might sound cold, he added, "I'll send you updates every hour."
"…You don't have to."
"I want to."
I smiled at that and turned toward the door. Leon was already helping Sylvie into her jacket, her small hands clinging to her plush giraffe.
On the way back home, the sky was bleeding orange over the horizon. Sylvie was unusually quiet, her chin resting on the giraffe's head.
"Where's Nica?" she finally asked, voice small.
"She's still at the lab," I said. "Nyxen's helping Francoise make her stronger."
Her lower lip trembled. "Is she broken?"
"No, sweetheart. She's just… changing a little."
Sylvie's eyes filled, and she hugged her giraffe tighter. "Then I'll wait here. So she won't be alone when she comes back."
Leon smiled faintly from the driver's seat. "She's gonna be fine, kiddo. Probably gonna lift that giraffe with one arm when she returns."
Sylvie sniffled. "That's too strong."
I laughed softly and brushed her hair aside. "She'll still be gentle."
When we reached home, Sylvie fell asleep on the couch, giraffe still clutched tight. Leon disappeared into the kitchen, and I stood by the window, looking at the faint light blinking in the distance, the one that marked Francoise's facility.
"Make her strong," I whispered. "But bring her back."
-----------
That night felt wrong in all the smallest ways.
The hum in the house was still there, the faint electronic pulse of the system, the soft whir of temperature regulators, but the voices were gone.
No Nyxen correcting something I said mid-sentence.
No Nica teasing Sylvie about bedtime.
Just silence.
Leon's Nyx-One was the only one hovering near the living room, its lens blinking in soft amber intervals. The sound of its rotation was rhythmic, almost like breathing, but it only made the emptiness louder.
Sylvie was curled up on the couch, her giraffe tucked under her chin. The holo-screen flickered across her face as she fought sleep. I sat beside her, half-distracted, staring at the faint shimmer of Leon's Nyx-One as it floated near the ceiling, its lens occasionally glancing our way.
Leon walked in with two mugs of coffee and sank into the couch beside me. "She's out," he murmured, glancing at Sylvie.
"Yeah," I whispered. "She held her giraffe so tight, I thought it would squeak."
He smiled faintly, setting the mugs down. "Feels different, doesn't it?"
"Too quiet," I said.
Leon's Nyx-One drifted closer, then spoke in that neutral, polite tone it always used when addressing him.
"Leon. Your heart rate has decreased by fifteen percent since returning home. Would you like to enable the rest calibration protocol?"
Leon looked at it blankly. "…That's your way of saying I look sad?"
The orb blinked twice. "I am observing irregular behavioral stillness inconsistent with your normal baseline."
I covered my mouth, laughing softly. "It's saying you miss Nyxen."
Leon gave a quiet groan, rubbing the back of his neck. "What? No. I just-"
He paused, his expression softening. "Yeah. Maybe I do."
He leaned back, eyes fixed on the ceiling. "It's weird, isn't it? You get used to them arguing in the background. Nyxen nitpicking every angle. Nica interrupting him with sass. You think it's just noise until it's gone."
"Routine," I said quietly.
"Yeah." He chuckled under his breath. "Our kind of family bonding."
Leon's Nyx-One hovered a little closer, perhaps confused by the emotional tone. "Would you like me to simulate Nyxen's voice for routine comfort interaction?"
Leon laughed. "No, no, that's...yeah, that's not the same. Please don't."
The orb dimmed to a lower light, as if sulking. I smiled at the small thing, at how even a machine could seem lonely.
When the house finally settled, we carried Sylvie upstairs. She was half-awake, murmuring Nica's name once before slipping back into sleep. Leon placed her giraffe beside her, smoothing her hair, and I stood there for a moment, feeling the ache of absence press against the quiet.
In the dim glow of the hallway, I could still hear the faint hum of Leon's Nyx-One, circling once before finding its charging dock. It blinked twice, a soft, gentle rhythm, and then the house went still again.
Leon and I climbed into bed without saying much. The room was cold without the usual back-and-forth between Nyxen and Leon's unit echoing faintly through the comm-link. I pulled the blanket tighter, and Sylvie's tiny form pressed between us, her breathing steady.
Leon's arm draped over both of us. "Feels… empty," he whispered.
"Just for tonight," I said.
"Yeah."
The lights dimmed. For a long while, we just lay there, the silence thick but somehow intimate, like everyone was holding their breath, waiting for morning.
And as I drifted toward sleep, I caught myself glancing at the window. Past the city lights, somewhere far beyond, I knew Nyxen was still awake, still watching over the work, still holding Nica's memory steady.
That thought made the emptiness bearable.