DON'T READ DON'T READ NEED TO REWRITE
Beneath the false sky of a buried city, a girl no bigger than a backpack squinted at a malfunctioning cleaning bot like it had personally offended her.
Her name was Ari. In a past life, she had eight legs, mythical power, and an expert-level understanding of how to execute a dramatic entrance.
Now reborn as a suspiciously quiet toddler, she pondered the deep mysteries of this new world.
Such as:
If she infused a tiny bit of divine mana into that pathetic excuse for a cleaning bot… would it start working properly?
Or explode?
"[Host,]" 007 sighed in her head, "[I'm begging you. One normal morning. Just one.]"
From the outside, Ari was all wide eyes and innocent fingers—just a baby poking curiously at a wheezing old cleaning drone. It stuttered, beeped, and then—miraculously—began sweeping the floor with renewed purpose and unprecedented speed.
Ari's eyes gleamed. She wore the smuggest smile a three-year-old could legally manage.
Then, without a word, she turned and toddled away like a creature with absolutely no regrets.
Behind her, the cleaning bot gave one final valiant sweep.
And exploded.
Dust rained from the ceiling.
"[You have a problem,]" 007 muttered.
"I improved it," Ari replied primly.
"[I wasn't talking about your weaponized Roomba.]"
Children moved across the cracked synthstone ground, half-starved and hollow-eyed, dressed in fraying tunics too thin for the chill. Their laughter, when it came, was strained. Some kicked at scraps of plastic. Others clung to the shadows, whispering things children should not know.
No caretakers watched them. Just outdated surveillance orbs drifting lazily overhead—cheap tech.
This wasn't a home. It was a holding pen.
Tucked into a corner of the courtyard, half-hidden by the overhang of a rusted walkway, sat a little girl.
Ari.
Her knees were pulled up to her chest, her small fingers curled into the hem of her shirt. A dark curl fell over her brow as she leaned forward, eyes fixed on a glint of motion near her foot.
A tiny beetle-like drone clicked across the cracked tile—barely larger than her thumb. Its metal legs moved with a soldier's precision. Curious, Ari reached out and tapped it.
The drone jerked back, then spun in an loop before buzzing into the air and vanishing toward the rooftops.
Her eyes lit up.
"Fascinating," she whispered to herself.
[Host curiosity levels: high.]
[No impulse to squash detected. Progress.]
Ari blinked as the words scrolled faintly across her vision—only visible to her. A warm, mischievous voice followed them.
[Morning, Host! Did you sleep well? You snored like a baby kraken.]
"I am a baby," Ari murmured, frowning slightly.
[And yet you carry the reincarnated divine core of a Destruction-class deity. Multitasking queen.]
She giggled quietly.
Even now, most of her past life remained a blur—just shards of power and instinct buried beneath this tiny frame. But her name had returned. Her purpose, too.
To rise. To claim. To rule.
And for that she needed to defeat any rivals.
"Any signs yet?" she asked under her breath. "Are there others like me?"
There was a pause. Then, 007 answered:
[Still scanning. The divine field is scrambled underground. I need more time.]
Ari's brows furrowed. "How much time?"
[Dunno. Maybe a few days. Maybe a few years. Until then, you lay low, little spiderling.]
Ari hugged her knees again, watching the children skitter around the courtyard. No one noticed her. That was good. For now.
But something shifted.
A stillness crept through the ground—a wrongness in the air. Like the breath of a predator just before it strikes.
She stilled.
"I feel something," she whispered.
[You're not wrong...]
- Meanwhile, beyond the rusted gates of the orphanage-
A convoy of armored black transports idled silently on the edge of the cavern road, flanked by elite guards in matte helmets. At the front stood a man cloaked in dark gray—a noble of rank so high, even the underground winds seemed to quiet around him.
His expression was carved from shadow.
"Surround the compound," he said softly. "No one goes in. No one leaves."
Behind him, one of his subordinates hesitated. He had just reviewed a visual feed from a surveillance drone.
"…Sir. There's a child. In the courtyard. Deep indigo eyes."
The nobleman stilled. For the first time in a long time, emotion flickered across his face.
It couldn't be.
He had come searching for the truth behind his sister's disappearance.
He hadn't expected… this.
Back in the Orphanage
Ari blinked slowly, her breath quiet as the stillness thickened around her. The other children didn't seem to notice. They rarely noticed anything unless it hurt or fed them.
But she could feel it. The weight of eyes. The pressure of attention.
Predators were near.
She tilted her head up.
No alarms. No guards. No sound but the occasional hum of dead tech pretending to work.
Yet her instincts itched.
Ari got up without a sound and padded toward the crumbling edge of the courtyard. One small hand reached toward a wall covered in cracked, exposed piping. Her fingers curled—then her toes. And with the grace of something very much not human, she climbed.
Upward.
She moved like she'd always belonged there—feet gripping the surface, body light and precise, like silk on a breeze. In moments, she had slipped into the shadows near the ceiling, tucked herself between two rusted beams, and waited.
[Observation Mode: Activated. Host mimicking nest behavior. Adorable.]
[Do not hiss at them, please.]
"I don't hiss," Ari whispered, pouting. "Unless provoked."
[Right, right. You're a lady.]
She squinted through the gaps. Something was coming.
No—someone.
The orphanage doors creaked open under the weight of real authority, the kind that hadn't seen in years. Footsteps echoed—boots far too polished, accompanied by the low hum of surveillance drones.
Then he stepped in.
A tall man draped in shadows, his cloak whispering behind him. His face was sharp. Cold. But the moment his eyes swept the room, a flicker of something broke through the ice.
He was looking for someone.
Ari narrowed her eyes and lowered her body closer to the beam, clinging effortlessly upside-down like a tiny, feral ornament.
"Who is that?" she whispered.
[That, dear Host, is your uncle. He's the head of your bloodline. Shadow abilities. Bad haircut. Big family secrets.]
He moved into the courtyard, flanked by two guards, scanning every child—but none of them held his gaze for long.
Until his eyes met hers.
Ari didn't blink.
He stopped mid-step.
There, several meters above him, clinging to a support beam like a very judgmental spiderling, was a three-year-old girl with luminous ebony skin, curls wild and bouncing slightly from the ceiling draft… and those unmistakable deep indigo eyes.
Their gazes locked.
She tilted her head upside-down.
Then slowly—very deliberately—she waved.
"Hi," she said, upside-down and curious.
The nobleman's jaw tensed.
"…Is that… normal?" one of his guards whispered.
He didn't answer. His breath caught in his throat.
Not because she was strange.
But because she looked exactly like his sister once had. And because her eyes…
He knew those eyes. He had the same ones.
Back on the ceiling, Ari blinked at him, legs comfortably coiled around the pipes, completely unbothered.
[Well. You made an impression.]
[On a scale of one to "what the void is that," I give you a solid: eight.]
"I think I like him," Ari whispered, amused. "He didn't scream."
[He might later. Humans are dramatic.]
Lord Vaereth's pov
She shouldn't exist.
Vaereth stood frozen in the middle of the orphanage courtyard, the cold subterranean air brushing against the nape of his neck like a warning. Children scattered at the sight of him and his guards, some staring in wide-eyed fear, others too hungry or tired to care.
The place reeked of neglect. Tech was outdated and dusty, surveillance nodes visibly cracked, and yet no adult came to greet them. Just blinking monitors, silent speakers, and broken machines doing the bare minimum to keep these children alive.
It was a corpse of a system. A front.
He had seen plenty of those.
But he hadn't come for justice today. He had come for closure.
He took a slow breath and looked up again.
She was still there.
The little girl on the ceiling.
Perched like a spider. Staring at him.
He had searched. He had mourned.
And now… this child.
She had her face.
His sister's skin. Her curls. Her uncanny grace.
But the eyes… those were deeper. Wilder. Knowing.
"Lord Vaereth?" his lieutenant said softly. "Do you wish for us to retrieve her?"
"No," Vaereth said too quickly. Then, clearing his throat: "No. She doesn't look… frightened."
In fact, she looked amused.
She waved again.
His heart, too disciplined to race, gave a strange thud.
What are you?
He couldn't ask it aloud. But he had to know. Instinct screamed at him that this was no coincidence.
His shadow, the living extension of his will, coiled at his side like a serpent. It hissed softly, tasting the air around the child.
Danger. But not aimed at him.
Power. Deep-rooted, veiled in the form of a toddler.
"This place is worse than we thought," Vaereth muttered, casting a glance around. "We'll shut it down. Quietly."
"And the girl?" the lieutenant asked.
He hesitated.
"Prepare a formal adoption protocol," he said finally. "Discreetly. No headlines. No announcements."
The man blinked. "You're certain she's—?"
"I don't know what she is," Vaereth said. "But she's mine."
Ari's POV
Perched silently against the upper beam of the crumbling ceiling, Ari clung with effortless ease—eight tiny silk anchors weaving out from her fingertips, holding her fast. Her small toes wiggled in the dust. From this high vantage point, she could study them all.
Especially him.
The man in the long black coat. Power rippled off him like scent trails through the dark. Shadows whispered around his feet, alive and obedient. Ari tilted her head, strands of curls dangling like antennae. His presence felt... tangled.
Familiar.
Family.
But she didn't know him. Not really. Yet something inside her stirred—a vague memory, like a silk thread caught in wind. A woman's laughter, indigo eyes, warmth—
Snip.
She severed the thought before it unraveled her focus. She didn't need a family. She just needed a place to spin her threads in peace. Probably. Maybe.
"[He's your uncle, you know,]" 007 chimed brightly in her head, her voice far too chipper for the solemnity of the moment. "[Well. Probably. 92.4% DNA match. Also: he's kind of hot for a human. But more importantly—]"
"Is he an enemy?" Ari asked silently.
"[No. Boringly honorable, powerful, emotionally repressed. Deliciously sad inside. I like him.]"
Ari narrowed her eyes. Below, the man was speaking to one of his subordinates, who kept glancing nervously at the shadows. Ari recognized the signs—he was making a plan. About her.
007 hummed. "[They're drafting adoption papers.]"
Ari blinked slowly. Adoption.
"[You'd get a bed. A bath. Possibly velvet.]" 007 giggled. "[Also, cake. But downside—you'd have to act like a normal baby. And, no biting.]"
"Temporarily," Ari replied coolly.
Then she shifted forward.
Silk strands unfurled from her hands. Her tiny body dipped, upside-down now, curls dangling, eyes gleaming with curiosity and power. She lowered herself, eerily slow, until she was just inches above her uncle's head.
He looked up.
Their eyes locked.
Vaereth's entire body tensed. One hand twitched toward the hilt at his side, but he stopped himself.
Ari gave him a very solemn upside-down wave.
He blinked once. Then again. Visibly unsettled.
She dropped gently to the floor, crouched like a spider.
The guards took a step back.
Too easy, she thought.
"[Host, no disemboweling the guards. We talked about this.]"
"I didn't even move."
"[Yet. I know that look. Anyway, while you're playing cute and terrifying, can we talk about those other god-candidates I've been tracking? Because one of them's eating a fusion beast and it's incredibly unsanitary.]"
"[You might want to start planning a divine fashion line—because one of your rivals has eight arms and no taste.]"
Ari's eyes never left the noble.
"Later. I want to see what kind of silk this man wears."