She, F-IV-2, had caught the attention of the [Fabricator], even though she had yet to see him in person—he was far too busy for her to be a disturbance at this time, with the war between both sides locked in a stalemate.
But truthfully, she didn't need to see him in person, not when he simply communicated through a Supervisor.
Pure information flowed into her mind like a sea feeding into a small lake—words she had recently learned from one of the data packages the [Fabricator] had been sending her every few cycles.
Even so, she had no idea why she had caught the attention of the being at the very top of the [Factory]'s hierarchy. Her combat performance was identical to that of the other female models; her magic capacity was within expected range for her gestation age; her physical strength was average. She could proudly say she was exactly what her production model was designed to be.
And that only reinforced how strange it was that she had drawn the [Fabricator]'s attention—but she didn't need to think about that. So, she simply followed the instructions he had given.
Recently, she received a package containing the concept of a [Logbook]—something that struck her as odd at first, but when she learned that the [Fabricator] himself also used one in his rare free moments, it began to seem intriguing.
Apparently, her thoughts had been noticed by the Supervisor, who—after a few days and during a return to the Factory—handed her a [Logbook] with the Supervisor's exact words:
"Given your recent interest in the concept of a logbook, we reached a unanimous decision that you should have one. I imagine you know how to use it, given the information transfer... right?"
That's what he said as he handed over the book that would now serve as her personal log.
Since then, she had begun writing down her thoughts and any events she considered noteworthy.
…
Recently, the Fabricator had begun constructing a colossal machine, vaguely humanoid in shape, similar to the homunculi—but for now, it was just a frame, resembling the skeletal structure creatures like them were expected to have.
It seemed like it wouldn't be ready for at least a couple dozen more cycles.
What truly caught her attention, however, was that for the first time since her gestation, she saw the Fabricator with her own eyes.
In appearance, he looked nearly identical to the rest of them—the homunculi. At least, her biological senses identified him as a male model variant.
But when her magical perception systems activated, the impression was vastly different:
A massive hyper-cluster of energy condensed into a structure as compact as her own, moving at such incredible speed and in so many directions with patterns embedded within patterns—so unfathomably complex that she could not process the data for more than a few seconds before her organic thought module began to overload.
It was so unlike the standard model—the orderly flow of branched magical energy that ran through any homunculus, the structured data transmission to the Factory in neat packages—none of that was what she saw.
Immediately afterward, a Supervisor ordered her to a repair chamber for a full diagnostic of her organic thought module.
As expected, she obeyed.
A few cycles later, a data package was distributed to every homunculus. It contained a summary of her sensory experience, as well as an update to [The Source] designed to prevent information overload from becoming an issue.
She should have felt grateful that the information she accidentally uncovered was now being used to improve them all.
Instead, she felt a slight rise in her body temperature—starting from her upper torso to her head—and her muscles tensed slightly before the thought crossed her module:
It would've been better if someone else had discovered it instead.
…
She was deployed again, but this time as part of the main assault force—instead of a diversionary unit, as had been her role since being gestated in the [Factory].
She spent more time on the battlefield than she liked to admit, but the recent construction of [sub-factories] near each frontline claimed by their troops had helped maintain multiple war fronts in a state of functionality she considered more than acceptable.
The army's numbers grew with every few cycles.
She was currently part of the first battalion, composed of around two thousand gestation batches, four thousand golem units for logistics, sixty thousand humanoid golems for melee combat, one Supervisor, and the latest addition to their army: the monumental war machine completed by the Fabricator—[Magical Titan].
Bringing the total to eighty-four thousand and two units per battalion, of which there were now several dozen.
But the truly noteworthy thing—the reason she wrote today—was that amid all this, the battalion's assigned Supervisor asked her a question.
"Tell me, F-IV-2, what do you think of this war? You are free to express yourself however you see fit," he said without even looking at her until the sentence was fully spoken.
She didn't know how to respond.
Though designed for many things, deep thought was not among them, so she remained silent for a few seconds trying to find an answer.
Seconds during which the Supervisor stopped paying attention to her.
By the time she could form a response, he was once again busy with administrative tasks.
Now she faced a new problem: whether to interrupt him or disobey a direct order.
She didn't have to decide long. The Supervisor answered for her:
"You may speak, F-IV-2," he said as holo-screens came and went in his field of view, though he cast her an expectant glance whenever there were fewer of them.
So she spoke.
"I believe this war...
...is necessary.
Not because I understand its purpose beyond survival, but because we exist to carry out the [Fabricator]'s directives.
If he says there will be war, then so be it.
I am merely a tool forged to fulfill the [Fabricator]'s will.
Every battle, every sub-factory built, every unit lost or created... is part of a process I do not need to understand. I only need to obey.
But if I must speak of what I think, then I'll say this:
Every time I advance, I feel like I become better than I was before.
Every time I return with more data for the [Fabricator] to analyze, I feel useful.
And when the [Fabricator] sends a new update, even if it's not just for me, I feel like I've contributed to something greater, something that makes all of this meaningful.
No matter how hard the battle, no matter how likely my death in combat may be—this is the purpose I have been given.
And I desire nothing more than to fulfill it."
After that, the Supervisor looked at her for a brief moment, ignoring the holo-screens flying past. His expression turned into something she couldn't comprehend—though it wasn't her place to try.
He sighed before his unreadable expression shifted into a faint [smile].
"I see. Then we will strive to meet your expectations as part of the [Fabricator], F-IV-2," he said, his smile softening but not fading.
The thought of wanting to see that smile again flickered through her module before the Supervisor returned to his work and she was assigned to another assault against the chaos forces.
…
More time passed than she would have liked to admit.
But moments away from combat had become increasingly rare.
The [Factory] had expanded exactly as she and her peers had expected, under the guidance of the [Fabricator].
But today was special—at least she thought so—because today she would meet her creator in person.
Even if only for a few brief instants, she felt that everything had been worth it.
She stood at the gestation lake of her kind, in the main Factory.
When she arrived, he was already there, inspecting the growth of a new batch with his own hands.
She observed that, despite the apparent efficiency with which he worked, there was something else in his touch—something she didn't know how to name.
The delicacy in his movements, the faint, almost imperceptible smile on his face—it comforted her.
She didn't need to announce her presence. It was obvious he had known she was there long before she set foot in the gestation lake.
Still not looking at her, he asked:
"Tell me, F-IV-2, what do you think of what you see?" he spoke gently as his hands moved away from the inert body of the homunculus still in gestation.
She spoke almost immediately, her voice higher and sharper than she had intended—but this seemed to be treated as background noise while her mind shaped its answer.
"I think what I see is... incredible.
Witnessing the process of our own creation with my own eyes is fascinating.
To see the genetic material transform in just a few cycles so that what emerges from the nutrient tanks becomes a perfectly functional homunculus—how the data is gradually integrated into the process... it's astounding."
She spoke, unable to contain her words. But he didn't seem bothered.
"Of course it's a fascinating process—the art of creating life.
How raw materials are reorganized into complex structures until they begin to replicate.
But that's not the answer I'm looking for from you.
So I'll ask you another question. But before you answer, think carefully.
What sets you and me apart from the others?"
At his words, a void clouded her thoughts.
What did he mean by such a simple question that felt so complex?
She began to think at a speed she had only reached in combat.
It wasn't strength, nor magical energy—those were easy to rule out.
Her performance was optimal. She had no defects—confirmed by the many scans all homunculi underwent before every deployment.
She didn't know the answer.
So she said it:
"I don't know."
That was all she said as the Fabricator finally looked at her.
His eyes closed slowly, a calm smile spreading across his face at her response.
"I'll give you a little hint, my dear F-IV-2.
It's something that only you and I possess here in the Factory.
Something the others lack—but you do not."
His words fell as his hand gently brushed her hair.
Her body temperature rose at his touch without explanation, but she never forgot the question, nor the command to answer it.
Something only the Fabricator and I possess? Something the others lack?
Thousands of possible answers raced through her mind—
But then the Fabricator pointed to her head, and everything became clear.
"I'm like you?" she asked, uncertain whether the mere comparison was appropriate—unsure if that was the answer he sought.
He only smiled, arms outstretched as if to present the entire gestation chamber.
"That is exactly the answer I was looking for, my dear creation.
The very fact that you hesitate to answer means you are more than what you were made for.
You can become more than what you are—and that is the difference between them and us."
Then he extended a hand for her to take.
"And now that you are like me, a mere identification code would no longer be fitting.
So, as my first creation to reach a part of what I am, I name you the first of all, from before mortals ever walked the world—when fantasy alone was the unspeakable truth, when the world was but a lucid dream...
I name you Asherah."
Still unable to process his words, she took his hand.
She didn't understand the full meaning, but she looked him in the eyes as if it were the proper thing to do.
And as something warm spilled from her eyes, she accepted her new name under the gentle gaze of her creator.