The med-bay lights dimmed as emergency systems took over.
Historia lay suspended within a lattice of mechanical arms, her shattered armor carefully separated into segments and held apart by stabilizing fields. Thin streams of repair nanites flowed into exposed conduits, sealing fractures that had been open for centuries.
Vital systems fluctuated wildly.
Core temperature unstable.
Neural interface corrupted.
Memory partitions fragmented.
Mira stood at the edge of the platform, hands clenched so tightly that her gloves creaked under the strain.
“Come on… come on… don’t you dare die after I finally found you…”
Medical drones hovered uncertainly, their routines never designed for a CyroN autonomous warrior of this generation.
“Structural repair at forty-three percent,” one unit reported.
“Consciousness reinitialization not recommended,” another warned.
“Risk of neural cascade—”
“Do it anyway,” Mira snapped.
The drones hesitated.
Then complied.
A surge of power rippled through Historia’s frame.
Her core flared, then stuttered.
Optical sensors flickered once.
Twice.
Then opened.
Bright, unfocused.
“…system… reboot…?”
Her voice came out distorted, fragmented by damaged speech processors.
Mira rushed forward, nearly colliding with the stabilization field.
“Historia! Historia, it’s me— it’s Mira, you’re safe, you’re safe now—!”
Historia’s gaze drifted, struggling to lock onto her.
“Mira…?”
Her fingers twitched weakly against the restraints.
“…you… came back…?”
Mira froze.
For just a fraction of a second.
Then she forced a smile, leaning closer so Historia could see her clearly.
“Of course I did. I promised, remember? I always keep my promises.”
Historia’s optics brightened slightly.
A faint smile formed on her lips.
“…you always… say big things…”
Mira laughed softly, wiping her eyes.
“And I always mean them.”
But behind her smile, panic was tearing through her systems.
Because Historia remembered.
She remembered the battlefield.
She remembered Mira running.
And sooner or later… she would remember why.
Historia tried to sit up, only to cry out as pain signals flooded her neural link.
“Ah—! Why does… everything hurt…?”
“Don’t move,” Mira said quickly, pressing her hands against the edge of the platform. “Your body’s been… damaged for a long time. You need to rest.”
“How long…?”
Mira swallowed.
“…a while.”
Historia’s gaze shifted, scanning the unfamiliar ceiling, the unfamiliar machines, the unfamiliar silence.
“…did we… lose…?”
Mira hesitated.
Just long enough.
“…the war ended,” she said carefully. “CyroN withdrew. Schryza survived.”
That part was true.
Just… not the whole truth.
Historia closed her eyes weakly.
“…good…”
Her systems logged the word as relief.
And Mira’s heart shattered all over again.
[FILE: medical_unit/core_sync.log]
SUBJECT: HISTORIA_KOURA_XMA-02A
CORE STATUS: STABILIZED (LOW INTEGRITY)
NEURAL LINK: PARTIALLY RESTORED
MEMORY CLUSTERS: SEVERE CORRUPTION
EMOTIONAL RESPONSE MODULES: ACTIVE
TRAUMA SUPPRESSION: INEFFECTIVE
WARNING:
External psychological stress may accelerate corruption.
Hours passed in quiet tension.
Mira never left Historia’s side.
She watched as repair systems slowly rebuilt shattered structures, watched as faint color returned to her sister’s face, watched every tiny movement like it might vanish if she blinked.
Historia finally broke the silence.
“…Mira…?”
“Yes?”
“…why does it feel… like something is missing…?”
Mira’s breath caught.
Before she could answer, alarms suddenly erupted across the bay.
WARNING: UNAUTHORIZED SIGNAL DETECTED; TRACKING PROTOCOLS ACTIVE
Mira spun toward the console.
“No… no, no, no— they already found us?!”
Long-range sensors lit up with hostile signatures.
CyroN.
Still alive.
Still hunting.
Mira turned back to Historia, forcing calm into her voice.
“We have to move. Now.”
Historia tried to stand again, swaying as stabilizers disengaged.
“…they’re still out there…?”
Mira grabbed her sister’s arm, pulling her into an emergency support harness.
“Yes,” she said quietly.
“And this time… I’m not running without you.”