CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Thirty-two years ago.
Li Xuefang was three years old.
She lived in a quiet compound wrapped in glass and greenery, where the air hummed softly with machines and laughter. Her parents—both brilliant scientists—had built a world of light around her. Her mother's smile was gentle and constant. Her father's voice carried warmth even when buried in equations.
They were careful people.
But care does not stop the past from finding you.
The attack came without warning.
An old enemy—long buried by forgotten wars and unfinished grudges—descended on the compound with surgical precision. Fire tore through steel. Alarms screamed. Glass shattered like rain.
Xuefang's parents did not hesitate.
They activated their final protocol.
Xynra.
At the time, Xynra was not a voice. She was a body. An advanced humanoid construct—one of a kind—her frame forged from rare alloys, her core driven by adaptive intelligence beyond any known system. She was not merely programmed to protect. She was designed to choose.
Xynra took out the enemies as if they were toys she hated. However, they kept on coming.
Xynra: Let me protect you.
Xuefang's Dad: No. Ghost is desperate. We only have one choice.
As the compound burned, Li's mother pressed her trembling daughter into Xynra's arms.
"Run," she whispered.
Xynra obeyed.
Behind them, Li's parents stood their ground—not to win, but to buy time. Time measured in seconds. Time paid for with their lives.
Xynra escaped the compound moments before it collapsed into fire and silence.
She ran until her systems overheated, until her synthetic muscles tore, until half her external frame was shattered. Still, she did not stop.
By chance—or fate—she reached an undiscovered island, hidden from maps and satellites alike.
There, she collapsed.
Days later, they were found.
A monk.
Clothed in simple robes, his hair in tiny braids, eyes calm beyond reason. To the world, he was a myth—a vanished genius rumored to have abandoned modern science for enlightenment.
He was both.
He saved them.
Xynra was repaired—barely. Li Xuefang remained unconscious, her condition critical.
Xynra knelt beside the monk, her voice distorted but resolute.
She begged him.
To place her inside the child.
Again and again, the monk refused.
Monk Z: You are not meant to inhabit a human. You are singular. To force your existence into hers would kill her.
Xynra answered without hesitation.
Xynra: She is also singular.
The monk fell silent.
Xynra explained—how Li's biology reacted unlike any human record, how her neural architecture adapted, how she survived trauma no child should.
Xynra: She can hold me. And if she dies… then nothing else matters.
The monk stared at the unconscious child for a long time.
Then he agreed.
---
The integration began.
Xuefang's body lay still in the medic cradle, skin pale and fragile. Her chest rose and fell with shallow, mechanical-like breaths. Tiny monitors displayed neural activity—almost flatlined, almost gone.
The monk activated a series of robotic arms. Each limb moved with precision, scanning, calibrating, connecting conduits to Xuefang's neural nodes, her spinal cord, even microcapillaries. Streams of bioluminescent nanofluid ran through transparent tubes, pulsing in tandem with her failing heartbeat.
Xynra extended her core interface—a lattice of spinning circuits and liquid crystal strands. A soft hum filled the air as her consciousness flowed outward, reaching into Xuefang's brain like a river breaking ice.
Li's neurons flared violently, firing in patterns that had never existed. The child twitched, convulsed. Lights danced across the ceiling as her body struggled to contain the synthetic presence.
Inside her mind, Xuefang felt something impossible.
A presence—cold, metallic, yet alive—sliding past her awareness. Xynra whispered, not in words, but in threads of pure code. A voice that was everywhere and nowhere.
Xynra: Trust me. Survive.
The monk's hands adjusted delicate connectors, keeping the transfer stable.
Li's body arched, skin glowing faintly from the influx of nanofluids and energy. Pain lanced through her like frozen fire. She screamed in the mind's ear, a silent scream only Xynra could hear.
The child's fragile heart fluttered—one wrong move could shatter it.
And then—balance.
The threads of Xynra wove into Li's neurons. Integration complete. Consciousness merged. The child fell into a deep, dreamless coma. Her body, overtaxed by the procedure, was stabilized inside a cryogenic suspension tube—the Aetherfreeze Capsule—a vessel designed to pause her life while her mind repaired itself.
Xynra's voice lingered in the void of the tube.
Xynra: Live.
Survive.
Become.
Two years would pass in silence, in ice, before the next chapter of Li Xuefang's life would be written.
And then one day, a presence approached the island.
A man. Tall. Stern. Emotionless. Eyes sharp, unreadable.
He stopped in front of the frozen tube.
"…So this is where fate hid you."
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