The hum of the ship's engines filled the silence—a deep, low rhythm that pulsed like a heartbeat through the metal corridors. Beyond the wide viewing glass, the nebula shimmered in ghostly blues and silvers, stars winking through like secrets waiting to be told.
Toshio stood there, alone in the observation deck, his reflection framed by the cosmos. His eyes, usually calm, held a storm tonight. Too much had happened. Too much was about to happen.
Behind him, soft footsteps echoed. He didn't need to turn to know who it was.
"Iris," he said quietly.
The girl stepped into view. Her silvery-white hair caught the nebula's glow, and for a moment, she looked ethereal—like something not meant for mortal eyes. But her expression… that was human. Too human.
"You're awake," Toshio murmured. "You should be resting."
"I can't," she replied softly. "Not after what I remembered."
He turned then, his brow furrowing. "Remembered?"
Her gaze drifted to the stars. "Fragments… images. Voices. And a name I shouldn't know."
Toshio's pulse quickened. He'd suspected something was off about Iris ever since the incident on Kepler Station—the strange surge of power, the way the A.I. core had recognized her. But he hadn't pushed her. Not yet.
Now, it seemed, the truth was clawing its way out on its own.
"What name?" he asked.
She hesitated, her lips trembling. "…The Keeper."
The words hung in the air, heavy as gravity. Toshio felt his chest tighten. The Keeper wasn't a myth—not to him. It was a codename buried in classified war records from a century ago. A weapon disguised as a human.
"You shouldn't know that name," he said, voice low.
"I know," Iris whispered, her fingers curling into fists. "But it's in my head, Toshio. Like an echo that won't stop."
The hum of the ship seemed to grow louder, more restless.
Flashback – Ten Years Ago
A sterile lab. Cold light. The sound of rain hammering glass.
Scientists in white coats circled a glowing pod. Inside it—a girl. Pale, asleep, motionless.
"Prototype-07, codename: Iris," a voice said.
"Biological hybrid interface between A.I. and human consciousness. Designed to carry the Keeper Protocol."
The voice paused.
"If activated, she will remember everything."
"Toshio?"
Her voice dragged him back to the present. His hands had gone cold.
He stepped closer to her. "Listen to me carefully. Whatever you think you remember—it's dangerous. If you dig too deep—"
She met his eyes. "Then I'll finally know who I am."
He flinched. There was no stopping her resolve. That same stubbornness—the same fire—he'd seen it once before, in someone else.
A low alarm suddenly blared across the ship. Red lights flashed along the corridor walls.
INTRUSION DETECTED – ENGINE BAY.
Toshio's instincts kicked in instantly. He grabbed his plasma pistol from his belt and motioned for Iris to stay behind him.
But she didn't.
"I can help," she said, her tone sharper now—almost mechanical.
They raced through the corridors, the alarm still howling. When they reached the engine bay, the door was half-open, sparks flickering along the frame.
And there—silhouetted against the roaring blue light of the core—stood a man.
Tall. Clad in black combat armor. His helmet reflected the glow of the reactor.
"You took long enough," the man said, his voice filtered through static.
Toshio aimed his weapon. "Who the hell are you?"
The man tilted his head. "You can call me The Warden. I've come for her."
He pointed at Iris.
Before Toshio could respond, the Warden moved. Fast—inhumanly fast. Toshio barely blocked the first strike with his arm shield, sparks flying as metal met plasma. The force sent him staggering backward.
Iris screamed, power flickering around her like static lightning. The floor panels trembled as the ship's systems reacted to her energy spike.
"Stop!" she cried. "You'll destroy everything!"
The Warden lunged again, this time aiming directly for her. Toshio intercepted, his blade locking against the intruder's gauntlet.
"Run!" Toshio shouted.
But Iris didn't run.
Instead, something snapped inside her. The air around her rippled—then erupted into a surge of pure, golden light.
The Warden staggered back, his visor cracking. For the first time, his voice faltered. "So it's true… The Keeper still lives."
Toshio froze. "What did you just say?"
But Iris didn't hear him. She clutched her head, eyes glowing with swirling data streams.
"Memories… systems… awakening…"
Her voice overlapped with static. "Keeper Protocol—partial activation detected."
The reactor pulsed violently, and Toshio realized the danger. If she lost control, she'd take the whole ship with her.
He rushed to her, gripping her shoulders. "Iris! Listen to me! You're not a weapon—you're you!"
Her gaze flickered—one eye human, the other a bright gold. "I can't… stop it."
"Then let me help you," he said.
The Warden rose again, battered but grinning beneath his cracked helmet. "Touch her, and you'll die with her. The Keeper doesn't belong to you."
He raised his arm, charging another strike—but this time Iris moved first.
Her hand shot forward, glowing with raw, golden energy.
A blinding flash.
When the light faded, the Warden was gone. Vaporized—or perhaps something worse.
Silence.
Iris collapsed to her knees, trembling, tears streaking her face. "What did I… do?"
Toshio knelt beside her, pulling her into his arms. "You survived," he whispered. "That's what you did."
But even as he held her, his heart sank. The truth was undeniable now. She wasn't just a girl. She was a living weapon—a relic of a war that should have stayed buried.
And someone out there wanted her back.
Later, in the dim light of the medbay, Toshio sat beside her bed. Iris was asleep, her breathing shallow but steady. The monitors hummed softly, displaying strange energy readings that no human should emit.
He touched her hand gently. "You didn't choose this," he murmured. "But I'll protect you… even if the galaxy burns for it."
Her fingers twitched faintly, as if responding to his voice.
Then—just as he was about to leave—her eyes fluttered open.
"Toshio," she whispered weakly. "If I lose control again… promise me you'll stop me."
He froze. "Don't say that."
"Promise."
He hesitated, pain flashing in his eyes. Finally, he nodded. "I promise."
She smiled faintly—the soft, tragic kind of smile that hides fear behind warmth.
"The Keeper's Smile."
And then she fell asleep again.
Toshio stood there, the weight of her words pressing against his chest. Outside, the stars burned cold and distant, and somewhere in the dark expanse of space… something was watching.