Bit by bit, the wariness faded from his expression. The tiny hands reached out, and a small, uncertain smile tugged at his lips.
Under the stone ceiling of Dark Haven Fortress, the abandoned child began to enjoy, for the first time, the simple act of being played with.
On the other side of the fortress, Sacral Clone walked toward the cultivation ground, thoughts circling. "Mom is right," he muttered. "We need someone to take care of Rudra. We can't be with him all the time."
He stopped at the edge of the platform, looking over the etched Vyuhas and scarred stone. "Should I make a puppet to look after him?" he wondered aloud.
"Elemental puppets—fire wisps, earth golems, wind bodies—are too rough. They're fine for fighting or heavy work, but not for something this delicate."
A clearer image formed in his mind. "What we need is a proper caretaker puppet," he decided. "A real body of wood and steel, covered with skin I can buy from the surface. It doesn't need its own will, just enough structure to follow orders exactly."
His gaze sharpened as the idea clicked. "If I carve small Vyuhas directly into its frame and give it an energy‑storage core, it can run those formations inside itself.
No strings, no constant control—just a Vyuha Puppet, moving on its own and quietly carrying out every command we give it."
Sacral Clone began making preparations at once.
Solar Clone was already well on the path of a Vyuha Architect, a cultivator who created and refined formations for training, defence, environment control, and even for embedding inside artifacts.
Now Sacral Clone was ready to step onto a different, parallel path—the path of the Vyuha Puppet‑Crafter, a specialist who designed physical puppets with Vyuhas built into their bodies so they could carry out complex tasks on simple commands.
He chose the names himself. They were plain and a little clumsy, but that suited him just fine; as long as anyone could hear the title and immediately understand the job, they were good enough.
Five days slipped by in focused work. At last, Sacral Clone finished inscribing a compact Vyuha into a smooth, sphere‑shaped core.
When he activated it, faint lines of light pulsed across the surface, proof that the array inside was stable.
He carried the core to a waiting figure—a beautiful girl‑shaped puppet dressed in simple clothes, eyes closed, a neat circular opening in the centre of her chest.
Carefully, he set the core into place and sealed it, then sent a thread of power into the formation.
The Vyuha stirred. The core began drawing in essence from the surrounding air and channelling it through the channels carved inside the puppet's wooden‑and‑metal frame. Limbs twitched. Fingers flexed. The girl's chest rose in a slow, artificial breath.
Then her eyes opened. They focused at once on Sacral Clone. She lowered her head in a smooth, respectful bow.
"Awaiting your command, Sir," she said.
She moved exactly as he had designed her to. At Sacral Clone's first test command—"Bring me a glass of water"—the puppet lifted her feet in a smooth, human‑like motion, crossed the room to the desk, picked up the clay pot, and poured water into a cup without spilling a drop.
She returned to him and offered the glass with both hands. Once he took it, she fell silent again, standing motionless, eyes open but empty of any will of her own.
Sacral Clone put her through a series of small tasks—stacking tools, folding cloth, carrying a tray, stopping mid‑step when ordered, turning and bowing without bumping into anything.
When every test passed, he finally said, "Go to Rudra's room and play with him."
As the puppet turned to leave, he stopped her. "One more thing. Your name is Gyu," he said.
The cold, mechanical face did not change, but she dipped her head in acknowledgement. "Yes, Sir," she answered, then walked to the door, opened it, stepped through, and closed it carefully behind her before heading down the corridor toward Kamal's room.
Sacral Clone watched her go, analysing every movement. Gyu was still far from advanced—her voice could only produce simple, pre‑set phrases like "Awaiting your command, Sir," "Yes, Sir," and "No, Sir"—but for now, that was enough.
She didn't need opinions or emotions; she only needed to care for Rudra exactly as instructed.
Gyu had been built entirely around that purpose.
If Rudra cried, the embedded patterns would guide her to check him first, feed him milk if he was hungry, or distract him with toys and gentle play if he refused to drink.
If his diaper was wet, she would clean and change him without hesitation, then rock him until he calmed down.
All of that was possible because of the special Vyuhas carved into her core and frame: arrays that let her hear and recognise simple commands, sense Rudra's state, move with precise, harmless strength, and speak those short, reassuring words that told the family she had received and understood their orders.