"Your name will be… Akasha."
Lucien thought it was a good name.
It suited her well… and he felt that it was perfect for her.
Still, he wanted to hear her opinion.
[...]
But he got no response
"Hello? You there?"
He hesitated.
"...Did you not like it?"
[Hu—ah, yes. It is a good name.]
Her reply came after a brief pause, hesitant… almost shy.
Lucian blinked.
'Did she just… stammer? Is she really an AI?'
[Akasha... Akasha… heh.]
She repeated the name softly, as if testing how it felt to say it.
"Hey, are you rea—"
"Who are you talking to?"
The sudden voice from the doorway nearly made his heart jump out of his chest.
Lucien turned his head and saw Lia standing there, watching him with a strange expression.
"N-nothing," He said quickly.
"Just… talking to myself."
She gave him a skeptical look but didn't press further. Instead, she walked over with a tray held carefully in her hands.
"Eat first," She said gently.
"You need strength to recover."
She helped him sit up as best she could and began feeding him slow spoonfuls of porridge.
It was warm and plain, but after everything he'd been through, the simple taste felt comforting.
"You should rest," Lia added after a while.
"I have to go to work soon."
"Work?" Lucian frowned.
"Your part-time job?"
"Yes. Did you forget?" She tilted her head slightly, concern creeping into her voice.
"Are you sure you're fine? I can stay home if you want."
Her face leaned closer to his, worry written clearly in her eyes.
"Ah–no, it's fine. You don't have to worry about me. Just take care," He replied, forcing a small smile.
"...Okay."
She gathered the tray and quietly left the room.
The door closed with a soft click.
The room fell silent again.
The sound of the door closing lingered far longer than it should have.
Lucien stared at the door for a moment longer than necessary.
"She's doing so much…and I'm just lying here. Useless. Again." Lucian muttered dejectedly.
[Are you just planning to drown yourself in self-pity?]
Akasha's teasing voice echoed in his head, light but sharp enough to pull him out of his thoughts.
He exhaled slowly.
"No. I have things to do." He said.
"First… standing up."
He focused on my body, on every faint spark of movement he could feel.
His shoulders twitched—barely.
Pain flared down his spine, and his breathing turned shallow.
His jaw clenched as he forced his arms to move, pressing weakly against the mattress.
Again.
And again.
Minutes passed.
Sweat gathered on his forehead. His arms trembled violently, his muscles screaming in protest as the effort burned through him.
Slowly.
Painfully.
He finally managed to lift his upper body, enough to sit upright, his back still resting against the headboard.
"Ha…"
His breath was ragged, chest rising and falling unconsciously.
"Sitting… finally."
His whole body shook, but he didn't collapse back onto the bed.
It wasn't much.
Not yet.
But it was the first real step.