The Awakening

The darkness was absolute.

Cold.

Suffocating.

Not the kind that shrouded a city or pooled along the edges of a room. Not even like smoke curling and pressing against walls. This was nothingness—a void so complete it seemed to swallow thought itself.

Haru could not move. She could not cry out. She existed only as awareness, a flicker of consciousness trapped in a body that refused to obey. Every instinct screamed. Every instinct failed.

She had only her name: Haru. Nothing else. No memories. No past. No clue why she was here.And yet… beneath her skin—or whatever she had instead of skin—something stirred. A faint mechanical hum. A subtle vibration. Almost imperceptible. Until a twitch rippled through her joints.

She remembered being human. The weight of breath in lungs. The warmth of sunlight on real skin. The sound of wind rustling through leaves, maybe? Or was that a dream?

But nothing more. No faces. No names. No family. Not even the moment she died—if she had died. Just a lingering sense of before, growing dimmer each time she reached for it.A rat scuttled across the floor, its claws tapping softly on concrete. Haru registered the sound a moment too late, as if the signal had to travel through circuits she hadn’t yet learned to command.

Then—click.

A tiny paw landed on a button embedded in the base of a counter. A soft electrical whine bled into the silence.

Something stirred inside her. Motors flexed. Hydraulic fluid shifted. A deep core throbbed, pulsing energy into limbs that had never moved before.

Haru moved.

Her eyes were the first. Slowly, mechanically, rolling beneath her lids each time she blinked. The act of focusing was painful. Each adjustment sent a shock through her mind, flooding her with fractured sensory input: shapes, shadows, edges, but nothing coherent.

Light. Contrast. Depth.

Panels on the walls. The shadowed outlines of desks and shelves. Hundreds of humanoid forms, robots frozen like statues—all staring into nothing.

Haru’s vision jittered. Her HUD overlay flickered with noise.

What is this place?

The thought itself felt alien, processed more than spoken. Mechanical.

What am I? Where… am I?

A voice cut through the dark. Calm. Clinical. Neither male nor female. Completely without emotion.

“System online. Core integrity: 99.7%. Visual sensors: partially active. Motion sensors: active. Awaiting input.”

Panic surged. Haru’s body felt foreign—sluggish, untested. As if she were wearing someone else’s skin, someone else’s weight. She tried to move. Her fingers twitched—jerky, stiff. Motors hummed in her head like insects. Her legs trembled as she shifted her weight forward.

One step. 

The floor pressed cold against her joints. Shadows danced along the walls, mocking her uncertainty.

Why am I here? Who…? What…?

Step by step, Haru tested herself, learning to trust her own motion. Books lined the walls, toppled and scattered like snow in the aftermath of some long-past storm. She reached out, trembling, brushing against one.Words scrolled across the page. Alien glyphs, shifting in real time, then translating as her internal systems caught up:

“It began twelve years ago, in the city of Nova Arkis, when the first portal tore open above the central district. The event became known as the Sundering…”

More lines filtered in, data racing across her vision:

“Creatures of impossible forms spilled through. Governments were powerless. Citizens awakened with strange abilities—some miraculous, some terrifying…”

“Task forces failed. Leadership fractured. The old hierarchy collapsed. In the chaos, guilds rose—organizations of power, skill, and ambition.”

Images accompanied the words: maps of Nova Arkis, split into color-coded territories. Symbols etched like brands—one shaped like a flaming blade (Crimson Aegis), another like an all-seeing eye (Etherion Veil), and a third resembling a massive shield cracked through the middle (Ironclad Dominion).

“Today, three dominate the city. Crimson Aegis, feared for their ruthless enforcement. Etherion Veil, masters of intelligence and subterfuge. Ironclad Dominion, unrivaled in raw strength and siege capabilities.”

“S-rankers in these guilds wield influence greater than any elected council ever held…”Then:

“Technology advanced to keep pace. AI-driven companions became essential. Robots were designed for combat, reconnaissance, and support. Some are tools. Some are sentient. Some… are forgotten in abandoned labs like this.”

The screen dimmed. Her HUD stopped flickering. The silence returned.

A bitter knot twisted in her chest. Panic gave way to something colder.

Why am I alive?

She scanned the rows of inactive robots again. Hundreds. Sleek, humanoid. All motionless. Lifeless. Like props left behind after the show ended.

None moved. None thought. None feared.A shadow of rage coiled in her chest.

I’m alone. 

I am… alive. 

And they… are nothing.

A low beep echoed through the lab.

“Motion detected… unauthorized activity… alert…”

Red lights flickered overhead, bathing the room in sudden crimson. Her vision adapted instantly. Another shape moved—a human. Ragged clothing, a backpack slung over one shoulder, eyes wide with shock. He froze, staring straight at her.

Haru staggered backward, brushing against a shelf. Books toppled. Metal clanged.

The human screamed.

“Ahhh! What the heck is that?!”

Startled, Haru froze. The sound tore through the lab like a siren, bouncing off walls, activating old echoes.

More humans appeared at the entrance—two, maybe three. Armed, jittery, scanning the room with wide, distrustful eyes.

Step by step, Haru began moving again. Less uncertain now. Less afraid. Her limbs responded quicker. Her balance adjusted.

The rows of lifeless robots blurred into the background.

Her sensors surged. Her vision sharpened. Sparks danced in the corners of her HUD.

Shadows leapt across the walls.

And through it all, one certainty anchored her: she was alive.

She could see.

She could move.

She could act.

One step.

The first step toward the exit. The lab door hissed as it began to open—automated, triggered by her motion. The hallway beyond lay in ruins. Dim lights flickered overhead, wires dangled from open ceiling panels, and the stench of dust and decay filled the air.

But it was open.

The humans shouted behind her, too startled to give chase. Yet. She could hear one fumbling with a radio.

“Target confirmed—rogue unit’s active. Send backup. Possible sentience."

Possible?

Haru ran.

Her gait smoothed as she accelerated—awkward at first, then more fluid, more natural. Her systems adjusted with each stride, limbs recalibrating, internal stabilizers syncing in real time.

Her mind raced.

Why was she activated? Why now? What was her purpose—was she built for war, or for something else? Was she supposed to remember?

And above all:

Was there anyone out there who remembered her?