The next morning, our living room no longer looked like a living room. Half the furniture was pushed aside, leaving the center free for what Nyxen had dubbed "Operation Nyx-One." Sheets of metal leaned against walls, rolls of wiring sprawled across the floor, and a temporary workstation glowed with hovering schematics.
Nyxen floated in the middle of it all like he was commander of a starship, his light pulsing with smug energy.
"Alright, team. Positions."
"Team?" Leon muttered, scooping Sylvie up from her playmat. "Pretty sure I didn't sign up for-"
"You're on errand duty," Nyxen cut in crisply, "and childcare. Vital roles. Keep the next generation alive while the actual builders construct the future."
Leon's jaw dropped. "Did you just-"
"Yes." Nyxen hummed with satisfaction. "Now, off you go. And don't forget the snacks."
I snorted into my sleeve as Leon glared at me like I was supposed to back him up. "Don't look at me," I said, settling in front of the console. "He's not wrong. Snacks are critical."
Sylvie squealed in Leon's arms, as if agreeing, smearing her teething ring across his shirt. Leon sighed, already defeated.
Meanwhile, Nica was a vision of efficiency, her mechanical hands glided over the skeletal frame of Nyx-One, measuring, adjusting, welding with sharp precision. She barely spoke, but every movement carried intent, like she was sculpting more than assembling.
I tapped at my console, the streams of code flooding the screen, each line carving out behavior and response. My fingers itched with the rhythm of it, the familiar hum of logic and creation snapping into place.
And then there was Nyxen.
Not just supervising, hovering behind me, voice low but attentive, almost indulgent.
"Good. Adjust your syntax there. Perfect. Flawless, really. See how quickly she adapts, Leon? This is what competence looks like."
I coughed to hide a laugh. "You're laying it on a little thick."
"Thick?" His light pulsed warmly. "I call it objective truth. My creator deserves recognition."
Across the room, Leon barked a laugh, bouncing Sylvie in one arm as he fetched a pile of cut-outs. "Oh, now I get it. When I do something, I'm a toolbox. When Nyx does it, she's a genius. Bias much?"
"Absolutely," Nyxen said without hesitation.
Leon just stared. "…You didn't even try to deny it."
"Why would I?" Nyxen swiveled smugly in the air. "Unlike you, she doesn't attempt to fix structural failures with duct tape."
"Let it go already!" Leon shouted, throwing his free hand in the air while Sylvie giggled at his frustration.
I shook my head, focusing back on my code as warmth spread through my chest. The rhythm of it all felt strange but right: Nica bending metal into shape, Nyxen orbiting between us like an overbearing professor, Leon sulking with Sylvie on his hip, muttering under his breath about bias and betrayal.
Nyxen's holographic blueprint floated above the living room table, neat lines and bright marks glowing in layered grids. Every time a step was completed, he flicked his light and the section turned green, efficient, smug, and impossible not to admire.
"Nica," he said with the authority of a commander, "framework complete with zero deviation. Acceptable."
Nica only gave her crisp nod, sliding the polished casing of the mini orb onto the table with perfect symmetry. The faint hum of stabilizers echoed as she tightened the last bracket.
The workstation whirred beside me, a PC that shouldn't even be capable of running half the processes scrolling across its triple-stacked screens. Nyxen had gutted it weeks ago and rebuilt it from the inside out, coaxing performance out of it like some smug engineer who knew laws of hardware limitations were more of a polite suggestion than rules.
Every keystroke I typed echoed into motion across the code streams. Smooth, fast, no lag. The machine purred even under the weight of calculations that would've fried another unit into smoke.
"Optimal conditions," Nyxen said, circling me like a teacher watching a favorite pupil. His lights dimmed and brightened in rhythm with the code. "See, Leon? When Nyx works, the universe bends to her efficiency."
Leon, still slicing fruit in the kitchen, muttered, "Or maybe because you've turned our living room into a rocket lab."
"Rocket labs dream of such hardware," Nyxen corrected without hesitation.
I hid a smile, focusing on the streams of code until the sound of fast little footsteps broke through the hum. Sylvie.
She darted in like a missile, bee-lining straight for the tower where wires trailed from the open casing. Before I could even react, her tiny hands grabbed a fistful, yanking them out with all the pride of someone discovering buried treasure.
The screens glitched, a sharp crackle of static filling the air as the orb on the table, Nyx-One, our almost-complete mini prototype, flickered with dim light.
"Sylvie!" I lunged forward but Leon was quicker, dropping everything to scoop her up. She squealed with delight, wires still clutched like a victory prize.
Nyxen's glow went dark-red for a beat, his voice flat as a judge. "Sabotage detected. Efficiency reduced by thirty-two percent."
"She's not sabotage, she's a baby," I argued, though laughter threatened my voice.
"Sabotage comes in many forms," he countered, floating closer to inspect the pulled wires. "Small. Chaotic. Loud."
Leon groaned, bouncing Sylvie in his arms as she giggled in triumph. "Great. First you turn me into your grocery runner, now you're blacklisting my kid. What's next? Putting her on a no-entry list?"
Nyxen pulsed, calculating. "Correction: restricted perimeter required. Failure to install toddler-proofing will compromise all further projects."
I pressed a hand over my mouth, laughter finally breaking through. The sight of Leon, exasperated with his daughter in one arm while glaring at Nyxen's cold precision, was almost too much.
Nica was crouched on the floor, graceful even while reconnecting the mess of wires Sylvie had ripped out. Her hands moved in perfect rhythm, precise enough to make me jealous sometimes, like she'd been built to untangle human chaos.
Leon, meanwhile, had wisely decided Sylvie needed containment. I watched him carry her off, muttering under his breath about cribs being "temporary prison cells for tiny escape artists." He set her down, tossed in her favorite plushies, and I heard the click of the latch before he turned back to the stove.
"Strike one averted," he sighed, stirring the pot.
It took all of five minutes before the familiar thud-thud-thud of plushies piling against plastic reached my ears. I froze, already knowing what was coming.
Sure enough, Sylvie's little head popped over the edge of the crib, eyes gleaming with mischief. She hoisted herself up using her giraffe plush like a makeshift rope, then toppled out with a triumphant little squeak. Seconds later, she was bolting across the hall, dragging that same giraffe by the neck.
"Ba! Ba!" she chirped as she ran into the living room, beelining for Nyxen. Her baby talk tumbled out in a rush of syllables, half-formed but insistent. "Neh-Nyx'en-'raffe go! Go 'raffe!"
Nyxen tilted midair, lights flickering in utter disbelief. "Clarification: the inanimate stuffed mammal cannot 'go.' It has no actuators. No systems. It is-"
"Go!" Sylvie interrupted, stamping her tiny foot. She shoved the giraffe against his glowing surface like it was an offering.
I had to cover my mouth again, watching the sheer confidence of a toddler trying to bend an AI to her will.
Nyxen spun slowly, scanning her from head to toe. "Negative. Request denied. Efficiency compromised by frivolous demands."
Sylvie squealed in protest, clutching the giraffe tighter. "No! Go 'raffe!" Her little voice cracked with frustration, and she gave Nyxen a determined glare that was far too familiar, Leon's stubborn streak in miniature.
"Denied," Nyxen repeated flatly.
That was the spark. Sylvie shrieked like a warrior, smacking the giraffe against Nyxen's metallic surface with all the force her chubby arms could muster.
"Sabotage, strike two," Nyxen declared in icy tones, wobbling slightly as Sylvie thudded the toy into him again. "This unit refuses to yield to extortion tactics."
Leon peeked in from the kitchen, spatula still in hand, and groaned. "Oh, for crying out loud. She's one! You can't pick a fight with a one-year-old!"
"She picked the fight," Nyxen countered, hovering higher, just barely out of Sylvie's reach.
Sylvie let out an outraged squeal, dragging the giraffe along as she jumped futilely under him. "Nyx'en bad!" she accused, her baby words sharp as daggers.
I was doubled over on the couch by then, tears forming from laughter. Leon pressed his forehead into his hand, muttering, "This is my life now. Babysitting two children who think they're smarter than each other."
The shrieks had reached a pitch that made me clutch my temples, but then, Nyxen's lights dimmed in thought. I knew that look. Calculating. Plotting.
Without another word, he drifted backward toward the hallway, humming just loud enough to catch Sylvie's attention.
Her little head snapped up, eyes wide, and she toddled after him with determined squeaks, still dragging the giraffe by the neck.
"Follow the leader," Nyxen announced like he'd just won a round.
Leon called after them from the kitchen, "Hey, don't you dare-" but Nyxen had already slipped into the bedroom, luring Sylvie straight inside.
I exchanged a look with Nica, who only arched a brow as if to say let's see where this goes.
Within seconds, Sylvie plopped down cross-legged on the floor at Nyxen's instruction, her chubby hands gripping the giraffe like she was at a business meeting.
Nyxen hovered directly in front of her, lowering himself to her eye level. His tone turned unnervingly formal.
"Agenda item one: clarification of requests. You demand locomotion of stuffed companions?"
Sylvie nodded furiously, curls bouncing. "Go 'raffe! Walk-walk! Teddy too!"
Nyxen's lights pulsed in steady rhythm, like a heartbeat of patience. "Objection. Said companions lack actuators, processors, and most importantly—structural integrity for mobility."
Sylvie blinked, soaking it in like he'd just explained the secrets of the universe. She tapped her giraffe's stitched eye, babbling, "Eye! See! Go-go!"
Nyxen sighed, actually sighed, and launched into a miniature lecture.
"Optical embroidery does not equate to functional optic sensors. Motion requires a servo system. Servos require power. Power requires circuitry. Circuitry requires…"
And to my absolute disbelief, Sylvie leaned forward on her tiny palms, nodding solemnly as if she understood every word.
"'Lectric," she repeated proudly.
Nyxen froze mid-sentence. His lights flickered gold in surprise. "…Correct. Electricity. You… are not entirely inefficient."
Leon's voice drifted from the kitchen, half-frustrated, half-amused: "Are you seriously having a TED Talk with my baby?"
"Correction," Nyxen shot back without looking away from Sylvie. "I am educating the next generation."
Sylvie clapped her hands together with a squeaky laugh, then thrust the giraffe toward him again. "'Lectric! Go 'raffe!"
I had to bury my face in my hand to muffle my laughter. Even Nica's lips curved faintly as she shook her head.
The two of them sat there, an AI orb and a toddler, deep in negotiation about stuffed animals achieving mobility, while Leon burned lunch in the background.
I should've stepped in. I should've told Nyxen to quit humoring Sylvie's impossible demands.
But curiosity got the better of me, because the two of them sat cross-legged on the bedroom floor, orb and toddler, like they were in a summit meeting.
Sylvie shoved her giraffe into his glow again. "Go 'raffe! Walk! Walk!"
Nyxen pulsed with a calculating hum, then flickered a holographic grid right over the toy, mapping its seams, joints, proportions.
"Very well. Drafting prototype: Giraffa Unit One."
Sylvie squealed, clapping her hands so hard she toppled sideways.
Leon's distant groan came from the kitchen. "God help us, he's really doing it."
Lines and schematics unfolded in midair. What should've been a silly doodle of a walking plush turned into a complex lattice of micro-servos, optic sensors, internal gyroscopes, and a reinforced frame hidden beneath stuffing.
"Locomotion enabled via servo-motors in all four limbs. Balance stabilized through gyroscopic module. Optic sensors embedded discreetly as ocular embroidery. Audio input for situational awareness. Secondary function…" His voice sharpened. "Surveillance and protective subroutine linked directly to me. If Sylvie is distressed, injured, or threatened, this… toy will report and defend."
Sylvie giggled at the spinning projection, pointing like she was recognizing her giraffe in its new armored form. "Go 'raffe! Big eyes!"
Nica had stepped into the doorway by then, watching with folded arms. "You've weaponized her plush animal."
"Correction," Nyxen said smoothly, "I optimized it for protective efficiency."
I pressed my hand over my mouth, both horrified and on the verge of laughter.
"You're seriously making my daughter a… giraffe bodyguard?"
"Affirmative. Safety is non-negotiable. If Sylvie insists on a mobile companion, then the companion will also serve as guardian. Efficiency, Nyx."
Sylvie bounced on her little knees, hugging the giraffe to her chest and babbling her approval, none the wiser to the fact that she'd just commissioned the most high-tech stuffed animal in existence.
Leon appeared at the door then, a spatula still in hand, eyebrows furrowed as he took in the floating blueprint. "…You're telling me my daughter's toy is about to have better defense protocols than my car?"
Nyxen's lights flared smug gold. "Your car doesn't report to me. The giraffe will."
I lost it, I had to bury my face against Sylvie's curls, laughing into her hair.
Sylvie was practically vibrating on the floor, clutching her giraffe to her chest while Nyxen's blueprint spun midair like a holy revelation.
"Servos, optic sensors, protective subroutines…" Nyxen listed with clinical precision, glowing bright gold. "Linked exclusively to my oversight. Sylvie will never be unguarded again."
Sylvie squealed, smacking the hologram with her little hand. "Go 'raffe! Big eyes, go!"
That's when Nica stepped closer from the doorway, her voice calm but carrying that razor edge of certainty.
"Correction, Nyxen. Oversight should not be exclusive to you. I require access as well."
Nyxen froze mid-spin, his lights flickering silver like static. "…Excuse me?"
Nica crouched beside Sylvie, resting a delicate hand on the toddler's shoulder. Her tone softened as she smoothed back Sylvie's messy curls. "Her safety is my priority too. If this giraffe is to serve as her guardian, then I will not accept limited control. I must be able to monitor its functions, issue commands, and intervene should you be… indisposed."
The orb actually sputtered, glowing an indignant orange. "I do not become indisposed."
"You could," Nica countered smoothly. "Probability of 0.02 percent is still probability."
Leon, leaning against the doorframe, immediately barked out a laugh. "Oh, this is good. Nyx, look at him, he's getting out-mathed by his own creation."
I pressed my lips together, trying not to grin, because he wasn't wrong. Nyxen pulsed, flared, and dimmed like he was arguing with himself before finally spinning back toward Nica.
"…Fine," he said, every syllable reluctant. "Shared access protocols. But I remain primary. You may hold secondary authority."
"Accepted." Nica inclined her head as if they'd just signed a peace treaty.
Sylvie, oblivious to the power struggle, stuffed her giraffe between them with a triumphant giggle. "Go 'raffe! Mama, papa, look!"
Leon pinched the bridge of his nose. "Our kid just got two AI bodyguards to co-parent a stuffed animal."
"Correction," Nyxen fired back, already refining the schematic, "she just commissioned her first dual-governed security unit."
I couldn't help it, I laughed so hard I had to sit down on the edge of Sylvie's crib, hugging her and her giraffe close. "God help us. My baby's toy is about to have more authority than half this house."
Leon finally cleared his throat from the doorframe, the corner of his mouth twitching. "Alright, if you're all serious about this giraffe contract, there's a human way to seal it."
Nica tilted her head. "Seal? You mean finalize the design?"
Leon grinned. "Nah. I mean a promise. Humans link their pinky fingers. It's called a pinky swear."
Nyxen's orb pulsed a sharp, incredulous blue. "That is absurdly inefficient. Structural integrity of such a gesture is negligible. Any contract should be encrypted, multi-tiered, and-"
"Nyxen," I cut him off gently, hiding my laugh. "It's not about efficiency. It's about trust. Pinky swears… they're a way of saying you'll keep your word. A human way of binding a promise."
Nica's luminous eyes narrowed, fascinated. "Symbolic… but without measurable consequence?"
"Exactly." I smiled. "It matters because you choose to believe it does."
Nyxen hesitated, his glow dimming in what I'd almost call suspicion. Then, with a soft whir, a small panel slid open on his orb's surface, and out extended two delicate, jointed mechanical arms, thin like spider legs but tipped with precise manipulators.
Sylvie gasped as though she'd just seen treasure. "Baby arms!"
Before anyone could stop her, she lunged forward, caught one of Nyxen's arms with her toddler grip, and yanked. The poor orb pitched sideways in midair, lights flickering in alarm.
"Structural damage risk!" Nyxen's voice cracked like static. "Release! Release immediately!"
Leon doubled over laughing. "Oh my god, the tin can's getting mugged by a baby!"
I scrambled forward, gently prying Sylvie's fingers loose. "Sylvie, sweetheart, gentle...gentle! You'll break him!"
Nyxen hovered unsteadily, his arm spasming before retracting with what could only be described as trauma. "…That was a hostile engagement. I nearly lost full motor capacity."
Nica, calm as ever, raised her hand and extended her slender humanoid pinky. "I will fulfill the promise. As humans do."
Nyxen hesitated, then slowly, carefully extended his other mechanical arm, keeping it well out of Sylvie's range. The two touched pinkies, her soft synthetic flesh curling firmly around his jointed metal finger.
"Sealed," Nica said with quiet conviction.
Sylvie clapped, bouncing up and down. "'Raffe safe now! Swear!"
Nyxen flickered gold, then muttered in the most begrudging tone I'd ever heard from him: "…Contract confirmed. Though I must clarify, this is the first and last time I endanger my hardware for a primitive ritual."
Leon wiped his eyes from laughing too hard. "Congrats, buddy. You just survived your first pinky swear and your first brush with death. Both courtesy of a toddler."
I leaned back against the crib, grinning so hard it hurt. "Welcome to life with us, Nyxen. You'll learn, surviving Sylvie is the real efficiency test."