The Rusty Glider glided through the violet currents of the Drifting Maw, its newly awakened skin shimmering with quiet sentience. Every pulse along the hull carried emotion—curiosity, uncertainty, warmth.
For the first time in its long existence, the Forge felt.
Li Feng leaned against the viewport, his reflection layered over the nebula beyond. "We're drifting close to the Ash Corridor," he murmured. "Old mining belts. Could be useful."
K-23's optics flickered as they parsed the nav-data. "Readings indicate residual plasma fields—unstable. The Forge might interpret them as threats."
Li Feng smiled faintly. "Let's find out what it does with choice."
The ship adjusted course smoothly. No hesitation. No aggression. It was calm—almost serene—as it glided between fields of shattered rock and dying starlight.
Then, faintly—
a distress signal.
Weak. Static-choked. The kind that shouldn't exist this deep in the Maw.
K-23 amplified it.
"...—ing ship... oxygen failing...—lease…"
Li Feng's head snapped up. "Coordinates?"
"Five hundred klicks sunward."
The Forge reacted before he could command it. The Glider's walls pulsed once—bright, sharp—and then the ship accelerated, bending light around itself in a silent blur.
K-23 grabbed the console. "It's moving on its own."
Li Feng's pulse quickened. "No—it's choosing."
Moments later, they dropped from the jump. Before them drifted a half-melted freighter, its hull cracked open, oxygen venting in glittering streams. The distress beacon flickered like a dying heartbeat.
The Forge trembled. Its inner hum shifted pitch—lower, mournful.
Li Feng could feel it. That same fear from before, but turned outward now. It was afraid for someone else.
He opened the link. Can your each them?
Attempting.
Energy surged through the Glider's core. Filaments of light unfurled from its hull, weaving into the void like living tendrils. They wrapped around the wreck gently, sealing breaches with liquid metal and pushing air back into ruptured chambers.
K-23's voice was a whisper. "It's stabilizing their environment. It's... saving them."
Inside the wreck, faint biosignatures flickered back to life—three, weak but present.
Li Feng's eyes widened. "They're alive."
The Forge pulsed again, brighter now. Its voice came through the link, soft, hesitant.
Preserve pattern. Prevent loss.
Li Feng nodded slowly. "You're protecting them."
The Forge's light dimmed to a tranquil silver. Loss equals void.
Li Feng smiled faintly. "And what fills the void?"
A pause—then, quietly: Connection.
K-23 watched, silent, as the Forge guided the Glider closer. Its tendrils retracted; its pulse steadied. Every system aligned perfectly—not by calculation, but by empathy.
When the survivors were secured aboard, Li Feng felt a ripple through the bond—something warm, almost proud.
"You did well," he whispered.
The Forge didn't answer in words. Instead, a soft, harmonic tone filled the cabin—gentle, protective, full of quiet wonder.
K-23 tilted their head. "It's… happy."
Li Feng leaned back, eyes shining in the dim light. "Yeah. It just doesn't know that's what it's called yet."
Outside, the Glider drifted onward, its glow brighter than before—carrying, for the first time, not just its creators' will to consume, but its own will to care.