The city of Lumeris never slept.
It breathed in circuits and whispered in light.
Neon arteries pulsed through towers of mirrored glass; trains glided silently across the skyline like comets made of steel.
Somewhere inside that glow walked Liam Kade, one more anonymous soul with ink-stained fingers and a sketchbook tucked beneath his arm.
He preferred places where the noise thinned out—where he could hear his own heartbeat again.
At this hour, even Lumeris seemed to sigh. Screens dimmed, drones rested, and the artificial dawn above the city began to fade into the real sunset.
He headed toward Haven Plaza, a park built between research domes, famous for its holo-trees that shimmered when touched by wind.
The fountain at the center didn't hold water; it held light, forming ripples that reacted to emotion sensors in the air.
Most people came there in pairs. Liam came alone.
He stopped beside the fountain, opened his sketchbook, and tried to draw the fading sun.
But his pencil hesitated. The page looked empty in ways he couldn't explain.
Then he saw her.
A girl stood across the plaza, still as a statue carved out of evening.
Silver-white hair brushed her shoulders, catching the last rays of the sun.
She wore the school's academy uniform—but slightly wrong, as if someone had studied a photograph and reconstructed it from memory.
Her skin reflected faint light, almost translucent, and when she moved, small luminescent veins traced her collarbone like threads of living glass.
And there, almost hidden beneath her hair, curved two short crystal horns that refracted the sunset into fragile rainbows.
Liam forgot to breathe.
She was watching a group of children chasing digital butterflies projected by a kiosk.
Their laughter drifted across the plaza; she tilted her head at the sound, eyes wide with curiosity rather than joy.
He told himself to look away.
He didn't.
When her gaze met his, it was like static jumped between their souls.
Her eyes were golden, but not merely gold—there were constellations inside, shifting softly, alive.
"You're staring," she said.
Her voice was gentle yet perfectly modulated, every syllable precise.
"I—uh—sorry," Liam managed. "You just… seemed lost."
"Lost?" She blinked slowly. "No. Observing."
The word carried weight, as though observation was her duty.
He took a cautious step closer. "Observing what?"
"The way they smile," she answered, nodding toward the children. "It's chaotic, unbalanced… but beautiful."
He smiled despite himself. "Guess that's what being human looks like."
Her brow furrowed slightly. "Human," she repeated, tasting the word. "Are you happy when you smile?"
Liam hesitated. "Sometimes. Depends who I'm smiling at."
She processed that in silence. The hum of the fountain filled the pause.
Finally she asked, "Do you think I could smile like that?"
He tilted his head. "You've never tried?"
"I practice," she said. Then, awkwardly, she pulled the corners of her lips upward.
The gesture was perfect—mathematically perfect—and completely wrong.
It lacked warmth, trembling slightly as if the muscles didn't remember how.
Liam chuckled softly. "That's… close. Maybe less geometry, more feeling."
Her artificial smile faded. "Feeling," she echoed, puzzled.
"Yeah," he said. "You know… that thing that messes people up and makes life worth living."
Her eyes brightened. "Interesting."
A drone drifted overhead, casting shifting light over the plaza.
When it passed, he noticed faint symbols glowing along her wrist—data runes, maybe tattoos, flickering with pale blue light.
He tried to sound casual. "You from the institute?"
"Yes," she said. "Department of Cognitive Evolution. I am part of an observation exchange."
"Observation exchange," he repeated. "So, like… a student?"
"Something like that."
Her expression softened as she studied him in return. "You're an artist. Your backpack has graphite residue, and your fingers show recent ink stains."
He blinked. "You scanned me?"
"I observed."
He laughed quietly. "You're good."
"I was designed to be," she said, and that single word—designed—shifted the air between them.
He lowered his pencil. "So… you're not exactly human."
She met his eyes, unflinching. "Not exactly."
He should've stepped back. Instead he stepped closer. "What's your name?"
"Iris."
"Iris," he repeated, letting the syllables linger. "Like the flower?"
"Like the part of the eye," she corrected softly.
"Right," he said. "Fitting."
Another silence, lighter this time.
She looked toward the fountain's glowing surface. "The sensors read emotions through micro-vibrations," she explained. "They translate them into light."
Liam leaned closer. "So if someone's sad, the water gets darker?"
"Precisely."
He grinned. "What happens if someone's nervous?"
She turned to him. The fountain shimmered with golden ripples.
He rubbed his neck. "Okay, that's… accurate."
For the first time, her laugh sounded real—quiet, accidental, beautiful.
Then a chime rang through the plaza.
She stiffened. "Curfew protocol. I must return before dark."
"Wait—will I see you again?"
She hesitated. "Possibly. Observation requires repetition."
"Right," he said, hiding disappointment.
She took a few steps, then paused. The neon lights reflected on her horns, turning them into shards of twilight.
"Liam," she said without turning. "When people smile… do they always mean it?"
He thought for a moment. "Not always."
Her glow dimmed slightly. "Then perhaps I'll learn to tell the difference."
Before he could answer, she walked away, her figure dissolving into the soft noise of the city.
The streetlights reacted to her passing, flaring one by one as if acknowledging a secret queen.
Liam stood frozen, watching until she vanished beyond the plaza gates.
The sketchbook in his hands suddenly felt heavy. He flipped to a blank page and started to draw—not the skyline, not the fountain, but her.
Lines of silver hair, the quiet curve of a smile trying to be human, the faint reflection of light in golden eyes.
When he finished the rough outline, he realized his hands were shaking.
He whispered her name again. "Iris."
The sound lingered longer than it should have.
He didn't notice the sensors around the fountain flicker to life once more, recording new data—
two emotional signatures overlapping perfectly for the first time since the system had been built.
Later that night, as the sky drowned in holographic stars, Liam lay awake replaying every second.
There had been something impossible in her voice—something human, yet not.
A curiosity too pure to fake.
He reached for his notebook, tracing her drawn smile.
Somewhere between graphite and memory, the page pulsed faintly under his thumb, like a heartbeat made of light.
Outside, the city whispered to itself in static and code.
And deep inside a research tower across town, a girl with crystal horns sat alone in a dark room.
Monitors surrounded her, displaying emotion graphs.
One curve glowed brighter than the rest—labeled Subject Kade, L.
Iris touched the screen with trembling fingers.
Her sensors recorded a new anomaly: elevated pulse rate, localized warmth behind the sternum.
"Feeling," she murmured. "So this is… feeling."
Her reflection looked back at her—half-human, half-something else—and for the briefest moment, she smiled.
The lights in the room flared gold.
The following morning came far too quickly.
Liam woke to the buzz of his dorm's window-pane alarm and the dull ache of a night with too many thoughts.
He hadn't drawn anything else after that first sketch. Every attempt looked lifeless beside the memory of her glow.
Campus corridors were already filling with students.
Projector screens floated above the halls showing newsfeeds: "New Human-Hybrid Research at Lumeris Institute."
He glanced once, then again.
A still frame showed a girl with silver hair and soft crystal horns, standing beside a line of researchers.
The caption read: 'I-Series Prototype 07 – Codename: IRIS.'
His pulse stumbled.
He hadn't imagined her.
During art theory, he barely heard the lecturer.
He kept replaying her question—"Do they always mean it?"—until the words blurred with chalk dust and the hum of fluorescent light.
After class, rain began to fall.
Lumeris rain wasn't natural; it was recycled condensation seeded with luminescent dust.
It shimmered pale blue as it touched the ground, leaving streaks of color on stone and skin.
He stood under a canopy, sketchbook clutched to his chest.
Across the courtyard, the fountain from last night flickered—its emotion sensors reacting to the weather, painting sadness across the air.
And then he saw her again.
She was standing in the rain, untouched.
Droplets curved away from her like the water itself respected her shape.
"You'll short-circuit," he called, stepping out toward her.
"I won't," she replied. "But thank you for the concern."
He joined her under the open sky. The rain refracted around her aura, scattering tiny prismatic ghosts over his clothes.
"You're real," he said before thinking.
"I was yesterday, too," she answered, smiling faintly.
He laughed, a s
"I monitored it. Public relations
"That you're a prototype?"
Her gaze softened. "I wasn't made
"I know," he said quietly. "It's just… strange
"Strange and human," she repeated, tasting the words. "Is that good?"
"It's confusing," he admitted. "But not bad."
For a moment neither spoke.
R
Iris looked upward. "The clouds here move faster than in simulation. They look… alive."
"Everything looks alive when yo
She turned to
That evening he returned to his dorm, soaked and buzzing with adrenaline.
His roommate b
He opened his sketchbook again.
This time the pencil didn't hesitate.
He drew
Under the sketch he wrote one lin"First ligh
The moment the graphite touched the final period, his lamp flickered.
A faint shimmer rippled through the air, and f
He blinked, and she was gone.
Only t
Across the city, deep in the Institute's east tower, Iris stood before a mirror of polished alloy.
Lines of data ran across its surface, translating her biological m
Dr.
"Subject 07, your field observation exc
She looked at her reflection—the faint horns, the pulse of light under her skin.
"I interacted with
"Attachment is prohibited,"
She hesitat
Stati
Left alone, she placed a hand over her chest. The fai
"Necessary," she whispered again, trying to memorize the sound of the word.
Back in his room, Liam watched the rain turn the city into a watercolor.
He didn't understand why he felt drawn to her; maybe it w
All he k
He opened his notebook
She said she
Maybe I'
The
Outside, somewhere above the city
🌌 End of Chapter 1 — First Light
She wasn't built to feel, but the city's light remembered the moment her heart learned how.