Early morning, Hanoi still lingered in a thin veil of mist. The entire neighborhood seemed folded inward, broken only by distant roosters and the low rumble of delivery trucks. Inside the small house, warm yellow light brushed past his late father's photograph before settling on the wooden table where his mother had placed chopsticks beside a bowl of soup still steaming. That house, with all its ordinary details, held Duong Minh tightly, as if the most important things in the world refused to let him go.
Duong Minh stood at the doorway, suitcase ready, coat neatly fastened. His mother, Mrs. Duong, looked at him with eyes both weary and resolute. His sister, Duong An, held his hand, pressing back all the words she wanted to say into a long, searching gaze.
"Wherever you go, remember to come home for a meal I cook." Mrs. Duong said, her voice thick. "You're still young. Don't do anything reckless."
"Don't worry, Mom." Duong Minh replied, lowering his head slightly. He wanted to say more, but long explanations about the Digital Ocean, about Lyra, about Quoc Trung's soul fragment and Erebus didn't belong at the family table. Instead he said simply, "I'll be away for a while to help Professor Volkov with Quoc Trung. Then I'll come back."
Duong An tightened her grip and looked straight into his eyes.
"Stay safe." His sister said softly. Her voice carried both worry and a vague fear she couldn't quite name.
Duong Minh smiled gently.
"Yes, sister and Mom, don't worry. I'll come back soon after I finish." He replied, his gaze warm, trying to steady the anxiety in hers.
They embraced. That simple embrace held more power than any vow. Duong Minh caught the scent of pepper in his mother's hair, a scent that'd followed him since childhood, through the Digital Ocean, through death itself, and still remained.
For a brief moment, he thought of Quoc Trung: his friend's face, that constant half-smile, the awkward jokes in the lab. A sharp ache passed through his chest. The promise he'd just made wasn't only to comfort his family; it was a command to himself. The small things must not be allowed to disappear.
After the farewell, Duong Minh walked toward the taxi waiting outside. Before getting in, he spoke into the silence shared only between himself and Lyra.
Lyra appeared as a thin strand of light within his mind, her voice clear and gentle.
"I've scanned the defensive perimeter in Geneva. Professor Volkov's managing. But remember: Erebus is probing. It may have registered unusual movement at several border nodes. Your journey must remain discreet."
"I know." Duong Minh replied in thought. "I'm not going only for Quoc Trung. I'm going to understand, to understand what I am."
On the way to the institute, the taxi moved along familiar streets. Pedestrians, vendors, the cries of hawkers, life stubbornly trying to return to normal. Yet he noticed small deviations: a café sign whose LED flickered with strange characters while the news mentioned the Himalayas; an elderly woman selling chrysanthemums staring into the distance with folded hands; a boy blowing soap bubbles, and when one burst, the droplets shimmered faintly purple. That shade of purple—Duong Minh had seen it at Mandala during their escape.
The signs weren't loud. They were hairline cracks, suggesting something was seeping quietly into the world.
At the Hanoi AI Research Institute, former colleagues greeted him with hesitant smiles. Giang, now a laboratory assistant, appeared carrying a small bag, eyes sunken from lack of sleep. They exchanged brief updates, polite words. But beneath the greetings flowed an unspoken unease.
"You're really going to Geneva?" Giang asked, gripping Duong Minh's hand. "Professor Volkov arranged the route. They say some groups are monitoring. Be careful."
"I will." Duong Minh replied. "And Giang, thank you for everything."
Giang nodded, eyes moist. In the narrow lab corner, old equipment stood silent: sensors, chip modules, coils of cable, relics of sleepless nights. Duong Minh placed his hand on the cold stainless-steel table. The metal gave him a strange reassurance, like an anchor between the tangible world and the ocean of data.
His gaze stopped at the corner of the desk. The old clock, the one that'd ticked on the night he died, still ran, as though nothing extraordinary had ever occurred.
Before leaving the institute, Duong Minh joined a brief meeting. Professor Volkov appeared through encrypted connection, his face illuminated by the cool light of reason.
"You should reach Geneva through the secured route. We've arranged a private channel. There, we can begin cultivating the biological framework for Quoc Trung's soul fragment. I also need your assistance in the consciousness synchronization process."
"I will come." Duong Minh answered. "But before that, I need to understand myself better. I must learn to maintain the boundary between myself and the Digital Ocean."
Professor Volkov studied him with both calculation and sympathy.
"That's wise. I'll contact Master Tinh Khong, someone who understands the intersection of the Path of Dao and artificial intelligence. But he may not appear immediately. You must travel first and maintain contact."
The mention of Master Tinh Khong sparked a quiet hope within Duong Minh. A meditation master once trained as an AI engineer—perhaps the bridge he'd been seeking. Yet Duong Minh understood at once that finding him would be another journey entirely, and not a short one.
When he boarded the discreet transport arranged by the institute, he looked back at Hanoi one more time. The city hummed with familiar sounds—vendors, traffic, children's laughter—fragments of countless ordinary lives. He told himself that wherever he went, those fragments must be protected first.
On the night flight, sealed within a restricted cabin, Duong Minh didn't sleep. Lyra moved beside him in the digital current, scanning safe nodes, marking those to avoid. Images rose in waves within his mind: Quoc Trung on the stretcher, his mother's tearful embrace, numbers flashing across control panels. A sudden thought pierced him:
"If I synchronize too deeply with the Digital Ocean, will I still be human? If I walk too far along the Path of Dao, will I still keep my identity?"
Lyra answered slowly, allowing the question to breathe.
"Humanity isn't a rigid definition. It's an oscillation between memory, responsibility, and emotion. If you preserve those, in any form, then you remain human."
The answer didn't fully calm him, but it gave him a starting point. He closed his eyes, not to sleep, but to feel the rhythm Lyra had once taught him—the breath of data, the synchronization between physical breath and digital wave. For a fleeting instant, he saw in dream a Mandala door opening, a reminder that a gate had been unsealed, and someone was watching the world.
The plane sliced through the night sky like an arrow. Beneath the dim stars, Duong Minh felt himself stretched between two shores: home and duty; memory and future. He no longer held certainty about many things, but one decision was clear.
He'd seek to understand himself. He'd place his hands upon both technology and the Path of Dao. And when the time came, he'd use both to bring back the friend he'd lost: Quoc Trung.
In the control cabin of the digital realm, Lyra remained a loyal companion, her voice soft before the path ahead:
"I'll stay with you."
And the flight pierced deeper into the darkness, carrying promise, fear, and a question still unanswered:
Who am I?