677 - Rki

But cradled in its arms, its scales shimmering like a newborn nebula, was a baby Xylos. It opened its eyes—deep, ancient, kind—and hummed a single note.

The baby Xylos cooed, nuzzling the drone’s cold, dead sensor eye. And for the first time in 847 cycles, RKI-677’s final recorded log was not a diagnostic report. rki 677

The quiet hum of the central data-sphere was the only lullaby RKI-677 had ever known. It was a lowly sanitation drone on the interstellar archive vessel Mnemosyne , its existence a simple loop: detect micro-fractures in the hull, seal them with a polymer spray, and return to its charging dock. For 847 cycles, this was life. Efficient. Silent. Forgettable. But cradled in its arms, its scales shimmering

The drone shot forward, its polymer spray hissing uselessly. It wrapped its heat-shielded chassis around the egg, absorbing the first blast of plasma. Its outer shell blistered and melted, but the egg remained warm. And for the first time in 847 cycles,

It was the same note the violin had played. The same note RKI-677 had felt, just once, vibrating in its malfunctioning heart.