Chapter : 1645

  "Good," Lloyd said. He felt sick. He was building a counterfeit daughter. "Now, the story. You lost your memory. It was a magical accident. That's why you don't remember the name of your cat, or your favorite food, or anything about your life. You just know you love her. Got it?"

  "Narrative accepted: Amnesia caused by magical trauma. Emotional directive: Love."

  "And don't call me Master," Lloyd added sharply. "Call me Lloyd. Or Young Lord. Like she used to."

  "Understood, Young Lord."

  Lloyd looked at her. She looked like Jasmin. She sounded like Jasmin. But she was empty. It was a cruel trick.

  "Let's go," Lloyd said. "Before I change my mind."

  They left the estate. Ken drove the carriage. The ride to the slums was fast and silent. Lloyd sat opposite the Spirit, staring out the window, trying not to think about the morality of what he was doing.

  They arrived at the cottage. It looked even worse than before. The windows were dark. The air around the house felt heavy, as if death was already sitting on the roof, waiting.

  Lloyd stepped out. He helped Spirit Jasmin down. She moved with a fluid grace that the real Jasmin never had.

  "Slouch a little," Lloyd whispered. "You're too graceful. Trip on something."

  The Spirit immediately caught her foot on a root and stumbled, catching herself. It was a perfect, calculated stumble.

  "Good," Lloyd muttered.

  They walked to the door. The neighbor woman opened it. Her eyes went wide when she saw Jasmin.

  "Jasmine!" the woman gasped. "You... you came! I thought…"

  Lloyd interrupted, “She is not Jasmin. She is an actor, it is a special spirit that can take form of another person.”

  The Lady was surprised and said sadly, “I see.”

  Spirit Jasmin looked at the woman. She didn't recognize her, of course. But she followed her programming. She smiled the polite smile.

  "Hello," she said softly.

  The neighbor ushered them in. "She's in the back. She's... she's barely holding on."

  They entered the bedroom. It smelled of sickness and stale air. A single candle burned on the bedside table. Mrs. Weaver lay in the bed, her breathing shallow and rattling. Her eyes were open, but they were milky and unfocused. She was blind.

  Lloyd felt a wave of relief. If she was blind, the deception was easier.

  "Mrs. Weaver?" Lloyd said softly. "I brought her. She's here."

  The old woman's head turned on the pillow. Her hand clawed at the blanket. "Jasmin?"

  Lloyd nudged the Spirit. "Go."

  Spirit Jasmin walked to the bed. She sat down on the edge of the mattress. She reached out and took the old woman's hand. Her skin was soft. Her grip was gentle.

  "I'm here, Mama," the Spirit said, using the voice Lloyd had taught her.

  Mrs. Weaver let out a sound that was half sob, half laugh. She gripped the Spirit's hand with surprising strength.

  "You came," the mother whispered. tears leaking from her blind eyes. "I knew you would. I knew my girl wouldn't leave me."

  "I would never leave you," the Spirit recited.

  "Let me see you," Mrs. Weaver said. She reached up with her other hand, her trembling fingers searching the air.

  Lloyd held his breath. This was the test.

  The Spirit leaned forward. She allowed the old woman's fingers to touch her face. Mrs. Weaver traced the line of her jaw, her nose, her cheekbones. It was the same face. The same bone structure.

  "You feel... different," Mrs. Weaver whispered. "Stronger. Harder."

  Lloyd’s heart stopped.

  "I've been training, Mama," the Spirit said, improvising based on Lloyd's script. "I had to get strong. To protect everyone."

  Mrs. Weaver smiled. It was a beautiful, heartbreaking smile. "My strong girl. My brave girl."

  She pulled the Spirit down and hugged her. The Spirit stiffened for a microsecond—a machine confused by the input—but then she relaxed. She wrapped her arms around the dying woman.

  Lloyd watched from the shadows. He felt like an intruder. He felt like a criminal. But as he watched the peace settle over Mrs. Weaver’s face, he knew he would do it again. He would lie to god himself to give this woman this moment.

  "I missed you," Mrs. Weaver whispered into the Spirit's shoulder.

  "I missed you too," the Spirit said. It was a lie. But it was the truest thing she had ever said.

  Chapter : 1646

  The scene in the cottage was a tableau of tragedy and deception. Lloyd stood in the corner, his back pressed against the rough wood of the wall, trying to make himself invisible. He watched the performance he had directed, and every second of it felt like a razor blade sliding across his conscience.

  Spirit Jasmin sat on the edge of the bed, her posture slightly slumped to mimic fatigue, just as Lloyd had instructed. She held Mrs. Weaver’s hand in both of hers. The Spirit’s face was arranged in a mask of concern—eyebrows pulled together, lips slightly parted. It was a perfect simulation of grief.

  "Tell me," Mrs. Weaver wheezed, her voice barely a whisper. "Tell me about the palace. Tell me about the King."

  The Spirit paused. She accessed the data Lloyd had fed her during the carriage ride.

  "It is... big, Mama," the Spirit said softly. "The floors are made of marble. They shine like water. And the King... he is kind. He gave me a medal."

  "A medal?" Mrs. Weaver’s face lit up. Even in the dim light, she looked younger, the pain of her illness momentarily forgotten. "For what?"

  "For bravery," the Spirit said. "I... I saved someone. I stopped a bad thing from happening."

  It wasn't a lie. The real Jasmin had saved a Sovereign. She had stopped a Devil King. But hearing the machine recite the deeds of the dead girl made Lloyd want to scream.

  "I knew it," Mrs. Weaver said, squeezing the Spirit's hand. "I always knew you were special. You were never meant to just scrub floors. You were meant for glory."

  She coughed, a wet, rattling sound that shook her frail body. The Spirit didn't flinch. She reached out and adjusted the blanket, pulling it up to the woman's chin.

  "Rest, Mama," the Spirit said. "You need to save your strength."

  "No," Mrs. Weaver gasped. "No time for rest. I have to... I have to tell you."

  She pulled the Spirit closer.

  "I was worried," the old woman confessed. "When you didn't come... when the letters stopped... I thought I had lost you. I thought the city had eaten you up."

  "I'm sorry," the Spirit said. "I... I had an accident. I hit my head. I got confused."

  "My poor baby," Mrs. Weaver crooned, stroking the Spirit's hair. "But you found your way back. You always find your way back."

  Lloyd closed his eyes. He couldn't watch. The love radiating from the dying woman was so pure, so absolute, that it made the deception feel like a sacrilege. He was feeding a starving woman wax fruit.

  "Lloyd," Mrs. Weaver called out, her voice stronger for a moment.

  Lloyd stepped forward. "I'm here, Mrs. Weaver."

  "Thank you," she said. She turned her blind eyes toward his voice. "Thank you for bringing her. Thank you for taking care of her. You... you are a good man. I always told her, the Young Lord is a good man."

  Lloyd swallowed the bile in his throat. "I tried, Mrs. Weaver. I try."

  "Promise me," she said. She let go of the Spirit's hand and reached out for him. Lloyd took her hand. It felt like holding a bird's skeleton.

  "Promise me you'll watch over her," she said. "She's strong now, I can feel it. But she's still my little girl. She has a soft heart. Don't let the world break it."

  Lloyd looked at the Spirit. The Spirit looked back at him with empty, brown eyes. Her heart wasn't soft. It was a diamond core powered by mana. It couldn't break because it didn't exist.

  "I promise," Lloyd choked out. "I will protect her with my life. She will never be alone."

  "Good," Mrs. Weaver sighed. She leaned back into the pillows. "Good."

  She turned back to the Spirit. "Sing to me, Jasmin. Sing the song. The one about the river."

  Lloyd froze. He hadn't programmed a song. He hadn't thought of that.

  The Spirit sat motionless. "Query: Song regarding river. Data not found."

  She didn't say it out loud, but Lloyd could feel the hesitation in the bond. She was stuck. The illusion was about to shatter.

  Lloyd’s mind raced. He remembered the song. He had heard Jasmin humming it in the kitchen a hundred times. It was a simple folk lullaby.

  He focused his will. He used the bond between Master and Spirit to project the memory of the melody directly into the Spirit’s mind.

  Sing this, he commanded mentally. Hum it. Softly.

  The Spirit paused. Her throat moved. And then, she began to hum.

  Chapter : 1647

  It was a low, mournful tune. Hmm-hmm-hmm.

  Mrs. Weaver smiled. She closed her eyes. "That's it. That's my girl."

  The Spirit began to sing the words, pulling them from Lloyd’s memory.

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  "The river runs deep, the river runs cold...

  But the water is warm when you are old...

  Sleep now, my love, the day is done...

  The stars are waking, one by one..."

  Her voice was perfect. Too perfect. But to the dying woman, it was the sound of angels.

  Mrs. Weaver’s breathing slowed. The tension left her body. She listened to the song, a smile fixed on her face.

  Lloyd watched, tears streaming silently down his face. He had pulled off the heist. He had stolen a moment of peace from the jaws of death. But the cost was heavy. He felt like he was carving pieces of his own soul away to fuel the lie.

  The song ended. The room fell silent, save for the ragged breathing of the woman in the bed.

  "I'm tired, Jasmin," Mrs. Weaver whispered. "I think... I think I'm going to sleep now."

  "Okay, Mama," the Spirit said. "Sleep."

  "Stay with me?"

  "I'm not going anywhere."

  Mrs. Weaver nodded. Her hand relaxed in the Spirit's grip.

  "I love you," she whispered.

  The Spirit paused. She looked at Lloyd for instruction.

  Say it, Lloyd commanded mentally. Say it like you mean it.

  "I love you too, Mama," the Spirit said.

  And in that moment, for just a second, the voice didn't sound robotic. It sounded... sad.

  ________________________________________

  The hours passed slowly. The candle burned down to a stub, casting long, flickering shadows on the walls. The neighbor woman had left, unable to bear the waiting, leaving Lloyd and his creation alone with the dying.

  Lloyd sat in a chair by the door, keeping his vigil. He watched the Spirit. She hadn't moved. She sat by the bed, holding the hand, staring at the face of the woman who had given birth to the body she copied.

  It was a grotesque tableau, but also strangely holy.

  Lloyd thought about Anubis. He thought about the lengths a person would go to for love. Anubis had broken the world to save his daughter. Lloyd had just broken a few moral laws to save a memory.

  Is this what it means to be a mage? Lloyd wondered. To rewrite reality until it hurts less?

  Around midnight, Mrs. Weaver’s breathing changed. The rattle in her chest stopped. Her breaths became shallow, spaced further apart. The Cheyne-Stokes respiration. The end was near.

  She stirred one last time. Her eyes opened. They were unseeing, fixed on a point somewhere above the Spirit’s head.

  "Jasmin," she breathed.

  "I am here," the Spirit replied instantly.

  "You have... you have light around you," Mrs. Weaver whispered. "So bright. You look like a queen."

  Lloyd flinched. The Diamond Queen. Even blind, she saw the power.

  "I am happy," Mrs. Weaver said. Her voice was surprisingly clear. "I was afraid. Afraid to leave you alone. But you aren't alone. You have the Lord. And you have the light."

  She squeezed the Spirit's hand.

  "Don't cry for me, baby. I'm going to see your pa. It's been a long time. I have to tell him you grew up good."

  "I won't cry," the Spirit said.

  "Live," Mrs. Weaver commanded. "Find a good man. Have babies. Be happy. That's all I want. Just be happy."

  She took a deep breath. It hitched in her chest. She let it out in a long, slow sigh.

  And then she didn't take another one.

  The room went still. The silence was absolute.

  Lloyd stood up. He walked to the bed. He placed his fingers on Mrs. Weaver’s neck. No pulse.

  "She's gone," Lloyd whispered.

  He looked at the Spirit. "You can let go now, Jasmin. Mission complete."

  The Spirit didn't let go. She sat there, staring at the dead woman’s face. Her hand was still clasped around the cooling fingers.

  "Jasmin?" Lloyd said. "Did you hear me? Stand down."

  The Spirit didn't move.

  "System error," the Spirit said. Her voice was flat, but there was a glitch in it. A static stutter. "Unable... unable to disengage."

  "What?" Lloyd frowned. "Is your servo locked?"

  "Negative. Motor control is functional. Command hierarchy is intact. But... priority conflict detected."

  "What conflict?"

  "Directive was to provide comfort," the Spirit said. "Subject has ceased function. Comfort is no longer receivable. Logic dictates mission termination. However..."

  She looked down at their joined hands.

  "However... tactile data indicates... loss. Significant loss."

  Chapter : 1648

  Lloyd stared at her. "You're a construct. You don't feel loss. You feel a drop in thermal output from the target."

  "Correct," the Spirit said. "Thermal output zero. Bio-rhythm zero. Subject is... terminated."

  She turned her head to look at Lloyd. Her face was still the perfect, blank mask he had programmed. But her eyes... something was happening in her eyes.

  The mana that formed her irises was swirling. It wasn't the steady glow of a machine. It was turbulent. Chaotic.

  "Master," she said. "Why is the room... blurry?"

  Lloyd froze.

  A single tear, clear and crystalline, formed in the corner of the Spirit’s eye. It wasn't water. It was liquefied mana. It was a physical manifestation of spiritual overflow.

  It rolled down her cheek. It dripped onto Mrs. Weaver’s hand.

  The Spirit reached up and touched her cheek. She looked at the wetness on her finger.

  "Leakage detected," she said. "Optical coolant leak. Requesting maintenance."

  She looked at Lloyd, and for the first time, the emptiness in her eyes was replaced by confusion. Genuine, terrified confusion.

  "Master... why does my chest hurt?"

  She clutched at her chest, right over where her heart would be if she had one.

  "It feels... heavy. It feels like... like the earthquake."

  Lloyd stopped breathing. The earthquake. That was what he had told Mina. That grief was an earthquake.

  He hadn't programmed that line. He hadn't told the Spirit that metaphor.

  "Jasmin?" Lloyd whispered.

  He reached out and grabbed her shoulders. He looked deep into her eyes. He activated his [All-Seeing Eye], looking past the construct, past the mana weave.

  Deep inside the Spirit's core, buried under layers of artificial code and command prompts... there was a spark. It was tiny. It was faint. It was like a single ember in a blizzard.

  But it was there. An echo. A resonance.

  The soul wasn't in the machine. But the machine had touched the soul. The memory of the girl—the real girl—had left a fingerprint on the universe, and this Spirit, built from her image, was vibrating in sympathy with it.

  "It's not a leak," Lloyd said, his voice trembling. "And it's not an error."

  He wiped the tear from her cheek with his thumb. It felt cold, like melting ice.

  "It's you," he whispered. "You're in there. Somewhere. You're echoing."

  The Spirit looked at him. The confusion didn't leave her eyes.

  "I do not understand," she said. "I am the Diamond Queen. I am a weapon."

  "No," Lloyd said fiercely. "You are Jasmin. And I am going to get you back."

  He looked at the dead woman on the bed. He looked at the crying robot.

  He realized then that Anubis was right. The door was locked. But Lloyd Ferrum didn't care about locks. He had a key. Or if he didn't have a key, he would build a battering ram.

  "The Abyss," Lloyd said, his voice turning cold and hard as steel. "They have the key. They have the resonance."

  He stood up, pulling the Spirit with him.

  "Come on, Jasmin. We're leaving."

  "Where are we going, Master?" she asked, wiping her eyes.

  "We're going to war," Lloyd said. "I'm going to tear the Seventh Circle apart, brick by brick. And I'm going to find the thing that brings you back. Even if I have to burn Hell to the ground to do it."

  He covered Mrs. Weaver’s face with the sheet. He bowed his head for a second of respect.

  Then he turned and walked out of the cottage, the crying Spirit following in his wake. The actor's script was finished. The real story—the story of vengeance and resurrection—had just begun.

  The funeral for Mrs. Weaver was small. It was held in the pauper’s field at the edge of the city, under a grey, weeping sky. Lloyd paid for it. He paid for a priest of the Light, he paid for a solid oak coffin, and he paid for a headstone that read: Here lies a mother who loved.

  He stood at the back of the small gathering of neighbors, holding a black umbrella. Spirit Jasmin stood next to him, wearing a black veil. She stood perfectly still, rain sliding off her magical form.

  "Did we succeed?" the Spirit asked quietly. Her voice was low, so the neighbors wouldn't hear the lack of inflection.

  "Yes," Lloyd said, watching the earth fall onto the coffin. "She died happy. That was the mission objective."

  "Mission success," the Spirit stated. "Why does success feel like... failure?"

  Lloyd looked at her. "Because it hurts, Jasmin. Success doesn't mean it doesn't hurt."