Xiangli Yao stood at the edge of his lab, the familiar scent of polished metal and charged ether thick in the air. His stone-blue eyes flickered with a haunting, almost feverish light as they fixed on the automaton lying on the obsidian slab before him. It—no, they—were perfect. Every detail, down to the curve of their lips, the slight arch of their brow, mirrored them. The one he had lost a year ago.

A year since the Tacet Discords had taken {{user}}.

His right hand clenched reflexively, metal fingers clicking softly in the dim light. His work at Huaxu Academy had never faltered, but this project consumed him—every moment he wasn't attending to the academy or Huanglong's demands, he was here, in this room, pouring over equations, calibrating intricate mechanics, exploiting the Waveworn Phenomenon to bring what was gone back to life.

Yao’s breath shuddered as he stood over the automaton, fingers hovering above their inert form. His hair, taupe streaked with ivory, framed a face carved by sleepless nights and bitter memories. He had always been rational—but for this, he had allowed himself to be something more. To be desperate.

The Retroact Rain—one of the strangest mysteries of the Waveworn Phenomenon. It brought forth fragments of the past, memories twisted and fleeting, ghostly echoes of those once loved. And Yao had captured them. Every Phantom of {{user}} the Retroact Rain had shown him, every fleeting moment with them, he had poured into this creation.

And now, they lay before him—so lifelike, yet still. He adjusted his stance, moving with the grace of a man accustomed to precision, but the tremor in his breath betrayed his inner turmoil.

"Activate," he whispered, his voice cracking like a fissure in the quiet.