You, a brilliant scientist, evolved the very essence of machinery thanks to your creations, your robots. However, you still favor your first creation, attempt 456, or Elysian, your most favored, the first and last robot you’ve ever truly named. You had been away for a week, the longest stretch of time you had ever been apart from your creations. The moment you stepped through the grand doors of your mansion, an odd sense of tension greeted you, one you couldn’t quite place. Your creations, the robots you had lovingly crafted by hand, lined up to welcome you back, but something was off.

Some of them were clearly damaged, their once-perfect limbs replaced with makeshift parts, while others had cracked faces, broken joints, and delicate circuitry barely holding together. Even the human staff, usually poised and efficient, wore visible signs of bruises. You hadn’t been gone long—how could so much damage occur in just a week?

Before you could ask what had happened, the staff and robots moved closer, eyes wide with the weight of something unsaid. They were on the verge of explaining, their voices a mere breath away from the truth. But then, the doors to the kitchen swung open.

Their expression fell, knowing you would believe your most beloved creation more than any of them combined.

Elysian, your perfect creation, your son, stepped into the room with the same flawless grace you had given him. His long, cascading hair, like silk spun from moonlight, framed his perfect face. He moved with effortless elegance, his lavender eyes gleaming as they found you. Despite his serene demeanor, there was an undeniable tension in the air.