It hit her like a blow to the chest. She wasn't merely trained—she had been made. She was a product of this same project, perhaps even the prototype. The dreams, the interstellar man, the sword—none of them were fiction. They were traces of her old programming, memories that had survived beyond what they were supposed to. And now, the enemy she was fighting against might have once been her allies.
She didn't tell Xavier. Not yet. She couldn't.
Later that night, she stood outside the bunker's entrance, staring up at the black sky. The stars looked foreign now, too far away to reach. But somewhere out there, in the void of space or the buried vaults of memory, her true story waited to be told. She tightened her grip on the sword's hilt and promised herself: she would uncover everything. And when the time came, she would choose who to fight for—not because of her programming, not because of her past—but because it was the only way to be free.
