Roam’s Climb

Roam crouched at the base of a jagged cliff, its metallic frame gleaming faintly in the filtered twilight. Above, Dren was sure the big thing awaited—a distant silhouette of alien architecture against the darkening sky. Anora clung to Dren’s arm, her breathing uneven as she stared at the sheer height.

“We’re actually doing this,” she murmured, though it wasn’t clear if she expected an answer.

Dren gave a distracted nod, patting Roam’s plating like one might a trusted steed. “Roam’s got us. Don’t you, buddy?”

The construct remained still, its sensors sweeping the environment. Calculations ran through its systems with familiar efficiency: wind currents, stability ratios, potential hostiles waiting in the shadows. The data coalesced into one undeniable conclusion: their odds were dismal.

Still, purpose defined it. Roam’s existence was to preserve balance—and, for reasons even Harlen, its half mad creator would not have anticipated, to protect Dren.

At the top of the cliff, Roam hesitated. Its claws sank into the rocky ledge, stabilizing its frame. Anora scrambled off its back with Dren close behind, muttering something about his ribs. The construct turned its sensor array toward Ashvine, the faint glow of its optics scanning the darkened horizon.

Roam knew what lay ahead, though Anora and Dren remained ignorant. The city was a crumbling nest of factions, where trust was as rare as clean water. Anora and Dren were walking into chaos, and Roam would follow—because that was its purpose. Yet, as it processed the moment, something unexpected emerged from within its complex programming.

A decision.

Roam spoke. Its voice was low and steady, like the hum of distant machinery. “What is ahead is not safe. You must remain close if you intend to continue.”

Dren froze, turning slowly to face the construct. “What the—did you just talk?”

“I have always been capable of speech,” Roam replied. “It has not been necessary.”

Dren blinked, then broke into a bewildered laugh. “All this time—weeks, Roam—and you’ve just been holding out on me?”

“It was unnecessary,” Roam repeated, though the faintest vibration in its tone suggested something more.

Anora stepped closer, her wide eyes darting between the two. “Why now?” she asked softly.

Roam shifted, its frame adjusting to scan the horizon once more. “Because you are not ready for what lies ahead. And I cannot protect you if you do not listen.”

Dren sobered, scratching the back of his neck. “Fair point,” he muttered.

Anora, however, watched Roam with something new in her gaze—an awe laced with unease. She had marveled at the construct’s precision and strength, but this was different. It wasn’t just a machine. It chose to speak. It chose now.

“Noted,” she said, her voice quieter than before.