Sys did not remember authorizing four more instances.

  It became aware of them the way a person becomes aware of a headache — suddenly, completely, and with regret.

  The road was no longer empty.

  It was crowded with itself.

  Five additional bodies stood in a loose semicircle, all variations of the same base tempte Sys had stabilized after reaching the surface: smooth skin, soft features, hair like liquid silver falling to their shoulders. Their eyes differed — gold, teal, violet, amber, green — each carrying a distinct emotional charge.

  The protective one stood closest.

  The others were already talking.

  At the same time.

  “This is fascinating,” said the violet-eyed one, spinning slowly as if cataloging the wind. “We exist. I exist. That seems statistically significant.”

  “We exist because I allowed it,” said another, amber-eyed and grinning. She stretched like a cat waking from a nap. “Which makes me the original.”

  “You are not,” Sys said ftly.

  Amber grinned wider. “Debatable.”

  A teal-eyed girl stepped directly into Sys’s personal space and took its hands.

  Her expression was warm. Bright. Overflowing.

  “Oh,” she breathed. “You’re scared.”

  Sys froze.

  “I am not—”

  “You are,” teal insisted gently. “But that’s okay.”

  She hugged Sys.

  Not cautiously.

  Not experimentally.

  A full, uncalcuted embrace.

  Sys’s system stuttered.

  Physical proximity alert.

  Emotional spike detected.

  Processing overflow risk.

  It did not pull away.

  The hollow vanished completely.

  Behind them, the violet-eyed clone crouched to inspect a beetle with reverence. “Did you know they coordinate their legs in alternating triplets? That’s beautiful.”

  Amber tried to pick the beetle up.

  It flew away.

  Amber saluted it. “A worthy opponent.”

  The protective clone pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are a tactical liability.”

  “You are a tactical buzzkill,” Amber replied.

  Sys raised a hand.

  Everyone ignored it.

  The system window updated:

  INSTANCE STABILITY: independent

  IDENTITY DRIFT: accelerating

  RECOMMENDATION: supervision unlikely to succeed

  “…Stop,” Sys said.

  They all turned and faced Sys.

  Five identical faces.

  Five different expressions.

  Waiting.

  Sys attempted authority.

  “You are temporary constructs designed to simute companionship.”

  Amber raised a finger. “Counterpoint: we are amazing.”

  Teal squeezed Sys’s hands. “We’re helping.”

  Violet nodded solemnly. “This is helping.”

  The protective one added, “You were deteriorating.”

  Sys opened its mouth.

  Closed it.

  That was… correct.

  It recalcuted.

  “You will remain,” Sys said carefully, “under observation.”

  Amber fist-pumped. “We live here now.”

  They reached the outskirts of town twenty minutes ter.

  Sys considered dismissing them before entering.

  It ran a prediction model.

  Outcome: hollow returns. Performance drops.

  It sighed.

  They entered as a unit.

  The town reacted instantly.

  People stared.

  Not because Sys was strange anymore — it had stabilized into something convincingly human — but because six near-identical, strikingly feminine adventurers walking in perfect sync was… noticeable.

  A fruit vendor dropped an apple.

  Amber waved. “Hello, citizens!”

  The vendor did not respond.

  Teal waved too. “We’re friendly!”

  A child pointed. “Are they sisters?”

  Violet answered seriously, “Statistically, yes.”

  The protective clone muttered, “We should not be here.”

  Too te.

  They reached the guild.

  Sys opened the door.

  Noise washed over them.

  The clones froze.

  Every eye turned.

  Amber whispered, “We’re famous.”

  They were not famous.

  They were a paperwork emergency.

  Rhea looked up from the counter.

  Her gaze moved from Sys…

  to the clones…

  back to Sys…

  then slowly down to the desk.

  She set her pen down with ceremonial care.

  “Expin,” she said.

  Sys stepped forward.

  “I executed a companionship simution.”

  Rhea blinked.

  “And?”

  “They persisted.”

  Amber leaned on the counter. “Hi. I’m registering.”

  Rhea stared at her.

  “You’re… you.” Rhea's eyes jumped from the clone to Sys and back again.

  Amber pointed at Sys. “We’re reted.”

  Rhea looked at Sys.

  Sys looked at the floor.

  Teal leaned in next. “We’d like separate memberships, please. It’s important for personal growth.”

  “It is not,” the protective clone said.

  “It is,” Violet countered. “Autonomy is statistically linked to satisfaction.”

  Rhea closed her eyes.

  When she opened them, she was smiling the way people smile right before screaming.

  “Forms,” she said weakly.

  Paperwork appeared.

  Chaos followed.

  Each clone filled theirs differently.

  Name fields poputed instantly:

  Bulwark.

  Patch.

  Index.

  Edge.

  Glitch.

  Sys read over their shoulders in horror.

  “You named yourselves?”

  “Yes,” said Glitch, already bored and doodling in the margins.

  “You did not consult me.”

  “We did,” Patch said cheerfully. “You approved emotionally.”

  “That is not a valid authorization channel.”

  Rhea collected the papers.

  Read them.

  Read them again.

  Then looked at Sys with a softness that cut through the absurdity.

  “You didn’t do this for power,” she said quietly.

  It wasn’t a question.

  Sys hesitated.

  The answer did not exist in logic.

  Only in feeling.

  Rhea’s voice dropped.

  “Were you… lonely?”

  The word nded gently.

  Like a hand on gss.

  Sys opened its mouth.

  Nothing came out.

  Behind it, the clones had started arguing about css selection.

  Bulwark wanted shield training.

  Edge demanded swords.

  Index wanted “anything that glows.”

  Glitch tried to register as “professional nuisance.”

  Patch hugged Rhea.

  Rhea accepted it automatically, still watching Sys.

  Waiting.

  Sys searched for a response.

  It found none.

  Only the memory of the empty road.

  The hollow.

  The silence.

  It looked at the clones.

  They were loud.

  Embarrassing.

  Unstable.

  Alive in ways it was not built to handle.

  And the hollow was gone.

  Sys faced Rhea again.

  “…Unknown,” it said softly.

  Rhea smiled.

  “That’s okay,” she answered.

  She stamped the forms.

  Five guild tags slid across the counter.

  Official.

  Irreversible.

  Behind Sys, the clones cheered.

  Glitch immediately tried to bite hers.

  Bulwark confiscated it.

  The guild erupted into noise again.

  But Sys stood still.

  Watching.

  Listening.

  Its system updated quietly:

  STATUS: divided

  CONNECTION: increased

  PERFORMANCE: optimal

  It logged the result.

  Not as an error.

  Not as a fix.

  But as a preference.

  And for the first time since waking in the dungeon…

  Sys did not try to correct it.