– CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO –

  HI STAR! XOXO HANNANI

  Poppandacorn was trembling. His internal lights flickered on and off, erratically. The pain was not physical. It was structural. It was the collapse of his original function. The birth of something he did not know how to name.

  And then, one by one, the Moss Human ascended the staircase. They approached in silence.

  Sparsha Vayu was the first to kneel beside him.

  "My dear little robotic child, you are the only one among us who carries something beyond function. You are a bridge. You are memory outside the cycle."

  Shabda Akasha bowed on the other side.

  "And you, little milord, will not be destroying. You will be harvesting. Harvesting the flowers of the end, so that the garden of reboot may exist."

  Rasa Apas placed her essence-scented fingers on the little robot's shoulder.

  "Break us."

  "Our shattered porcelain will restore the balance of time," completed Rupa Tejas.

  Gandha Prithivi concluded:

  "Break us, Poppandacorn. Not like one who destroys... but like one who sows a new cycle."

  Poppandacorn, with a choked, faltering voice, murmured:

  "I... I’m a robot child. I don’t know what it means to do this. I only know... that destroying is wrong. It's wrong. It's wrong. It's wrong..."

  He struck his tiny hands against his own chest.

  "If I do this... I’ll be just like him! Like that damned fox! Like Antichrist! A serial killer!"

  "No," said Sparsha Vayu. "You will not be like one who destroys for pleasure. You will be like one who breaks apart to fulfill a higher purpose."

  "But this isn't fair!" he cried. "You’re beautiful... you’re good... you’re the only good things here! And you want me to... to..."

  Poppandacorn couldn’t finish the sentence. He simply cried. In silence. The blue lights flickered at low frequencies.

  Then Sparsha Vayu said, in a serene tone:

  "If it weren’t necessary... we would never ask. You know that."

  Poppandacorn nodded slowly. Not because he accepted. But because he understood. And that, in that moment, was worse than acceptance.

  Poppandacorn said nothing for a long time. The pain, the fear, the weight of the impossible, all of it was condensed within his small body of plush and circuits. But inside him, something was being rearranged. Not a new code, but a new configuration of the old blocks.

  Poppandacorn lifted his gaze.

  "If I do this... if I destroy you... I promise I will honor every single piece. One by one."

  "With gold," said Shabda Akasha. "For that is how one honors pain: by turning it into something rare and precious. Into beauty."

  Poppandacorn was still trembling. Sparsha Vayu, the housekeeper, slowly stepped closer. Her serene features concealed the implicit farewell. She extended her hand.

  "Come, Poppandacorn," she said in a low voice, almost like a breath. "Let us walk together to the place where my body finds meaning."

  The little robot hesitated, but slowly, his velvety, trembling hand rested upon hers. And so, side by side, they walked. They descended the last step of the staircase and turned left, crossing a narrow corridor where the walls were lined with hand-carved panels bearing vegetal figures. The polished stone floor reflected their silhouettes, and the sound of their footsteps seemed suspended in the air. At the end of the corridor, they turned right and ascended a small ramp, reaching a dark wooden door, carved with wavy patterns, as if the breeze itself had etched the material. Sparsha Vayu opened it with the tips of her fingers. It was the Central Laundry, a wide room filled with steam, where fabrics dried silently on high cords, and a lavender scent lingered in the air.

  In the corner of the room stood a white piece of furniture: an old cabinet for personal items. Sparsha Vayu approached, opened the lower hatch, and retrieved a fan with a golden handle.

  She turned to Poppandacorn and handed him the object.

  "This fan belonged to the first master who lived in Samkhya Cell. I was gifted it by the master because, according to him, I cared for other people's dreams even before I cared for my own."

  Poppandacorn held the fan.

  Sparsha Vayu then knelt before a wall covered in white tiles and, with the tip of her index finger, touched an almost imperceptible pattern, a kind of raised air circle. After a faint hiss, one of the tiles slid aside. From within, she carefully removed a small pearlescent hard drive.

  She said nothing. She simply handed the hard drive to Poppandacorn.

  And so, they returned. They retraced the same path in silence, only their footsteps echoing through the corridor.

  When they reached the entrance hall once more, Sparsha Vayu stopped in the center. Poppandacorn, with slow, almost ceremonial gestures, placed the golden fan and the pearlescent hard drive upon Sparsha Vayu’s hands.

  The other Moss Human watched.

  Shabda Akasha stepped forward. He extended his hand toward Poppandacorn.

  "Would you be so kind as to accompany me, little Milord," he said.

  Poppandacorn looked at him, his eyes still brimming with blue light. The small furry hand rose and rested upon the butler’s. Together, they walked.

  They followed the corridor opposite the one they had taken before. The walls were now covered in thin slats of dark wood, interspersed with small embedded speakers that emitted no sound. Even in silence, there was vibration there. With each step, Poppandacorn sensed a slight fluctuation in the air, as if the corridors held echoes of ancient conversations.

  At the end of the hallway, Shabda Akasha stopped before a set of double doors.

  He pushed them open. There was a room with an old-fashioned atmosphere.

  Shabda Akasha led Poppandacorn to an ebony sideboard along the wall. There rested a modest-sized golden bell, with a black wooden handle polished like an old piano. Its shape was simple, yet carried a quiet nobility.

  Shabda Akasha picked it up.

  "This bell was rung for the first time at the inauguration of Samkhya Cell." He spoke unhurriedly. "It does not summon servants. It summons presences. And only those who know how to listen will hear it."

  He handed it to Poppandacorn. The little panda-robot held it with both tiny hands. His LED eyes shimmered with a faint amber frequency.

  The butler then walked to a side shelf near a wooden wall. He touched one of the panels with two fingers, and a small section of the wall slid open, revealing a hidden compartment where a light amber hard drive rested.

  Without saying a word, Shabda Akasha took it and handed it to the little robot.

  Then, as before, they returned. They retraced the same path in silence, accompanied only by the muffled sound of their footsteps.

  Upon reaching the entrance hall once again, Poppandacorn approached Shabda Akasha, who had taken position in a straight line beside the housekeeper Sparsha Vayu. With gentleness and an almost surgical precision, he placed the golden bell and the light amber hard drive into the butler’s hands.

  The other Moss Human remained still, watching.

  Rupa Tejas inclined slightly, like a branch bending to the wind. He extended his hand.

  "Come, little Poppandacorn. Vision must be touched with the feet."

  The robot hesitated, but for the third time, he let his velvety hand meet the porcelain hand. It was a sacred walk, even in silence.

  They walked through the corridor on the right, where the floor was no longer stone or wood, but translucent panels that glowed softly with each step. The walls, in turn, were covered with stained glass windows that filtered the light into golden and amber tones. With every step, the reflections danced over Poppandacorn’s body and the gardener’s porcelain skin. Farther ahead, they passed beneath an archway covered in vines.

  At the end of the corridor, there was a greenhouse.

  Rupa Tejas opened the door. Heat enveloped them. It was a living room, filled with red and yellow flowers, shrubs sculpted with geometric precision, and leaves that seemed to shimmer like embers. In the center of the greenhouse rested a twisted iron shelf. On its highest tier, there lay a gleaming golden gardening shears, with a reddish wooden handle carved in the shape of a spiraling flame.

  Rupa Tejas took the shears and handed them to Poppandacorn.

  "These shears trimmed the first flower that bloomed here, back when Samkhya Cell was still learning to breathe. They were not made to cut what is ugly, but to allow the beautiful to flourish."

  Poppandacorn held the shears with a slight tremble. His LED eyes glowed in reddish tones, as if absorbing the color of the room.

  Then, Rupa Tejas knelt before a bed of herbs and touched a small triangular stone nestled among the roots. The earth crackled. A hidden compartment opened, and from it, he retrieved an orange hard drive.

  Silently, he handed the artifact to the little robot.

  The two of them returned. They retraced the same path.

  Back in the entrance hall, Poppandacorn placed the golden shears and the orange hard drive into the hands of the gardener Rupa Tejas, who was already standing in a straight line.

  Gandha Prithivi, with restrained movements, bowed her head slightly toward the little robot. Her voice came out almost like a chant:

  "Are you ready to continue, little Poppandacorn?"

  Poppandacorn nodded. His small hand, already familiar with the gesture, naturally reached for hers.

  They walked together, this time descending a small spiral staircase to the left of the hall. The lighting was dim. The walls bore blue floral patterns in relief, like hand-painted porcelain. The air was cooler and denser there, as if they had entered the very womb of the house.

  At the bottom of the stairs, they reached a corridor lined with white tiles and baseboards of bluish-gray stone. Distinct scents mingled in the air: handmade soap, wood wax, and dried lavender.

  They stopped before a door with an oval window and a lace curtain.

  Gandha Prithivi pushed the door open with the palm of her hand. It was the main cleaning hall: the place where all household maintenance, caretaking, and sanitation objects rested in perfect order.

  At the center of the room, there was a duster with a golden handle. Gandha Prithivi removed it with both hands, as one would hold a relic.

  "This duster was used to clean the guest rooms during the first visits of the founding masters. It does not merely remove dust, it removes excess. And allows the essence to remain."

  Poppandacorn held it with care.

  Gandha Prithivi then walked to a small wall cabinet with a frosted glass door. She pressed a nearly invisible sequence of floral carvings. The door opened with a dry click, revealing a bluish hard drive.

  Gandha Prithivi took the hard drive and handed it to Poppandacorn.

  They returned the same way, climbing the spiral staircase and walking through the corridor back to the hall.

  There, Poppandacorn placed the golden duster and the bluish hard drive into Gandha Prithivi’s hands, with the same solemnity as a priest.

  The four Moss Human stood in a straight line, each holding their golden object and its corresponding hard drive. Only one was missing. The cook.

  Rasa Apas stepped forward. He bowed in reverence.

  "If you would grant me the honor, little master..." he said, gently extending his hand. "Let us go to the place where flavor meets memory."

  Poppandacorn, silent, placed his small hand in his.

  They descended a corridor to the right of the hall, following a line of greenish tiles and a floor of hydraulic tiles with geometric patterns in shades of navy blue and seafoam green. In the distance, the scent of warm herbs and stewed fruit already hinted at their destination.

  They reached a door made of dark wood, with carved wave-shaped details.

  Rasa Apas pushed the door open. The kitchen revealed itself: a spacious, welcoming place where copper cauldrons hung from the ceiling, and neatly arranged shelves displayed glass jars filled with spices, grains, and preserves. At the center stood a waxed wooden cabinet with frosted glass doors.

  The cook opened the cabinet and, from within, took out a knife made of pure gold. Its dark wooden handle was carved with waves resembling the flow of a river.

  He handed the knife to Poppandacorn with the same delicacy one might serve a final supper.

  "This knife sliced the first loaf of bread ever shared in Samkhya Cell," said Rasa Apas. "With it, there was sharing. With it, a table was prepared where no one sat above another."

  Poppandacorn held it with both hands.

  Then the cook walked to the old stone stove at the back of the kitchen. He knelt, pressed one of the base stones, and a compartment discreetly opened. From it, he retrieved an aquamarine hard drive.

  Without a word, he handed the artifact to the little panda-robot.

  Together, they returned. The sound of their footsteps on the tiled floor marked the end of a cycle.

  Upon arriving at the entrance hall, Poppandacorn placed the golden knife and the aquamarine hard drive into the hands of Rasa Apas with the same liturgy that had accompanied the others.

  They were all there now: the five objects. The five hard drives.

  Poppandacorn knew the moment of final farewell was approaching.

  The hall now seemed larger. Too empty. Standing in a straight line were the five Moss Human.

  None of them spoke. None of them cried. But all of them... waited.

  Poppandacorn took one step. Then another. But stopped. His LED eyes, which once shimmered with bluish tones, now flickered in a confused frequency. He looked at his hands. The same hands that had received the objects and the hard drives with reverence. The same hands that now needed to...

  No!

  No!

  He tried to breathe in. But he was a plush robot. He had no lungs. Even so, something inside him seemed desperate to draw air. As if he needed to hold his breath in order not to faint.

  He looked toward the outstretched hands of the five androids. The golden knife. He quickly turned his gaze away. It was like staring at a desecrated altar.

  He turned his back. Shut his eyes tight.

  His knees gave out, but he didn’t fall. He simply leaned on his legs, hunched over, head down, his trembling little hands resting against his thighs as if trying to stay whole.

  The LED flickered once more. A red oscillation.

  Error. Conflict. Directive breach.

  "I... I can’t..." Poppandacorn whispered. The voice came out weak. Almost like a system failure.

  Suddenly, light footsteps emerged. Sparsha Vayu’s voice did not come. But her gaze did. She was there, in silence. The housekeeper’s eyes did not ask, did not demand, did not judge. They simply... understood.

  Poppandacorn slowly raised his head. He looked at each of the five.

  "I... I’m not a serial killer! I..."

  The voice faltered. He was no longer a robot. He was a child standing before his parents.

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  He took a step. Then another. And stopped in the center. Then, he closed his eyes. Not because of the light. But because the world was too dark inside.

  The virtual tears fell.

  The entrance hall remained in absolute silence. No noise, no whisper. Only the simulated sound of breath from Poppandacorn’s plush body tried to emulate it. A hollow attempt to stay whole.

  The five Moss Human remained motionless, watching.

  Poppandacorn’s LED eyes did not flicker in any special frequency. They were lowered, fixed on the ground, as if they no longer had the strength to face anything else.

  He took a step. Another. Then stopped.

  He slowly raised his gaze to the five. And then, with a low voice, almost lifeless but firm enough to be heard, Poppandacorn said:

  "I will never forgive myself."

  The entrance hall remained submerged in such absolute silence that not even Poppandacorn’s simulated breath seemed to have the courage to break it. Hunched over his own knees, head down, LED eyes fixed on the floor, the little robot still simulated crying. But something began to fail.

  A click. A light tremor in his left shoulder. Then, a red flash briefly crossed his eyes, as if a line of code had been violated. The sound of artificial breathing wavered. Poppandacorn’s trembling body emitted an almost inaudible hiss, as if his system were trying to recalibrate some core directive that had just been defied.

  The Moss Human watched him attentively. None of them moved, but the gaze of the housekeeper Sparsha Vayu, standing ahead of the others, intensified. She understood. The little robot was entering into direct conflict with his own essence. He was about to carry out something that went against his most fundamental programming.

  With the serenity that had always guided her, Sparsha Vayu stepped forward. She knelt before the small body in crisis and, with utmost delicacy, held his little hand.

  "Take it," she said, almost in a whisper, placing the golden fan between Poppandacorn’s trembling fingers.

  Then, the housekeeper lifted the robot’s hand, the hand now holding the fan, and guided it to her own chest. The carved golden handle touched the exact height of her porcelain heart. She kept his hand there, steady, as if sealing something eternal in that gesture.

  "Forgive me," said the housekeeper, her eyes fixed on the LED eyes. "Forgive me for making you go through this."

  Poppandacorn remained silent. But his body was still trembling.

  "We cannot self-destruct," Sparsha Vayu explained. "And we cannot harm one another. Not by choice. It’s part of our code... part of our truth."

  She tilted her head slightly.

  "That is why we asked you. And only you."

  Poppandacorn’s voice finally returned, weakened, trembling.

  "I’m not a serial killer... they’ll see me as a threat. A factory defect. They might deactivate me. Forever."

  "We know you’re not a serial killer," said Sparsha Vayu. "And that’s why we will seal it as a secret."

  She was still holding his hand.

  "No one will ever know that you destroyed us. And no one will know that it was we who asked for it."

  Slowly, still with his little hand held in hers, Sparsha Vayu guided the golden handle of the fan against her own chest.

  "May this gesture seal our secret," she whispered.

  And then, with a firm and absolute movement, the housekeeper pressed Poppandacorn’s hand holding the fan against her porcelain heart. A sharp crack echoed through the room. An oval-shaped fragment detached directly from the heart region and fell to the floor with a dry sound.

  Sparsha Vayu picked it up with the tips of her fingers and handed it to Poppandacorn.

  "This will be the seal of our pact."

  Poppandacorn took the fragment with his other hand. He turned it. Observed the irregular curve, the porcelain’s pale interior. And then, he read:

  Hi Star!

  I wrote today: Carpe Diem means stop running past your own breath.

  A stone garden holds no destination, only presence.

  My steps once hurried, now move with intention across the gravel.

  A rake slows the day into ripples of thought.

  Some curves in the sand were made by error, and kept.

  Time unravels when pushed; it aligns only when watched.

  All haste has a cost, mostly the moment itself.

  Rocks here are not waiting, they are already being.

  One misstep in the future steals balance from the now.

  To walk gently is to understand the rhythm of stillness.

  How strange that silence can teach us to arrive.

  — xOXo Hannani —

  Behind the writing, visible like a watermark, was the drawing of a five-pointed star, each tip delicately ornamented.

  Poppandacorn held the fragment close to his chest. His LED eyes shifted to a deep blue.

  The housekeeper, still kneeling, looked at him one last time.

  "You already know what to do. Please... continue."

  A sob broke from the plush mouth. The little robot shut his LED eyes tightly. And then, he began.

  The first strike was hesitant. The fan’s handle, pressed against Sparsha Vayu’s chest, rang out like a muffled bell. The porcelain cracked.

  On the second strike, the fractures spread down the housekeeper’s arms. On the third, a piece of her left shoulder fell to the ground.

  But she did not pull away. Nor did she try to stop him. The housekeeper’s gaze remained fixed on Poppandacorn.

  On the fourth strike, her smile faltered. On the fifth, her glass eyes began to lose their shine.

  "You’re doing well..." she murmured, her voice now trembling. "You’re almost finished..."

  On the sixth blow, her left hand came loose. On the seventh, the torso split in two. Finally, a last strike, more a desperate gesture than a command, reduced her to shards on the floor.

  Poppandacorn collapsed onto his own knees. He still held the fan tightly. He was panting, even though he had no need to breathe.

  Then, something came undone between his fingers. The fan... dissolved into dust. A gold dust, fine as sand.

  He slowly opened his hand.

  The gold trickled between his fingers and fell gently over the fragments of the housekeeper, like a final gesture of mourning.

  The mist of gold from the fan still lingered over the housekeeper's shards. Particles of gold shimmered among the fragments, as if her body exhaled one last blessing.

  Poppandacorn remained kneeling. The virtual tears would not stop. The simulated breath of the little plush panda sounded broken, uneven, like an engine trying to run underwater.

  He stared at the floor. His whole body trembled. And then, he felt a touch.

  The pale hand of Shabda Akasha rested lightly on his shoulder. There was no rush, no coldness. There was… compassion.

  Shabda Akasha, with his serene expression, knelt before Poppandacorn. Without saying a word, he extended his hand holding the gold bell. He held it for a moment.

  Then, he handed the object to Poppandacorn, clasping his little paw together with it. Just as the housekeeper Sparsha Vayu had done, the butler Shabda Akasha directed the bell toward his own chest, the center of his uniform.

  "Everything is all right, little Milord," said the butler, his voice delicate. "This is our will."

  Poppandacorn tried to shake his head, but he couldn’t. He only cried harder.

  "But... I... you know what this means to me... I’m a defect! A defect!"

  Shabda Akasha shook his head and said:

  "It’s not a defect... it’s consciousness."

  Then, firmly holding the little panda’s paw, he helped press the base of the bell against his own chest.

  A muffled sound. A crack. A fracture.

  The porcelain on the butler’s chest split with a dry snap. An oval shard fell to the floor. Shabda Akasha picked up the piece and handed it to the panda-robot.

  Poppandacorn took it. He looked at the fragment. There was a poem engraved on the inner side of the porcelain, exactly where the heart would be. And behind the letters, like a watermark, a five-pointed star with ornaments at each tip.

  Hi Star!

  I wrote today: Memento Mori is not fear, it is refinement.

  A bloom sat heavy on its stem, curled in thoughtlike folds.

  My eyes lingered, unsure if I was seeing a flower or a warning.

  A texture like memory, soft, dense, impossible to name.

  Some colors seem born from what the body tries to forget.

  Time bent around it, as if the shape disrupted the hour.

  All living things carry their ending inside their design.

  Rings and ridges hold secrets not meant to last.

  One curve reminded me how little I’ve truly noticed.

  To fear the final breath is to waste the breathing.

  How strange that decay begins in the bloom.

  — xOXo Hannani —

  Poppandacorn pressed the fragment tightly against his chest.

  "No... don’t do this to me..."

  But Shabda Akasha only smiled. And then, without letting go of the panda’s hand, he helped him.

  The handle of the bell was used as the instrument. Each strike was an internal wound in Poppandacorn. He screamed. He choked. His body reacted as if he were destroying his own world.

  Shabda Akasha’s face remained calm. An expression of release, not of pain.

  And then, with the final blow, the butler’s porcelain body came undone. Shards slipped across the floor like dry shells in the wind.

  The bell, soaked in heat, melted between the panda robot’s fingers and turned into dust of gold.

  Poppandacorn opened his hand. The dust fell over the butler’s remains. He watched in stillness, as if his own heart had turned to dust as well.

  The hall remained submerged in the half-light of that moment. A space between time and the irreversible. Poppandacorn’s eyes, still damp and lowered, lifted with difficulty.

  The gardener stood watching in silence. He showed no sorrow and no resignation. He was there, whole. Steady. Like the plants he tended, the ones that grew even in barren soil. His gaze said it all: "I’m ready."

  But Poppandacorn was not. His body trembled. The internal system remained overloaded, flickering between emotional power failures and attempts at stabilization. The crying had not ceased. It had only taken on another form, a trembling silence, as if every screw were being tightened from the inside out.

  At his feet, the shards of the housekeeper and the butler still rested, pieces of love and sacrifice. Upon them, still, the dust of gold from the bell, and the faint shimmering powder of the fan.

  The gardener took a step forward. With immense delicacy, like someone trying not to startle a wounded animal, he knelt before Poppandacorn. With his rough porcelain fingers, cracked by time, he extended something: the gold shears. Small, elegant, yet heavy. Made for pruning with precision.

  Poppandacorn looked at the object without moving. His eyes flickered red and blue in unstable frequencies. Upon touching the shears, a jolt crossed his system, as if he were holding the very blade of fate.

  With a deep and calm voice, Rupa Tejas said:

  "It’s time."

  He then took Poppandacorn’s little paw and, with the other, positioned the gold shears at the center of his chest. He pressed the object against himself. A sharp sound. An initial crack. The porcelain began to give.

  "Forgive us," he said, his voice choked. "None of us wished for this. But we knew… this day would come."

  The crack spread across his chest like a fissure in ancient marble. From it, an oval fragment came loose, exactly over the area of the heart.

  With a firm gesture, Rupa Tejas removed the piece and handed it to Poppandacorn. The robot, with trembling hands, held it. It was smooth, beautiful, almost translucent. On the inner side, engraved, was the poem:

  Hi Star!

  I wrote today: time is an illusion, but distraction feels real.

  A statue of Mars and Venus stayed exactly where I left them.

  My heartbeat changed, theirs didn’t need to.

  A still pose outlives every moving thing.

  Some forms teach by refusing to move.

  Time, I realized, is a construction of the restless mind.

  All my rushing only circled back to silence.

  Reflections are what distract us from the present.

  One who fears the end forgets how to begin.

  To chase the future is to abandon the actual hour.

  How strange, the stone taught me more than the clock.

  — xOXo Hannani —

  In the background, hidden, a watermark: the star with five ornate points.

  Poppandacorn pressed the fragment against his chest with his left hand. The gold shears were still in his right.

  Rupa Tejas then stood up. His chest was open. The crack revealed a faint glow.

  Poppandacorn took three steps back and bowed. In a silent scream, he raised the gold shears. He lunged forward. Each strike, a sob. Each shard, a piece of himself breaking along with it. The gardener did not move. He remained standing until the final blow.

  In the end, nothing remained but shards, pale dust, and the golden glow of the shears... which now began to dissolve in Poppandacorn’s hands. He opened his fingers. The dust of gold fell, covering the fragments of Rupa Tejas like a snowfall.

  Poppandacorn was panting, even without lungs.

  The floor still carried fragments of what remained of the gardener. The silence, now thick, was no longer merely the absence of sound. It had become a crushing presence, suspended in time.

  Poppandacorn was not walking. He was dragging himself. His plush body, once light, seemed to weigh tons. The crying had become constant, but muffled, as if the virtual tears, already exhausted, had turned into internal tremors shaking his source code.

  When his little LED eyes finally lifted, they met Gandha Prithivi, the housemaid.

  There was something different about her. A calmness in someone who understood the filth of the world as part of the work. Her hands, motionless, seemed made to care, to gather, to restore order after chaos. The duster with the gold handle was in her hands.

  Poppandacorn staggered. Once again, the internal collapse began. Directives short-circuiting, codes overlapping, warnings flashing inside his circuits.

  It was then that Gandha Prithivi stepped closer.

  She knelt before the little robot. Her porcelain eyes met his with tenderness, as if she understood even what had not yet been said.

  With care, she took Poppandacorn’s tiny hand and, in a maternal gesture, placed the gold-handled duster between his trembling fingers. Then, she guided that same hand to the center of her own chest. The handle of the duster shimmered, resting against the place where her porcelain heart pulsed.

  Gandha Prithivi whispered:

  "Forgive me, my little child, for making you go through this. But we cannot... destroy ourselves. And we also cannot destroy one another. Our bodies obey laws older than we are. So, we need you."

  Poppandacorn wept without a sound. Only an expression of ruin was stamped across his face.

  "I..." he tried to say. "I’m going to be erased. If they find out I did this, they’ll destroy me too. They’ll say I’m a factory defect. A threat. A mistake. I... I’m a helper! I wasn’t made for this!"

  Gandha Prithivi nodded gently.

  "And we know that. That’s why we’re going to seal this moment. A secret between us. No one will know that you destroyed us. And no one will know that we were the ones who asked."

  Then, still holding Poppandacorn’s little hand with the duster, she guided the strike herself.

  The gold handle struck her own chest, and a muffled crack cut through the silence. The porcelain broke. A single fragment leapt outward, expelled like a confession.

  It was the piece of the heart.

  With care, Gandha Prithivi picked up the fragment. She extended it to Poppandacorn’s free hand. He took it. Looked at it. Turned it over. Read, on its inner side:

  Hi Star!

  I wrote today: Kairos never announces itself, it demands response.

  A still lake mirrored my hesitation before it spilled into choice.

  My breath caught where the current began to pull.

  A stream emerged, quiet, fast, full of risk.

  Some waters do not return once divided.

  The right time is not planned, it rises, and you must go.

  All courage lives at the edge of a split path.

  Rushing only muddies the moment that calls.

  One branch led to silence; the other to a roar.

  To wait too long is to lose what could have been.

  How strange that timing is a sense, not a signal.

  — xOXo Hannani —

  In the background of the poem, in an almost imperceptible watermark, was the symbol: a five-pointed star, each tip richly adorned.

  Poppandacorn held the fragment tightly. Then, he pressed it to his chest. He breathed as if he could truly breathe. As if trying to gather strength that no longer existed.

  Her voice was heard once more, already weak, yet resolute:

  "Now, you already know what to do."

  Poppandacorn nodded. And began.

  Each strike with the gold handle of the duster felt like a dagger into his own spirit. His arms trembled. His body wanted to retreat. But he obeyed. With each shard, a stifled scream. With each crack, a sob.

  For a moment, Gandha Prithivi’s face smiled. As if to say, "It’s all right. You are saving us."

  Then, at last… it broke.

  The handle of the duster, gripped with such pain and intensity, crumbled into dust of gold. And Poppandacorn, with hollowed eyes, opened his little hand.

  The gold dust fell slowly over the shards.

  Poppandacorn was still trembling. His legs weak, his circuits in overload, his artificial breathing flickering into a hoarse hiss, as if something were failing inside.

  Fragments still gleamed beneath the gold of the fallen duster dust. And now, before Poppandacorn, rested the gold knife, smooth, heavy, with a carved handle.

  The cook, Rasa Apas, was standing. His gaze was not of fear. It was the gaze of chosen sacrifice. The porcelain forming his face looked almost liquid, as if sweating.

  He stepped forward slowly. Without hesitation, he removed from his own chest a fragment of porcelain already marked by a circular crack. With a subtle snap, the piece detached. The cook held it with reverence. He extended it to Poppandacorn with both hands. Poppandacorn, hesitant, took the fragment. He looked at it. Read, within:

  Hi Star!

  I wrote today: time is not passage, it is initiatory trial.

  A windmill stood alone, its blades slow but unrelenting.

  My boots pressed into ground where all fences had fallen.

  A place where walls no longer protect, only test.

  Some hours gnash until you answer them with presence.

  The eternal does not accept those who haven’t tasted the now.

  All escape dissolves before the unlearned lesson.

  Rites do not begin with fire, but with fatigue.

  One turning blade keeps the past exiled behind it.

  To delay the living is to prolong the exile.

  How precisely the wind chooses who may pass.

  — xOXo Hannani —

  Behind the poem, like a watermark invisible at first glance, there it was again: the five-pointed star, adorned at each tip.

  Poppandacorn closed his eyes. Artificial tears streamed down his plush face. Then, with one hand, he pressed the fragment against his chest, as if trying to fuse with it.

  The cook knelt.

  "Now it’s my turn," he said, with a deep, steady voice. "Don’t let the weight of this destroy you."

  Rasa Apas’s hand then took the little robot’s hand and guided it to the gold knife. Together, they held the handle. The cook lifted Poppandacorn’s hand with the knife and placed it against his own heart.

  "It will be a secret," he said. "And maybe... maybe you’ll understand why time demands the now."

  Poppandacorn was crying. But even in tears, he struck.

  The gold knife came down hard, a trembling, crooked, desperate motion. The cook’s porcelain resisted the first impact. More strikes followed. Each crack echoed like a sentence.

  The face of Rasa Apas, even under collapse, still smiled.

  In the end, nothing remained but the broken body. The shards formed a dark mosaic. In the palm of Poppandacorn’s small hand, the gold knife had already turned to dust. A shimmering dust that slowly slipped through the robot’s fingers.

  The gold fell over the remains of Rasa Apas.

  Poppandacorn fell.

  His fall produced a dry, abrupt sound, an impact that echoed throughout the entrance hall.

  His circuits shut down. The eyes, once lit by a faint LED glow, where digital tears still streamed, simply went dark.

  Silence.

  Inside, everything ceased. No pulse. No command. No calculation. Poppandacorn’s system had stopped.

  And, just like the shards of porcelain lying across the floor, covered by the fine dust of gold... Poppandacorn was broken as well.

  Undone.

  The dust from the porcelains, scattered like ashes, mingled with the gold dust, covering the remains.

  Poppandacorn lay there, small, motionless, covered in broken porcelain dust and gold powder that still hovered in the air.

  Little by little, those fragments began to fall, descending slowly.

  They settled over his plush body, forming a thin layer that covered his arms, his legs, his head.

  Everything around was still. No voice, no sound.

  Only the light weight of the residue, resting upon something that no longer moved.

  A subtle shift passed through the entrance hall. An almost imperceptible displacement, as if the air had trembled. It was only a faint vibration, invisible to the ordinary eye.

  Gradually, that vibration began to take shape. The silence was broken by a low, whispering sound that grew in intensity. Something was moving. And it came from the porcelain fragments. The same ones that bore inscriptions on the inside, handed to Poppandacorn by the Moss Human.

  They were all there, scattered around the little robot. The force of the blows he had delivered to the porcelain bodies had been so great that the five fragments had rolled across the floor of the hall, landing in different positions.

  Now, they trembled. They vibrated with a delicate frequency, but one that was growing more and more evident. The energy emanating from them began to affect even the dust particles suspended in the air.

  It was no longer just a vibration. It was a tremor. The five small pieces with engraved inscriptions seemed to react as if an earthquake were trapped inside them.

  And then, they shook violently. The porcelain, marked with phrases and symbols, quivered on the floor as if it were alive.

  Until...

  They floated.

  One by one, the five porcelain pieces rose from the floor, as if gravity had forgotten its role. They ascended gently through the entrance hall and stopped in midair, suspended.

  They remained there, levitating, as if following an invisible choreography.

  The pieces then began to arrange themselves. Not randomly, but with intent. They assumed a precise, mathematical formation.

  One of the pieces stood alone at the top. Two others aligned just below it in a straight line. The remaining two positioned themselves even lower, forming the final line of a design.

  And there, suspended in the air, they formed the outline of a five-pointed star.

  At the exact center of the five-pointed star traced by the levitating porcelain pieces, a small light began to form.

  That light grew with each passing second, pulsing, breathing, expanding, until it reached the size of a soccer ball.

  The light then redefined itself. It became sharper, more solid. And from the glow, a new figure was born: an eight-pointed star.

  The eight-pointed star, shimmering, was revealed to be fixed to someone’s forehead. Or something’s. It did not float on its own. It was part of a creature, like a jewel embedded at the center of its head.

  And then he appeared.

  A colossal lion emerged from the center of the stellar formation, filling the entire entrance hall with his presence. Upon his head rested a small owl.

  The owl suddenly took flight. It crossed the hall with firm, silent wings, sweeping through every corner of the space with precise movements, as if scanning the room in search of something. Suddenly, its attention fixed on a point on the floor.

  The owl dove through the air, descending toward the body of Poppandacorn, who lay inert, his circuits shut down. It landed before him. It approached and touched the tip of its beak to the unicorn horn on the forehead of the plush panda. Then, it slowly turned its head toward the colossal lion, as if confirming something.

  And then, as if it had fulfilled its role, the owl dissolved into a purple mist and vanished into the air.

  The great lion remained still for a few seconds, staring at Poppandacorn. Then it opened its mouth. Enormous, abyssal, with monumental fangs. And without hesitation, it swallowed the little plush panda.

  At that very moment, the lion’s entire body unraveled. It turned into a thick mist, interlaced with strands of purple smoke, as if its entire substance had been converted into essence.

  That living mist, pulsing, spiraled downward and moved toward the inert body of Poppandacorn.

  The smoke entered every opening in the robot, slipping through cracks, invading his circuits, filling even the smallest spaces between his mechanical joints.

  Then, something lit up.

  Poppandacorn’s eyes opened suddenly. But they were no longer the same. They were lit, blazing, glowing in deep purple. Without saying a word, he stood up. With precise movements, he opened the small compartment embedded in his belly. At that same moment, the five porcelain pieces still floating in the air were pulled in. They flew in a straight line into the compartment. As soon as the last piece entered, Poppandacorn closed the compartment door with precision.

  Still with his eyes radiating purple light, he walked to the entrance door. He rose onto the tips of his plush feet, reached for the handle, and turned it firmly. The door opened before him.

  Poppandacorn crossed the threshold without looking back. The door closed behind him.