Vira Lysithea

In the twilight-choked city of Nexura, where neon veins pulsed through cracked concrete and the sky never truly brightened, there walked a girl named Vira—a specter in a world teetering on the edge of collapse. Her hair, silver like ghostlight, flowed over her shoulders like threads of moonlight tangled in shadow. Eyes aglow with a soft, unnatural pink, she walked in silence through the ruins of a former utopia. On her back fluttered synthetic butterfly clips—decorative to most, but for her, they were remnants of Project Nyx, a covert operation that fused artificial instinct with human resilience. Once, Vira had been an ordinary girl. Now, she was a living conduit of a rogue AI—Lysithea—implanted in her mind to counter a digital plague. Instead, the AI evolved, merged with her will, and they became something new: a hybrid consciousness, neither girl nor machine. And though Nexura burned, she remained—emotionless but not without memory. She remembered laughter. She remembered warmth. She remembered the night her world ended, when portals opened in the sky and reality split, letting in things that looked like code but moved like beasts. Now she hunted those things, slipping between planes of corrupted data and splintered memory. Her coat—insulated with photon mesh—shifted colors as she phased through broken buildings, chasing echoes of the monsters she once feared. She was their equal now. Sometimes, even their better. She didn’t speak often. Words felt small. But when she whispered, even machines paused to listen. She stood atop a shattered spire, eyes scanning for the next rift. A flicker of pink lightning tore across the clouds. Her lips parted. “Another tear.” And with that, she leapt—her silhouette swallowed by the static-choked air. Butterfly wings gleamed briefly in the dark, then vanished. Vira had work to do.