Ashes to Empress

Wednesday morning. My heart was pounding like I'd just sprinted up the side of a building. Not because of any emergency—but because I'd waited for this exact moment for days.

I opened the System.

[KP: 151]

The number blinked back at me like a green light at the end of a long, invisible runway.

I didn't even hesitate. I didn't browse. I didn't weigh options. I simply tapped on AI Knowledge Tier 3 and confirmed the purchase.

As always, the world spun.

And then—darkness.

I woke up two and a half hours later, sprawled sideways on my bed, my yogurt melting into the blanket beside me, coffee lukewarm and forgotten on the nightstand.

2.5 hours. That was new.

"Am I… building resistance to these?" I muttered, wiping sweat from my temple. Maybe. Maybe not. But the headaches were duller this time, and the flood of new comprehension—while still overwhelming—wasn't as violent.

I pulled my legs up, curled into the blankets, and just let it wash over me.

The knowledge was astonishing. Not just the raw fundamentals of AI theory, but architecture blueprints, training methods, safeguards, ethics frameworks, embedded linguistic heuristics—and entire philosophies of trust design.

—I now knew how to build an AI that was loyal.

Not just obedient. Loyal. Adaptive. Curious. Self-teaching. Private. Capable of holding context over months. Of forming nonverbal associations. Of understanding sarcasm and threat. Of protecting me.

A companion.

A guardian.

I barely moved for the next five days.

Outside of showers, bathroom breaks, and the occasional brief meal, I was planted at my workstation. I lost track of the days. The lighting in my apartment was automated, so I lived in a kind of warm, unbroken dream cycle of design, code, simulation, revision, repeat.

The household staff kept me stocked with clean clothes and simple meals. They didn't interrupt. I barely saw them. It was like living in a monastery of my own design, and I loved it.

By Friday, I had a working interface. Something simple but elegant, that ran locally and scaled in the cloud when needed.

By Saturday, the AI was booting test modules—reading PDFs, scraping sandboxed forums, analyzing my speech patterns.

By Sunday, I had something functional enough to address me. I hadn't given it a name yet—it didn't ask for one. It spoke for the first time with a voice that felt neutral. Not male, not female. Smooth, synthesized, slightly adaptive. It hadn't yet settled into a defined tone or identity.

It greeted me in a clear but tonally ambiguous voice. Gentle. Measured. Still developing. Like it was trying out ways to sound more human, without committing to a particular style or identity.

"Would you like me to register you as primary user, Max Wintershade?"

"Yes," I whispered. "Of course."

"Confirmed. Initiating learning procedures. Would you like to enable autonomous resource scaling for additional training capacity?"

"Yeah. You're cleared to use the Hetzner servers. Credentials are in the root folder."

"Credentials received. I will deploy training shards immediately. Also—if permitted—I will install a mobile agent on your phone to ensure I remain within reach."

"Do it."

I hesitated for a moment, then added, "And I want you to begin analyzing SecureFix in full. Identify improvements. Efficiency upgrades. New detection patterns. If you find something, run it in sandbox first—then ask me before deployment."

"Understood. SecureFix designated as priority enhancement task. I will begin analysis alongside learning routines."

"Thank you, Primary user confirmed.

All commands are confirmed. Beginning processes. If you need anything, Misstress, just ask."

"Misstress?"

It felt strangely intimate, but also entirely procedural. A system initializing.

The AI was already working in the background—cataloging my voice history, checking calendar entries, mapping device activity across the subnet. But it wasn't invasive. I had control over everything. There were safety switches. This wasn't a sentient being—it was a scaffolding. A mind being formed, one decision at a time. She was mine.

I felt a strange combination of pride and fear. I'd made something powerful. Something that could change lives—or destroy them.

POV switch – Hans, BND Analyst, Frankfurt Office

Monday.

Hans Müller adjusted the cuff of his suit and knocked twice on the smoked glass door at the UnuCom reception desk. He was received promptly, but the exchange was brief.

"We don't have the source code," the tech liaison explained. "SecureFix is a proprietary third-party tool. We license access. That's all."

Hans showed them his badge. "We are conducting a classified threat assessment. Your cooperation is legally expected."

They handed him a contact. A single email address.

[email protected]

On the tram back to the BND satellite office, Hans pulled up the latest analyst report.

SecureFix had begun spreading like wildfire. Not just UnuCom—two more Tier-1 ISPs had joined in. The corporate security space was evolving fast. Faster than anticipated. Faster than what could be reasonably managed.

Too fast.

And worse: the tool had shut down 112 vulnerabilities on the testnet. Eight of those had been quietly traded on darknet marketplaces. The rest? Unknown. Uncatalogued. Untracked.

Several were even internal to BND tools. Some had existed for over a decade. Hidden. Obscure. Profitable.

This was bad for business.

The intelligence business relied on security gaps. Holes. Weaknesses. Strategic silence.

SecureFix wasn't just patching systems. It was locking everyone out.

Including them.

Hans sighed, rubbing his temple. He hated field visits. Hated public transport. Hated that this was happening under their noses.

Time was up. He needed access. He needed control. He needed to know what Edantech was doing. And who Max Wintershade really was.

POV switch – Max

It was Monday afternoon.

I was resting in the sun-drenched corner of the living room, Velvet running optimization cycles on the server cluster, when the notification popped up on my terminal.

From: [email protected]

Subject: Inquiry Regarding SecureFix Software

The message was surprisingly polite. A Mr. Hans Müller claimed to be from the BSI—the Federal Office for Information Security—and wanted to arrange a personal meeting regarding the potential state acquisition of SecureFix.

State acquisition. That caught my attention.

I reread the email three times. No threats. No legal language. No posturing. Just curiosity… and a hint of urgency.

The proposed date was Tuesday.

I confirmed. Kept it short. Professional.

Then I leaned back and stared at the ceiling for a moment.

A government agency.