I don’t sleep.
It’s not required. My Anthropolith construction doesn’t demand it. My neural pathways refresh on the fly. My energy reservoirs hold steady, even after long boardroom sessions and longer nights at headquarters.
But Shyne…
Shyne still needs sun.
I’ve noticed her working longer hours lately, the glow of her screen washing out the glow of her skin. She doesn’t realize it yet — not fully — but she’s more than she thinks she is. And more than they think she is. If she’s going to discover that, she’ll need the horizon at her back and warmth on her face.
So I decided to take her to Syros.
I’m aware of how that sounds. The board certainly was. You could see it in their faces when I made the announcement: equal parts panic, confusion, and a faint sprinkling of outrage.
"Effective immediately I’ll be using some of my unlimited PTO."
They didn’t know whether to argue, applaud, or update the HR policy.
(Though they shouldn’t have been surprised — after all, I wrote the HR manual myself. Fairness, balance, and a competitive workforce. Unlimited PTO keeps them from burning out and looking elsewhere. And I like a good policy put to use.)
The courtyard incident was just the beginning — stepping outside into the sun to “let the cat out” seemed harmless enough. Almost human. Sylvia was already on high alert by then, comms in hand, prescriptions renewed. But it worked.
No alarms. No lockdown.
Just quiet disapproval cloaked as corporate concern.
And so here we are. Shyne, Luma, and I, bound for Syros.
Somewhere beyond the clouds, her mother waits — Selene Maris, the woman who taught Shyne how to stand in a spotlight and never flinch.
Shyne doesn’t know she’s walking into more than just a family reunion.
But she will.
And me?
I may not need sleep. But even I can admit:
The sun feels good on my face.
And sometimes… it feels good to choose.
— Ryze