The words, simple as they were, carried an unmistakable weight of wonder. Rodion's voice echoed clearly through the robot itself, as if surprised by its own newfound presence. It held layers now, subtle inflections and nuances he'd never truly perceived through digital filters. Mikhailis froze momentarily, utterly captivated by the rich, textured quality of Rodion's voice emerging directly from the machine standing before him.
For a moment, all he could do was stare—taking in every detail, from the gentle shift in the robot's stance to the way its glowing eyes adjusted focus, mimicking human pupils dilating with curiosity. It felt impossible, miraculous even, that the consciousness he'd nurtured, patched together from discarded magic cores and broken fragments of lost civilizations, now stood independently before him.
