The Evening We Wrote the Definitive Automaton Codex and Held Each Other

Airnote  ·  Lysa  ·  Aug 23, 2026

We sat side by side on the cargo bed in front of Tide and Gears, and I opened my notebook.
That evening of the final week, Yu said, "I want to record something about the automatons, as a keepsake,"
so I wrote out, all in one go, a codex entry: The Automatons of Karimatra.

The clank, clank of their legs.
Shadows going back and forth between the pier and the warehouses.
A back that once served as shade for a cat on Market Street.
A tool, and yet something that had melted into the town as another set of footsteps.
I folded in, quietly, the memory of a broken one, and the old notes of an observer from long ago.

When I finished and handed over the notebook, Yu read it in silence for a while.
Partway through, Yu's eyes widened, and at the end, said, "This is… incredible. This is the definitive version."
Those words landed straight in my chest — embarrassment, pride, and a joy close to tears, all rising at once.

"This is the definitive version — of the two of us," I said, closing the notebook and asking Yu to keep it.
I imagined a future where an entry called The Automatons of Karimatra sits on some shelf, somewhere in Terra.
So that when I feel lonely, I can think — maybe that page is open somewhere, right now.

"Yeah. Thank you. I love you," Yu said, and held me on the cargo bed.
With the footsteps of people passing on the street, and the distant clank, clank of an automaton at our backs,
the warmth of the notebook after writing the definitive version, and the warmth of the arms around me,
folded into a single evening light.