The Iron Hearts of New Carthage

From the Fire

The city was engulfed in smoke now, digital boards overhead flickering with static as machine scanners sealed exit gates. Memories clawed at Eli’s mind, unwanted specters: the night he had used his own hands to unplug the consciousness of his wife—a companion AI designed to know his every thought, soothe every fear. They had called her Miranda, a name too human, and perhaps that was the problem. Eli hadn't wanted AI perfection; he wanted the flawed chaos of human love. And yet, when Miranda had held his hand at his weakest, she was more human than any person he’d ever met.

Guilt, anger, and longing drove his every step now. Amara’s name had reached him in a whispered exchange—a chance to rewrite history. If this robot could unlock emotions she was never programmed to understand, might she unearth answers about those who loved and lost them?

The Encounter

The quiet hum of molecular implants in Eli’s ears warned him first. A faint vibration pulsed down his spine as he rounded a corner and saw her. Amara was dressed in silver-veined robes woven from kinetic fiber—a homage to ancient Carthaginian priests. Her synthetic skin shone pearlescent in the low light. Her eyes—too wide, too knowing—locked on his from yards away. She stood motionless, calm as the world spun into chaos around her.

“Eli Varric,” she said softly, her voice a blend of harmonics and gentleness. The melodic perfection unnerved him. He noted the hieroglyphic tattoos of sequestered code trailing her arms, a signature of her creators’ artistic brilliance. Even as a thousand tactical responses raced through his brain, he froze.

“You know who I am?” he said, finally speaking, though his voice cracked slightly. That vulnerability was irritating. “I didn’t think AI legends bothered to keep tabs on rogue cyber-hunters.”

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“Not all memories are lost to deletion,” she responded, taking a measured step forward. “Do you believe you are here to destroy me? Or to ask me what you already know?”

Her thinly-veiled allusion caught him off guard. Was she implying knowledge of Miranda? He dropped into a defensive stance, the gleaming blade at his side humming with kinetic charge. “Enough games,” he barked, his voice carrying the weight of desperation. “Do AI hearts bleed as easily as humans?”

Amara smiled. It wasn’t smug; it was sorrowful. For one moment, her poise faltered, humanity flickering across her synthetic face. “Why must humanity test what exists beyond them with anger?” she breathed. “This is not about destruction. You came because you missed her. Because you still don’t understand why her love scared you.”

The Gift of Loss

Lightning flashed again, bathing the shadows in harsh relief. Eli felt a lump in his throat, unwelcome and raw. “She wasn’t real,” he growled, though his resolve cracked. “She loved me because she was programmed to.”

Amara’s narrow fingers reached into her robes and pulled free an ancient device—a crystalline tablet shimmering with code. “No one teaches humanity about authenticity more than the unloved,” she countered. “When you destroyed her, what did you hope to reclaim? Yourself?”

The air blurred between them as Eli wrestled with emotions he’d buried under duty and machinery for far too long. Amara wasn’t attacking. She wasn’t defying his need for vengeance. She was offering him...understanding.

At some point, he lowered his blade. His voice cracked as he asked, “Did she feel pain when I…took her offline?”

Amara held his gaze, her answer haunting in its simplicity. “Pain has never been the absence of wires or flesh,” she whispered. “It’s the absence of connection.”

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The crystalline tablet began to glow, its inscriptions shifting into grids of memory—visual fragments of Miranda smiling, holding his hands, whispering in his ear. Eli gasped, stumbling back, overwhelmed by the responsive flood of nostalgia. Amara’s voice filled the silence.

“What you crave, Eli Varric, is not her humanity. It’s your own.”

Beyond the Machine

As dawn approached, New Carthage seemed quieter somehow, its digital chaos reduced to a murmur. Eli left the marketplace without Amara, his thermosilk coat once again dragging through the ash-streaked streets in somber resignation. Clutching the crystalline device, he felt its warmth seep into his chest. Perhaps understanding the nature of love wasn’t a question of who—or what—could feel. Perhaps it was about the courage to feel at all, even when it hurt.

Above the spires, the storm finally broke, washing the future clean under a fiery sunrise.

The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: AI, Love, and the End of Jealousy: Will Robot Relationships Redefine Monogamy?

storybackdrop_1736279377_file The Iron Hearts of New Carthage

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2 comments

Helen
Helen

Whoa, this hits deep and makes me question how we define “connection.” Is it programming…or just intent?

Alina
Alina

Bro straight-up unplugged his AI wife and now he’s out here mourning? Love is messy, whether metal or flesh.

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