Versión en español
Silas, the Letter Sculptor, was in his workshop, forging new characters. In his first draft, Pico did not attend; yet, his absence did not stall the carving nor the polishing with which the soul was battling—inlaying, one by one, the pieces into the grand, three-dimensional holographic slate. Slowly, the structure began to take shape as a grand quantum poem: an atom here, another there, and it would be ready for review.
“Pico, scan the molecular structure for flaws. Point them out, and then we shall proceed with the correction.”
Leonor, through her inorganic eyes, perceives the weariness born of Pico’s disdain. He was participating, once again, in a work that had not sprung from his own electromagnetic impulses, but from the words of the Sculptor. Bit by bit, Silas noticed this budding resentment in the robot, whose lignified biopolymer matrix—an organic alloy engineered to sustain the weight of a human consciousness—seemed to vibrate in resonance with his discontent. “Polish and rewrite,” this phrase manifested like an alert from Leonor’s consciousness: the Sculptor’s very first sentence.
The room was dark, illuminated only by the light beams of the sight-correctors issued by William’s corporation, where Pico had been manufactured. The light was warm, soft, and multicolored, like the boreal lights of the Arctic.
“Woody,” Silas said, calling to the biomechanical wood of which the robot was made, “connect to Lazarus and calibrate my vision. I want to try and perceive what other realities I might behold. I was guaranteed that this new addition to my eyes would allow me to see, in the short term, a vast portion of reality. This time, I want to write about that which we could not see before.”
“Sir, this new technology is evolutionary,” Pico responded. “In time, there will be no need to bridge the optical branches to your brain. My intervention with this technology is not recommended; it could damage an adaptive process. I suggest the pace remain organic.”
“Please... to what percentage could we adjust your intervention for a low-impact result? I want to push it to the limit.”
“The approximation would be a 20% intervention; only then would the safeguard protocol execute.”
Silas looked at him intensely and said:
“You look more like her every day. Leonor, reduce the intensity of your consciousness over Pico. I do not need your care right now.”
Then, the structure of Leonor’s eyes became more evident in Pico. But before he could utter a single word of the “Fairy Godmother” protocol, Silas ordered Mother, the ship’s AI, to initiate the isolation process. Under the Sculptor's mandate, the human consciousness deposited within the robot’s matrix began to sink into an induced lethargy—a deep slumber that numbed Leonor’s presence, allowing Silas, in the absolute silence of his workshop, to continue his search alone...
Witness the birth of a new era in storytelling. If you crave a journey where the soul meets the machine, follow the Sculptor of Letters and be part of this quantum evolution.
Author’s Note
The literary content of this work is 100% original, authored entirely by David Gilberto Iriarte. The accompanying visual assets have been meticulously crafted using Artificial Intelligence as a tool to give form and presence to the core ideas, philosophical concepts, and the unique prose of this narrative.
