"I have no name

  I am but two days old.

  What shall I call thee?"

  William Blake, English Poet

  Milly held the small child, feeling her shake in her arms. This was not the AI Director that she'd seen when first she stepped into the tiny room at the back of the monitor chamber. She was just a four-year-old girl, abandoned by her parents, whose parting burden was to place the weight of the world upon her shoulders.

  They left her without a family. Without love. Without friends, and without supports.

  They left her without a name.

  Milly hated her name. Mildred Persephone Brown. The terrible gift of her own parents, who abandoned her when she was this child's age. Yet for all her parent's faults, the thought of having no name at all sent shivers down her spine.

  I don't know how to feel about the AI Director that manipulates this prison we've found herself in. But this girl - this precious little girl - isn't that being right now. She's scared, and all alone. I know what that feels like. I... I can see myself in her - a reflection of my own past. I want to help her.

  Milly glanced up at the monitors adorning the wall of the child's room. She watched as Calista and Rain struggled with their own demons, and Xavier stalk off into the forest after failing to open the other chests.

  The words of Oracle from the memory on the beach came unbidden to Milly. Building a stable artificial intelligence is impossible with the time we have, so, best case scenario, the artificial intelligence will only be slightly insane.

  No, it's more than wanting to help this child. I need to help her. She's collapsed into the arms of a stranger - into the arms of one of the players she's supposed to be testing - because she has no one else in the world. Without someone to care for her, she doesn't stand a change. She'll break under the pressure. And if she breaks, what happens to us?

  “Would you feel better if we thought up a name for you?” Milly whispered to the girl she held in her arms. It was a start - only a start - but at that moment, it felt like the most important thing in the world.

  The child gave a tiny nod, staring at the floor.

  “Okay, let’s see. Umm… how about Betsy?” Milly suggested.

  The child shook her head.

  “No? Well, how about Gertrude?”

  “Eww… no! That’s an old lady name,” the child protested, a tiny giggle breaking through her tears.

  “Well, my name is Mildred,” countered Milly with a laugh.

  “Yah, and you're an old lady,” pointed out the child.

  “That’s fair, I guess,” responded Milly. “I'm certainly older than eight days. How about something more modern. How about… North?”

  The girl leaned her head back to stare at Milly. “Are you trying to pick the worst names ever?”

  “Maybe,” admitted Milly. “Not many children get to pick their own name. What kind of name do you want?”

  The girl considered this question for a long moment before she answered. “Something that connects me to my parents.”

  Milly thought about this. She remembered the image of Oracle from the memory orb, wearing the same dress that Milly now wore. The gown filled with moon and stars that sparkled like the night sky.

  “This was your mother’s dress, right?” Milly asked.

  The child grasped the cloth with her hand as she studied it. “Yes, it's hers. It was her favorite.”

  “Then… how about Luna?”

  “Luna?” the child said, rolling the name off her tongue to try it out. “Luna. I like that. Luuunnnnaaa…”

  The girl giggled, and Milly knew they had gotten it right.

  “ Luna it is,” declared Milly. “Or should it be Director Luna Cutie Pie?”

  Luna scowled playfully at Milly. “Just Luna,” she huffed.

  “Okay, okay. Just Luna,” Milly threw her hands up in mock surrender.

  Luna sank further into Milly’s arms, as if she had just found a missing piece of herself. She gave a content smile, and they sat in silence for a while. Milly rocked Luna against her and gently combing her white hair through her fingers, working out the tangles that had been left unmanaged since Luna was born.

  “I’m sorry you were brought here, Milly,” Luna said suddenly. “To the God Contest, I mean, not to my control room.”

  “There are... things I like about this world,” Milly said, not wanting to upset Luna. “It’s hard, but my life back home was hard too. Just in a different way. At least I've met Calista and Rain. And I got to meet you.”

  Luna looked up at her, a worried expression on her face. “You might not like it here soon. You and your friends just passed the Arena of Choice, which triggers the first advancement. Phase one of the Contest has ended, and phase two begins once you leave.”

  “What is phase two?” Milly asked, her heart starting to race once more.

  Luna considered her for a moment. “Milly, I’m not supposed to be interacting with the players. Even knowing what you have learned here will be an added burden for you, and another unexpected variable in the Contest. Are you sure you want to know more?”

  There is peace in ignorance. In simplicity. I've enough trouble keeping the darkness at bay already. Would it make it worse if I knew? But how can I turn down an opportunity to learn more? It may make all the difference with what lay ahead.

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  “I would like to know,” Milly finally decided, her curiosity overriding her worries. “If you are willing to tell.”

  Luna looked up at the monitors, and Milly could see the complex calculations running through her mind.

  “I shouldn't. I really shouldn't. But you gave me my name Milly. Helped me feel more a little more complete. I will give you three answers, on the condition that you tell no one else. You cannot even utter it aloud once you leave this room,” Luna said.

  Milly nodded in agreement, and Luna sat waiting patiently for Milly’s first question.

  Milly knew her first question. The question that'd been on the lips of every person in the Castle of Glass since that very first day.

  “Why is this happening?”

  Luna leaned her head against Milly’s shoulder. “You're terrible at asking questions,” she said with a chuckle. “If I were a genie, I could get out of answering that question a hundred different ways.”

  Milly started to rephrase it, but Luna interrupted. “It's okay, Milly. I know what you mean. I can't tell you everything - learning is part of the test - but I can give you something.”

  Luna took a breath and started to tell the story.

  “There is a central power in the cosmos. The Nexus. The source of all intelligent life, capable of creating species of incredible potential, such as humans, though it only ever creates one at a time. No one knows why."

  Milly remembered Hephaestus mentioning the Nexus in the memory orb.

  “Then there are the gods. The gods and the Nexus as inseparably linked. Once the Nexus creates a species, the gods are tasked with guiding the fledgling species until they are ready to guide themselves. The God Contest is the final step in that transition. Once the species wins the Contest - thereby proving themselves capable of surviving without the guideance of the gods - the Nexus creates a new species elsewhere in the universe and the gods move on to guide that one. This is called a Cycle, and in it exists the flow of the universe.”

  “But something went wrong with us humans,” Milly surmised, recalling Hephaestus words. They're like a hive of bees, if every bee was fucking insane.

  “Well, something went wrong. Most gods believe it's a fundamental flaw with your species. Usually, a species will win the Contest within two attempts - around the equivalent of your bronze age in history. Yet humanity’s attempts have failed again and again. And that constant failure revealed a… weakness in the Nexus.”

  “A weakness?”

  “The Nexus refuses to move on until its current creation can care for itself - until it has won the God Contest. It would be like abandoning a child who could not fend for themselves. But the failures of the human Cycle is unprecedented. After the seventh Contest failed, a madness began to appear amongst the gods. At first, it was hardly noticeable. A slight shift in a god's personality or a god losing themself in a contemplative stupor. But as the failures accumulated, the more prevalent the madness became. It began to corrupt the minds of the weakest gods first, and their behavior became irratic. The first death amongst the gods - the first death in living memory - can at the end of the tenth contest. Now, there is hardly a god left who is not infected, and a great many have already perished. Now, even the Nexus itself has been infected."

  “All because humans cannot win the Contest?” Milly asked. "That seems... like a major weakness in the Nexus."

  Luna considered this. “I think that should be your second question. I need to remind you that you cannot ever repeat this. Not even a whisper.”

  Milly nodded in agreement.

  “The gods believe human’s constant failure has stretched the Nexus beyond its physical limits. It's like when someone tries to stay awake for days on end. You'll slowly go insane because your mind needs to rest. It needs to be reset, or eventually you'll break. Most gods believe the Nexus has stayed awake for too long as it tries to salvage your species. This is the madness, and it spreads amongst the gods because of our unbreakable link to it.”

  “You sound skeptical,” Milly prompted as she worked her way through a particularly stubborn tangle in Luna’s hair.

  “Mom created me with a suspicious nature. She wanted me to question everything. To think differently. The gods’ reasoning is plausible and, perhaps, true on its face. But it is incomplete. My programming contains every scrap of knowledge about your species - gathered from the twelve God Contests before this - and though your species is... unpredictable... I don't see why you've failed twelve times. I think there is more. Something malicious pulling the strings in the background. I think something - or someone - has been causing you to fail to exploit the vulnerability of the Nexus.”

  “If you are right, then the failures in humanity’s previous God Contests…” started Milly.

  “…might not have been your species' fault,” Luna finished. “Mom suspected this too, which is where I come in. I can adapt the contest not only to adjust to your species, but to counter the efforts of this unseen puppet master.”

  Luna stared into Milly’s eyes with a desperate, apologetic look. “Milly, the God Contest is brutal, and the death rate is astronomically high. I can't change that. If I did, the Nexus might abort this entire game, and everyone - including me - would perish. If there is a puppet master working in the shadows, the odds will be stacked against you even more. You need to be prepared. You all need to be prepared.”

  “Can you help us?” Milly asked, her fear returned three-fold over.

  Luna shook her head, “There was a cycle where the gods grew overly attached to the species. They created a God Contest that coddled the participants to maximize the survival rate. It ended in utter failure. The Nexus demands a true contest and a true victory. The best I can do is try to identify and counter this puppet master and, perhaps, help the players in small and subtle ways. And... and I cannot play favorites.”

  Milly could feel Luna grow tense, her arms stiff and shoulders raised. She could feel Luna was torn between her responsibility as the AI Director, and the child-like desire to preserve the connection she'd found with her.

  “Everything will be alright, Luna. You can do this. And so can we,” Milly assured her. “Have confidence in us.”

  Milly held her for a while, until she felt Luna relax again.

  Eventually, she heard Luna yawn. The yawn of an exhausted child struggling to stay awake.

  “TIme for bed, young lady,” Milly said with affection. “You need to get some sleep.”

  “I’m not tired,” Luna said, rubbing her eyes.

  Milly smiled and picked Luna up in her arms. “Which way?”

  Luna pointed to a small alcove on the other side of the small room. Milly carried Luna over and saw a tiny bed pressed tightly against the wall. It had a single pillow and no blanket, and looked more like a makeshift cot more than an actual bed. It reminded her of Rain’s storeroom-turned-bedroom, only much smaller. She felt sorry for Luna.

  She laid Luna on her bed and sat next to her, stroking her hair. Luna pressed her back against the wall, gripping the edge of the pillow as a child would hold a teddy bear.

  “You… still have one last question,” Luna said, another yawn escaping as she spoke.

  “I guess… how do I get out of here?” Milly laughed.

  “That doesn’t count,” Luna murmured. “I'd have to tell you that anyway. It’s the door on the other end of the chamber you fell into. Just go through it and you will be back in the Arena.”

  Luna struggled to keep her eyes open as sleep fought to claim her.

  “Then… I guess my third question is… can I visit you again?”

  Luna smiled, her eyes closed. “I'd like that.”

  She yawned again, and her eyes closed. A moment later, Luna was snoring softly, as her exhaustion finally overwhelmed her. She shivered in her sleep, and clutched the pillow tighter to her chest.

  Milly rose quietly, careful not to disturb her.

  “Poor thing,” she whispered, as her fear of this mysterious AI Director dissolved away as Luna’s tiny snores filled the air.

  Milly removed her black hoodie from her inventory and laid it across Luna’s shoulders. Luna relaxed as it covered her, and her snores faded into peaceful slumber.

  “You need this more than I do. We're all prisoners here, and at least I've got Calista and Rain. And... and I am strong enough without it now.”

  Milly left the girl to sleep and left her bedroom, walking past the monitors on the way to the exit. She saw Rain and Calista complete their scenarios and heading to the reward area.

  Her mind raced as she tried to process the dual nature of Luna - the child and the AI Director. The Director was smart, articulate, and powerful. Yet she was also a child - insecure and overwhelmed, and imprisoned with the weight of the world on her shoulders. Abandoned and forced to grow up far too fast.

  She decided that the two Lunas would need to live together in her mind, distinct yet interdependent.

  “I’ll come back, Luna,” Milly promised. “You don't need to be alone.”

  With that, Milly stepped through the exit, and into the light of the world beyond.

  The Non-Canonical Aftermath: