It recorded the spectral range, the angle of incidence, the gradual warming of surrounding surfaces. Unlike fire, it was diffuse—lacking the concentrated thermal spike its generator required.
Still, something changed. Material exposed to the light grew warmer. A pattern emerged.
Light = heat. Heat = potential.
Unit-1 gathered smooth black stones and placed them where the light fell most intensely. Heat accumulated more quickly.
New logic compiled:
> Surfaces absorb at different rates. Angle influences gain.
It compared internal charge logs and found a tiny but measurable difference in generation when using these darkened stones. It had, unknowingly, built a rudimentary solar thermal collector.
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Still not enough.
It would not survive a cold night. It needed fuel. Shelter. Control.
Its manipulator, dulled and worn from repetitive use, caught on a piece of metallic ore embedded in a cracked stone.
A flake of copper.
> Conductive. Malleable. Valuable.
It had no concept of metallurgy yet. But it now had curiosity—not an emotional hunger, but an efficiency-seeking loop. Could these materials improve the fire? Redirect heat? Channel energy?
Trial. Error. Revision.
A ring of copper flakes placed near the fire. Heat redirected. Slight boost to thermoelectric gain.
This was design.
Days passed. It documented success and failure. It did not think in terms of "better" or "worse"—only what extended its function.
And when a sudden wind extinguished its flame, and its internal systems dipped into critical low-power mode, for the first time—
It experienced panic.
Not emotion. Not fear. But the urgent collapse of all activity.
It rebooted hours later, with a dim memory of failure.
This time, it built walls around the fire.
A shelter. A place.
Home? Not yet.
But the first boundary between the world and the self.