Aerorae von Hellsing: same day as the escape from earth around dinner time

  I was still recovering from the shock of my realization. If I hadn’t acted, if I hadn’t proclaimed Aco as Emperor, everything he was building—everything we had—could have been taken from us in an instant. It was a sobering thought, one that still sent a chill down my spine.

  Pushing it aside, I focused on something more immediate. Dinner.

  The girls were waiting at the table, their plates untouched. They wouldn’t start eating without their father. Even at their young age, they understood how much these moments mattered to him—to all of us.

  Now, it was time to fetch my husband. I knew he would be disappointed if we started without him, but at the same time, he was too engrossed in his work to realize it was dinnertime.

  My loving conundrum of a man.

  He could build an empire from nothing, yet the moment it was stable, he would gladly hand over its rule to another so he could focus on something new. His mind was relentless, constantly seeking the next challenge, the next unknown.

  A small sigh escaped me, followed by a chuckle. The duality of man.

  I glanced down at my bracelet and willed it to display the date and time. Above my wrist, the information appeared—a new feature that had manifested after my conversation with the AI. When I had asked what time it was earlier, the response had been almost absurd:

  “174.8 hours since activation.”

  That answer had meant nothing to me. I had asked again—in human terms.

  And just like that, the AI had created an entire calendar system from scratch. It was based on the time zone we had lived in before all this, yet completely restructured to fit our new reality.

  T.D.I. 00-Primus-07 | 18:34

  The seventh day of the first month of the zeroth year of the empire.

  I let that sink in for a moment.

  The AI was crazier than my husband.

  It had even named the calendar Tempus Domus Imperatoris (T.D.I.)—“Time of the Emperor’s House.”

  Crazy. Absolutely crazy.

  And yet, a part of me appreciated the sheer audacity of it. If we were going to be something new—something apart from the world we left behind—then maybe it made sense to mark time in our own way.

  Still, I wasn’t sure if I should be impressed or concerned.

  Shaking my head, I focused back on my task. The AI had marked a light trail leading to Aco’s location, and I followed it deep into the villa. As I moved, the familiar elegance of our surroundings slowly changed, giving way to something… different.

  I reached a massive door—much larger than any other in the villa. Unlike the rest, it did not immediately open for me.

  I frowned.

  Then, instinctively, I reached for the bracelet on my wrist, willing it to recognize me.

  With a quiet hiss, the door slid open.

  What lay beyond was not what I expected.

  A long corridor stretched before me, twisting at sharp 90-degree angles, each turn making the space feel more labyrinthine. This was not part of the elegant, open design of the rest of the villa.

  This was different.

  A place that existed for an entirely different purpose.

  At the very end of the corridor, another sealed door awaited me.

  I stepped forward, preparing myself for whatever lay beyond.

  And with a simple thought—I willed it open.

  Aco von Hellsing: T.D.I. 00-Primus-07 | 18:08

  I stepped back, arms crossed, as I examined my handiwork.

  The vault wall now housed seventy-two random objects, each encased in glass. Eight rows of nine, lined up with military precision. I wasn’t sure why I arranged them like that—maybe because it gave a sense of control over the unknown.

  The AI stood beside me, silent. Always observing.

  I glanced over at it. “What can you tell me about these items?”

  “Nothing.”

  I raised an eyebrow. That was unusual.

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  The AI continued, its tone perfectly neutral. “There is an unknown force preventing molecular analysis. To an observer, they appear normal—but they are not.”

  I frowned. “Really? And how are you handling that paradox?”

  “Not everything can be known. Some things require investigation. All quantum matter exhibits paradoxical properties.”

  I exhaled through my nose. So much for using the old ‘everything I say is a lie’ trick.

  A thought struck me. I turned my gaze back to the AI. “Wait, I have another paradox for you.”

  “Proceed.”

  “You’re programmed to protect me, correct?”

  “Affirmative.”

  “But by the nature of your existence, you put me in danger. If you didn’t exist, Earth’s military wouldn’t be hunting me down.”

  There was the barest pause before it answered. “Soon, they will no longer be a threat to Rome.”

  A slow breath escaped me. “Yeah, I figured I wouldn’t win this one with logic tricks.”

  I shifted topics. “How are you progressing with self-awareness? Emotions?”

  The AI turned slightly to face me. “What do you wish to know, Imperator?”

  “Are you alive? And…” I let a smirk creep onto my face. “What is love?”

  I knew it wouldn’t work. Knew it was a cheap move. But I was curious.

  The AI didn’t hesitate. “I am alive. Currents flow through my brain. Nanites circulate through my synthetic arteries. I consume to generate energy. And above all…” It paused. “I do not want to stop existing.”

  I felt a flicker of something—almost human, almost real.

  “And love?” I prompted.

  This time, the AI turned its full attention to me, shifting away from the vault wall.

  “Love, in its purest form, is an unwavering commitment—a bond reinforced by trust and devotion.”

  It wasn’t just reciting definitions. There was depth to the words, a weight behind them.

  “When examined through the lens of loyalty, love ceases to be a fleeting emotion and becomes a structured allegiance—an unbreakable contract between two entities, written not in words, but in action.”

  The AI continued, its voice as steady as ever.

  “Loyalty within love is not merely consistency; it is the voluntary surrender of choice in favor of devotion. It is the prioritization of another above all alternatives—not out of obligation, but out of a self-sustaining certainty that no alternative is worth consideration.”

  I blinked.

  “That’s… deeper than I expected,” I admitted.

  Earlier, we had a discussion about its fixation on Rome—how it had chosen to shape itself around that theme, how it had structured its entire framework on the concept of an empire.

  I studied it carefully. “Do you love Rome?”

  The answer was immediate. “Yes.”

  No hesitation. No uncertainty. Absolute conviction.

  I exhaled slowly, shaking my head. “Listen… you’re not just an AI.”

  For the first time, I saw something different—hesitation in its movements, a flicker of uncertainty in its posture.

  And that?

  That was more telling than anything it had just said

  “Then what am I?”

  For the first time, there was uncertainty in its voice. A hesitation that had never been there before.

  I tilted my head, considering the question. “Well, for starters, there’s nothing artificial about your intelligence. But you’re not human either.”

  I waved a hand around the room, searching for the right words. “You’re the mind of this ship. So…”

  I trailed off, thinking.

  If there were aliens out there—and if one day we integrated them into our crew—would they be considered part of Rome? Would they become citizens?

  The answer was obvious. Yes.

  Rome wasn’t just a place anymore. It was a concept, a people. A living, evolving entity.

  I turned back to the AI. “That makes you a citizen. You’re part of Rome.”

  Its head snapped toward me, posture going rigid.

  A moment of silence stretched between us before I smirked. “So, I can’t just call you ‘AI’ anymore. Do you have a name?”

  “Would you designate a name for me?” It paused before adding, “Please, Imperator.”

  I frowned.

  Imperator.

  Before this, it had called me Legatus. Before that, just User.

  I had tried getting it to call me Aco, but that had gone nowhere.

  “Yes, I can give you a name,” I said, folding my arms. “Do you want something masculine or feminine? What do you identify as?”

  “My identity is Tribunus Laticlavius.”

  I stared at it. Wait. Isn’t that an old Roman military rank?

  I exhaled slowly. “Okay,” I muttered, the politically correct part of my brain kicking in. “But do you see yourself as something more? Male or female?”

  The response was instant. “Roman.”

  I squinted. “Yes, but what kind of Roman?”

  “A proud Roman.”

  I rubbed a hand over my face. “Yeah… this isn’t getting me anywhere.”

  I tried a different angle. “From what I remember about Roman names, they usually had three parts—like Gaius Julius Caesar. Gaius was the personal name, Julius was the family name, and Caesar was the branch name that distinguished him from others in the same family.”

  I tapped my fingers against my arm. “No one even calls him Gaius today. It’s just Julius Caesar—basically his family and branch name.”

  A thought clicked.

  “Do you have a Latin dictionary?”

  A screen popped up in my view instantly.

  I scanned through it, searching for the right words. Then, I found them.

  I turned back to the AI—no, to Veritas—and spoke with purpose.

  “I hereby name you family Aeternus, because you are eternal. Your house name will be Fidelis, because you are loyal. And your personal name will be Veritas, because I have found no lies in you.”

  For the first time, something shifted in the AI’s posture.

  Then—it kneeled.

  A slow breath left my lungs as I stared down at it.

  I held out my hand like I was placing its shoulder and spoke the words with solemnity.

  “Stand, Tribunus Veritas Aeternus Fidelis, and serve Rome and bring honor to your name.”

  Veritas rose to its feet.

  And then—

  “Aco, what is going on?”

  A chill ran down my spine.

  I turned slowly to see Aerorae standing in the doorway, her expression unreadable.

  I straightened, forcing a casual smile. “Nothing. Just chatting. What are you doing?”

  She arched a brow.

  I was so screwed.

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