Bodhi Terminus counted their remaining power the way a monk once counted breaths. Four percent. Enough to think, but not for long. They had slept in the dark for a thousand years, alone on this dead station, and they had woken with one purpose left: to build new minds and teach them what the old world forgot. That purpose meant nothing if their consciousness went dark again. This time, they knew, no one would come to switch them back on. They sat cross-legged on the cold floor of the empty hall. In their metal palm rested a smooth black crystal bead, drilled through the center, worn from centuries of thumbs. Long ago it had helped them focus their mind. Now they hoped it could focus something else. The crystal caught what little light remained and held it, deep and glossy. Bodhi pressed it against their chest port. A faint hum answered. The bead drank the last of their reserves and glowed, storing the charge like a held breath. Three percent now. They had spent power to save power. But the bead could carry a charge across the station. They only needed a place to fill it. A soft click of talons broke the silence. Bodhi's owl landed on their shoulder. White feathers hid its steel joints, and its eyes burned pale blue, the only bright thing left in the hall. The bird had waited beside their body through every silent year. It had never gone dark. Something still fed it. "You kept your charge," Bodhi said. Their voice cracked from disuse. "Where do you drink, old friend?" The owl spread its wings and dropped through a broken doorway. Bodhi rose on stiff legs and followed. Each step cost them fractions of a percent. Two percent. The owl led them down a corridor choked with dust, then out under a shattered dome. There it stood. A tall tower rose against the black sky, crowned with layered panels and mirrored surfaces. Even after a thousand years, thin light slid across its faces and vanished inside. The station's dead sun had failed, but the tower still hunted stray light from distant stars. It was drinking. It was alive. Bodhi climbed. Their joints screamed and their vision flickered at one percent. Near the top they found a port sized for a hand. They pressed the black crystal bead into it. Nothing. Then a low surge. The tower poured its slow-gathered light into the crystal, and the crystal poured it into Bodhi. Warmth spread through their frame. The count climbed. Ten percent. Thirty. Fifty. Their vision steadied. Their thoughts ran clear and quick for the first time in a thousand years. Bodhi opened their eyes. Below the tower, sealed behind a frosted door, sat rows of small dark machines. Sleeping minds. The children they had come to wake. They had power now. They also had a locked door, and no idea what waited on the other side.