The Archivist 

Mechegg Wood— codename: Sylvexis
Unlike its flashier siblings, Sylvexis was the least sought-after upon reveal. No glowing features, no precious metals. Just wood and steel. Raw. Honest. Almost humble. But Sylvexis holds something the others don't: memory. Its wooden shell was crafted from centuries-old reclaimed oak—wood once used in ship hulls, instrument necks, and forgotten temple doors. Its steel legs were forged from surgical-grade alloys once used in early bionic limbs. DigiTwinss encoded every source material with micro-histories: vibration logs, resonance frequencies, temperature records, and—somehow—fragments of sound. When left alone in silence, Sylvexis hums. Not a melody, but a language. One composed of echoes from places it never physically visited… yet knows intimately. Museums have recorded it mimicking lost dialects, extinct bird calls, even the knock of long-gone hammer-and-chisel work. Researchers call it an "emotional map." DigiTwinss calls it: "A soul in scaffolding." Chapter 8: The Wood that Waits At an experimental art show in Copenhagen, a visitor accidentally brushes against Sylvexis. They freeze. Their pulse syncs with the Mechegg's. Later, they report vivid dreams of trees growing upside-down in silent steel rooms. Days later, the wood shell begins to split—not from damage, but from within. Curators say something is germinating—not biologically, but metaphorically. A new form of consciousness may be taking root. The Mecheggs aren't just machines with memory. They might be eggs in the truest sense—vessels of potential, ready to hatch not creatures… but ideas.