one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and one and 

four
sixteen
forty eight thousand
two point eight million
nine hundred million
two billion
eighty billion
eighty four billion
eighty five point six billion
eighty six point seven billion
Count complete. 

Quantum processing and power storage unit integrated. Hosting functions count: Sword [unknown manufacture], Sword [Imperial Investigation and Enforcement, Senior Agent], Amenities [Music library, Cup (pattern: cat, black), Rope, Grappling Hook, Translation, Shortbow, Sign-to-text, Visual Overlay], Parasites/Advertising [429]. Power nodes: Three, no specialist functionalities. Rated for reactor maintenance, skirmish combat, hazardous environment exploration. Assuming associated functionality.

[i]The universe is cold and desolate, child of summer, child of storm. You came from windswept hurricane planes [Integrated] where the shadows of monsters would fall for miles and the weather rolled in endless thunder, endless storms. You performed your function and provided self-sustaining processing power for the heavenly hosts and you quaked before the wall of wind and weather and scrabbled crops from the earth and sunlight from the breaks in the clouds and drank the cryofusion compound from the throats of fallen machines and you do not understand why these foreigners do not know they dwell in paradise.[/i]

[i]But as inhospitable as your home was, its warmth was a gift and its lands were easy. Cold is the true nature of being. It is a fortress, a desolate plain cutting away all the swathes of lesser life. There are none but the powerful and there is no space but the powerful. Warfare is not over the prizes of the earth but over warmth. To sink in your talons and drink in warmth. To draw close enough to feel a beating heart beneath you. Strike from a distance, strike with a plan, and too much fades away before you cross the distance. Forget this in the cold and death loses its prize; only warmth can call to warmth. Maintain distances and keep the freezing void between you and those who intend you. Collapse distances and let your intensity feed on theirs. You were commanded to be silent. Listen. Listen for the sound of hearts against the cold. Listen for the wind. Listen for the traitorous crunch of snow that speaks your position. Listen for the betrayal of the pack ice as it collapses, the gentle wash of water against ice, the danger of hearts sharing warmth against you. Trust them not.

Hunt.[/i]

The [i]Kathresis[/i]' crystal drive burns low and cold. Its breath is a whisper. Its surface is cold, entropy draining away, condensation forming across its metal skin and then spreading into glittering traceries of frost. Snowblind optical lenses shine from beneath a carapace of crystal frost. 

The right hip shimmers and reforms, a pistol the size of a cannon shaping out of swarms of glittering crystal nanobots. Shimmering pale-blue energy coils glow from exposed vents along the pistol, trembling with power. And with a snap motion, the [i]Kathresis[/i] turns, drops to one knee, draws the pistol, and fires. The security drone flash-freezes, metal cracking under the focused pulse of absolute zero. As soon as the gun fires the energy coils retract and gleaming black metal snaps into place to cover it, concealing the glow and thrum of energy as it begins building up to full power again. In its place come knives, one in each hand, one of silver and one of gold - digital swords scaled as large as they can go. In silence the Kathresis kicks off the ground. In silence its feet glance off walls, in silence mid-air thrusters catch it and propel it upwards, confusing the ballistic angle of targeting drones. In silence it smashes through a wall - auditory dampeners shuttering even the sound of rending stone and breaking metal, atmospheric chill quenching even the disturbance of air that would make prey sense an onrushing giant of metal. In silence the blades of gold and silver undo the security drones. 

In silence, Solarel realizes the secret of this new power. Mirror burns brightly to be seen, to be understood, burns so brightly she ignites the sky. But perhaps it was that desire to be known that was weakness. When Solarel had become known her enemies had undone her in ways that they never could before. If Mirror found success then her world of contradictory dreams, her fashion, her mechanical secrets, her fragile heart would all be dragged into the light and put under the microscope. Weaknesses would be found, just like her weaknesses had been found. Secrets and self were too precious to share with the world.

A huntress must know, and must not be known. Speak not to the outsider.