The smoke from Toren's burned body still lingered in the air as the camp resumed its daily routine, a dull, tense, and fearful one, as the night approached.
The funeral pyre was a part of the tradition, but now it frightened Annalise more than it comforted her. It seemed like a reminder: You survived, but he didn't.
She was standing off to the side of the main square, a place that could only be conventionally called that. Worn-out tents, welded from remnants of synthetics and wreckage of car bodies, clung to the central statue — an ancient green bust of a general, now blackened and plastered with amulets and metal pendants.
Lyra was talking to someone around the campfire. A group of hunters dressed in armor made from fragments of old drones and scrap metal welded together cast sidelong glances at Annalise.
—Did you see what she did? There are chimeras inside this... — One whispered.
— Mutating in battle. It's unnatural. Our skills are usually stable. But hers... it's like she can feel the wax. — Said another, older man with a scar across his left cheek.
—It's like a... system error. Or worse. I've seen unstable reborns before. They either disappeared or lost their minds.
Annalise pretended not to hear, but the words burned through her.
"Unstable"...
"Error"...
She clenched her fists. The white wax began to pulse gently on her fingers, reacting to her inner tension.
[Warning: The level of psycho-emotional tension is approaching the threshold of instability.]
[Tip: Mental recovery is advisable.]
—You don't have to listen to them. — Lyra approached the girl, her voice soft but firm. — They're afraid. In this world, fear often takes the form of hatred.
Annalise nodded in silence.
— They were talking about... others like me.
Lyra nodded.
— A little bit. We call them the reborn. Those who awaken without memory, with non-standard powers. Almost everyone disappears, loses themselves, or... becomes a threat. We don't know why this is happening. Some believe that this is a consequence of a broken system.
Lyra nodded towards the skeleton of the old terminal, sticking out of the ground, overgrown with roots and moss.
—This system... what gives us skills, levels, power... it was once part of the technology of the Old World. Or his death. Someone says it's artificial intelligence. Others say it's more than that. But ever since the system started appearing to people, she started choosing. And it's not always right.
Annalise looked away. A fresh pain was still throbbing inside her—the pain that she felt not her own, but the monsters that her wax had touched.
—And you? Do you believe that I'm a mistake?
—No. — Lyra smiled, though sadly: — I think you're an aberration. And deviations are not always evil. Sometimes it's a harbinger of change.
She paused, then added, in a whisper: —There's an old legend. They say that when the system is completely distorted, someone will come who will be able to burn the rot from the inside. It is called a Pure Flame. A silly fairy tale. But those who have seen you turn wax into a weapon of pain are starting to whisper...
Annalise lowered her eyes. She wanted to hide from everything, but instead something lit up inside her again: uncertain, restless... but no longer passive.
If she was a mistake, she wanted to be a mistake that people would remember.
***
Annalise sat alone near the resource storage, watching the hunters whisper and look at each other. Their eyes lingered on her for too long. It was too much.
[Warning. Emotional overload detected.]
[The system is experiencing temporary disruptions in environmental analysis.]
[Recommended: Disable active wax streams.]
"Disable it?" — She looked at her palms.
Drops of white wax quietly rolled down my fingers like tears and disappeared into the dust. They appeared on their own—without her will. They lived their own lives.
Lyra came up to her again, now with a bandaged shoulder left over from the fight.
—It's not your fault. — She said softly: —But they're looking for someone to put their fear on.
Annalise looked at her with pain:
—And if I'm really not like that? If... something is broken?
Lyra sat down next to him.
—We're all broken. It's just that your wreckage is glowing.
At that moment, Charon, a tall man with gray temples, who had previously accepted her into the camp, stopped beside her.
—You've seen the system, haven't you? — He asked directly: — It has a connection to you.
Annalise nodded, her expression wary.
—And it's... changing. — She added: — It's as if it's growing with me. Or from within me.
Charon frowned, then looked up at the sky, where the faint lights of the satellites—once spy satellites, now useless—shimmered.
— There were a few like you. — He said finally: — The reborn. Their names were different, but the essence was the same. Not from this world, and not for him. They all disappeared... or remained, but changed beyond recognition.
[Warning: Instability is on the rise. A secondary "awakening" has been registered in the database.]
[Unlocked: Pain Suppression Subsystem.]
[New skill: "White Wax — Pain Transmission (Passive)".]
The words burned into my mind. My heart skipped a beat.
"Broadcasting pain...?" — She thought. "What is it?"
—We don't know what you are. — Charon said, staring into her eyes: —But if you're going to stay here, you'll have to learn to control it. Because fear is a weakness. And you can't afford to be weak when there are so few of us left.
A scream echoed in the distance. It was sharp and lonely.
Another hunter had disappeared. There was a shallow depression in the ground near the eastern wall of the camp. There were no signs of a struggle. No blood.
And in the silence that hung over the camp, the wax on Annalise's skin stirred. It knew where the pain was.