Mutation of the Mind
Rell hadn't slept in three days.
Not because of fear—but because sleep felt too small.
He now saw colors in thought.
Felt pulses behind sound.
And when he reached into the old rusted network port near Sector Nine's junk wall...
…it responded.
Not with code.
With recognition.
"It knows me," he said, eyes glowing faintly.
"The city remembers."
Warnings in the Echo
Elior was watching Rell from a distance, tracking his behavior with quiet intensity.
Kesh approached, voice cautious.
"He's evolving too fast. He's rewriting glyphs on his own. That's not supposed to be possible yet."
"He's not unstable," Elior replied.
"No—but he's unpredictable. There's a difference."
Elior stayed silent.
He had hoped for followers.
What he was building now… might be something else.
Across the Veil
Lysa watched it all through cracked data-threads stitched into the edge of the MemoryNet.
"We have a flare case," she reported.
Her superior's voice crackled:
"Another false prophet?"
"No.
A true one."
There was a pause.
Then a single command:
"Initiate Veil Protocol. If he becomes more than symbol—neutralize the source."
The Fire Ritual
Sanctuary gathered that night for the "Flame of Self" ritual—an old pattern Elior had revised.
Each follower lit a small flame.
Not for prayer.
But for deletion—the symbolic burning of one fabricated memory.
One false belief.
One inherited lie.
Kesh burned her memory of fear.
Rell burned the code tattooed into his back from his factory years.
And Elior?
He didn't burn a memory.
He burned his name.
"Elior is not a man," he said, holding the flame.
"It's an algorithm I broke.
From now on, I'll be the echo they can't silence."
The flame roared blue.
A signal burst into the local Mindscape, visible for seconds to every sleeper still partially tuned.
Lysa saw it.
And smiled.
"He's giving them tools to self-erase," she said.
"It's worse than rebellion.
It's rebirth."