A New Beginning

The first attempts to connect with the Beacon were brutal — surviving pioneers described the feeling as being “torn into a thousand pieces” and suffering a loss of cognitive integrity. The breakthrough came only with the development of the meco’s stabilizing core, a mental communicator that enabled a safe link. Yet we must remember that without their sacrifices, we would not be able to walk into the “golden light” today.

Path to the Light: The Early Days of Beacon Connection

By Alin Raksová, historian of technological development and specialized analyst of the societal impact of Werren integration.

Ela, Beacon, City of Prim

Two thousand three hundred and five days.

That’s exactly how much time had passed since Ela first stepped out of the transport that brought her to Prim. She hadn’t known what to expect back then. All she knew was that her mother, shortly before she died, had secured her a place in the Institute’s career system. And so, the not-yet-grown girl who had known nothing but the grey walls of Karhen Rouz became, over the course of five years, a young and successful woman.

A Mediator.

She stood in front of the mirror in her red and black uniform, staring at herself in disbelief. Her fingers brushed the embroidered emblem on her chest. A symbol of authority. A symbol of responsibility.

But in the mirror, she didn’t see only success—she saw flickers of the losses that had led her here. How many of her choices along the way did she regret? And how many had been the right ones? The feeling of uncertainty settled on her chest like a weight she couldn’t shake off.

“You look perfect,” said a voice behind her.

Soft, but not entirely human.

Ela flinched slightly and turned around. Seren was standing there—calm and unsettling as always. Her intangible body seemed nearly translucent in the light. Ela wondered if it was just her mind, or if the Beacon had truly shaped Seren to look like a ghost.

“That’s only because of you,” she replied, a bitter smile tugging at her lips.

It was true. but it left a bitter taste.

Seren’s presence still unsettled her in an odd way. There was something intangible about her, as if every word she spoke was the shadow of something deeper, hidden beneath the surface. And that’s what gnawed at Ela.

She sighed and ran her fingers along the smooth hem of her uniform, as if to remind herself where she was and why. But her gaze drifted back to Seren. She’d been thinking about her ever since she realized Seren had become an inseparable part of her, and still she couldn’t grasp the nature of her presence.

So many questions, and so little courage to ask them.

Still, bit by bit, the hesitation began to crack.

“You’re not really her, are you?” she asked directly, though the words stung on her tongue.

She suspected the answer—whatever it would be—wouldn’t please her. But at least it might help her understand the point of it all.

Seren smiled, but the smile was empty.

“I’m a part of her. A small fragment. A trace she left behind when she chose to go.”

Ela stared at her, searching for something real to convince her. But Seren’s gaze was unreadable.

“Why did she leave?” Ela asked quietly after a moment.

“She was looking for answers,” the apparition replied, her voice strangely distant.

“And I can only hope she found them.”

“She’s dead,” Ela stated flatly. “I’m not sure that counts as success.”

Seren smiled faintly, as if Ela’s words didn’t faze her in the slightest.

“But you are here—exactly as she intended.”

A flicker of anxiety passed through her as she realized she might be just a piece in someone else’s plan—one she had no knowledge of. She didn’t like the idea. But at the same time, she felt a strange thrill. Her mother had wanted her to one day take her place among the Werren. Her lessons, the long stories, the endless memorization she had drilled into her—suddenly it all began to take on a different shape.

“I almost didn’t make it. If this was all part of her plan, it wasn’t exactly well thought out.”

Seren laughed. Briefly, softly—but there was something faintly mischievous in her laughter.

“Or maybe she trusted that Fate would take care of it. History doesn’t ask how you became a Mediator. What matters is—you did.”

She was right. Ela knew that. But she couldn’t shake the doubts from her mind. They lingered like whispers, lost in the endless twists of her thoughts. Her reflections were interrupted by a gentle signal that brushed against her subconscious. It was a strange, almost intimate kind of mental touch—unlike anything she’d felt before.

Now that she could perceive the Beacon as more than just a cold, foreign structure, a new world began to open before her.

She walked through the corridors, and with every step, it felt as if the very structure around her trembled. The previously plain, glossy walls came alive with waves of color, emotional currents flowing before her eyes. Yellow with a touch of orange rippled around her, as if reflecting her joy and anticipation.

For the first time, she would be present when Tonot awoke—not just physically, but on a deeper level she could now perceive thanks to the meco.

The technical room was just as it always had been: cold, austere. But Ela perceived it differently now. It was as if her mind was dancing along invisible threads of information, which the meco was actively untangling and weaving back into a dense web. Every machine, every screen was no longer just a cold piece of metal—it was part of a living organism, and she was now a part of it too.

Her eyes drifted to the countdown on the display, ticking toward Tonot’s awakening.

It moved as always, but this time she noticed something else. Synchronization symbols were blinking on the screen—ten icons closing one by one in a predetermined sequence. But something wasn’t right. She blinked. Nine of the symbols were unique, but the tenth was repeating.

“This isn’t right,” she murmured.

Why was one symbol repeating? What did it mean?

Her fingers hovered motionless above the console. The meco, which had been feeding her streams of information just moments ago, was now silent.

No alerts, no warnings.

But she could see it.

Feel it.

The sequence was off.

Something was grinding—like a machine that runs smoothly on the outside, but inside, its parts are already cracking. She frowned, but before her thoughts could fully form, the silence was broken by a hiss.

The pod opened, and Tonot stepped out.

His tall figure, perfectly symmetrical in the Werren design, moved fluidly toward her. When their eyes met, Ela was overcome by a completely different kind of sensation—something between awe and a nameless longing to belong to something greater.

“Good morning, Mediator Ela,” he said, and this time she felt it wasn’t just words, but something more.

It was a thought, a surge of energy that reached her through their connection. She felt his joy, his determination—and yet, at the edge of her perception, a trace of something strange.

Something she couldn’t name.

“Good morning, Tonot,” she replied, returning his smile, though she still hesitated on how exactly to interpret that strange feeling.

“Anything new while we were away?” Tonot asked lightly, stepping toward the exit.

Ela realized the question was entirely unnecessary.

She now understood that all the news and reports she used to bring him—he had already known. His link to the Beacon kept him constantly one step ahead. And yet, he continued this ritual. Maybe because he enjoyed their conversations—or maybe because they meant something more to him.

“What kind of news would you like to hear first?” she asked, her voice perhaps too formal.

“It would please us greatly if, say, an untouched, fully matured field of laghota had been discovered in the Lech Valley—or if a meteorite fell on southern Letras.

Hard to say which of the two would delight us more.”

“Mete… meteor what?” Ela hesitated.

She had no idea what Tonot was talking about, and the confusion only emphasized her embarrassment. Tonot’s eyes, usually calm, now lit up with a flicker of amusement. His laugh was unsettling in how oddly human it sounded.

“A meteorite, dear Ela, is a large chunk of rock that could fall from the sky and forever solve our problems with the entire South—and with rebellious Letras.”

Ela stared at him for a moment, unable to process his words.

“That might be a bit too cruel,” she whispered at last, but inside her, uncertainty stirred.

Tonot’s tone had been playful—but what if he meant it?

“Perhaps,” he admitted, a faint smile touching his metallic face, and he stopped before a door Ela knew all too well.

She knew what lay beyond: a part of the Beacon she had never been allowed to enter. But this time, Tonot turned to her.

“Are you ready to become part of our world?”

She held her breath. She understood—Tonot had decided to finally accept her. He now saw her as a true Mediator, not just a useless attachment. So she only nodded, breath caught in her throat, as tension curled in her stomach.

The doors opened with a soft hiss, and Tonot allowed her in for the first time. Ela crossed the threshold, and her breath hitched for a moment. She hadn’t known what to expect. But what she saw was beyond anything she could have imagined.

Tall regeneration tanks filled the room like silent giants. Each one was filled with a clear liquid, and in some of them, she could make out human silhouettes—bodies floating in perfect stillness, as if asleep.

“These are…?” Ela began, but her voice faltered.

“True modificants,” Tonot replied. “At this stage, they are already regenerating. It’s a process that allows them to surpass the limits of the human body. They heal better—and survive our invasive interventions more efficiently.”

Ela stepped closer to one of the tanks. Her fingers almost touched the cold glass when she saw the face of a young woman inside. Her eyes were closed, but there was something strangely restless in her expression.

“Are they… conscious?” she asked.

“No,” Tonot replied. “They are in induced sleep. It has proven necessary. Without it, regeneration would fail—human consciousness instinctively resists the process.”

“And what happens to them afterward?” Ela turned to face him. Her voice was firm now, as if demanding the truth without embellishment.

Tonot hesitated for a moment—or at least it seemed that way. Then his eyes met hers. “That will be determined based on their performance.”

She looked away, recoiling slightly. “Performance? That makes them sound like… resources.”

“Everyone is a resource,” Tonot said plainly. “Even you, Mediator. In the end—so am I.”

Ela stared at him in silence. The words echoed in her mind, connecting with her on a level that unsettled her. A resource. Did that mean she, too, was merely a tool to him? Part of his plan? Or did he mean it differently?

She turned back to the tanks. Her gaze drifted again to the face of the young woman inside. Closed eyes. Still body. She looked peaceful—but something about her expression felt wrong. As if something was missing. Or perhaps something was too much.

“What if you’re wrong?” Ela whispered at last, so quietly she wasn’t sure if Tonot would hear. But he answered immediately.

“We are not wrong. You simply don’t yet see the whole truth.”

“And will I ever?”

“We believe so. For now, you see all you need to.”

His voice was calm, but within his words lay something unyielding—something that left no room for resistance.

“Tomorrow, Commander Dimo will visit the Beacon,” he continued. “I want you to study all relevant information thoroughly and, together with Nylen, lead the negotiations. The time is near when we will finally be able to show the world that the Beacon can take care of the world outside.”

Ela wanted to object, but the words caught in her throat. Not because she didn’t know what to say—but because Tonot didn’t give her the chance. He turned away, and the door closed behind him with a soft hiss.

She stood there, motionless, unable to tear her eyes away from the tanks. It felt as though she was surrounded by shadows reaching for her consciousness. And then… a cold whisper.

“What do you think of the world unfolding before you?”

Ela turned sharply, her heart pounding. She hadn’t expected her—but in that moment, she realized this might now forever be a part of her everyday life. Her mind would be forced to split between the real world and the one that freely inhabited her thoughts, wearing the face of her mother.

“I don’t know,” she admitted quietly, turning back to the figure of the future modificant floating in the tank. “I’m trying to understand it, but I can’t.”

“What do you mean?” Seren stepped beside her—and that’s when Ela noticed she couldn’t see Seren’s reflection on the glass. A chill ran down her spine. It meant the figure wasn’t real, and she was speaking to a vision.

“I… I think I saw something today,” she confessed, hesitating slightly. “In the technical room, before Tonot woke up.”

She recalled the repeating symbol on the display—and now the thought of it burned in her mind like a red-hot wire.

“I know exactly what you’re talking about,” Seren said, surprising her with a faint smile. “A tiny error, unnoticed for over twenty years. Not even the system caught it. And then you show up—and suddenly, you see it right away. Strange, isn’t it?”

Ela nervously bit her lower lip. “Why?”

“Because it’s not a coincidence, Ela. That error is there for a reason. And the fact that you’re the only one who sees it—that has meaning too.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” she protested. “If it’s an error, why isn’t anyone fixing it? Why…” She stopped. Seren was watching her with a look that made her feel like she already knew the answer.

“Because the system is blind,” Seren replied softly. “And a single error can change our entire world. Think about that.”

Ela remained rooted in place. Her mind was spinning with too many things, none of which made sense. She felt Seren could say more—but she didn’t.

“Why can’t you just tell me the whole truth?” she snapped, a little more irritated now.

Seren smiled. It wasn’t a reassuring smile—it reminded Ela that she still didn’t know enough.

“No one gives you the truth, Ela. You have to find it for yourself.”

She stood frozen, her eyes still fixed on the regeneration tanks. Seren vanished just as suddenly as she had appeared, leaving only emptiness behind. No one gives you the truth, Ela. You have to find it for yourself.

“How am I supposed to find it, when nothing here makes sense?” she muttered to herself, as if hoping Seren might hear and come back. But instead of an answer, the oppressive silence only deepened.

Ela rubbed her face wearily. That error. She could still see it in her mind. One repeating symbol among the others—something that wasn’t supposed to be there. Why hadn’t Seren just told her? Why dance around it like it was some riddle wrapped in fog?

She felt a soft pressure in her head. Another wave of information, fed by the meco, as if trying to divert her attention. But this time, it didn’t work. Ela knew she had to direct that feeling somewhere.

And then a single name came to her. Vin.

That meddling technician who knew more about the systems than anyone else. When it came to Werren tech, he was the one who could find answers—or at least ask better questions.

Ela hesitated. Their last encounter hadn’t ended well. Maybe she should wait. Maybe she should let it go. But then she realized there was no point in postponing. Tonot wouldn’t give her the truth, and Seren clearly preferred to serve riddles wrapped in clouds of secrecy.

So if anyone could shed light on this—it was Vin.

***

Ela found him exactly where she’d expected—in his workshop. The room was cluttered with a chaotic mix of tools, cables, and glowing displays. Vin stood at one of the monitors, feverishly scribbling notes, completely absorbed in his work. He didn’t notice her until she spoke.

“Vin,” she called, a little nervously. He turned around, raising his eyebrows in surprise. She hesitated for a moment.

“I wanted… to apologize.”

Vin looked at her as if he couldn’t believe what he’d just heard.

“Apologize?” he repeated, his tone a mixture of curiosity and suspicion.

Ela cleared her throat and rubbed the back of her neck.

“Last time I left here… well, not exactly on good terms. But you helped me. Really. I made it through because of you. I just… never said it. So… thank you.”

Vin studied her for a moment, then smiled—this time genuinely. “You didn’t have to, Mediator. I learned long ago not to take things personally.”

Ela rolled her eyes. “I’ll try to be… calmer next time?”

“Everyone says that,” he chuckled. “And no one ever means it.”

Ela smiled slightly, relieved. She’d said what she needed to say, and now it was time to ask what had brought her here.

“Vin… do you understand the synchronization protocols of the Werren?” she asked suddenly.

The technician froze at her question. His smile faded, replaced by a look of curiosity.

“Why?”

“I’m trying to understand them, but something still doesn’t add up,” she said, keeping her voice as calm as she could.

Vin set his tools aside and slowly stepped closer. “If you want to understand, we have to start with the Unconscious.”

Ela frowned in confusion. Vin sighed, glanced around the room, and grabbed a half-eaten pastry from a plate nearby.

“Imagine this is the Unconscious,” he began, holding the bun up. “A shared space where all Werren entities are interconnected.”

Ela blinked. She already suspected this wouldn’t be easy to follow, but she nodded to encourage him to go on. Vin slowly broke the pastry into smaller pieces and laid them on the table.

“Each of these crumbs is a separate entity. It has a name, a personality, and contributes to the whole.”

“Okay,” Ela nodded, still looking uncertain. “And what happens to those pieces next?”

Vin picked one of the crumbs and started crumbling it further. “Each entity gives a part of itself—a crumb—which is added to a shared mass.” He pressed the crumbs into a small ball. “When combined, they form a universal personality. This ball…” he held it up so Ela could see it, “...is a Werren in a shell. It’s a fragment of all of them together.”

Ela stared at the ball as if it held the answer to all her questions. “And when that personality returns to the Unconscious?” she asked after a moment.

Vin crumbled the ball back into dust. “It brings new information back to its source entities. Each crumb returns to where it came from. And the cycle continues.”

“How many entities are usually in one shell?”

“Usually ten,” Vin answered. “The synchronization protocol is set for exactly that number.”

Ela took a deep breath. “And what if… some of the symbols were missing? Or repeated?”

Vin’s expression hardened immediately. He looked at her intently, as if searching for answers in her eyes.

“Why are you asking?” His voice had grown noticeably quieter.

Ela felt her stomach twist. “Just theoretically,” she tried to smile, lightening the mood.

Vin frowned. “Repeated symbols could lead to instability. The shell wouldn’t have enough diverse components to form a stable personality. Besides… something like that would be flagged by the system instantly.”

Ela nodded, but inside, everything clenched. The system hadn’t flagged anything. Seren had been right.

Her eyes drifted to the workbench in the corner. Last time, two mechanical eyes had been lying on the metal surface. Now they were gone.

“Where are they?” she blurted out without thinking.

“Where is what?” Vin asked, confused. Then he followed her gaze. “Ah, the eyes. We’re testing them.”

“Testing?” Ela repeated urgently. “Where?”

Vin lifted a hand to calm her. “Don’t worry. They’re where they’re supposed to be. We’ll soon find out whether they’re ready for full integration.”

Ela didn’t know what to say. She only knew she couldn’t keep waiting. She had to find out how Miren was doing. And she had to do it now.

***

She found her in the ward set apart from the other patients. The room was dimly lit, interrupted only by the blinking of monitors and indicator lights. The sight alone made Ela’s throat tighten. A small figure lay on the bed, surrounded by tubes and sensors. This isn’t the Miren I remember, Ela thought—but she pushed the thought away immediately.

Slowly, she stepped closer to the bed until she finally dared to reach out. Gently, she took her hand—cold, but alive. Miren flinched slightly, then opened her eyes. Ela froze. She had expected it, but nothing could have prepared her. The mechanical eyes were different. The glow of their lenses was unnatural, almost hypnotic. Ela didn’t dare move.

“Ela?” Miren whispered, staring at her in surprise. Her voice was weak, but in those two syllables was hope. “Is it really you?”

Ela tried to smile. “It’s me.”

Miren’s lips trembled. “I can see you,” she said—and suddenly her whole body began to shake in a cry that lacked the one essential thing: tears. Mechanical eyes, it seemed, weren’t built for that. “I can see you!”

Ela felt as if her heart had stopped. The joy in Miren’s voice was infectious—but also heartbreaking. She sees me. She sees me. A miracle? No. A magic called modification. Vin’s miraculous hands had given her sight back. But maybe the question worth asking was—at what cost?

She heard cautious footsteps, and when she turned, she saw Vin in the doorway. His expression was part triumph, part nervous tension.

“How are you feeling?” Ela asked, ignoring Vin behind her. She stroked the girl’s hand, trying to draw her focus away from the overwhelming flood of sensations.

“It’s strange,” Miren replied. She slowly raised her hand and touched the area around her eyes. “I feel… everything. It’s sharper, but…” She hesitated. “It’s a completely different world.”

Ela gave her an encouraging smile. “You’ll get used to it. You’ll see.”

“This… this is amazing!” Miren’s lips stretched into a smile. “Everyone will see that the Beacon can work miracles. That even I…” Her voice caught, and then she wrapped her arms tightly around Ela. “Thank you, Ela. Thank you…”

Ela didn’t know what to say. Inside, joy and anxiety swirled together. And fear. She knew this wasn’t the end.

“Miren, I’ll be here whenever you need me,” she said at last, giving her one last firm squeeze.

***

The central hall was still austere, but this time it felt imposing. The metal walls swallowed every word, and the strictly geometric lines of the furniture reminded her the room was built for function. Ela realized that unlike during Brooks’s visit, when the hall had glowed with warm golden tones, today it stood bathed in cold light. She knew it wasn’t a coincidence. The Beacon always reflected the nature of the moment. And today, there was no room for warmth.

Tonot stood in the center of the hall, with Lazzal—Nylen’s Werren—beside him, and Nylen himself. All of them appeared unshakable, as if nothing in the world could disturb their composure. Ela felt like an intruder. Her new uniform might have shouted her importance, but inside, she felt small and lost. And when Commander Dimo entered the room with his team, her sense of unease deepened. A tall, broad-shouldered man with sharp features and a hawk-like gaze that seemed to see straight through a person.

“Commander Dimo,” Ela addressed him in a steady voice, though it took all her self-control to mask her nerves. “Thank you for accepting our invitation.”

Nylen nodded in agreement and smoothly took over. “We know your time is valuable, Commander. That’s why we’re here to present a project that has the potential to transform not only the battlefield—but our future.”

“I have to admit, I’m curious,” Dimo replied with blunt directness. “I assume what you show me will be worth all the vague promises that came with the invitation.”

Ela caught Dimo’s gaze, sharp enough to rattle even seasoned diplomats. “This project isn’t about promises, Commander,” she said firmly. “It’s about results. And today, those results will speak for themselves.”

Dimo studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Then, Mediator, it’s all on you.”

Ela didn’t wait for further questions. She led the delegation down a corridor that now felt narrower than ever. Every step echoed like the sound of her uncertainty. When they reached the heavy lab doors, she knew she couldn’t hesitate. All eyes were on her. This was her first true test—to prove herself in her new role.

The doors opened, revealing the hall of regeneration tanks. Her stomach tightened again. She knew what lay beyond, but the sight still hit her. The same towering cylinders filled with liquid, human bodies suspended inside.

“What you see here is not just medical technology,” Ela began, her voice surprisingly steady. “It’s a bridge between what humanity once thought impossible—and what is now becoming reality. Each man and woman in these tanks is undergoing a process that regenerates, enhances, and transcends the limits of the human body.”

Ela felt Dimo’s gaze settle on her. “And those people—who are they?” he asked suddenly, his tone unexpectedly sharp.

Nylen caught her eye and offered a subtle smile of encouragement. Ela felt his support through the meco, too. “Volunteers. Each one was carefully selected. They agreed to the process and the risks that come with it.”

“Volunteers who know they may become weapons?” Dimo didn’t look away. His voice was probing.

“Volunteers who want to contribute to our shared future,” Ela answered firmly. “This isn’t a sacrifice, Commander. It’s an opportunity—to be part of something greater.”

Dimo nodded, but his expression remained unreadable.

Nylen resumed the presentation, explaining the project’s details—regeneration, enhanced capabilities, how the bodies in the tanks were being transformed beyond human limits. Commander Dimo listened in silence, the blue glow from the tanks reflecting in his eyes.

Ela tried to focus on his words, but her mind kept drifting around the room. And then she saw her.

Miren.

A face she knew all too well. A face framed by pale light and transparent fluid. Closed eyes, a motionless, damaged body—now calm, yet tense, as if waiting for the next breath. For a moment, Ela felt the world stop.

Her chest tightened, and she struggled to breathe. Her heart pounded in a wild, erratic rhythm. What is she doing here? Why is she in that tank? Her mind flooded with questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She clenched her fists, but no matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t look away. Her own voice, from somewhere far off, was screaming: I promised her we’d make it through. I told her I’d take care of her. I said I’d bring her back to life.

“Ela?” Nylen’s voice was quiet but concerned. He had noticed her lingering gaze on one of the tanks. “Is everything alright?”

She flinched, as if waking from a bad dream. With effort, she tore her eyes away from Miren and gave a forced nod.

“Yes… yes, everything’s fine.” Her voice sounded weak, like it belonged to someone else. And yet she could feel Commander Dimo’s eyes studying her, his piercing stare cutting through her fragile mask.

“Please continue,” she said, but the words felt hollow. She was sure no one was really listening. Her mind was still at the tank. Just yesterday, Miren had spoken to her, laughed, thanked her for the opportunity. And now she floated in a tank like a soulless shell.

Through the meco, she felt Tonot’s concerned mental touch. He must have sensed the flood of emotions overtaking her. It was uncomfortably intimate and sharp. He was right. She was vulnerable. But she was also angry—at him, at herself, at the world.

She barely noticed how the meeting ended. Commander Dimo left the Beacon with a satisfied expression, and Ela stood frozen in place, as if anchored to the floor.

“We assume you knew her,” Tonot said calmly, though his voice held a quiet tension.

Ela closed her eyes. Every word felt like it burned into her chest.

“I spoke to her just yesterday,” her voice broke. “She told me she was looking forward to a new life.”

“That girl volunteered several days ago. She was convinced she owed us a debt for saving her.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Ela turned to Tonot, her eyes full of tears she refused to let fall.

“We sense your doubts,” Tonot said steadily. “But even those doubts will lead you forward. You are one of us now, Mediator. And so is she. And believe me—the Beacon does not abandon its own.”

***

It was deep into the night, but instead of sleeping, Ela stood in the technical chamber. The synchronization pod was sealed, and through the milky glass she could make out the heavy metallic mass of Tonot’s resting body. The display beside the pod was dim. She ran her fingers across it.

Ten symbols. Nine unique, one repeating.

An error no one else had seen. Only her.

She took a deep breath just as a whisper sounded behind her.

“What will you do now?”

Ela didn’t turn around. She simply sighed.

“Something’s wrong. This… what’s happening here, it’s not right. I can’t explain it, but something inside me says this isn’t how it’s supposed to be.”

“Is that why we’re here?”

She nodded, her fingers sliding thoughtfully across the console again.

“Back at the tanks, you told me a single error could change the world.”

“That’s right.”

Ela clenched her fists. Her mind felt like it was on fire.

“What if there were more errors? Say… ten in total?”

“Then you’d find the true Werren.”

She lowered her gaze, trying not to think of Miren, trapped in a tank. So helpless…

“Would he put an end to all this madness?”

“That’s a question you’ll have to ask him yourself—if you have the courage to do so.”

There was only a faint spark of hope in Seren’s words, but it was still better than the darkness seeping through the Beacon’s walls, threatening to rob her of faith in a better future.

“Then tell me what I have to do,” she whispered as the panel lit up with a bright glow.