A NEW BEGINNING

Sristava is Ours Again!

Our forces, with significant support from the Beacon, have finally liberated Sristava from enemy control.

The Prim Council hails this pivotal victory as the beginning of the end of the conflict. However, reports from the battlefield suggest that, though weakened, the enemy continues to resist with tenacity. Even so, leadership assures the public that peace talks are within reach, and that Letras, under mounting pressure, will soon be forced to surrender.

Modificants are breaking through enemy defense lines with terrifying efficiency. Witnesses report that they advance without hesitation, leaving behind only dead bodies and shattered machinery.

Reng, the Beacon, Upper Prim

The darkness around him wasn’t empty. It breathed. It lived. From the depths came echoes, dark, senseless whispers tearing at his mind. He recognized them. The voices belonged to those he once knew, but had lost. And with them came others, voices that sounded different. Metallic, crackling like overheated wires.

He turned sharply, gripped by a chilling sense that he was no longer alone. He scanned the blackness, but saw nothing. Still, he knew they were there. He could hear them. Feel them. They lingered at the edge of his vision, always just out of reach.

He raised a hand to push them away, then froze in horror. His arm was different. Metallic. Cold. Wires slithered beneath his skin, protruding from his joints, coiling like whiptails, stabbing their sharp ends back into his living flesh. He opened his mouth in a silent scream. He wanted to shout, but his voice was caught somewhere deep in his throat.

“You finally see what you are,” came another voice, deeper this time. Louder. Two lights, two lifeless eyes, glowed with a dull light that pierced straight into his mind.

A werren stood just a few steps away, its body moving with unnerving precision. It approached.

“I’m not like you!” Reng finally shouted, but his words were swallowed by the echo.

The werren laughed. “But you are. Just look at yourself.”

Reng’s gaze dropped to his own body. The fingers he once knew were gone, replaced by mechanical constructs, wires, and artificial joints. His legs dragged heavily across the floor, as if they no longer belonged to him. The implants on his back began to pulse with pain, alive in their own rhythm.

“Where is the man you used to be?” the werren asked, taking another step forward.

Reng backed away, only to crash into someone behind him. He turned abruptly and saw a human silhouette, shrouded in dark mist. Through faint flickers, he recognized Ela. She said nothing. She only stood and stared at him. Around her feet coiled wires like whiptails, hissing and lashing out toward him.

“No! No! No!” he screamed and did the only thing he knew how to do.

He dug his fingers into his own flesh, trying to tear every foreign, lifeless part out of his body. This time it was harder. The wires bit into his fingers as he ripped them free. Blood ran down his chest, hot and sticky. But it wasn’t just blood. Shadows poured from the wounds. They writhed, hissed, forming shapes that reached for him with ghostly arms.

“It’s too late,” they whispered, their voices blending together into an indistinguishable murmur. “You’re ours. Forever.”

Reng collapsed to his knees, his own metal hands crushing his head.

“I’m not! I’m not!” he roared, as the darkness closed in tighter and tighter. The wires clamped down on him, crushing him, piercing deep into his flesh. He felt himself being dragged, devoured.

“No!”

The last thing he saw were the glowing eyes of the werren, moving in close to his face.

“We’ll remake you. But this time... this time we’ll do it right.”

He woke up screaming. Soaked in sweat and trembling, he shot upright in bed, disoriented. It took him a few seconds to remember where he was. The dormitory lay in its usual dim twilight, just like every night. On the bed beside him, the other sleeper turned over with a relieved sigh. Reng's nightmares must have disturbed him, but now that it was clear he was awake, the man could finally settle. He would sleep, while Reng did what he always did when his dreams became too much.

The icy water bit into his bare shoulders, sending thousands of needlepoints prickling across his skin in a freezing symphony. He shivered again, this time from the cold. But it felt refreshing. Much better than returning to bed and risking that his mind would once again deny him any peace.

The door slammed open. He knew he wasn’t alone anymore but didn’t pay attention. Why should he? He focused only on the cold water and the discomfort it brought. It was unpleasant, yes, but at least it was something he could control. Unlike his own thoughts.

“Maybe you should talk to someone about it,” came Miren’s voice.

He turned his head. She stood just a few steps away, artificial eyes reflecting genuine concern. That look made him uneasy, just like the scars that marred her otherwise symmetrical face. She looked like something dragged straight out of his nightmares.

“I don’t need to talk,” he muttered, turning his eyes back to the cold tile where streams of water trickled at his feet.

“Bullshit,” she said, frowning. She stepped closer and reached out to turn off the water, ignoring the glare he gave her.

“Get dressed,” she ordered firmly.

Only then did he register that unlike her, he was standing there naked, trembling from the cold. “We’re going for a walk. Sound good?”

Her tone was commanding, but not hostile. So after a brief hesitation, he obeyed.

They walked through the halls in silence. Miren moved with the ease of someone who knew the Beacon like the back of her hand, steadily quickening her pace. Reng followed quietly. He didn’t know where she was taking him, and truth be told, he had no idea what he’d say even if he tried. The corridors were completely empty at this hour, only the soft blue shimmer of light rippling along the walls. It was calming, as if the Beacon itself had decided that this was exactly what his mind needed.

Then, in front of him, a new space opened. One he hadn’t seen before.

“I knew you’d like it,” Miren said with a satisfied smile when she saw his expression and led him to the observation terrace. “Ela showed it to me. She said it’s the best place to escape everything that’s happening inside. Whether in the Beacon, or in your own head.”

Reng leaned against the railing in silence and looked out over the night-shrouded Prim. The city lights flickered below like a sea of stars, thousands of reflections shifting and dancing. For the first time, he felt something close to fascination. It was a different world entirely from the one he had known until now.

“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Miren asked. She was watching his face eagerly, clearly not yet tired of the view herself.

“It’s... huge,” he said quietly. For a moment, he forgot where he was, forgot everything that weighed on him. “I’ve never seen anything like it.”

Miren nodded. “I guess Karhen Rouz didn’t offer many beautiful views.”

Reng tensed. He turned toward her, surprise in his eyes. “How do you know that?”

Miren looked down. “Remember? Ela told me a lot about you. About the two of you.” Her voice was soft, but there was something more in it. Something he couldn’t quite name.

“And did she tell you everything?” he asked, sharper than he meant to.

“Maybe?” she admitted.

“Even how she left me there and stole everything I had?”

“She told me that too,” she nodded, then looked him straight in the eyes. “And believe me, it haunted her. But that’s over now. Besides, this isn’t about her anymore. It’s about you. She can’t understand. She didn’t go through what we did. But I... I know what it’s like to break, Reng. Maybe more than you think.”

There was concern in her voice, but something else too. She gently took his hand. “Ela taught me that when things get hard, you should find someone to help carry the weight. And you don’t have to be alone.”

Her grip grew firmer, warmer, but Reng pulled back. The touch felt too personal. Too close.

“I’m not good company for that sort of thing,” he said dryly and leaned away a little. He took a deep breath, hands still resting on the cold railing. The lights of Prim looked like another world. Distant. Unreachable. But Miren’s voice pulled him back to the present.

“Have you talked to her?” she asked, leaning on the railing beside him with feigned nonchalance.

“Hmmm,” he murmured, unsure of what else to say about his conversation with Ela. He still didn’t know how to feel about it.

“That’s good. You both needed it.”

“Maybe,” he allowed.

“I guess I envy you both,” she added quietly. “Maybe it’s not perfect between you, but you found each other. You have someone.”

Reng looked at her, caught off guard by the way she spoke about them. Maybe Ela hadn’t been as honest with her as Miren thought.

“What do you actually want from me?” he asked quietly at last. “What is this about? Why did you bring me here?”

For a moment, silence settled between them. A gust of wind rattled the railing, and Miren turned back toward the view.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “Maybe I just... didn’t want to be alone. And I thought maybe you felt the same.”

Reng looked away. Her words pierced into his mind and stung. They hit the exact place where he kept his own fear buried. But he didn’t know how to respond.

“You’re not going to save me,” he said finally. “And I’m not going to save you.”

“That’s not the point,” she replied, looking at him again. “We already belong to the Beacon. There’s nothing left to save. But maybe we could help each other. Just a little. With the loneliness…”

Her words lingered in the air. It was an offer. And a challenge. Reng didn’t know if he could accept it. But he knew one thing, he wasn’t going to find the answer tonight. Not now, with his head still full of nightmares.

“We should get some sleep,” he said, deciding to step back before this went somewhere he might regret.

That was why he couldn’t stay, couldn’t respond to what she was offering. He couldn’t afford to be vulnerable again... or to hurt someone else.

She nodded silently, but her fingers clenched tightly around the cold metal railing. Reng noticed how her knuckles had gone white, and that only confirmed he had made the right choice.

***

Early in the morning, Reng was jolted awake by the piercing sound of the daily alarm. It took him a moment to register what was happening, but his body was already reacting on instinct. Life on the front line had drilled routine deep into him, and it took over before he could consciously decide what to do next. Even though he was exhausted, he forced himself to move, got dressed, and headed for the assembly point where the day's tasks would be assigned.

After a sleepless night, he felt more drained than rested, but in a strange way, he was looking forward to the day’s program. Physical effort hurt, yes, but it gave him something to focus on. It kept the thoughts away. This time, however, something unexpected was waiting for him.

For the first time, he saw the armor up close. It felt disturbingly familiar. He reached out and touched it cautiously, as if doubting it was real. Even the texture was strange. Cold, smooth, and definitely solid. Reng couldn’t tell what it was made of, which meant it had to be Beacon tech. What shocked him most, though, was its weight. For how robust it looked, it was surprisingly light.

“Need help with that?” came Miren’s voice. She had appeared beside him, clearly noticing how lost he looked standing over the pile of gear, unsure where to begin.

“Don’t worry about it. Most of us had no clue how to put it on the first time,” she smiled and handed him the first piece.

With her help, he strapped on the chest plate, fitted the arm and leg sections, and connected everything into a tight shell that was supposed to protect him. Reng felt the armor adjust to his body. It was uncomfortably snug but still allowed him to move freely. It all felt wrong somehow. Inhuman. Like everything else around him.

“Looks good,” Miren said, nodding in approval. Then she attached the last piece to his left forearm.

“What’s this?” Reng asked, eyeing the strange device that didn’t seem like a regular part of the armor.

“That’s a mobzar injector.”

“A what?” He didn’t understand her at all.

“You’ll find out,” she grinned and gave him a little push toward the arenas.

Reng started walking, her words still echoing in his head. What the hell is mobzar? And why didn’t she just tell him? Every step in the new armor felt unnatural, but he knew he would have to get used to it. Just like everything else the Beacon had forced on him.

He stepped into the arena, where the other Modificants were already stretching or waiting for instructions. All of them were wearing the same armor as him. The sound of heavy boots hitting the ground mixed with the clatter of gear and the sharp commands bouncing off the tall walls.

“Don’t dawdle,” called Borin from the center of the space, eyeing him with a critical stare. “You’ve got something special lined up today.”

Reng gave a frown and nodded, moving into position with the others. He was the only one there who had never worn the full gear before, and he could feel it. Still, his uncertainty began to fade once the first task started. The armor was tight, but as he moved, he barely noticed it anymore. It felt like a second skin, responding to his every motion, and in many ways, it was clearly helping him.

As always, the morning began with a routine warm-up. Reng leapt across the obstacle course, moving with surprising ease as he reached the first target. The second round introduced virtual opponents. Nothing he hadn’t faced before. He executed a few evasive maneuvers and tried to keep pace with the others. He was clearly lagging behind, but he hoped more training and time in the arena would fix that. His heart was already pounding, and his breath was growing ragged. The exhaustion from the sleepless night was catching up to him.

“Injectors. Now!” came the order. Reng froze and looked around, confused, just as the others pressed a small button on their forearms. Without further thought, he did the same.

A sharp pain pierced his left forearm as a needle embedded itself into his skin, releasing the mobzar into his bloodstream. It hit him like an electric jolt, flooding every nerve. For a moment, he lost his balance, but then…

Everything changed.

His vision sharpened. Sounds around him became clearer. The movements of the other Modificants slowed down. He felt his heart racing, but instead of fatigue, a surge of energy rushed through him. The armor that had felt tight and unnatural now felt like part of him, something that belonged.

“Keep going!” someone shouted, and Reng hurled himself back into the virtual fight. This time, he moved faster, more precisely, with perfect control. Everything was clear, simple. Commands, movements, tasks. All flowed together in perfect harmony.

The virtual enemies were relentless. They appeared like shadows, striking with speed and precision that felt inhuman. But with mobzar coursing through his system, Reng felt like he could take them on. He struck, dodged, reacted faster than his mind could process. Motions that would have felt clumsy before now seemed flawless. He felt like someone else entirely.

Then, suddenly, the world went dark.

He came to in the locker room, seated on a bench, staring at the ceiling. The armor was still on him, but his muscles ached so badly he could barely move. His head throbbed, and there was a bitter metallic taste in his mouth.

“What... by the whiptail, was that?” he mumbled, trying to stand. His legs gave out beneath him.

Miren handed him a bottle of water and sat beside him. “The first dose is always the worst.” Her voice was quiet, almost apologetic. “You’ll learn to manage it. With time.”

Reng scowled. “And what if I don’t want to?”

Miren looked down. “You know as well as I do that no one here is going to ask what you want. But believe me, without mobzar, you’re nothing in this place. And if you’re nothing, you can become no one.”

Reng didn’t want to think about what exactly she meant by that. He looked around the locker room. It was empty. The only one who had stayed with him was Miren.

“How long was I out…?”

“A while,” she said quietly. “Once you get used to it, the return will be easier. I promise.”

Reng took a sip of water and wiped his sweaty forehead. “I don’t remember anything,” he admitted.

“That’s mobzar too,” Miren replied, her voice heavy with sadness. “It gives you exactly what you need. Speed. Strength. Precision. And forgetting.”

He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. His head buzzed, fragments of images whirling behind his eyelids, but none of them made sense. Only feelings remained. Uungraspable, confusing. And the fleeting memory of a momentary euphoria…

But even that was gone. All that remained was pain, exhaustion, and the sense that he had just lost the last bit of control he had over himself.

The fact that his training had moved to the next stage signaled that bigger changes were coming. When the stripe on his shoulder shifted from blue to green, Reng already suspected that something would follow. So when he stood in the elevator a few days later, rising toward the top of the Beacon, he knew that today marked the moment he would become a true Modificant.

Massive, dark, humming machines were already lined up on the landing platform. Reng recognized them. Similar ones had been used in the attempted takeover of Sindar Lad. He remembered seeing them circling overhead back then, but he had never been this close. The huge rotors spinning thick blades made it seem like these machines had no right to stay airborne. On each side were two jet thrusters, independently adjustable, giving them the ability to shift direction, ascend, and descend with unnatural agility.

Inside the cargo hold, ten Modificants in full armor were already packed in tight alongside twenty regular infantrymen. The soldiers looked at them with awe. Reng could feel their stares, open admiration in their eyes. He suspected they saw them the same way he once had. As unstoppable machines. But right now, Reng didn’t feel unstoppable. Not at all. And thankfully, the armor kept them from seeing how badly he was shaking at the thought of returning to the place where he had nearly been killed.

As the horuses lifted off, Reng had to brace himself not to fall. The engine vibrations rattled through his bones, and the hot air in the cargo bay felt heavy and suffocating. The smell of metal and oil brought back memories of broken machinery on the front lines. While the other Modificants sat calm and composed, Reng felt like a child pretending to be a soldier. Every motion of the aircraft gave him waves of nausea. He shut his eyes, trying not to think about the void below them. He had never been this high before, and he felt a very real fear rising from the depths beneath them.

“Pull yourself together, man!” a voice snapped in his helmet. Someone knocked hard against it, and when Reng turned his head, he saw Borin’s eyes through the visor. He recognized him instantly.

“Don’t look down. Just do what I tell you, got it?” Borin added. Reng nodded. What else could he do? He was trapped inside a metal box held aloft by rapidly spinning blades. He closed his eyes again, trying to resist the urge to stare into the depths.

He had no idea how long the flight lasted. It felt too short, but he didn’t know how fast the horuses actually were. He only snapped out of his haze when a command echoed through his helmet.

“Injectors, now!”

He hesitated. Since that first dose, he had been through several more training sessions, and it was just as Miren had said. He was getting used to it. But this was different. He was afraid of what was about to happen. He didn’t want to lose control again. He took a deep breath, but his hand still hovered, motionless, over the switch. His heart was pounding. It wouldn’t be any different than before, he tried to tell himself. But he couldn’t help it.

“What the hell are you doing?!” Borin’s angry voice exploded in his helmet. Reng flinched as he felt another hard knock, harsher this time. “If you wanna die, do it somewhere else!”

Then Borin hit the injector for him. The drug surged instantly through Reng’s body. His tense muscles loosened, and along with them, all fear and anxiety evaporated. He felt nothing. No worries. No doubts. Only pure, overwhelming energy flooding every cell. And then... silence. His mind sank into haze. His thoughts began to dissolve, disappearing one by one, until it felt like his consciousness was evaporating into the air.

Coming back was… quiet.

He was kneeling on the ground, blinking in confusion, as if that simple movement could clear away the fog still clinging to his mind. Slowly, the haze began to lift, revealing the horrific reality around him.

He looked down at his hands, buried deep in the dirt. They were filthy, but intact. Just like the rest of him. He wasn’t hurt. Not visibly. His body seemed untouched, yet the emptiness inside his head told him something was wrong.

He raised his eyes and scanned the landscape around him. His jaw clenched as he took in the familiar images of devastation he knew all too well.

A massive, torn-up plain stretched in every direction, scarred by explosions and strewn with corpses. Burned-out remains of machinery lay scattered among the wreckage of buildings. Everything was wrapped in a thick, choking smoke that stung his lungs with every breath.

He blinked again, this time trying to understand what had happened. Was this real? Or was he still trapped inside some simulation? His mind was blank. No memory of how he had gotten here. No clue what had unfolded.

Then he saw the blood.

It was everywhere. On his hands. On his armor. Soaked into the soil beneath his knees. Blood clung to him like a silent accusation. Was it his? In panic, he searched for wounds, but there were none. The blood wasn’t his. It belonged to the others. To those now lying dead all around him, dressed in the black-and-white uniforms of Letras.

With a jolt, the truth hit him. He had been part of this. While he stood, dozens, maybe hundreds, lay scattered in the dirt, never to rise again.

His vision blurred. The world around him began to dissolve as he tore off his helmet, revealing a face drenched in sweat. The smell of charred flesh and death hit him full force, and before he could stop himself, he vomited into the dirt. He managed to turn just in time to keep his armor clean. As if that somehow mattered.

“Surprisingly good job, man,” came a familiar voice from behind. Borin’s crooked smile twitched on his face. There was something unsettling in it, something he was trying to hide behind that casual tone. He stepped closer and gave Reng a friendly slap on the shoulder, like none of it meant anything.

“First time throwing up. Happens to all of us. Welcome to the club.”