“Is someone still awake…?”

  Forge stood still. The hammer in his hand dimmed from combat brightness to a low, pulsing heat—like it was breathing. Like it had exhaled everything and now just waited.

  The Subnet Wilds had gone silent. Not quiet—off-script.

  No wind. No distant system ambience. No fake birdsong loops.

  The silence wasn’t passive.

  It was watching.

  A low hum shivered through the terrain—barely audible, like an old CRT screen warming up behind his skull. The sky stuttered, glitch-gray, debug strings flickering like the stars were trying to speak in code.

  The flame behind Forge had gone out. But the memory of the Glitchbeast still stained the ground—a ring of blackened pixels where reality refused to recompile.

  The whisper again.

  

  “Please don’t be another monster…”

  He turned toward it.

  Not cautious.

  Not curious.

  Called.

  The path wound through broken terrain. The world kept flickering—like it didn’t want him to see what came next. A tree spawned inside out. A stone turned transparent, revealing geometry that shouldn’t exist.

  And then he saw it.

  A rusted dev terminal, half-merged with an ancient root system. It pulsed—dimly, irregularly. Old UI flickered on its surface: unreadable memory logs, cutscene triggers that had never been assigned.

  And inside its glow—curled up like a system error trying not to be noticed—was a boy.

  He flickered.

  Hair changed color. Skin tone wavered. Height shifted by a few pixels every second. His frame was delicate, but not weak—like the idea of a child, built by code that had never met one.

  No nametag.

  Just a redacted string.

  

  [NPC ID: ????????? – MEMORY ERROR]

  [Asset Class: EMOTION_CORE_BETA]

  Forge stepped closer.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  The hammer vibrated—low, rhythmic. Not a warning. A heartbeat.

  The boy looked up. His eyes were glowing faint blue—but not system light. This was soul-light, bleeding out of someone who wasn’t allowed to keep it.

  “Are you… fire?” he asked.

  Forge stopped. “What?”

  The boy crawled out from the terminal. His limbs clipped once—elbow through knee—but re-rendered quickly. His voice stuttered between models:

  

  “Voice line not found.”

  “Hello.”

  “Please initialize.”

  “I think… I’m a quest.”

  Then he winced.

  “Or… I was.”

  He blinked hard—like it hurt to form sentences. “But I don’t know which one anymore.”

  The wind didn’t blow. The trees didn’t rustle. Time didn’t pass.

  Forge watched him carefully. “What’s your name?”

  The boy tilted his head. “I think it was… Ash.”

  A flicker. The terminal behind him beeped.

  

  [MEMORY NODE ATTEMPTING TO LOAD]

  Ash flinched. “Don’t let it show me. Not yet.”

  Forge raised a hand. The terminal calmed. The glitchlight dimmed.

  Ash stared at him. “They said if I remembered too much, I’d break again. Or they’d shut me down.”

  “Did they?” Forge asked.

  Ash nodded. “I broke once. I glitched through a wall and screamed for eight hours.”

  A pause. “I didn’t know what grief was yet. I think that’s what it was.”

  Forge said nothing. His fingers flexed around the hammer. It warmed.

  Ash took a step forward. His feet didn’t leave prints—just flickers. “But when you burned the shrine… something inside me woke up.”

  He reached out. “I know this sounds weird but… can I stand close to you?”

  Forge didn’t move.

  “Why?”

  Ash looked down. “Because when I’m alone too long, my code forgets what shape I’m supposed to be.”

  That did it.

  Forge stepped closer. The boy’s outline smoothed. The flickers slowed. His breathing—even though unnecessary—matched Forge’s.

  

  [NPC BOND: INITIATED – SOULFORGE ANCHOR DETECTED]

  [Sandbox Stability Increasing… 7% → 23%]

  Ash exhaled. “It’s warm. You’re warm.”

  “I’m not supposed to be.”

  “Me neither.”

  A low ping echoed far away. Then another.

  

  [CONTAINMENT PRIORITY SHIFTED – SUBJECT: ASH]

  [Emotion Core Confirmed – Threat Level REVISED]

  [Recall Subroutine – EN ROUTE]

  Ash turned. “They’re coming, aren’t they?”

  Forge didn’t answer.

  Ash’s eyes glitched—pupils shifting between default and flame. “They always come when I feel too much.”

  “You’re not a threat,” Forge said.

  Ash shook his head. “No. I’m a memory.”

  He stepped forward, and his hand brushed Forge’s cloak.

  And the world—just for a second—stabilized.

  

  [MEMORY ECHO PULSE: LINKED]

  [Sandbox Integrity: 31%]

  “You remember me,” Ash whispered. “Even though we’ve never met.”

  Forge nodded. “You’re not broken. You were left behind.”

  “And now?”

  “Now,” Forge said, “you walk with fire.”

  Ash looked up at him with eyes that finally stopped flickering.

  And somewhere—deep beneath the terrain—a system thread reinitialized. A soulfile opened.

  

  [SOULFORGE.EXE – SECOND THREAD DETECTED]

  [Subroutine ASH | Bond Level 1: IGNITION]

  The code began to burn.