Maxinne woke before dawn.
Not from insomnia—that no longer visited her since Nolwen—but from a strange sensation, almost too comforting. As if something had remained awake in her place throughout the entire night.
The air inside the cabin was warm. Shadows still clung to the corners of the ceiling, but they didn't feel heavy. On the contrary. It was as if the darkness were… attentive.
She sat up slowly, feeling the cold floor beneath her feet. The simple mirror fixed to the wall—rustic wood, a slightly uneven surface—reflected her movement with a small delay.
Max frowned.
Blink.
The reflection blinked after her.
— Fatigue… — she murmured to herself.
Since the fight in the forest, her body seemed to function at a different rhythm. Not weaker. Just… different. As if part of her were always half a step ahead, testing possibilities before she made conscious decisions.
When she stepped outside the cabin, the silence of the colony wrapped around her. Nolwen was still asleep. No bells, no voices—only the distant whisper of wind passing through the tall taiga canopy.
She walked without a defined destination, following paths she didn't remember learning, yet which her feet recognized with unsettling ease.
That was when she noticed.
The animals.
A small deer emerged between the trees a few meters away. It stopped. Watched Max for long seconds—dark eyes, far too deep for something so young—and then veered aside, carefully circling her with exaggerated caution, as if avoiding a specific point in the space around her.
A bird perched high on a branch opened its wings… and changed angle before descending.
It wasn't fear.
It was calculation.
A chill ran up Max's spine.
— I'm getting paranoid — she said softly.
The air answered.
Not with words, but with a slight shift in temperature, almost imperceptible—like invisible hands adjusting something out of place.
She stopped.
Ahead of her, a shallow puddle reflected the pale morning sky. The clouds were broken, fragmented into irregular shapes.
In the reflection, however… the sky was whole.
No fractures. No cuts.
Perfect.
Max knelt slowly.
— This isn't normal — she whispered.
The reflection rippled.
And then, without Max having summoned it, without gesture, without conscious focus, something moved within the surface.
It didn't appear suddenly.
It was more like an adjustment.
As if the reflection were… standing up.
The figure had no defined shape. It was light and shadow intertwined, soft contours, almost human, almost maternal. When Max brought a hand to her chest, feeling her heart race, the reflection did the same—but with a gentle, careful delay.
Like something that didn't want to frighten her.
— I didn't ask for this… — Max began.
The entity tilted its "head."
And the world around them responded.
Nearby trees creaked softly, like wood settling. The wind ceased for a moment too long. The puddle became smooth as glass.
The sensation that filled Max was not fear.
It was… shelter.
A presence that demanded nothing.
That asked no permission.
That was simply there because it chose to be.
Max felt her eyes burn.
— No… — she murmured. — Don't do this to me.
The reflection raised its hand.
At that same instant, footsteps approached along the trail.
Elowen.
She emerged between the trees with the naturalness of someone who had never been absent. Her sharp eyes swept over the scene in less than a second—Max kneeling, the puddle, the air far too strange for an ordinary morning.
And she understood.
Elowen did not run.
Did not shout.
She simply stopped.
— Max — she said gently. — Breathe.
Before Max could answer, the reflection moved.
The surface of the puddle darkened—not in hostility, but in protection. A subtle layer of shadow and light interposed itself between Max and the rest of the world.
Elowen felt the weight of it like pressure in her bones.
— So you already are… — she murmured, more to herself than to Max.
The entity turned slightly toward Elowen.
There was no threat.
But there was a warning.
Elowen instinctively took a step back, raising her hands in a gesture of peace.
— I didn't come to take anything from her — she said quietly. — Only to make sure she doesn't lose herself.
The reflection remained still for long seconds.
Then, slowly, it receded.
The puddle returned to being just water.
The wind came back.
The sounds of the forest resumed as if nothing had happened.
Max collapsed into a seated position on the ground, breathing with difficulty.
— Elowen… — her voice trembled. — That thing… it protected me.
Elowen knelt beside her, her expression far too serious to console.
— Yes — she replied. — And that is exactly what worries me.
Later, far away, in a complex buried beneath layers of concrete and secrecy, screens began to flicker.
Cross-referenced reports.
Environmental anomalies.
Behavioral deviations.
An Initiative Velada analyst frowned while reading a specific line.
— "Autonomous reflective interference" — he murmured. — That wasn't anticipated.
At Kasar Basin, Hector Virell watched a simulation fail for the third time.
He smiled.
— So she isn't alone — he said. — Fascinating.
Back in Nolwen, Max couldn't explain what she felt.
She knew only one thing:
For the first time since waking in a world too ancient to be past and too modern to be safe…
she didn't feel observed.
She felt guarded.
And that, more than any threat, changed everything.