The night wouldn't recede. I woke up from a sudden jolt. Outside—not a sound. No screaming. No sharp pain in my muscles. Just a very unsettling feeling.
I sat up on the floor, pressing my palms against the floorboards. The wood was cold. My joints responded stiffly, with an internal creak, reluctantly obeying the command to straighten up.
"Will to Live" was active.
But it was in the background.
I listened to myself, conducting an internal inventory.
Breathing—even.
Pulse—sixty-five. Slightly above my resting norm, but stable.
Mana—thick, active, slowly circulating through the channels.
And yet... something was fundamentally wrong. I felt like a part machined too precisely for its slot. No play. No margin. No chance to just relax.
"You rarely wake up before dawn," Zeno said quietly.
I flinched, though deep down I knew he was there. The old man sat in the corner, leaning his back against the log wall. His gaze was fixed somewhere outside the window.
"It's still active," I said, looking at my knees. My voice sounded hollow.
"I know," he replied shortly.
"But... differently. Before, it would quiet down. But now..."
Zeno nodded slowly.
"Most likely because, for the first time, you let it in deeper than you should have."
I looked at my hands. In the faint reflection, I could see them trembling slightly. This had never happened before; the skill used to simply "switch off" the interference. Stabilized my breathing, cleared my mind.
"If I suppress it..." I began and trailed off.
Words were unnecessary. We both knew the rules. If I were to forcefully suppress the skill right now, I might simply not get up from this floor.
I closed my eyes. I just tried... not to hold on. Not to control the flow. For a single second, I allowed myself to just be human.
The current inside me jolted. I felt the skill trying to crank the power up to the maximum—binding my muscles with steel cables, driving my pulse to combat levels, stabilizing my vision. The safety system was screaming: "Warning! Critical damage detected! Activating protective protocol!"
I didn't forbid it. I just... didn't let it pass a certain mark. Let's just say I set a limit.
The body reacted immediately. The pain that had been muted became crystal clear and sharp. The night air crept under my skin, covering it in goosebumps. My heart skipped a beat. Panic flared in my chest.
Danger. Activation.
I gritted my teeth.
"I'm not dying," I whispered into the emptiness of the cabin.
"Will to Live" stumbled mid-step. It... froze in some strange intermediate state.
The world changed in an instant. The sterile clarity I was used to vanished. Sounds became louder but more chaotic—I could hear the wood creaking in the walls, Zeno's breathing, the rustle of a mouse under the floorboards. Smells intensified: old dust, the old man's acrid tobacco, the scent of dried blood on my side. I felt the weight of every rib with each breath, felt every scratch demanding attention.
I was terrified.
I stood up. My legs shook, my knees buckling. One step. Then another. Uncertain, staggering steps.
"There it is," Zeno said softly. "You. The real you. Unadorned."
I turned to him, grabbing the edge of the table to keep from falling.
"I've become weaker," I stated.
"You've become honest," he replied, rising to his feet. "Now you know your true worth."
From the experience of my past life, I wanted to say that "honesty" is a direct path to the grave. But the words caught in my throat. Because despite the weakness, I felt... whole.
A couple of hours passed. When the sun began to rise over the Black Pines, tinting the fog pink, I was already sitting at the table. Before me lay the armor. My "great achievement." Right now, it looked pathetic—warped, with burst sinews and a deep crack running through the main bone plate. It resembled a skeleton assembled in a hurry and incorrectly from the very start.
I slowly ran my fingers along the jagged fracture.
Zeno set down a mug of hot water next to me. It smelled of bitter roots.
I began to slowly cut away the ruined sinews.
If vibration destroys the joints, then I don't need to make the joints more rigid. I need to give the vibration an outlet. Create dampers.
If the body can't withstand sudden accelerations, then the armor shouldn't be tougher. It needs to be more flexible, absorbing the inertia before it reaches my bones.
I carved out new shapes, replacing the rigid attachments with articulated ones. The bone plates were no longer tightly strapped down—they floated on an intricate weave capable of shifting upon impact.
Why do you need this? the thought came unbidden.
"Yeah, right, I sure have some stupid questions," I said with a smirk.
That night, I didn't really sleep much either. My body ached, muscles twitched from fatigue, thoughts tangled into knots of formulas and fears. I set the knife aside, examining the reassembled cuirass. It looked less impressive than the old one, but it possessed a logic I had previously ignored.
"Let's see how you perform in action," I whispered to myself, closing my eyes.
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