The smell hit him first.
Not blood.
Not rot.
Compliance.
It had a scent—sterile, artificial, like air that had been filtered so many times it forgot how to carry life.
Elian's steps slowed. The terrain ahead dipped into a ruined valley of black stone and collapsed pylons. Threadlines coiled through the air like wires cut loose from meaning.
And in the center—he saw it.
A figure.
Standing motionless.
Human.
Barely.
Wearing the rags of a seedborne, but held like a puppet on invisible strings.
[System Notice: Entity Detected – Seedborne Unit 17-A]
[Status: Threadmarked]
[Override: Active]
[Autonomy: Suppressed]
The glyph on Elian's arm flared instantly.
So did Griefblade.
"One of theirs," he muttered.
But no alarms came. No warnings. Just silence.
The kind that comes when the world is holding its breath.
He stepped closer.
The figure didn't move.
But its eyes—empty, glassy, faintly glowing—followed.
It looked like a person.
It was not.
Every motion was perfect. Controlled.
Its stance—textbook.
Its aura—calculated.
Even the ragged breath it took was timed.
A marionette of flesh wrapped around a dead will.
And somewhere behind its gaze, something else was watching.
"You're a lesson," Elian said quietly.
"A warning they left for me."
The figure finally spoke.
Its voice was calm. Hollow.
"You are an error."
"I am correction."
Elian smiled without warmth.
"You're imitation. I'm intent."
The Threadmarked lunged.
No buildup. No hesitation. Just execution.
Fast.
Perfect.
Elian parried once—and felt the weight behind it.
Too strong. Too sharp.
Not human.
[Warning: Entity Thread Bound to Enforcement Layer]
[Severance Risk: Elevated]
Griefblade clashed with its blade—twice. Sparks, threads, and a ripple of conceptual resistance erupted with each strike.
This wasn't a fight of skill.
It was a fight of freedom.
Elian gritted his teeth, stepping sideways, slashing across the thing's shoulder—not to kill, but to disrupt.
The mark on its back pulsed: a tight glyph, embedded directly into its threadline.
"That's the leash," Elian breathed.
"Let's snap it."
He feinted left, drove right—Griefblade sliced through the air and struck the glyph dead-center.
The result was instant.
The figure froze.
Then shuddered.
And then—screamed.
Not in pain.
In realization.
[Override Glyph Breached]
[Threadmarked Autonomy: Rebooting…]
[Memory Access: Fragmented]
The puppet collapsed to its knees.
Trembling.
Eyes wide.
Breathing too fast.
Elian approached slowly, Griefblade lowered.
"What do you remember?"
The figure looked up.
Voice shaking.
"I… had a name."
A pause.
Then—
"And they erased it."
Elian didn't offer pity.
He offered truth.
"Then take this pain. Make it yours again."
He turned and walked on, leaving the figure behind—alive, free, broken.
Sometimes that's how freedom begins.
[System Alert: Threadmaker Has Severed System-Controlled Seedborne]
[Autonomy Breach Recorded]
[Countermeasure Evaluation: Recalibrating]
And above, far beyond the broken sky, the whisper returned:
"He is not freeing them."
"He is teaching them to hate us."