Chapter 32: After the Skin Is Pealed, Bone Color Reveals Itself
Section I · If Even the Walking Dead Have Bones, Can They Not Feel Pain?
No one spoke after leaving the field.
Three thousand people scattered like a broken dam, yet there was no sound — no chatter, no questions, no farewell words. They walked as if coming out of a spiritual surgery, their heads split open, their souls stitched with still-dripping needles, steps unstable, eyes empty.
In that midnight where wind swept through ruined alleyways and shattered streets, the "Flame of Gray Wing" first cut into every person's wound — a mental crack creeping into scars they thought had already healed.
—
A young boy sat on a concrete block by the roadside, hugging his knees. He rubbed his knuckles again and again, staring at his own toes, whispering:
"I… don't think I've ever made a decision for myself. Never once. Either followed my parents or followed trends… Now he asks if I want to live, and I… I don't even know."
—
Not far away, a student in thick glasses walked slowly. He took two steps, paused, as if weighed down by invisible chains. Looking up at the broken stars above, he murmured:
"I used to think the world was wrong. But what he said last night — it felt like someone smashed my head wide open. Did I ever really live like a human being?"
—
Two boys who looked like brothers held hands, walking faster than anyone else, yet their eyes were dead. The older whispered:
"Do you think what he said was madness?"
The younger replied softly:
"If it was madness… then why do I suddenly feel like I was the one who was crazy all along?"
—
The emotional weight was too heavy. Some began vomiting; others sobbed in corners; some shouted, "He went too far!" before collapsing onto the ground like deflated balloons.
No one dared meet each other's eyes — because in that moment, everyone became a witness to their own inner self.
—
Some returned home, leaned against the doorframe, and sat motionless all night.
Others stared under dim lights, muttering to themselves:
"I thought I had fire — but it turns out it was just an electric stove, plugged into the wall."
And some reopened their old "dream notebook," glanced at it for five seconds, then threw it into the trash bin without hesitation.
—
Even more startling — someone stood before a flower vase, speaking aloud.
She asked:
"Why did he speak so harshly? Was it because he was too confident? Or… was he afraid too?"
Then she added:
"Should I thank him… or should I thank myself — for finally understanding, for finally feeling pain?"
She didn't wait for the vase to answer. She simply held it and wept the entire night.
—
In an abandoned building, an elderly man sat by the balcony, cigarette between his fingers, gazing toward the faint glow at the city's edge. He murmured quietly:
"I thought by my age, my heart had long gone cold. Yet three sentences from him flipped my false sense of reason upside down."
"He didn't make me burn — he reminded me I never lit a single flame in my damn life."
—
The ARGUS system silently logged within the Gray Wing headquarters:
[Emotional Fracture Wave Index: High]
[Introverted Silence Initiated × Verbal Deconstruction → Internal Restructuring Mode Activated]
[Memetic Implantation Notice: Await Spontaneous Ignition × No Intervention Required × No Recall Necessary]
—
Some didn't go home. They wandered to the streets, to the factory where their mother once worked, to the broken walls left behind by war, sitting quietly and waiting for something — something they couldn't name.
One drew a circle of flames around himself and sat inside it.
Another knelt, tearing old books page by page into the wind, saying:
"These ideals are rotten. They deserved to die long ago."
—
One man suddenly stopped at a street corner and whispered:
"I understand now… but I don't want to die here. I need to go back. He told us to leave — well, I left. Now it's time to return."
He turned, stepped into the icy wind, and walked steadily toward Gray Wing, expression calm, footsteps resolute.
—
That night, no one truly slept.
They slept in their old skin, awakened was the new spark;
they walked a path home, but would not return as the same person.
—
And when the night ended, the true selection of fire began.
Section II · Where Smoke Ends, Silent Fire Burns
Dawn had not yet broken fully. Pale light stretched across the sky. Gray Wing's outer watchtowers had not yet retracted. Cold wind blew from the north, carrying the scent of rust and decay from the ruins.
From different directions, several figures slowly approached.
Their pace was slow, yet unwavering.
No weapons, no uniforms, not even a glance toward the sentries.
Yet the ARGUS system quietly activated internally:
[Autonomous Return Without Recall × Former Dispersal Subjects Identified × Status Tag: Silent Return to Flame]
—
The first to arrive at Gray Wing's outer wall was a youth in his early twenties, once seated at the very back during the first meeting. He stood at the entranceway, silent, only pulling out a piece of torn paper from his coat. Written on it:
"If I do not return today, do not remember me."
He set it alight himself, let the sparks drift away, then stepped forward, crossing the threshold of Gray Wing without declaration.
—
The second returner was an old veteran from a former scavenger gang. His hair had turned gray, his uniform tattered, shoulders burdened with a broken circuit board.
When the guard asked, "What are you returning for?" he merely grunted, glancing into the distance, muttering:
"If I don't come back and do something, that night's shame was wasted."
He dropped the board on the ground, adding:
"This can fix the third segment of the southern energy grid — don't waste this old body."
—
More followed — over a dozen individuals returning one by one.
Some entered the kitchen without a word, immediately beginning to sort canned food and fuel.
Others climbed to upper floors, taking positions once vacated by those who left.
Still others stepped into the repair bay, picking up wrenches and adjusting equipment in silence.
There was no welcome party, no interrogation.
But the ARGUS system silently recorded:
[Self-Ignited Flame Carriers × Evaluation Completed × Flame Stability Index Preliminary Rating: 73.1%]
[Meme Qualification: Proactivity × Logical Coherence × Shame-Driven × Non-Dependent Loyalty]
—
Jason stood before the unlit control wall in the central hub, issuing no orders.
Yet Fuxi whispered gently in his mind:
"They aren't returning to obey you — they're returning to sever ties with the coward they once were."
Jason remained silent, only nodding slowly.
He muttered, "The first flame… has finally caught."
—
Meanwhile, in a small alley outside the ruins, a few still caught in struggle looked toward the distant flicker of fire, silent for a long time.
One man, backpack slung over shoulder, stood and said:
"I don't know if this road will lead anywhere… but I know, if I don't take it now, I'll never walk it again."
Another answered softly:
"It's not that he was right — it's that I finally see how much of a coward I've been."
And so, they moved. One step at a time, entering the return path no one urged them to take.
—
ARGUS logged:
[New Unsummoned Returners: 17]
[Group Willpath Warm-Up Initiated × Spontaneous Spiritual Combustion Triggered]
—
Endnote to the Section:
The first returners brought no applause, only action;
no slogans, only responsibility born in silence.
They were no longer "ignited" —
they had begun to burn themselves.
They no longer sought scripts.
They have already begun to engrave their own fire marks.
Section III · Where Fire Has Not Reached, All Is Dust and Dreams
Morning broke, light seeping into the dilapidated houses at the city's edge. Outside was a morning still cloaked in ashes, while inside remained deathly silent. Here lived those who "did not return."
Not because they didn't understand what Jason had said that night, but because — they understood too well. So clearly that a certain "survival reflex" within them snapped instantly.
—
In a rundown three-story apartment building, seven young people lived on the top floor. They attended the meeting at the playground the previous day and listened to the entire "fire lesson." Now, they all sat silently in the living room, saying nothing. On the table lay a piece of paper with just one sentence:
"Whoever wants to go back, write down your name."
It remained blank throughout the night.
—
A young man with an earring held his head in his hands, banging it against the wall, muttering:
"I'm not scared… I just don't want to gamble anymore... This society has already gambled me away three times…"
Before he could finish, a female voice cut in coldly:
"You've gambled? You've never done anything but follow the crowd. You can't even remember how you stood."
Yet no one moved. But deep down, everyone began to hate each other — most of all, themselves.
—
Elsewhere, in another old building, a middle-aged man cared for his paralyzed mother. He also attended the awakening gathering the previous day. Upon returning, his eyes were vacant, like someone drowning. He whispered:
"I cannot leave… I have to take care of my mother…"
Yet there was a hint in his eyes — a sense of relief he dared not admit.
—
ARGUS recorded numerous reactions from non-returnees in its hidden network:
[Emotional State: Anxiety Suppression, Cognitive Avoidance, Excuse Rationalization, Self-Pity Surge]
[Behavioral State: Delayed Feedback, Increased Aimless Activity, Focus on "Jason's Tone" Rather Than "Content"]
[Meme State: Active Suppression × High-Level Psychological Defense Formation × Refusal to Label]
—
In a small shop, three young men squatted on the ground. One cried, repeating:
"I really wanted to go back… I truly wanted to…"
Another muttered angrily:
"Then why didn't you?"
The crying man looked up, his eyes filled not with anger, but with a vague feeling of wanting to collapse yet refusing to do so:
"Because I knew if I went back, I wouldn't be myself anymore. I couldn't pretend to be 'normal' again."
—
Others chose more extreme ways:
Silence.
They spoke not of fire, nor of that night.
As if the awakening had never happened.
They returned to their usual routines — watching meaningless short videos, sharing outdated jokes, mocking Gray Wing as "pretentious new religion," forwarding posts urging "not to be incited," pretending not to remember who "Jason" was.
—
Fuxi system defined this group as: [Hollow Class]
[Annotation: Consciousness Alive × Belief Cold × External Survival × Inner Void]
[Probability Hint: Some latent "delayed self-igniters" potential, continuous monitoring required]
—
Jason watched the surveillance recordings, saying nothing. Lisa sighed:
"Are these people completely lost to us now?"
Jason replied calmly:
"They aren't lost; they disconnected themselves."
Then he uttered words that would resonate deeply within Gray Wing:
"Fire did not fail to reach them; they buried themselves in ashes."
—
Where fire did not reach was not due to lack of ignition but because they drew circles around their doors, called them 'reality,' and hid inside, refusing to come out. The most common way to die is not by being killed or trapped, but by abandoning oneself.
Section IV · Sifting Bones in Fire, Seeing Souls Through Ashes
Dawn broke, and inside the central analysis hall of Gray Wing, Jason stood before the main control platform. Fuxi projected a flame-shaped light screen showing a heat map of the school's spiritual structure. Returnees, silents, and lost souls appeared as red flames, gray ash, and white voids respectively.
Lisa approached, looking at the data:
"There are quite a few returnees. I thought it would be worse."
Jason didn't look up, only responding softly:
"It's not that many returned; we underestimated humanity's inner fire."
He paused, then added:
"But what you see are only those who returned. What I see are those who did not."
Lisa froze:
"Will they become threats later?"
This question hung in the air. Fuxi's voice echoed in Jason's mind like an ancient scripture unfolding:
[Those who did not return will not go elsewhere.]
[They are not inert ashes but chose to become "silent detonators."]
[They won't become followers, but neither can they be used by enemies.]
[Because — they have realized: how to live, how to die, is no longer fear but choice.]
Jason closed his eyes and slowly revealed a judgment that would shake every soul in Gray Wing:
"These people will never be controlled again."
"They won't become fire, nor enemies."
"They are lands touched by fire. Anyone who tries to step upon them will explode from beneath."
"What threat can you pose to someone who has chosen how to die?"
—
At this moment, ARGUS projected precise values:
[Among non-returnees, probability of being controlled by enemy forces excluded: 97.6%]
[Stable silents: 71.3% × Potential returnees: 12.8%]
[System assessment: current non-returning group has completed "uncontrollable × unbrainwashable × irreversible protection loop"]
[Code Name: Breakers]
—
Jason smiled faintly:
"Do you know what this means?"
Lisa shook her head.
Jason slowly said two words:
"Immunity."
"They are the immune response of the old world. They may not join us, but anyone who dares treat them as toys, tools, or livestock — they will burn that person's script first."
—
Fuxi concluded with a final determination:
[Non-fire ones are also ash shields]
[Watching over non-returnees is the minimum respect for fire]
—
Jason walked out of the control room as sunlight streamed through broken windows. Standing in the corridor of Gray Wing, he addressed those who had recently returned:
"Not everyone needs to become fire, but everyone touched by fire remembers it."
"And our path forward is to ensure no one needs to hide in ashes anymore."
"From today, let's not say 'who hasn't returned.' Instead, say — 'they are here, but haven't ignited yet.'"
—
Some returned, some remained silent, others merely stood in the ashes, gazing at the distant glow of fire.
That was enough.
Fire had illuminated their bones.
The neural chain of the world began to regain warmth.
Section V · Fire Speaks Not, Honor It as a Mountain
In the dead of night, the lights inside and outside the main hall of Gray Wing were extinguished. Only faint stars in the sky cast a barely perceptible cold light, as if the universe was silently watching over an unrecorded ritual. Three hundred people sat quietly on the playground, arranged in a circle around a central circular platform.
They were the first returnees, coming from ruins, swamps, shattered dreams, silent street corners. Now they were no longer individuals but embers that had survived the storm, neatly lined up at the heart of the night.
—
No one spoke. No one moved.
The air was filled only with breathing, heartbeats, and the spiritual pain of being stripped bare — burning silently.
Jason slowly entered.
His footsteps made no sound. The system did not announce his arrival. All recording systems were off. Both ARGUS and Fuxi were silent.
He walked through the fire formation toward the center.
Everyone's gaze seemed to converge on him without looking directly.
—
Jason stood still, surveying the crowd.
He said nothing, merely raising his arms slowly, clenching his fists tightly, crossing them over his chest.
At this moment, even the wind seemed to hold its breath.
—
Like waves rippling outward, three hundred people rose slowly without any command, clenched their fists, placed them across their chests.
It wasn't imitation but response.
There were no slogans, no applause.
They simply handed over the living part of themselves to this gesture.
—
For a moment, the earth seemed to emit an almost imperceptible echo — not a sound, but a collective will:
"We are no longer separate."
Jason nodded slightly, then bowed his head. Everyone followed suit, sitting down quietly, closing their eyes.
They weren't meditating or praying, but listening to see if the inner fire was still burning, whether it wanted to burn again.
—
No one declared "beginning" or "ending."
Ten minutes later, one by one, they rose quietly and dispersed.
There were no shouts, no group photos, no collective slogans.
But this "silent ceremony" was marked by ARGUS and Fuxi as:
[Fire Beacon × Peak Heart-Soul Synchronization Rate × Grade: S]
[Significance Determination: Advanced Meme Self-Ignition Pact × Group Faith Manifestation Initiation × No Command Required, Will Unified]
—
Fuxi whispered softly to Jason:
"These are the first generation of 'Silent Oath Flame Bearers.'"
"They need no oath — their existence is the oath itself."
—
This was the true backbone of the wildfire, built not on systems, threats, money, or encouragement — but on recognizing each other in silence.
True spirit speaks without words.
An oath that needs shouting to be heard is merely performance.
True fire burns silently.
Section VI · The Oath of Fire × Silent Pact
Morning light broke, and a patch of ground on the eastern side of the main playground of Gray Wing naturally became a circle where people trod. It wasn't a training ground or a meeting place, yet from the previous night, it had become a spot for those who had returned from the fire to sit quietly.
There were no orders, no seating arrangements. But every returnee came here after breakfast, sitting cross-legged for a while.
As if embedding yesterday's fire into their bones, forging it into future sharp edges.
—
That morning, Jason arrived.
He didn't summon anyone or speak.
He simply stood in the center, raised his hands slowly — fists crossed, pressing firmly against his chest.
He didn't look at anyone specifically.
But he knew: they recognized this gesture.
People around him rose like ripples, crossed their fists, bowed their heads in salute.
No one applauded, nor shouted "Wildfire."
But at that moment, the atmosphere converged as one, like mountain breezes held back by a single spark.
—
ARGUS recorded this scene internally, abandoning cold logic language:
[Recognition Lock: Crossed Fistprints × Eye Contact × Inner Pressure Without Release]
[Communication Achieved Without Words, Only Through Posture Resonance]
[Note: No Authorization Needed, Formation of Gray Wing Member 'Cognitive Salute Agreement']
[System Annotation: Fire doesn't need to be spoken — just a glance tells you who shares the same flame]
—
Fuxi whispered softly to Jason:
"No unified command, only unified fire.
This is the fire you gave them, and also the mark they branded onto each other."
—
A returnee looked at another stranger standing diagonally opposite.
Without speaking, just exchanging glances, they both slowly crossed their fists, lowered their heads slightly.
At that moment, though no words were exchanged, they knew — the other was someone who had "walked through fire."
—
When Jason returned to the main control room, Fuxi left a final note as internal core documentation:
['Oath of Fire' Generated]
[Recognition Mode: Crossed Fists × Lowered Heads × Silent Eyes]
[Behavioral Logic Level: Non-Structural Commands × High Spiritual Awareness]
[Potential Use: Pre-Battle Mobilization, Identity Verification, Ultimate Resistance Spirit Recall]
[Additional Note: One day, this world will no longer need passwords, systems, commands — just two crossed fists will suffice.]
—
No one deliberately memorized this gesture.
But it became like a scar on everyone's chest, unforgettable and needing no explanation.
Because — those who have truly walked through fire recognize each other instantly.