Two weeks after the central nexus collapsed, I'm standing in Maya's lab, staring at a container.
Inside is a Residuum. Orange-gold. Pulsing softly.
"You don't have to," Maya says.
"I know."
"Then why are you considering it?"
Because the sanctuary is rebuilding, and we need people who can handle Residuum safely. Because the surface nexuses are decaying but still dangerous, and someone needs to dispose of them properly. Because Yuki is fragmented and struggling, and she needs someone who understands.
Because two fragments aren't enough to really help, but three might be.
"Who is it?" I ask.
Maya checks her notes. "Emily Park. Age thirty-one. Engineer. Died during a building collapse while trying to rescue trapped civilians. Her Residuum carries structural engineering knowledge, problem-solving skills, and—"
"Let me guess. An obsession with saving people she couldn't save."
"Yes."
Another hero's regret. Another person who died trying to do good.
Another piece of myself I'll lose if I consume her.
"What will I lose this time?" I ask.
"There's no way to predict. More memories, probably. More personality erosion. You're at two fragments now—adding a third will accelerate the degradation." Maya meets my eyes. "But you're also stabilizing. Learning to compartmentalize the obsessions. If you can integrate a third fragment without losing coherence, you'll prove that sustainable eater operation is possible."
"I'll be a test case."
"You already are."
Fair point.
I've spent the last two weeks working with Maya to document my fragmentation. We've established a baseline. Created coping protocols. Built a support structure.
Morning routine: Read my journal. Watch my self-recorded video. Remind myself who I am.
Throughout the day: Check-ins with Maya. Reality anchors. Distinguishing my thoughts from Claire's protective urges and Marcus's tactical analysis.
Night routine: Document what I remember. What I forgot. What's changing.
It's exhausting.
But it's working.
I'm still Silas Kaine. Mostly.
"If I do this," I say slowly, "I want to use it for something that matters. Not just fighting. Not just being a weapon."
"What did you have in mind?"
"The surface nexuses. They're breaking down, but the Residuum inside—thousands of compressed fragments—what happens to them?"
"We don't know. Theoretically, they'll disperse back into individual fragments. But the compression may have damaged them. Corrupted them. Made them unstable."
"Can they be saved? The people? Can we extract individual fragments and preserve them properly?"
Maya's expression shifts. "You want to rescue the souls from the nexuses."
"They were people. They didn't ask to be compressed and weaponized. If there's a chance to save them, to give them proper rest—" I stop. "Is that Claire talking or me?"
"Does it matter?" Maya asks gently. "If the desire to save people comes from Claire's protective instinct but you choose to act on it—does the origin of the impulse make it less valid?"
I don't know.
I used to know who I was. What I wanted. What I believed.
Now everything is tangled. My drives and Claire's and Marcus's, all bleeding together.
But Maya's right. If the outcome is good—if I save people, help people—does it matter whether the impulse is originally mine?
"I'll do it," I say. "I'll consume the engineer. And then I want to help you extract and preserve the compressed Residuum before they dissolve."
"It'll be dangerous. The nexuses are unstable. And you'll be working with three fragments. One mistake, one moment of lost coherence—"
"I know the risks."
Maya studies me. Then nods.
"Okay. But we do this properly. Full medical monitoring. Jin on standby in case you fragment. And the moment you show signs of losing yourself—"
"You pull me out."
"I pull you out," she confirms.
I pick up the container.
Emily Park's Residuum floats inside. Orange-gold. The color of sunset. Or warning lights.
I open the container.
The fragment rises. Hovers.
Then rushes toward me.
Impacts.
And—
NAME: Emily Park
AGE: 31
DIED: Two years ago, crushed by falling concrete while stabilizing a collapse to save trapped civilians
LAST THOUGHT: "Just a little more time. Just a little more."
The memories are different this time.
Claire's came with fire and panic.
Marcus's came with tactical precision and regret.
Emily's come with... numbers.
Stress calculations. Load-bearing analysis. The poetry of physics and the art of making broken things hold together just a little longer.
I see structures. Buildings. Bridges. The sanctuary's infrastructure mapped in my mind with perfect clarity. I know where the weak points are. Where to reinforce. How to stabilize.
And underneath it all—
The desperate need for more time.
Emily died buying time for others. Holding up a collapsed building with her own body while people crawled to safety. She knew it would kill her. Did it anyway.
Because just a little more time meant another person saved.
Just a little more meant—
"Silas!"
Maya's voice.
I blink.
I'm on the floor. How did I get on the floor?
Maya is checking my vitals. "Say your name."
"Emily—no. Silas. My name is Silas Kaine." The words feel right. Mostly. "I'm twenty-eight. I'm a therapist. I've consumed three fragments."
"Good. Who am I?"
"Maya Zhao. Researcher. Looking for her daughter." I focus. "But she's learning to accept that she might never find her. Learning to live with the not-knowing."
Maya's expression softens. "That's right. How do you feel?"
I run internal diagnostics. A habit I'm developing.
The obsessions are there. Claire searching for Thomas. Marcus aching for Ana. Emily needing more time to save people.
But they're... quieter. Like background noise I can tune out when needed.
"Stable," I say. "More stable than after the second fragment, actually."
"That's unusual." Maya helps me sit up. "Typically each additional fragment compounds the degradation. You should be more fragmented, not less."
"Maybe I'm adapting. Learning to carry them better."
"Or maybe you're losing the ability to recognize your own degradation." She pulls out a tablet. "I'm going to ask you some questions. Answer honestly."
She runs through a cognitive assessment. Memory tests. Personality inventory. Reality anchoring questions.
I answer them all.
When she's done, she looks at the results. Frowns.
"What?" I ask.
"You scored better than baseline. Better than before you consumed Emily." She shows me the tablet. "Your spatial reasoning improved. Your problem-solving speed increased. And your sense of self—it's more integrated, not less."
"How is that possible?"
"I don't know. Maybe—" She pauses. "Maybe fragmentation isn't a straight line. Maybe there's a threshold where you either break completely or learn to synthesize the fragments into something new."
"Something new like what?"
"Like a person who's more than the sum of their consumed parts. Someone who can access multiple skillsets, multiple perspectives, multiple drives—but still maintains a coherent center."
"You're saying I could become a better version of myself by consuming more fragments?"
"I'm saying there's a possibility that sustainable, integrated eater operation is achievable. But—" She holds up a hand. "—that's a hypothesis based on one data point. You. Don't let it make you reckless."
Too late. Hope is already blooming.
What if I can do this? What if I can help people, save people, become stronger—without losing myself completely?
What if fragmentation isn't the end, but a transformation?
"I want to start on the nexus extraction," I say. "As soon as possible."
"Tomorrow. We need to monitor you for twenty-four hours post-integration to make sure you're stable."
"I feel fine—"
"That's what every eater says right before they fragment." Maya's voice is firm. "Twenty-four hours. Then we'll assess."
Fine.
I spend the rest of the day in observation.
Maya runs tests. Documents everything. Builds a profile of integrated eater operation.
And I spend the time learning to live with three voices instead of one.
Claire's protective instinct. Marcus's tactical awareness. Emily's problem-solving drive.
And somewhere underneath it all—
Silas Kaine.
Still here.
Still me.
I think.
That evening, Yuki visits me in the observation room.
She looks different. Healthier. Her eyes are still too-fast, too-calculating, but there's more presence behind them. More coherence.
"You consumed a third," she says. It's not a question.
"Yeah. Engineer. Structural knowledge."
"How do you feel?"
"Like I'm living in a crowded house where everyone's talking at once but somehow it's becoming... manageable. You?"
She sits down. "Better. The severance of the central nexus reduced the external pressure. The twenty-three fragments are still there, but they're not fighting for control as aggressively. It's like—like the Collective was amplifying the fragmentation. Trying to break us faster."
"To harvest us."
"Yeah." She's quiet for a moment. "Thank you. For stopping it. For saving us."
"Father Mikhail saved us. I just... watched."
"You went down there. You faced the Collective. You survived." She meets my eyes. "That counts."
We sit in comfortable silence.
Finally, Yuki asks, "What's it like? Having three fragments but staying coherent?"
"I don't know if I'm staying coherent or just getting better at pretending." I lean back. "But it feels like... like I'm learning their languages. Claire speaks in protective urges. Marcus speaks in tactical assessment. Emily speaks in structural problems and solutions. And I'm learning to translate between them and my own thoughts."
"That's more advanced than I ever managed." There's something wistful in her voice. "By my third fragment, I was already losing time. Waking up in places I didn't remember going to. At twenty-three, I'm basically a committee that takes turns driving."
"Does it hurt? Being that fragmented?"
"Yes. No. Sometimes." She thinks about it. "It's like being lonely in a crowd. I'm never alone—there are always voices, memories, obsessions. But none of them are really me. Or they're all me. Or I was never really me to begin with and I'm just starting to notice."
The existential horror of it settles over us.
"Yuki," I say carefully. "If you could go back—if you could undo the first consumption and just be yourself again—would you?"
She doesn't answer immediately.
When she does, her voice is small. Thirteen years old instead of ageless.
"I don't remember who I was before. Not really. I have memories, but I don't know which ones are mine and which ones I borrowed from the fragments. If you took them all away—if you extracted every consumed soul—would there be anything left? Or would I just be an empty space where a person used to be?"
I don't have an answer.
"But," she continues, "I've saved people. Used the fragments' skills to protect the sanctuary. To help. If those fragments let me do good things—does it matter that I'm not the original Yuki anymore?"
The same question I asked myself earlier.
Does it matter where the drive comes from if the outcome is good?
"I think it matters," I say. "Because if we don't draw a line—if we don't say 'this far and no further'—we become tools. Weapons. Things that are used instead of people who choose."
"Maybe." Yuki stands. "Or maybe we're already tools. Everyone is. The question is whether we're tools that get used up or tools that find meaning in the using."
She leaves.
I sit in the observation room and wonder if she's right.
The next day, Maya clears me for active duty.
"Your integration is stable. Cognitive function is actually improved. Physically, you're fine." She closes her tablet. "But I want daily check-ins. Any signs of degradation, any lost time, any personality shifts—you report them immediately."
"Understood."
"Good. Because today we're going to the north nexus. It's the most degraded of the six. If we can successfully extract and preserve the compressed Residuum, we'll prove the process works."
Jin is waiting for us at the north gate. He's brought a full security team.
"This is insane," he says by way of greeting. "The nexuses are unstable. We should just let them decay naturally."
"And lose thousands of souls that could be preserved and studied?" Maya shakes her head. "These are people, Captain. They deserve better than being left to dissolve into nothing."
"They're already dead."
"Death doesn't mean they stop mattering."
Jin looks at me. "You're really going through with this?"
"Yeah."
"Why?"
Because Emily needs to save people. Because Claire needs to protect. Because Marcus needs to serve.
Because Silas Kaine wants to believe that fragmentation can be a gift instead of a curse.
"Because it's the right thing to do," I say.
Jin studies me. Then nods. "Fine. But if that thing explodes or fragments you or does anything unexpected, we're pulling back immediately."
"Agreed."
We move out.
The north nexus is exactly where we left it two weeks ago. But it's changed.
The sphere of compressed light has dimmed. Shrunk. It's maybe eight feet in diameter now, down from fifteen.
And the dead that were arranged around it—
Gone. Dissolved. Just piles of clothing and dust.
"The tether severed when the central nexus collapsed," Maya explains. "Without the animating intelligence, they finally died. Really died."
We approach carefully.
The crystalline pillars that surrounded the nexus are cracked. Crumbling. As we watch, one of them collapses into powder.
"It's degrading fast," I say. "If we're going to extract the Residuum, we need to do it now."
Maya pulls out a device I haven't seen before. It looks like a modified Residuum detector connected to multiple containment vessels.
"Extraction array. Theoretically, it can separate compressed fragments and channel them into individual containers." She sets it up. "Theoretically."
"You haven't tested this?"
"Where would I test it? We've never had access to a decaying nexus before." She activates the device. "If this works, we'll be able to preserve thousands of fragments. Study them. Understand who they were. Maybe even find a way to give them rest."
The device hums to life.
Begins pulling at the nexus.
I can see it working—threads of light peeling away from the compressed sphere, flowing into the containment vessels.
One by one, the vessels fill with individual Residuum. Orange. Blue. Green. Purple. Each one a person. A life. A final moment.
"It's working," Maya breathes.
We watch in silence as the extraction continues.
It takes hours.
Slowly, the nexus shrinks. Empties. The compressed fragments separated and preserved.
And I realize I'm crying.
Not my tears. Claire's. Marcus's. Emily's.
They're witnessing what they became. What they could have been.
People who died trying to help. Protect. Save.
Now being rescued. Preserved. Given the dignity they were denied.
"Silas?" Maya touches my shoulder. "You okay?"
"Yeah. It's just—" I wipe my eyes. "They're grateful. The fragments. They wanted this. To be remembered. To matter."
"They do matter." Maya's voice is soft. "And now we can make sure people know it."
The last fragment flows into the final container.
The nexus collapses.
Not explosively. Just... fades. Like a light going out.
And in its place—
Nothing. Just empty ground.
The threat is gone.
But the people remain. Preserved. Remembered.
Maya starts cataloguing the containers. Thousands of them. Each one labeled with extraction data.
"This is going to take months to process," she says. "Identifying each fragment, documenting their stories, finding a way to properly lay them to rest."
"I'll help," I say.
"You sure? It's grunt work. Tedious. Not heroic."
"I'm sure."
Because Emily needs to work. To solve problems. To build.
Because Marcus needs to serve. To have purpose.
Because Claire needs to protect. Even if it's just protecting the dignity of the dead.
And because Silas Kaine—
Silas Kaine wants to believe that the fragments he carries can be used for something good.
That fragmentation can be synthesis instead of destruction.
That what remains is enough.
Over the next two weeks, we extract Residuum from all six surface nexuses.
Thousands of fragments preserved.
Thousands of stories waiting to be told.
I work alongside Maya, cataloguing and documenting. Learning who these people were. How they died. What they cared about.
It's exhausting. Emotionally draining.
But it matters.
And slowly, I'm learning something.
The fragments I carry—Claire, Marcus, Emily—they're not parasites. They're not infections.
They're people. Dead people, yes. But still people who had hopes and fears and obsessions.
And carrying them—honoring them, using their skills for good, acknowledging their existence—that's not losing myself.
That's becoming larger than myself.
I write in my journal:
My name is Silas Kaine. I'm twenty-eight years old. I carry three fragments. Claire Mendez, who died protecting. Marcus Rivera, who died serving. Emily Park, who died saving.
I've lost pieces of myself. My mother's face. My favorite foods. Small preferences and memories that made me uniquely me.
But I've gained pieces too. The ability to protect like Claire. To assess like Marcus. To problem-solve like Emily.
Am I still Silas Kaine? I think so. But I'm also more than that now.
I'm what remains when sacrifice meets purpose.
I'm what remains when fragmentation becomes synthesis.
I'm what remains.
And that's enough.
One month after the central nexus collapsed, the sanctuary holds a remembrance ceremony.
For Father Mikhail. For the extracted fragments. For everyone lost to the Veil.
The entire sanctuary attends.
Director Voss speaks about resilience and rebuilding.
Dr. Reid talks about the scientific breakthroughs we've achieved.
Jin stands in silent respect.
But it's Maya who says what matters.
She approaches the podium with a single container. Inside is a Residuum. Pale blue. Small.
"Seven years ago, I lost my daughter. Lily. She was eight. She loved strawberry ice cream and purple flowers and she laughed like wind chimes." Maya's voice breaks. "I spent seven years searching for her. For her Residuum. For any fragment of her that remained."
She holds up the container.
"I never found her. But in searching, I found thousands of others. Thousands of people who died with unfinished business. Unspoken love. Unfulfilled promises."
She sets down the container.
"We can't bring them back. We can't undo their deaths. But we can remember them. Honor them. Use what they left behind to build something better."
She looks directly at me.
"Some of you have heard about Residuum eaters. People who consume these fragments and gain power. You might think it's exploitation. Desecration."
She shakes her head.
"It's memory. It's inheritance. It's carrying the dead with us so they don't walk alone."
She steps down.
The ceremony continues. Names are read. Stories are told.
And I stand there with three fragments in my soul, listening to the litany of the dead, and I realize—
This is what I am now.
Not a weapon. Not a victim. Not a monster.
A memorial. A living memorial to people who died trying to do good.
Claire, who died protecting.
Marcus, who died serving.
Emily, who died saving.
And all the others we've preserved. Documented. Remembered.
They live through us now.
Through me.
And maybe that's what being human really means.
Carrying each other. Honoring each other. Becoming more than ourselves by holding space for those who came before.
After the ceremony, Yuki finds me.
"That was beautiful," she says.
"Yeah."
"Do you believe it? What Maya said? That we're memorials instead of weapons?"
I think about it.
"I want to," I say. "I want to believe that fragmentation can be sacred. That losing yourself can be finding something greater."
"But?"
"But I'm scared. Because I still don't know where the line is. How many fragments before the memorial becomes a grave? Before honoring the dead becomes being dead?"
Yuki nods. "I'm at twenty-three. You're at three. We're both scared of the same thing—that one day we'll wake up and we won't wake up at all. Just the fragments, pretending to be us."
"How do we prevent that?"
"I don't think we can." She looks at the sanctuary. At the people rebuilding their lives. "But maybe we don't have to. Maybe it's enough to choose, every day, to be ourselves as long as we can. And when we can't anymore—when the fragments finally take over completely—maybe we trust that we used our time well."
She walks away.
I stand there as the sun sets over Sanctuary Seven.
Somewhere, Claire is still searching for Thomas. Marcus is still aching for Ana. Emily is still calculating structural problems.
But they're quieter now. Integrated. Part of me instead of opposed to me.
I pull out my phone. Record a video.
"My name is Silas Kaine. I'm twenty-eight years old. I carry three fragments. If you're watching this, and I don't remember making it—if the fragments have taken over and I'm lost—I want you to know: I chose this. I chose to carry the dead so they could do good through me. I chose to fragment so I could become something larger than myself. I don't regret it. Don't mourn me. Just—use what's left. Whatever skills the fragments provide, whatever drives they have—use them to help people. That's what I would want. That's what we all wanted."
I save the video.
Add it to the collection Maya is building.
Then I head to my quarters.
Tomorrow, there's more work to do. More Residuum to document. More stories to preserve.
And maybe, eventually, more fragments to consume.
Not because I have to.
But because I choose to.
Because what remains—fragmented, synthesized, transformed—can still be enough.
Can still be good.
Can still be me.
Whoever me becomes.