The return to the surface was celebrated as a miracle.
But there are no miracles without a price.
The first months were filled with joy: markets reopened, temples welcomed worshippers once again, and the air—finally breathable—seemed to restore the soul of humanity. Yet something felt wrong, as if the sun—the one that had vanished for so long—was no longer the same.
Some claimed its light felt colder; others said the sky had taken on a metallic, artificial hue. And amid this fragile normality, rumors began to spread: people falling ill without explanation, animals mutating, crops growing into impossible shapes.
The authorities, unable to explain what they were witnessing, ordered silence.
But silence does not stop fear.
In rural regions, where civilization was barely being rebuilt, the cases multiplied. A powerful family—the Mendels—were the first to appear in the government's classified reports. Their daughter, an angel-faced child, began tearing at her own skin with her fingernails, as if something inside her were trying to escape. Her body changed every night, and her screams could be heard for miles.
The Mendel family vanished soon after.
The government denied everything.
No one yet understood that this was only the beginning.
In a remote town far from the great cities, Aizaya lived with her mother and her brother, Bryant. Her father had disappeared years earlier—victim, they said, of the same illness now devouring thousands. For two weeks, her mother had noticed something strange on her daughter's skin: thin, glass-like scales that shimmered with a faint metallic glow.
Each night, she carefully peeled them away, soaking the bandages in alcohol while praying through her sobs.
—It's just a fever, —she repeated to herself, as if the word could deny the truth.
She locked the girl in the basement to hide her—from the world, from the village, and from her own son, who was beginning to suspect something. Bryant was young, but not foolish. He had seen the shadows beneath his mother's eyes. He had heard the muffled cries rising from below the house.
He could not endure it any longer.
One night, at exactly two fifteen, a violent noise shook the house.
A dull удар followed by a shriek that sent every animal in the neighborhood into panic.
The sound came from the basement.
—Don't go down, Bryant… —his mother shouted from the hallway— Don't go down!
But fear and curiosity are born of the same father.
The boy grabbed a metal bar and ran toward the locked door. His mother tried to stop him, but desperation gave him strength. He struck the door once, twice, three times, until the wood gave way and the darkness of the basement opened before him.
The stench of blood and alcohol burned his throat.
In a corner lay his mother's body, motionless, her skull cracked against a shattered piece of furniture. And before her, breathing heavily, stood Aizaya.
Or what remained of her.
Her skin was now covered in bluish scales, her fingers curled into claws, and a reptilian tail emerged from her back. The air vibrated with a wet sound, almost like a breath.
Her eyes—once gentle and curious—now glowed with a golden light.
Bryant fell to his knees.
The silence between them lasted an eternity.
—What have you done? —he whispered, trembling— What… have you done, Aizaya?
The girl tried to speak, but only a sob escaped her lips.
—I… I didn't mean to… Mom was—
—You killed her! —Bryant screamed through tears— She was our mother! She protected you, she hid you! And you… you killed her!
—It wasn't my fault… —the girl cried, her voice breaking— It was an accident…
—You're a monster! —he roared— You're not my sister! You're not!
Aizaya's sobs died in her throat. Trembling, she stepped back.
Bryant raised the metal bar.
For an instant, their eyes met—the gaze of hatred and the gaze of terror—two broken souls who did not yet understand their fate.
Then she ran.
Dragging her deformed body across the ground, she vanished into the forest, beneath a silent rain that the sky had not announced.
No one ever saw her again.
Days later, a video went viral.
Bryant, hollow-eyed and shaking, told the world what had happened. He showed his mother's body, the destroyed basement, and spoke of his sister as if she were a beast.
The world listened.
And the fire was lit.
Within a week, more videos surfaced: testimonies of shattered families, recordings of deformed creatures, confessions from scientists and doctors who claimed they had been threatened into silence.
Suicides increased. Disappearances followed.
Chaos had returned.
The government responded by enacting the Anti-Mutant Law, declaring that any individual showing signs of genetic alteration must be surrendered, captured, or eliminated.
Terrified, humanity obeyed.
The hunt began.
And the streets were stained with blood once more.
The mutated fled to forests, ruins, and shadows. Some still retained fragments of their humanity; others, twisted by pain and fear, became predators. They formed small groups, struggling to survive the persecution.
Once again, the world split in two.
In hidden refuges, whispers began to spread.
Five young mutants, weary of running, swore to return to humanity the same terror they had endured. Among them was one whose skin had hardened like stone, impervious to bullets.
Their leader—a young man with cold eyes and a broken smile—spoke only one sentence before they marched toward the city:
—If they call us monsters… then they will learn to fear us.
That night, fire returned to the world.
And with it, the flame burned once more.