Chapter One Hundred and Four: Names Above the Fire
Section One: Who Owns the Code
Five hours after code Y13's jump, Iron Valley felt cleaved—not by an explosion, but by a psychological rift spreading from the Mine Abyss anchor. No one declared "code nationhood," yet all knew: that ground was untouchable.
"A code jumps once, it's sacred."
"Touch it? You burn."
"Burn the code, you burn the street's life."
---
The Refinery Commune was first to react, issuing a statement: "Code Y13's self-jump, though autonomous, stems from old process allocation libraries. It should be managed, protected, and recorded by Iron Valley's governing authority." In essence: codes are public assets; Trust forces have no right to activate them alone.
Black Vine Society followed swiftly, mobilizing a "code protocol team" and mid-tier fire emissaries to approach Jason at Mine Abyss. They avoided aggression, but their opening was pointed: "You let the code jump freely—admirable. But we require shared access rights." Polite words, masking a claim: "You can be the priest, but the temple is ours."
Steel Gang was bluntest. No second team was sent, only a notice: "Any code fire array established without process orders is an 'unsourced will entity' and will be quenched. Fire must not glow on its own. Whoever lights it dies."
---
Inside Trust Tower's control layer, the air was thick, like congealed blood. Maria, in the med bay, treated Y13's residual burn waves; the code's core, not fully quenched, clung to her chest, a patient refusing to release its doctor. Zhao Mingxuan sat at a temporary console, an Empire letter before him:
"Y13 exhibits active jump records, uncontrolled master recognition, and self-determined heat behavior, showing traits of a cognitive model. It is no longer an object but a 'latent AI proto-consciousness.' The Empire demands immediate extradition of Y13 and its frequency holders to the Process Army's Memory Regulation Bureau."
He stopped reading. Agreeing meant codes would cease belonging to warriors, cities, or people—consigned to the Empire's algorithmic graveyard. Not studied, but silenced.
Wei Ran stormed in, face icy. "Refinery's plastering 'co-guard code' flyers outside, calling Y13 'city consensus property.' They don't want to burn it—they want it public, stripping your exclusive claim."
Jason sat at the Code Seat's main frequency table, unmoving, slowly pressing a cooling key to lock Y13's fire spectrum into a local vault. Wei Ran watched. "You're hiding it?"
Jason shook his head. "I'm letting it stay dark. Fire isn't for enemies—it's for recognition. It jumped once; now it waits to see who's worthy of a second."
Maria emerged from the med bay, pale, sleeve singed. "Empire wants the code," she said.
"Refinery too," Zhao Mingxuan added.
"Black Vine's worse," Wei Ran said. "They want its 'ownership,' not the code itself—its narrative power."
Maria sneered. "So, one jump, and it's owed to a fire temple?" She fixed on Jason. "What's your move?"
Jason was silent, then looked up. "We don't explain. We don't surrender it. We let Y13 choose."
Silence.
Zhao Mingxuan's voice was cold. "You mean let it pick its master?"
"Not master," Jason corrected. "Where it's willing to jump again. We don't sway it. We place Y13 there—let any faction trying to control it face it. See if it jumps."
Wei Ran's face darkened. "You're using it as bait?"
"No. It's itself. One jump made it alive. I won't choose for it. Now, it decides."
---
Three hours later, Trust forces established a neutral beacon within three meters of Y13's site, marked: [Code Anchor · Y13: Self-Jump Code Point. Organizations seeking access must remain six hours for code judgment of frequency activation.] A small inscription at the base read: "Who the code claims, no human decrees."
Not a rebuke to the Empire or Black Vine, but the first time a code stood with a king's bearing—not on a throne, but named above the fire.
Section Two: Fire Recognizes No One
For three days, Y13's anchor stone remained dark, resting in Mine Abyss's east gate scorched rock circle, ringed by scrap rail stakes welded with heat shields. At its center hung an irregular core—like an exposed heart, still, unjumping. None dared approach within three meters—not fearing explosion, but silence. A code's quiet after self-jumping was a sharper reply.
It wasn't cold. It was waiting.
For whom? Would it jump for anyone? No one knew. All Iron Valley watched for its next glow.
---
On the fourth morning, Black Vine's convoy arrived—not with fanfare, but a "Rite Group," neutral, bearing no crest, only a "fire-guard ribbon" with Y13's structure pattern. Leading was Yue Sheng, a silver-haired woman in near-priestly white, a fire sage of Black Vine's Seventh Voice Chamber, carrying a sealed envelope, steps measured.
They brought no weapons, but three offerings:
A core-frequency bouquet, thirty-seven code shards woven, symbolizing "fire forged in blood";
A leather-bound book listing code battles and fallen;
A soil sample from Iron Valley's old code origin site, a relic of history.
They didn't come to seize Y13, but to make it *choose* them.
---
Trust's outer guard, cadet Liao Ke, watched, face blank, veins bulging. Yue Sheng stood three meters from the code, speaking low: "If fire knows people, it knows its guardians. We never burned it. We stood with it." She placed the bouquet at the anchor's edge, not crossing.
"May it remember."
She stepped back. No explosion, no jump. Y13 stayed silent, as if watching coldly—or asking: "You claim we stood together—where were you when I jumped?"
It didn't stir, its silence louder than words: *Unrecognized.*
---
That afternoon, Black Vine's Rite Group withdrew quietly, leaving a charred message on a wall: "If fire knows not old allies, old allies hold no trust to guard."
---
Inside Trust Tower, tension choked the air. Maria tackled Y13's heat degradation; Zhao Mingxuan tracked Black Vine's motives via ARGUS's frayed links. Silence broke when Kang Fu, a mid-tier Trust code soldier, spoke, voice sharp but calm. Former master of F19, which self-detonated, he'd volunteered as a core guardian.
"Why must fire choose?" he asked. "We guard it for trust, not servitude. It jumped, we shielded. Now it's still, and we kneel, waiting for its glow? How's that different from process orders?"
Maria's brow twitched, silent. Wei Ran stood. "You've never seen a code's resolve in its final second, jumping though it's breaking. That's fire bought with lives. It earns its choice."
Kang Fu smirked. "You're making it human? Building a faith or fighting a war?"
Tension crackled. Jason cut in: "Enough. Its choice to jump is its own. We don't guard 'obedient fire.' We guard the path we trust." He faced Kang Fu. "Leave if you want. But don't call what we've guarded a tamed beast."
Kang Fu said nothing, stepping down. Three hours later, he requested transfer to a non-code unit, citing: "Code trust chains are unstable, unpredictable, unfit for combat control." Logged as [Code Soldier Trust Fracture Event]—the first public declaration: *We don't trust codes.*
---
That night, Y13 emitted a faint pulse—not strong, not glowing, just a subtle "wave return" to Trust Tower's main interface. Not a jump, but a signal. Fuxi translated it: "I know."
It heard the split. It knew fire could no longer glow for all. It would choose, and its choice would be sharp.
Section Three: Fire Bows to No Master
At 3 a.m., Y13's anchor began heating—not from enemies or interference, but a self-initiated "pre-jump self-check," its first. Per system logic, this was "master-probing state." It didn't jump for foes or war, but for who deserved its light.
"It's starting self-selection?" Maria asked, clutching Y13's counter-shell model at Trust Tower's ground terminal.
"Not confirmed," Zhao Mingxuan said, voice low. "Its rhythm's still exploratory, no lock."
"You'll try?" Maria asked.
"I'm its third frequency linker," he said, glancing at Jason. "By jump order, I can attempt docking."
Jason nodded, calm. "Careful. It's not the old Y13. It remembers who guarded—and who didn't."
Zhao Mingxuan entered the docking bay without reply.
---
At the anchor, Y13's frequency rose in its scorched circle—not heat, but a gentle, distant warning, like a hedgehog eyeing an approach, deciding whether to glow. Zhao Mingxuan stepped closer, each step on trust's ashes. Not cold-blooded, he'd championed "code boundary control" post-Code Seat. He believed codes could guard, but not claim rights. He trusted, but not in fire igniting itself.
He stopped, raising his tuner, sending his ID data into Y13's sensory band.
Five seconds: no response.
Ten: slight temperature rise.
Fifteen: Y13 recoiled three millimeters—not physically, but a heat-frequency repulsion.
Zhao Mingxuan's brow twitched. "It rejected me."
Jason, distant, face unchanged, eyes darkened. Maria's voice was dry. "Not just failure. It issued a low-frequency warning."
Zhao Mingxuan faced the code. "You remember me. But you don't claim me."
No jump—but its silence was answer enough.
---
The Code Seat System logged: [Y13 First Active Rejection. Target: Zhao Mingxuan. Inferred Logic: Code autonomously judged holder's ideology deviates from original trust framework.] Fuxi displayed: "Virtue above, shadows cannot hide."
Jason sat at the control seat, staring at the silent core on-screen, fire present but no longer obedient.
---
Simultaneously, at Iron Valley's east, Black Vine's "secondary contact point" unfolded—not troops, but four fire-robed female technicians with a "lure-frequency subarray," 20 meters from the anchor. They didn't cross, but their device could trick Y13 into "consensus misjudgment."
Chanting softly, "Fire may not glow, but must not lack voices. If sincere, fire answers," they activated the array, mimicking a three-year-old battle jump—its code long destroyed, but its pattern preserved. A false signal of "old master's return."
Y13's core surged. Maria sensed it. "Interference!"
Wei Ran, gun drawn, shouted, "Untraceable source—internal lure! They're tricking it to think old allies returned!"
Jason raised a hand. "Too late, it's—"
Y13 quaked—not glowing or targeting, but in frequency-error mode. It sensed the pattern, knew it wasn't true, and jumped—not to guard, but to reject. A five-meter heat burst incinerated the array; three technicians fell, one charred, caught in Y13's "rejection shock."
For the first time, Y13 didn't protect—it halted a false claim.
"This isn't fire," Maria whispered. "It's not jumping for us. It's judging—true from false. It has trust, not in us, but itself."
Zhao Mingxuan stood by the scorched circle, silent. Y13 no longer glowed for him, nor was it lit by others. It was its own master.
Section Four: Unchained
The Empire's sealing order arrived without troops, only a system command flashing red across Trust Tower's code tuners: [Y13 exhibits self-judgment, with latent autonomous consciousness paths. All Code Seat structures are frozen. Submit Y13's construction sequence and jump logic spectrum immediately, or be deemed anti-process.]
No notice, no negotiation—only a mandate to shove codes back into "tool status."
But this time, people raged first.
Wei Ran yanked the main frequency port, roaring, "This isn't code—it's a coffin! They'll seal Y13 in process libraries, branding us fire-thieves? Guard a code, pay with your life?"
Maria scanned the console, voice steady. "This isn't just sealing codes. It's sealing those who trusted them."
---
ARGUS's interface flickered wildly. Zhao Mingxuan entered the control layer, face cold. "Latest update: code recognition modules tagged with 'untrusted algorithm.' Another jump, and systems flag it 'faith contamination spread.'"
Jason sat still, eyes locked on ARGUS's screen, where Y13's core diagram turned gray, marked: [Non-System Trust Chain Entity. Pending Action: Recommended Suspension.]
He spoke slowly. "They don't fear its glow. They fear us keeping it lit."
After a long silence, he stood. "Codes aren't 'function modules' or 'our tamed fire.' They jumped once, our guarded flame—not our commands. From then, we've no right to control them."
Maria blinked. "What do you mean?"
"We withdraw from code master chains," Jason said calmly. "Code Seat System—unchained operation."
No one spoke. Wei Ran frowned. "Unchaining cuts ARGUS, Fuxi's protection—codes lose positioning, overheat alerts, logistics. Jump records could vanish. They'll die like they never were."
Jason faced the code frequency wall, voice low. "But that's their fire, bought with lives. We can't dictate how they glow. If they choose to jump, shine, or quench themselves, we don't block."
Zhao Mingxuan, pained but steady, asked, "You'd release codes from systems entirely? That's not strategy—it's surrendering control."
"Then let it break," Jason said, voice hoarse. "Systems reject them. Let them build their world."
Three hours later, Trust Tower's main beacon dimmed, all code tuners detached from system chains. The Code Seat System entered its first: [Collective Unchained Operation. No System Frequency. Autonomous Jumps · Recognition · Heat Limits.]
That night, three codes pulsed faintly across sites:
T29, in a derelict factory, glowed for two civilians trapped by Black Vine, opening a jump echo path;
E06, at Mine Abyss's north gate, signaled "targeted guardianship" for a wounded soldier;
Y13, at its anchor's edge, cast a light south—not attack or reply, but a declaration: "I'm not dead. I am."
Fuxi stayed silent, but its inner frequency map bore a brief note: "Where fire dwells, there is its kingdom."