I know something is wrong before I even open my eyes.
Not because of pain.
Because of its absence.
For a split second, in that hazy just-waking space, there's…nothing. No familiar ache in my chest, no dull throb in my joints, no smoldering coal where my lungs are supposed to be.
Just a quiet so complete it feels fake.
Then the cold hits.
Not breezy "someone left the window open" cold. This is bone-deep, marrow-deep, crawl-under-the-skin cold. Like someone opened a door inside me and let winter slither in.
I inhale sharply.
My breath fogs the air.
Inside my own bedroom.
Okay. That's new.
The HUD flickers to life above me, letters a bit fuzzy.
MORNING STATUS CHECK Body Temperature: 32.1°C (TOO LOW) Pain Level: 0% (suspiciously, unnaturally, ominously low) Mana Level: 187% of safe resting capacity (RISING) Warning: – This is not what "getting better" feels like. – Please remain calm while everything goes wrong.
"Fantastic," I croak.
My voice sounds…small. Thin.
I'm flat on my back. The blankets feel heavy but not uncomfortable—just distant, like they're lying on someone else. My fingers, when I flex them, move slowly, as if through cold syrup.
My chest doesn't hurt.
I don't trust it.
I wiggle my toes. That works. I shift my legs. Heavy, but responsive. I try to push myself up on my elbows.
My head explodes.
Or that's what it feels like.
Pain slams straight through my skull—sharp, bright, behind the eyes and at the base of the neck, as if someone rammed a hot iron spike up my spine and out my forehead.
I gasp.
"Okay," I grit out. "Correction. Something hurts."
The HUD adjusts with cheerful cruelty.
Pain Distribution: – Cranial / Neural: 87% – Everything Else: 0% Diagnosis: Mana Saturation Headache Cause: Your core is trying to overclock your brain.
My vision swims. For a second, the ceiling doubles.
I squeeze my eyes shut again and breathe. In. Out. The air feels thin. Cold.
Beside me, there's the quiet sound of fabric shifting.
"Fia…?"
Mira's voice. Small, sleep-rough.
I turn my head, very carefully.
She's in the armchair again, blanket sliding off her shoulders, hair a soft tangle. She blinks at me, then at the fog of my breath, then at the faint frost edging the inside of the window.
Her eyes widen.
"Oh no," she says.
She's out of the chair and at my side in an instant, hands hovering before she actually touches me, as if afraid I'll shatter.
"You're awake," she says, relieved and terrified at the same time. "How do you feel?"
"Cold," I say. "Like someone stuffed me with ice. And my head is trying to reenact a stabbing minigame."
Her hands settle lightly on my cheeks.
She sucks in a breath.
"Fia, you're freezing," she whispers. "This isn't—"
Her words cut off.
Her eyes unfocus for a second, the way they do when she's listening for something only she can hear—heartbeat, mana, whatever saintess sense she uses.
Her pupils blow wide.
"Your mana," she breathes. "It's—"
The door slams open.
"I felt that from the hallway," Lyriel says, already striding in. Her hair is half-braided, dark circles under her eyes, robe thrown on over her nightshirt. "What happened?"
"She's cold," Mira says. "And…the pain's gone, except for her head. But her mana—"
Lyriel doesn't wait.
She snaps her fingers; half a dozen sigils flare into existence around the bed, spinning faster than I've ever seen them.
Cold blue light washes over me.
"Core output at— Saints," she hisses. "It's spiking."
The HUD agrees, yanking up a big red bar graph.
MANA RESERVOIR: 214% → 229% → 246% (CLIMBING) SAFE THRESHOLD: 100% ILLNESS STABILITY: ???
"Can we…turn it off?" I ask through gritted teeth. "Unplug the battery? Format the drive?"
Lyriel's jaw is tight.
"If it were that simple," she says, "we wouldn't be in this mess."
There are footsteps in the corridor.
The aura of "someone is about to punch fate" hits before the door does.
Elira barrels in in a thin undershirt and loose trousers, sword already in her hand, hair sticking up in every direction.
"I felt a flare," she barks. "What did she do now?"
"I just woke up," I protest. "I didn't press any buttons!"
Mira's fingers dig gently into my shoulders, trying to share warmth through touch and magic both.
"It's not her," she says. "It's…inside her."
Lyriel nods distractedly, eyes flicking between sigils.
"Her core is…wrong," she mutters. "The Authority lock from the Oath is holding on the output side. She can't fling a spell even if she tries. But the input her body is pulling ambient mana like a whirlpool."
Seraphine arrives last, which is impressive given she's wearing actual armor.
"Report," she says, already moving to the bedside.
"Mana spike," Lyriel says. "Severe. Pain suppression everywhere but the head. Temperature dangerously low. This feels like a system-level event, not a normal flare."
Seraphine's hand finds my wrist under the blankets, fingers cool and steady even as her eyes burn.
"Fia?" she says. "Talk to me."
"Trying," I grunt. "Got downgraded from 'bonfire of pain' to 'haunted fridge.' Head is…a rave."
Mira would laugh if she weren't busy being horrified.
"Is the illness…?" Seraphine starts.
Lyriel shakes her head sharply.
"No improvement," she says. "If anything, some parameters are worse. The pain being gone is not because she's healed. It's because something else has taken priority."
I grit my teeth as another wave slams through my skull. It's not like the chest pain—less visceral, more…intrusive. Like something is pushing out through my brain, wanting more space.
The shared burden bracelet on my wrist is hot and cold at the same time, runes flickering in confusion.
"Shared Burden isn't engaging," Mira says suddenly, voice tight. "I don't feel her pain. Just…pressure. Like someone is knocking on the inside of my ribs."
"Same," Elira says, rubbing her sternum with her free hand. "Like…static."
Seraphine presses a hand to her temple. "Headache," she mutters. "Nothing like what she's describing, but…sharp."
Lyriel squeezes her eyes shut briefly, then opens them.
"Of course," she says bitterly. "We patched pain distribution. The system joyfully accepted. So it found a different axis to torment her on."
"Can you fix it?" Elira snaps.
Lyriel glares at her. "I'm trying."
The HUD pings, text warping around the edges of my vision.
GENRE INTERFERENCE DETECTED Oath: Flame's Pact – Active Restrictions: – No lethal self-sacrifice. – Authority output throttled without party consent. System Response: – Direct martyrdom route blocked. – Rebalancing… Result: – Pain → Mana – Body = Cold battery. Brain = Overclocked CPU.
"I hate this," I mutter.
Mira wipes at her eyes with the back of one hand, the other still glowing against my chest.
"I hate it too," she whispers. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I thought we made it safer. I didn't think it would"
"Hey," I rasp. "This isn't on you. This is on the universe being bad at patch notes."
Another spike slams through my head.
I gasp, vision going white for a second.
The room feels like it tilts.
"Okay," I manage when it eases. "That one was…fun."
The shared burden bracelet pulses hard.
This time, all three of them flinch.
"Ow," Elira mutters, free hand going to her temple.
Seraphine winces, rubbing at her brow.
Mira sucks in a sharp breath.
Lyriel's eyes narrow.
"…It's starting to share," she says. "Just not enough."
She makes a sharp gesture; a sigil peels off the air and slams into the bracelet. The runes flare, lines brightening, cracks of light extending along my veins like glowing threads.
Instantly, the cold in my limbs eases a fraction.
Immediately afterward, their reactions hit.
Mira sways.
Seraphine grunts softly, hand tightening on my wrist.
Elira hisses between her teeth and braces a shoulder on the wall.
Lyriel grips her staff a little harder, knuckles white.
"Stop," I choke. "Don't—"
"Too late," Lyriel says through her teeth. "You wanted honesty. Here it is. We can take more."
"I don't want you to," I say.
Mira leans closer, forehead touching mine for a moment.
"Fia," she says softly, "we promised to share."
Her voice is mild as ever, but there's steel under it now.
Seraphine nods. "We locked you out of sacrificing yourself," she says. "We didn't say we were locking ourselves out of accepting new risks."
The HUD adds a sidebar.
OATH INTERACTION: Because you swore not to die for the world, the system is attempting to kill you *for* the world instead. Party Response: – "Absolutely not." – Forcefully engaging Shared Burden on Mana Feedback channel.
Another wave hits.
But this time, it's…different.
The pain in my head spikes, yes, but then—like water diverted into multiple pipes—it splits.
A chunk of it routes through the bracelet, cold-hot threads darting outward.
Mira gasps softly, a hand flying to her temple. Elira mutters a curse, jaw clenching. Seraphine's pupils constrict; her breath catches. Lyriel hisses, eyes squeezing shut for a heartbeat.
And yet—
They stay standing.
No one collapses.
My own agony drops from "blinding white" to "horrible but survivable."
"Report," Lyriel grits out, because of course she's still collecting data while in pain. "Numbers."
Mira swallows.
"Four," she says. "On my scale. Bad, but…"
"Three," Elira says. "I've had worse hangovers."
"Four," Seraphine says. "Concentrated. Manageable."
"Two," Lyriel says. "For me. Most of it is still hers."
They all look at me.
"How bad?" Mira asks.
I take inventory.
The cold is still there, but less absolute; it feels more like standing naked in a drafty room than in a freezer. My limbs aren't blocks of ice anymore—just chilled. The headache is still…massive, but my thoughts aren't being drowned entirely.
"Seven," I say slowly. "Down from ten."
Mira closes her eyes with relief. "Better," she says.
"Not better enough," Elira mutters. "Can't we just…vent the excess mana into the sky?"
Lyriel shakes her head minutely.
"If we shove it out without structure," she says, "we risk triggering a full Authority event. And thanks to the Oath, Fia can't consciously shape it beyond her tolerance; the system will just…slam a lid on it and blow the pot."
"So we're stuck?" I ask.
She looks at me, eyes sharp even through the pain.
"No," she says. "We're in a narrow corridor. There's a difference."
She taps another sigil in the air. It spins, morphs into a little three-dimensional diagram of…me.
A chibi silhouette with a glowing core in the chest, lines of energy leading to head, limbs, bracelet, and four smaller nodes that must represent them.
"Your illness," she says, pointing at the core, "has always been eating at your vessels, making them fragile. The Authority sits in the same place. When we blocked your ability to blow yourself up, the system redirected the pressure: less pain, more mana, more risk of spontaneous…detonation."
"Great," I mutter. "I'm a walking faulty boiler."
She ignores that.
"The shared burden spreads the symptom," she goes on. "The pain. The pressure. But we need something to handle the cause."
"An external anchor," I whisper, remembering the text in the white void.
Lyriel blinks.
"Yes," she says slowly. "Exactly. The system flagged it as 'pending.' I think…it's happening. Now."
Seraphine frowns. "How?"
Mira's eyes widen.
"The Oath," she breathes. "The Flame's Pact. We swore to be her anchors. The system accepted it. So it's…trying to make us into actual anchors."
The bracelet flares again.
This time, I feel it—not just as heat, but as threads snapping taut between us, thicker than before. Lines of red-gold light, visible to mage-sight, run from my wrist to their new marks: Seraphine's thin circlet, Elira's bracer, Mira's rosary-like charm, Lyriel's engraved staff.
My heart stutters.
"It's binding you tighter," I say. "That's—"
"Exactly what we asked it to," Lyriel cuts in. "We wanted more say. This is the cost. We are now part of your magical infrastructure whether we like it or not."
"You don't have to—" I start.
Elira snorts.
"Too late," she says. "Paperwork's filed, pact's signed, bear's a witness. No take-backsies."
Seraphine squeezes my wrist.
"We meant it, Fia," she says softly. "Even if the capital falls. Even if the world flips upside down. We're with you. You don't get to wriggle out of that just because it's uncomfortable."
Mira nods, eyes shining. "You shared your fire with us from the beginning," she says. "Let us…share the frost too."
The HUD throws up a new window like it's been waiting for the right dramatic beat.
EXTERNAL ANCHOR: INITIALIZED Anchors: – Seraphine (Will) – Elira (Body) – Lyriel (Mind) – Mira (Soul) Function: – Redirect excess mana into distributed lattice (party) and environment. – Prevent vessel rupture at high saturation levels. – Convert some mana pressure into shared sensation (pain, cold, headache). Side Effects: – You are now magically co-dependent. Congratulations.
"That's not reassuring," I say.
"It's honest," Lyriel says. "And it's better than 'your brain explodes.'"
Another wave hits.
This one feels…different.
Still sharp. Still awful. But instead of crashing straight into my skull, it splits more cleanly, like water guided by freshly-dug channels. I feel it rush through my head, into my chest, down my arm, through the bracelet—and then out.
Mira flinches.
Seraphine's eyes squeeze shut for a heartbeat.
Elira's breath catches.
Lyriel's hand tightens on her staff.
But they all stay upright.
And I—
I feel the pain drop to a six. The cold to a mild, unpleasant chill.
Most importantly, I feel present.
"I think…" I exhale slowly. "I think it's working."
Mira lets out a shaky laugh that's halfway to a sob. "Good," she whispers. "Good."
Seraphine leans in, resting her forehead briefly against mine.
"Next time," she murmurs, "when something feels this wrong, you tell us before you try to pretend it's fine."
"I literally woke up like this," I mutter. "I didn't get the chance to lie."
"Then we're making your first sentence of every day 'here is my current pain and weirdness report,'" Lyriel says crisply. "Consider it mandatory."
Elira grins faintly. "I'll make a chart," she says. "You love charts."
"I love status screens," I correct, even as another, smaller wave ripples through.
The shared burden and anchor lattice catch it.
This time, the HUD looks…almost pleased.
MANA SPIKE EVENT – PARTIALLY STABILIZED Core Saturation: 246% → 189% → 153% Pain Level: – You: 54% – Each Anchor: ~12–15% Body Temp: 33.4°C (climbing) Note: – Your world did not end. – Your friends' heads hurt. – This is better than the alternative.
I sag back against the pillows, exhausted.
The absence of body-wide pain had been a lie. But this new equilibrium—still awful, but shared, anchored—is…bearable.
Barely.
"Is this…forever now?" I ask quietly. "Headaches and cold and mana spikes?"
Lyriel exhales.
"For now," she says. "But now that the anchor pattern has initialized, we can study it. Refine it. Maybe build proper conduits. This is…Stage One."
"Of too many," Elira mutters. "But we'll take it."
Mira strokes my hair back from my damp forehead.
"You scared us again," she murmurs. "But…you're still here. And so are we. That's what matters."
Seraphine smiles tiredly.
"And thanks to the Oath," she says, "this isn't your fault. It's just the system throwing a tantrum because it didn't get to write you a tragic finale. We'll spank it."
"Please," I say. "Just don't let it spank me alone."
Elira snorts. "Not happening."
The room is still cold, but it doesn't bite quite as hard now. Mira adds a little warmth spell to the blankets; Seraphine orders in more hot bricks; Elira shuts the window entirely "on principle"; Lyriel scribbles furiously in the air, mapping the new lattice.
My head throbs in time with my heart.
It hurts.
But the pain isn't a lonely thing anymore. It's a chord, shared across five bodies, strung through a pact we all chose.
I clutch Sir Fluffsalot, his plush fur warm from my own slow-rising temperature.
The HUD quietly pushes a new notification.
NEW QUEST: CALIBRATE THE ANCHOR Objectives: – Survive first 24 hours of mana instability without exploding. – Map anchor lattice with Lyriel. – Learn grounding techniques that don't violate the Oath. – Let party help, even when you feel guilty. Reward: – A future where "no pain" doesn't automatically mean "you're dying in a new way."
I close my eyes for a moment.
When I open them again, four faces are still there.
Worried.
Tired.
Stubborn.
Mine.
"Okay," I say softly. "Let's…calibrate."
Outside, the capital goes about its business, blissfully unaware that its resident walking calamity almost turned into a mana bomb in her sleep.
Inside, we start, carefully, painfully, to turn that bomb into something else.
Something anchored.
Something shared.
Something that, maybe, one day, won't hurt quite this much.
But even if it does
I won't be freezing alone.