The celebrations lasted three weeks.
Seventeen star systems threw festivals for their liberation. Beings who'd been unconscious for millennia rejoiced at simply existing again. Civilizations rebuilt from nothing, grateful for the chance to remember what consciousness felt like.
They wanted to meet Kaine. Wanted to thank their savior. Wanted to celebrate the eight-year-old who'd killed their captor.
Kaine refused all contact.
She stayed isolated in consciousness-space with the other Awakened, but even they felt distant now. They'd remained what they were—children who'd breached the void through accident of birth. She'd become something else entirely. Something that existed in a category they couldn't understand.
"You're withdrawing," her mother said on the eighth day. She'd been conscious for over a year now, had watched her daughter transform from frightened child into efficient killer. "Talk to me. Let me help."
