It started with the bells.
They rang not from temples or churches, but from the air itself.
A thousand frequencies vibrating in perfect harmony — pure, haunting, and almost… holy.
By the time Jiheon and Eunha reached the Capital, the streets were filled with people staring skyward, mouths open, eyes glazed.
Every one of them was dreaming — awake.
> "They call it the Dawn Hymn," Rin reported, glancing up from her holo-console. "Started two days ago. No origin point. Every nation hears it differently, but they all react the same way."
> "React how?" Jiheon asked.
> "They kneel."
He swore under his breath.
Eunha's expression stayed calm, but her fingers twitched — as if part of her felt the hymn's rhythm inside her bones.
> "It's the world reaching out," she murmured. "But humanity thinks it's a god."
> "And we both know what happens when people think something divine is listening," Jiheon muttered.
> "Faith," she said.
> "And war," he finished.
---
⚜️
Inside the Council Chamber, chaos reigned.
Representatives from across the continent shouted over each other — priests quoting scripture, scientists brandishing waveforms, soldiers demanding containment.
One man slammed his fist on the table. "The hymn purifies minds! Those who hear it report visions of paradise. This is proof of divine rebirth!"
A woman in a military coat shot back, "Proof of mass hypnosis. We're losing free will!"
Rin muttered, "It's like watching theology wrestle with data."
Eunha stepped forward. Her presence alone silenced the room.
> "Both of you are right," she said. "It is divine — but not holy. It's not blessing you. It's mirroring you."
> "Mirroring?" the general asked.
> "The world learned empathy. It reflects what you most desire. Peace to the devout. Power to the desperate. Control to the fearful."
A priest glared. "And what gives you the right to speak for the divine?"
Her silver eyes caught the light. "Because I built it."
The room went dead quiet.
---
⚜️
Outside, Jiheon leaned against the wall, watching her through the glass. He could feel the pressure of the hymn even here — soft, insistent, like something whispering just behind thought.
> "You shouldn't have told them that," he said when she emerged.
> "They deserve truth," she replied.
> "They'll turn it into heresy."
> "Then we'll redefine the word."
He almost smiled. "You talk like someone who's planning a revolution."
> "Not a revolution," she said. "A correction."
---
⚜️
By evening, the first faction was born.
They called themselves The Order of Resonance.
Their doctrine: The Dream is the new deity. Harmony is salvation. Individual will is sin.
Cities began holding synchronized "Dream Vigils," where hundreds lay down to sleep at the same hour, chanting the same melody.
Across the newsfeeds, others protested — the Free Minds Movement, waving banners that read: "I Dream My Own Dreams."
Rin sighed. "Congratulations. You've invented religion 2.0 — with better acoustics."
Eunha rubbed her temples. "It's spreading faster than I expected."
Jiheon looked at her. "Because you're still the source, aren't you?"
She hesitated. "Part of me is. The pulse listens through me. Every belief feeds it."
> "Then they're not worshipping the world," he said darkly. "They're worshipping you."
---
⚜️
That night, she dreamed again — but this time, it wasn't solitude.
Thousands of voices called her name. Countess. Dreammother. Goddess.
She stood atop an endless ocean of light — humanity's thoughts made visible.
Each ripple was a prayer.
Each wave, a plea.
> Save us.
Unite us.
End our pain.
The world itself whispered behind her.
> They love you, because you listen.
> "Love isn't obedience," she said softly. "It's choice."
> Then teach them.
> "They won't all follow."
> They don't have to.
The light shifted, forming the faint outline of a woman — her reflection, the echo she had absorbed.
> "You again," Eunha said.
> "Always," the echo replied. "You can't silence what you once were."
> "Then tell me — how do I stop this before it consumes them?"
The echo smiled faintly.
> "You don't. You guide it."
---
⚜️
Eunha awoke at dawn, drenched in cold sweat. Jiheon sat nearby, polishing his sword.
> "Nightmares again?"
> "Visions," she corrected. "The world wants a teacher."
> "You sure it's not trying to make you its mouthpiece?"
She smirked weakly. "You always assume the worst."
> "That's why we're both still alive."
Rin burst through the door. "You two need to see this."
The city skyline was burning — not with fire, but light.
Half the city glowed in perfect harmony, singing the hymn aloud. The other half screamed for silence.
Believers versus dissenters.
Dream versus reality.
And in the middle — a giant sigil forming over the capital, visible from miles away.
> "It's using them," Jiheon whispered. "Turning belief into power."
> "No," Eunha said, voice trembling. "They're feeding it willingly."
---
⚜️
The air vibrated like thunder. A column of light erupted from the sigil, carving into the sky — splitting clouds, shaking mountains.
Rin's scanners overloaded instantly. "It's tapping the dream-layer directly! The barrier between worlds is thinning again!"
> "We can't stop that many minds," Jiheon said.
> "We don't have to," Eunha replied. "We redirect them."
> "How?"
> "By giving them something else to believe in."
---
⚜️
She stepped onto the palace balcony, the entire city below bathed in light and chaos. Her voice cut through it — amplified not by technology, but by resonance itself.
> "People of the Dawn — listen."
The hymn faltered. Millions turned their gaze upward.
> "The dream you hear is not a god. It's the world learning to feel. It mirrors your hearts — and right now, it feels fear, hunger, and confusion."
She spread her arms, eyes glowing gold and silver intertwined.
> "You are not its servants. You are its creators. You choose what this new world becomes. Not me. Not faith. You."
Silence followed — then, one by one, voices shifted.
The hymn changed.
From worship to harmony.
From pleading to understanding.
The sigil overhead dissolved, scattering into auroras that danced like breathing starlight.
The world exhaled.
---
⚜️
Afterward, as the city quieted, Jiheon joined her at the balcony.
> "You realize you just overthrew an entire religion before it existed," he said.
> "Then maybe there's hope for us yet."
> "You're playing with fire, Eunha."
She smiled faintly. "Good thing I learned how not to burn."
He looked at her long and hard. "And what happens when the world stops listening?"
She turned toward the horizon — the aurora still pulsing faintly, like veins of color in the sky.
> "Then we listen instead."