The rain hadn't reached the capital yet, but the air already smelled of it—ozone and metal, the taste that comes before a storm.
High above the city, in one of the Archive's glass walkways, Sarah Avelon walked beside Commander Comik, head of Security.
Below, the streets pulsed with blue light, veins of energy threading between buildings like quiet breath.
Comik spoke first.
"Street rhythm's off again. Used to beat with the tower, now it drifts."
Sarah didn't slow. "Everything that listens long enough eventually starts answering back."
He frowned. "You make it sound alive."
"It reacts. Reaction becomes pattern. Pattern becomes will."
Lightning stitched across the southern sky.
Comik's tone lowered. "Theta sent static bursts this morning. Maybe the New Dawn's probing us."
"They'll take credit for any tremor," she said. "That doesn't mean they caused it."
He studied her profile. "Vonix won't like that answer."
"He doesn't have to. He just has to remember I'm usually right."
They stopped before the lift. The Archive's spine rose above them—light and shadow twisting together.
"Off record," Comik said, "if the drift keeps spreading… what happens?"
Sarah met his eyes, calm and cold. "People will keep pretending they're in control. Until control stops pretending back."
The lift opened.
She stepped inside. "If Theta goes dark, call me before you call him."
"Why?"
"Because I'll already know."
The doors closed, leaving Comik alone with the first rumble of thunder.
⸻
Hours Later
The hum of the network faltered. Not gone—just uneven, like the world had missed a heartbeat.
Vonix stood on the command bridge, watching red alerts ripple across the map.
"Sector Theta just went dark," a technician said.
"Cause?"
"Unknown. It didn't explode—it folded inward."
Another alarm shrieked.
"Now Tower Varda's readings are spiking!"
Sarah entered, hair damp from the storm. "That's not interference. That's an echo."
Vonix turned toward her. "You knew."
"I warned Comik hours ago," she said. "You didn't listen."
He held her gaze a moment, then looked to the map. "Contact Warden Kael."
⸻
Tower Varda — Southern Region
Rain hammered the glass walls. Inside, power dipped and flared in quick, nervous flashes.
Warden Kael stood at the main console.
"Cut exterior feeds. Evacuate non-essential staff."
"Yes, sir!"
His wrist-link buzzed.
"Kael. Theta's gone."
"Understood."
The channel died.
He exhaled, drawing his blade—slim, silver, humming faintly in the half-dark.
For twenty years he'd protected data and people he barely knew. Tonight the silence itself felt hostile.
Then the hum stopped altogether.
Not quiet—erased.
The storm outside froze mid-flash, a breath caught between seconds.
Footsteps approached through smoke.
A figure stepped into view, robes black with gold veins that pulsed like slow fire.
"Warden Kael," the stranger said softly. "I hoped they'd send you."
Kael raised his weapon. "Identify yourself."
"Lume."
The name carried its own gravity—one of the New Dawn's Executives.
Kael steadied his stance. "You'll find no victory here."
Lume's voice was calm, almost gentle. "I don't seek victory, Warden. Only proof."
Lightning struck, drenching the hall in white.
Kael moved—
and the world held its breath.