The lights were dim in Nexus. The center stage was illuminated only by the eight-meter Lumen Orb, its sapphire veins rotating slowly around its axis. The auditorium stood empty, giving the place an eerie chill. David was the only one present, standing before the Orb with his hands clasped behind his back.

  The blue glow reflected in his glasses and washed his stern features in cold silver. He looked calm yet something beneath the surface gave the sensation of a storm barely contained.

  “So they know…” he murmured at last, voice quiet and eerily composed. David often spoke to himself when alone. “And now the masses are busy clowning around in front of those Tree constructs, whatever they think they are. It suits me. An even better distraction than the Orb.”

  He paused.

  “Fortunately I intervened in time, bribing those scientists and researchers who saw the book into keeping quiet about the Sentinel, letting them only talk about the Trees. And Elisabeth...she wasn’t bright enough to mention the Sentinel in her article, omitting it completely. So the masses remain ignorant of the larger picture, and that works perfectly for me.”

  David stood still for a moment. Then the faint smirk that had pulled at his mouth suddenly vanished. His brows lowered, his expression hardening as fury twisted his face. He stalked toward the lectern and snatched off the newspaper resting there. His eyes scanned frantically until he found the article. Then, without a word, he tore it to shreds.

  “Elisabeth…” he growled, voice low and trembling with rage. “You had the nerve to break into the Academic Archives, tampering with my monitoring system. I don’t know how you got inside. You couldn’t have obtained let alone held my needle-key. Yet the timing… the brief interruption in the system… the moment of my departure… it all shows your break-in, and the book you handed to the scientists when they demanded proof.”

  He shook his head in disgust.

  “Perhaps I wouldn’t have noticed had you not been foolish enough to publish that article, practically confirming the suspicion publicly. You dug your own grave. Deborah would never have made such a mistake.”

  David’s voice dropped to a cold whisper filled with venom.

  “I never forgive anyone who makes a fool of me. I destroy them. Slowly. Publicly. I suffocate them with humiliation until it replaces the air they breathe. Congratulations, Elisabeth. You’ve reached the top of my blacklist, right next to that insect. I ruined him completely that day. And now it’s your turn. Not even Deborah will be able to pull you out of what’s coming.”

  He paced slowly, the Lumen Orb glinting across his glasses as he thought.

  “I just need to choose a day, an adequate day, when all of Arctar’s eyes will be focused on one place, ensuring everyone witnesses your end…”

  Then he stopped, smiling with chilling delight.

  “Ah yes… the Memorial. What a perfect day to end someone.”

  He stood there a long while relishing the thought.

  A sharp notification ping cut cleanly through David’s thoughts. On the monitor next to the Lumen Orb, a new student project submission caused the Orb to surge in brightness. The sapphire glow flared, filling the auditorium with rippling light.

  David’s smirk widened, dark, almost joyous.

  “Yes… grow stronger, extractor,” he murmured. “When the excavation is complete I will finally be able to efficiently rip—”

  He stopped mid-sentence, smirking in delight at the thought of the future.

  At that same moment, in Hope’s Plaza, Bozo suddenly doubled over, unable to breathe. He had kept to the edge of the crowds as always, but now he staggered toward a deserted back alley, one hand pressed to his chest. His breathing came in broken gasps. Tears welled in his eyes as if something inside him were crushing his lungs.

  His eyes suddenly flared gold.

  “Hold on…” he rasped through clenched teeth. “Just a bit more…”

  A second wave slammed into him. Bozo dropped to one knee, panting, the gold in his eyes flickering like a failing spark.

  “It’s okay… I’m here…”

  He pressed his palm to the wall, trembling violently. After several brutal seconds, the attack began to subside. His muscles loosened. His breath steadied. The burning gold in his eyes dimmed and finally vanished.

  Bozo slid down until he was sitting against the cold wall, head tilted back, eyes closed, sweat beading his forehead. He exhaled shakily, trying to gather himself again in the quiet darkness.

  -----------------------------------------

  The chaos and frenzy of the crowds continued across all the Trees’ plazas. Bjorn had returned to his drills, but now he didn’t shout. He counted silently in his head, his face contorting with exertion. Sir Vu lounged in a portable magenta chair near his Hope Bounce, a drink in hand, several gnome agents standing behind him as if guarding the president. He rested his chin on the back of his hand, elbow on the armrest, grinning as he observed Rogue Gnome crouched behind a garbage bin next to a food cart, scribbling notes while staring at Sir Vu intensely, deadpan and convinced of his own invisibility.

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  A gnome agent approached quietly, voice low and confidential:

  “Sir Vu, it appears the paranoid gnome has been spotted stalking you.”

  “Yes, I see him,” Sir Vu replied.

  “Do you wish us to intercept him? He is a potential hazard.”

  “‘Hazard’ is such a strong word. I know many consider me a cosmic hazard too.” Sir Vu chuckled.

  “Sir, he once cracked a high-level cipher sheet intended for CGIA trainee exams. We were impressed, but he then concluded that sandwich triangles are the city’s primary espionage units and began shadowing bakery displays. Another time, he spent three hours presenting a hypothesis that Arctar’s pigeons are government drones made of compressed voters.

  Recently, he shifted his attention to you, sir, sending one unsolicited report per day with ‘proofs’ that you are a clandestine mastermind orchestrating a city-wide conspiracy to control time itself by replacing all traffic lights with mirrors. These mirrors would reflect the shine of your hair into space stations, which would then send signals delaying civilian elevators by exactly three seconds per floor, thereby reducing national productivity by 2.7% annually and positioning you as the future de facto ruler of Arctar by 2042.”

  “What if I was?” Sir Vu asked with a grin.

  The agent fell silent, stunned.

  “He tried to join the CGIA repeatedly, didn’t he?”

  “Yes, sir, and we repeatedly refused him precisely due to his chronic paranoia.”

  “He was a worker at the Dream Factory,” Vu said thoughtfully, scanning the plaza. “I remember all my employees’ faces. Such a shame he went rogue.”

  He rose from the chair, waving off his agents. “No need to follow me,” he said, and approached the garbage bin where Rogue Gnome crouched, still deadpan and scribbling.

  “How are you doing, Mini Me?” Sir Vu asked casually, leaning over him.

  Rogue Gnome froze, petrified. He trembled, then caught himself after a moment and straightened, hiding his notebook. He gave a brief nod, his face utterly serious, eyes suspiciously fixed on Sir Vu.

  “Good, thank you. But I believe you’re mistaken. I am not ‘Mini Me.’ You have the wrong gnome.”

  Sir Vu stared at him, completely amused.

  “Ah, of course. I do apologize. I did think it would be flattering to call you this though, considering your rather unusual choice of hair color and hair style, and how it oddly mirrors mine, even down to the length.”

  “…It’s a coincidence, sir.”

  “Of course. Magenta is such a common hair color, isn’t it? And so discreet too, especially for a spy.”

  Rogue Gnome, now beet-red, cleared his throat. Sir Vu smirked.

  “And it’s also the secret to controlling elevators.” he added casually.

  Rogue Gnome’s eyes widened, and he grabbed his notebook, vibrating with a silent, I knew it! aura. Sir Vu chuckled.

  “Well, at least it’s nice to see you occupied and not depressed like when you left the Factory.”

  Rogue Gnome’s expression hardened.

  “I was not depressed! I just started seeing everything clearly!”

  “And you started projecting. If you constantly view everything through black lenses, you’ll only fall into despair and isolation.”

  “You’re saying I should be willingly blind, then, and dance while I see we’re drowning?”

  “No. But tell me, Mini Me… we’re in front of the Tree of Hope. What is Hope to you?”

  Rogue Gnome said nothing. Sir Vu leaned back, answering for him.

  “Hope isn’t blind naivety. It’s the ability to see despair clearly and still offer light, instead of sinking into gloom. Isn’t that what the Dream Factory specializes in?”

  Rogue Gnome looked away, lips pressed tight. Sir Vu straightened preparing to leave, his fanged smile returning. Over his shoulder, he added with a mischievous glint in his eye:

  “Take care, Mini Me. By the way, I’m thinking of changing my hair color to indigo soon.”

  Rogue Gnome stared after him, wide-eyed, frozen, then dashed out of the plaza, scribbling furiously in his notebook: I need dye! Now!

  “Sir Vu! Sir Vu!” Two gnome agents rushed toward Sir Vu as he returned to his chair. They were holding a huge parasol with a glittery slogan imprinted on it: Raining Dreams.

  “Why?” Sir Vu raised an eyebrow at them, surprised, then looked up at the sky. Many others, campers, vendors, tourists, were doing the same.

  The wind had stopped entirely. Not a whisper of a breeze; utter stillness. Yet heavy clouds gathered unnaturally fast over Hope’s Plaza, and a faint mist began creeping across the ground. The thick canopy of clouds fully obscured the sun, casting a diffuse, greenish-gray light over everything.

  “Weird… the weather forecast said clear skies for the next three days.” a tourist murmured.

  “Feels like tornado weather.” added a vendor nervously.

  “IT’S HAPPENING!” Bjorn’s voice suddenly boomed across the plaza, tense and urgent.