The Nexus shook—not from an attack, but from confusion.
A feedback pulse reverberated through the Vault network, scrambling integrity checks. In the northern districts, archives locked down automatically. Entire buildings shut their doors as security systems triggered failsafes designed to suppress "disruptive content."
In practice, that meant truths they couldn't control.
Lira's hands flew across the console near Kael. Her eyes darted over cascading data as threads disintegrated in real time.
"They're initiating memory collapse protocols," she muttered. "Erasing sectors wholesale—trying to quarantine anything the restored thread touched."
Corren glanced up from a side terminal. "Is it working?"
"No," she said. "It's too late."
Screens across the Nexus flared with error glyphs. Personal histories warped. Ceremonial records of noble bloodlines showed contradictions. Entire events once considered sacred suddenly appeared inconsistent, even to the average citizen.
And in the streets, people were noticing.
Not everyone panicked.
But enough did.
A House Morran official in Sector Seven ordered a purge of pre-Archive documents. The order itself triggered an internal conflict when a junior scribe remembered a hidden copy—and refused.
Elsewhere, a broadcast host paused mid-script, suddenly unable to finish reading the daily announcement. She saw a glyph change in her memory-feed—and recognized it wasn't hers.
Lira's terminal pinged.
"Encrypted message," she said. "From House Morran command."
She decrypted it slowly.
Her breath caught.
Kael looked at her. "What is it?"
She turned the screen.
SELVERE IS EN ROUTE. STAGE PROTOCOL SIGMA. STRIKE WHEN HE ARRIVES.
Kael stepped back.
"They're sending him," he said. Not surprised. Not afraid.
Just ready.