Morning light finds the base alive.
Not frantic.
Not chaotic.
Purposeful.
Tunnels buzz with quiet determination. The smell of solder and hot wire hangs in the air like prayer. Students train in silence. Plans slot into place. We're no longer hiding. We're growing.
I move through the ranks of face-lit glyphs and stand before the makeshift hall. It is not a crowd. It is a people. A heartbeat. And I hear it in their eyes.
I do not speak yet.
I merely let them see I am one of them.
Lio stands beside me. His shoulder is healed, but the scar is whiter in the dawn light. He bounces his fists, ready. "They're afraid of you," he breathes.
"I'm not the danger," I tell him. "We are."
And then Nessa steps forward with the plan.
We've traded Jonas Station—the city's data grid central hub. Voss is going to reboot it tonight to erase our rebellion web. If she succeeds, we lose.
Tonight, our people will post the manifesto we authored out of the Hall of Ranks—proof we're not nameless.
When that goes live, we seed it city-wide.
Anybody who finds it—and believes it real—can break a rank.
Jin keeps my eyes, grasping the data drive as she brings us up to speed. "It's a risk," she tells us. "If this doesn't…"
"We don't fail."
She nods. "We do it together."
We split into teams at sunset.
Decentralized. Precise. Five teams proceeding through five access tunnels.
My team enters the old service tunnel under Sector Four. Transactional piping vibrates above. Footsteps echo. My heart thunders so hard I'm amazed the others can't hear it.
We enter the relay room, dusty and dimly lit, thick with archaic machinery. Guild students jack into terminals, red light blinking between wire and wrist. Sweat beads on brows.
Lio stands at the door while I plug into the console. My glyphs emanate from the motherboard. My fingers fire codes with speed. The screen lights up.
The manifesto uploads—
Before a voice crackles over the net.
"Sera Vane, yield now. You will be held. Resistance is treason."
It's Voss.
Live.
Unbaffled.
I stall.
One second.
Then press send.
A burst of information sweeps through the grid.
And it explodes.
Outside, emergency alerts howl in half the city. Drones go from control to passive. Stations flash off. Others cycle the rebel message on all public displays.
In the room, citizens laugh softly. Hug. Collapse into each other.
But the moment isn't over.
The door bursts.
Strata agents stream in. Guns raised, shields glowing.
Lio leaps ahead—his magnetic field sputters. Power surges, hitting shields but not skin. We hold the line.
I stand.
Glyphs light white-blazing.
"The manifest on every screen." I repeat.
They hesitate.
I step out of the console.
They see me.
We don't fight.
We stand.
Standoff is seconds.
But lasts an eternity.
Then the lead agent drops his rifle.
He turns around. Makes a choice.
And nods.
The others follow.
Silence.
Their armor thuds to the ground like petals dropping.
Later, once the adrenaline wears off, I watch the broadcast.
It's everywhere.
But not as Sera Vane.
As movement.
As a signal.
We're not voices in tunnels anymore.
We're the beat in the grid.
Jin's waiting for me in the radiating output room.
Her eyes are wet.
"Look at them."
We watch student broadcasts. Teachers reading the manifesto. Parents listening. Workers watching at lunch terminals.
Change is spreading at light speed.
Lio comes up to us, says nothing, and smiles.
"We broke them," he says.
"Not broke them," I say.
"Awoke them."
That night, Voss broadcasts a second time.
Her voice rallies, contained. She threatens martial law. She describes us as terrorists. She calls us traitors.
But behind her restraint, I detect doubt.
For the first time, she is not addressing the city.
She is addressing it down.
And that is when the system starts to disintegrate.