A few days later, the media began reporting worrying incidents across Arctar.

  Rosalyn had just come downstairs for a glass of water when the television caught her attention. Sir Vu stood behind the sofa, remote in hand, watching the screen with focus.

  “…unlikely.” the reporter was saying. “However, ever since the Memorial, medical clinics have been flooded with people reporting an unusual prickling of the skin. Doctors, who have examined hundreds of patients, do not believe this to be an epidemic. The symptoms remain minor and do not appear to cause any severe health issues. That said, the persistence of the condition despite prescribed medication is becoming a matter of concern.”

  The screen showed long lines of people seated in waiting rooms, others standing outside clinics, arms crossed, scratching absently. Then the footage shifted.

  Nighttime. Burning cars. A shattered storefront. A crowd was yelling while smashing windows, crushing car lights and car hoods. Flares were being ignited, plunging the streets in harsh red light.

  And among them, in the background, a hooded figure with a hammer in each hand was visible.

  He moved through the chaos with unnatural speed, leaping onto car roofs, shattering windshields with brutal precision. Streetlamps snapped under his strikes. Poles bent. Glass exploded. His movements were too fast, too controlled, his face beneath the dark hood indescribable because of the distance.

  Police sirens wailed as officers rushed in, tackling rioters, restraining people one by one.

  The broadcast cut to an interview.

  A gnome stood in front of his wrecked shop, huffing, voice trembling with frustration.

  “I’ve been a store owner for fifty-two years, and this has never happened before. I’m telling you, it’s that itching -it’s driving some people insane! Now I’m supposed to tell my insurance agent what -‘vandalism due to inadequate skin care’? Do they even have a form for that?!”

  Sir Vu turned off the television. Silence settled in the room. Rosalyn stared at the dark screen, chest tight.

  “Any thoughts?” Sir Vu asked, leaning against the back of the sofa.

  “I’m not sure,” Rosalyn replied slowly. “But that last riot footage… wasn’t it reminiscent of the crowd’s behavior during the Memorial? Only more extreme this time.”

  “Yes,” Sir Vu said. “It looked like a continuation of that same brainwashing. What happened at the Memorial wasn’t just a one-time thing, it seems. The brainwashing is somehow propagating -and at greater intensity.”

  “Do you agree with the shopkeeper?” she asked quietly. “That the prickling and the violence are linked?”

  Sir Vu opened his lips to answer when the intercom chimed. He pressed the button. “Yes?”

  “Sir, there’s a man asking to speak with you.” the gnome at reception said. “Do you want me to let him in?”

  “At this hour? No, tell him to-”

  Sir Vu stopped mid-sentence. His irises suddenly flashed magenta.

  Rosalyn’s heart leapt at the sight but then she too froze. Her thoughts instantly cleared, a strange resonance rippled through her, like recognition without memory, like a network had been activated.

  Her own irises started glowing blue.

  “The Chosen of Wisdom is…” she whispered.

  “Let him in. Now.” Sir Vu ordered immediately into the speaker.

  The mental connection vanished. Their eyes returned to normal. They exchanged a glance, no words needed, then both turned toward the elevator, waiting.

  The lift’s metal doors gleamed in the setting sun, reflecting the golden rays spilling through the spacious living room. Above them, the number on the digital panel climbed rapidly as the elevator approached the highest floor of the skyscraper: the penthouse.

  A sharp ding rang out. The lift shuddered softly as it came to a stop.

  Rosalyn braced herself, anticipation surging through her veins. Sir Vu stood beside her, eyes locked on the doors.

  They slid open.

  A man stepped out calmly, wearing a worn dark brown leather jacket, frayed jeans, and a bark pendant resting against his chest. Rosalyn’s eyes widened in recognition.

  The man gave a light nod.

  “Evening. I’m Bozo. Chosen of Wisdom.”

  ------------------------------

  Night had slowly blanketed Arctar. Bozo stood in front of the floor-to-ceiling windows, watching the cityscape. Two types of lights cut through the night air. Artificial with its headache inducing neon signs, streetlamps and car headlights; and natural with the faint glow of the stars above. He was waiting for both Rosalyn and Sir Vu to settle on the sofa. They soon did, intent, their eyes fixed on him.

  As Bozo had entered they had stared at him in silence for a while before Sir Vu had finally grinned, welcoming him in his usual flamboyant host manner. Bozo had refused any offers of hospitality wanting to get straight to the point of his visit. He had specifically activated the Chosen cognitive mind network to accelerate recognition and bypass their suspicion.

  Rosalyn had been silent. He knew that she was surprised that he was the Chosen of Wisdom and that she was feeling uneasy, glancing at him but averting her eyes whenever he looked her way. He remembered the first time he had seen her at night (Chapter 2). He had gotten a premonition then that something about her was unique, particular. It wasn’t about her future as the Chosen of Humility - he had never foreseen the names of the future Chosen nor obtained any indications as to their identities. No, Rosalyn carried something else within her entirely, something deeper, something he couldn’t quite grasp.

  “I wasn’t supposed to find you yet,” Bozo said, turning from the window. “I was meant to wait until the Chosen of Purity was chosen. But seeing how rapidly things are escalating, waiting any longer would've been foolish.”

  “More rapidly than expected? And what exactly was your expected period?” Sir Vu asked, smirking.

  A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  “I don’t have a precise number,” Bozo said. “But the current phase we’re witnessing wasn’t supposed to happen for another five months. The Memorial incident sharply accelerated the decay.”

  “Still cryptic, Mr. Wisdom. Do please give more specifics.” Sir Vu chimed, voice teasing.

  Bozo’s gaze shifted to him. His eyes flashed gold for a heartbeat, and Sir Vu’s smirk faltered. Rosalyn’s attention sharpened instantly.

  “Let’s go back to the Memorial event then.” Bozo said. He addressed Sir Vu. “You believed the crowds were manipulated, that they were under a brainwashing of sorts. You experienced a sudden, suffocating pain that left you unable to act. You thought it was linked to your Tree of Hope, that it was withstanding some attack, and you felt that pain because of the bond.”

  Sir Vu raised an eyebrow. “How do you-”

  “I have foresight.” Bozo replied flatly.

  “…Of course.” Sir Vu said, grinning again.

  “You were vaguely correct.” Bozo continued. “Chosen are linked to their Trees. Each attack the Tree sustains is felt by its Chosen. Back when I was the only Chosen, I endured this same pain numerous times, each instance more intense -because of the greater damage the Tree of Wisdom suffered or the greater effort it put into resisting… into resisting…” His voice trailed off.

  He paused briefly as if organizing his thoughts then spoke again:

  “Each Chosen, during their choosing, in the void, obtains similar information, but each receives deeper knowledge on a specific point. This ensures that when we unite, the information is shared, enforcing unity -a necessity later. You” Bozo turned to Sir Vu “as the Chosen of Hope, obtained knowledge about our personal keys, the crystallized blooms, and their uses. And you” he turned to Rosalyn “as the Chosen of Humility, have learned more about…” His voice grew lower, grim. “…Morter.”

  Both men turned to Rosalyn then, waiting. She hesitated then her eyes drifted toward the window, distant, reliving the memory.

  “…I saw a prism in a dark chamber, a silhouette inside it… Cracks spread across its surface, growing wider… I heard those cracks expending, they sounded like breaking bones… And then I was told Morter never died 500 years ago but remained in a coma within this prism… this prism maintained by the Sentinel and the Four Great Trees…”

  Sir Vu, mid-sip, suddenly coughed violently. Rosalyn looked at him, startled. He brought a hand to his lips, eyes wide, fixed on a point ahead, horror etched across his face. Bozo watched silently.

  “What else?” he asked Rosalyn.

  “I’ve been warned… that Morter will return… that he will cause the Second Collapse, far worse than the First…”

  Bozo slowly nodded, arms crossing, expression darkening, eyes locked on both of them.

  “The attacks we’ve felt are Morter’s attempts to break free from the prism. Each strike is countered by the Sentinel, the Four Trees resisting, expending massive energy and causing us Chosen pain. The cracks on the prism show how close Morter is to escaping. Each crack leaks his influence, a type of vice-inducing wave that bends people toward corruption. They don’t lose free will entirely, but temptation overwhelms most. That was the brainwashing at the Memorial.”

  “Is… the recent itchiness and prickling people are experiencing connected to this?” Rosalyn asked.

  “Itchiness and prickling are the first phase of rot.” Bozo said.

  Rosalyn paled.

  “The same that caused deaths 500 years ago?”

  “Yes. Then and now, it's the consequence of Morter’s corruption waves spreading.”

  A heavy silence fell. Sir Vu’s eyes remained frozen, thoughts wrestling, jaw tight. Bozo stood, waiting, as they both processed.

  “So… what caused this sudden acceleration of the prism’s cracking?” Rosalyn asked.

  “David O’Neil.” Bozo said simply, glancing at Sir Vu pointedly.

  Bozo then lifted his hand, opening his palm. In a sudden golden shimmer, a miniature hologram of a sphere appeared hovering above it, slowly rotating on its axis. His eyes settled on Rosalyn, who stared at the display of his powers in open awe.

  “Do you recognize this?” Bozo asked her.

  “Is it… is it the Lumen Orb?”

  “Yes. David presented it as a revolutionary project -a symbol of Arctar’s future: a city-wide quantum archive, assembling knowledge and glowing stronger with each contribution.” Bozo paused. “That part isn’t entirely false. The Orb does gather and store knowledge, and it does grow more powerful with every addition. But the glow you see isn’t merely aesthetic, nor a reward for outstanding student projects. It feeds something. Something located directly beneath it.”

  As Rosalyn watched, a small metallic structure materialized beneath the miniature Lumen Orb, acting as a pedestal supporting it.

  “The case…” she whispered.

  “It houses the OdT8 extractor,” Bozo said. “The Lumen Orb itself is only a front-end processor. It captures raw student contributions, breaks them down into structured quantum signals, and channels them downward into this armored casing directly to the extractor. The more complex the data the Orb receives, the denser and richer the signal stream, and the extractor interprets that density as fuel, charging more avidly.”

  “But what is the OdT8 extractor?” Rosalyn asked. “What is it for?”

  “Isn’t OdT8 the thing that granted Morter his inhuman abilities and his immortality?” Sir Vu interjected suddenly.

  At that, the shimmering sphere above Bozo’s palm dissolved in a flash of gold, replaced by an irregular, translucent stone -meteorite-like, resembling an alexandrite gem. Its hues shifted between dark teal and deep purple depending on the light as it slowly rotated.

  “Its origins are unknown,” Bozo said evenly. “But it's said that Morter, while still an ordinary albeit brilliant researcher, discovered it during an expedition in some geyser. The core grants uncomprehensible, mind-blowing strength and eternal youth to the wielder once the wielder tasted and accepted its power. The core then attaches itself to the wielder in a twisted symbiosis.”

  He lifted his gaze.

  “The more shrewd, cruel, or vice-ridden the wielder is, the more the core thrives -feeding directly on that corruption. As the core grows stronger it gains stronger powers which it then grants the wielder who in turn becomes even more corrupted by the powers and so on. It’s a never-ending cycle of corruption. Morter had embedded the OdT8 core into his chest, close to his heart.”

  The glowing representation of the OdT8 core vanished. Bozo lowered his hand, his eyes boring into both Rosalyn and Sir Vu as his voice dropped, slow and heavy.

  “David built the OdT8 extractor for one purpose: to extract the core from Morter. To rip it from Morter’s chest once the Sentinel is fully excavated.”

  Sir Vu stood abruptly. He forced a grin that didn’t quite hold.

  “Ha -sorry. I need a drink.”

  He walked toward the kitchen. Bozo paid him no mind and continued:

  “If the OdT8 extractor is removed from its armored casing while near maximum charge, it releases sudden harmonic pulses no longer contained. Vapor lanterns are vulnerable to such pulses and if those pulses are strong, the lanterns can be shattered by them. David knew that and it was his intention from the start. He purposely took the extractor out of its casing some time prior to release those harmonic pulses and cause the lanterns to shatter at the Memorial. The shattering wasn’t the Wrath of the Dead like he’d framed it. However what David didn’t know was that those same pulses would resonate directly with Morter’s prism too.”

  Rosalyn felt a chill creep up her spine.

  “That resonance caused a major fracture in the prism.” Bozo said. “And that major crack accelerated heavily Morter’s awakening, allowed his corruption waves to leak through harder, and ultimately brought us to the brink we’re standing on now.”

  Bozo’s gaze hardened.

  “As was revealed to Rosalyn, the Second Collapse is approaching. I couldn’t afford to wait for the Chosen of Purity under these circumstances. Even though our full powers will remain locked until all four of us are gathered, the abilities we will eventually receive will demand discipline and mastery if we are to fight Morter when he is fully released and protect the people.”

  He paused, hazel eyes boring into Rosalyn and Sir Vu. “When our full powers awaken, they will come suddenly. Proper training beforehand is the only way to ensure we can wield them without hesitation and rapidly. You will both have to train with the limited powers you currently possess. In the meantime, I will monitor the rate at which the corruption is expanding.”

  “Don’t you need training?” Sir Vu called from the kitchen, smirking, though faint traces of frustration still lingered beneath the humor.

  Bozo turned toward him.

  “I’ve had six years to master mine. That’s more than enough to be ready.”

  He raised his hand again, and in an instant his own crystallized trumpet flower appeared in his palm: golden. Not pale like Rosalyn’s or Sir Vu’s, but a vivid, blazing gold. They both stared stunned as Bozo effortlessly flicked his wrist, the bloom reshaping into five small, throwing daggers, arranged in his hand like a fan. His eyes flashed gold.