The wind still hummed softly, carrying the scent of grass across Zeanna's dock.
The lamplight reflected off Zeice's boat, parked in the front yard of Zeanna's house.
Under the dim glow, Zeice stood beside his boat, his gaze fixed on the asphalt road that was no longer wet.
In the doorway, Zeanna leaned against one of the wooden frames, watching him.
Her eyes traced Zeice's figure. He seemed hesitant, as if caught between leaving and staying.
Silence hung in the air. Only the whisper of leaves and the occasional drip of water from the heavens could be heard.
Zeanna finally broke the silence, "You know, my universe is vast, Zeice. But why is there only one door I keep looking at?"
Zeice smiled faintly but did not turn around, "Perhaps because you're not ready to see everything inside it."
Zeanna stepped closer, standing beneath the shelter of the porch, just a few paces away from Zeice.
"Or maybe… because I've already chosen to wait by that one door."
Zeice let out a long breath, "That door may never open the same way again."
Zeanna frowned slightly, "And… why not?"
For a moment, the wind was the only answer. Finally, Zeice turned to face her, his gaze softer than the finest speck of dust.
"Because that door has already opened toward the future," he murmured. "And I don't want you to lose yourself inside it."
Zeanna held his gaze. There was something in his voice, something more than mere rejection. It was loyalty.
It wasn't that he didn't want her to enter his universe.
But because, perhaps, Zeanna couldn't, not yet.
She exhaled slowly, "I know you always look ahead to something beautiful in the future."
"But… when will you allow another future to walk beside you?"
Zeice lifted his eyes to the sky, as though searching for answers among the stars.
"Maybe… when I know how."
Zeanna bit her lower lip softly, then took a step back.
Her smile was faint, but her eyes held something else, a decision.
"Then let me walk alongside that future."
And with that, she turned and stepped back inside, leaving her words to linger in the cool night air.
Zeice remained still. Only the sound of the wind bore witness to the truth that, perhaps, for the first time in a long while, he didn't want to remain just a guest on that dock.
*****
On the other side, the world trembled beneath false truths.
Behind the scenes, where sleepless minds toiled, the world began to stir.
The hashtag #JusticeForTheAccused continued to climb, spreading like wildfire across dry grass.
Every word they had crafted so carefully was beginning to work flawlessly.
And elsewhere, in a dark room shrouded by lung-choking smoke, amid secretive conversations, those who had long held power sensed that something was wrong.
"Our narrative is starting to crumble," a voice broke through the darkness.
At the far end of the table, someone tapped the screen of their phone, eyes fixed on the shifting numbers with a sharp, calculating gaze.
"No. We'll turn this to our advantage."
They still believed they were in control. They didn't realise they were moving within a trap they hadn't set themselves.
The world was rumbling.
At first, everything seemed like a victory for those championing #JusticeForTheAccused.
National and international media began to spotlight the case.
Legal and political experts were invited to various forums to discuss it, while public figures lent their voices in support of the movement.
Protests spilled beyond the virtual realm.
Institutions faced increasing pressure from the public, and some high-ranking officials were even forced to make public statements, promising to reopen investigations.
The hashtag burned like an unquenchable fire.
Yet behind it all, something no one had anticipated, least of all those who so boldly declared their truth, was quietly unfolding.
And then, at last… the tremors began.
On a night that should have been ordinary, a series of leaked documents suddenly appeared, uploaded anonymously.
These documents contained transcripts of secret conversations, hidden investigative reports, and evidence that the most vocal figures behind the movement had concealed agendas.
Some were revealed to have received funding from parties with vested interests in shaping public opinion.
Several individuals who claimed to be neutral were exposed for having close ties to those orchestrating this grand manipulation.
Even more shocking, evidence surfaced proving that some of the events used as propaganda to support #JusticeForTheAccused had been staged from the very beginning.
And within hours of the documents spreading, the world shifted.
The public's once unwavering trust in the movement began to crumble.
Supporters who had previously been so certain of their cause now found themselves questioning the truth they had fought for.
Debates erupted across social media platforms.
Some clung desperately to the original narrative, while others felt betrayed by the revelations.
Media outlets that had once championed the movement now reversed course, scrutinising the integrity of those they had once hailed as heroes.
One of the movement's most outspoken figures even went live, attempting to explain their position.
But the evidence was too damning.
Within minutes, they were no longer a symbol of justice, they had become a figure of suspicion and lost credibility.
The tide turned swiftly.
Those who once believed they stood on the side of truth now found themselves under fire, branded as people too easily manipulated.
In less than twenty-four hours, what had once been a powerful movement for justice was reduced to ruins and a lingering question.
"Was any of it ever real?"
And the most ironic part of it all…
None of them realised this was exactly how it was designed to end.
In the shadowed corners of the world, untouched by the light of truth, those who had long controlled the narrative began to sense that something was wrong.
They were the architects of stories, the master scriptwriters who had, for so long, shaped public opinion at their whim.
From behind the curtain, they manipulated perceptions, deciding who was right and who was wrong.
But now, they found themselves caught in the eye of the storm.
#JusticeForTheAccused, which they once believed to be a tool to shift the narrative, had instead become the weapon that exposed their existence.
And it... happened so quickly.
The leaked documents not only shook the public but tore down the veil that had shielded them for years.
Their once-anonymous names, whispered only in the shadows, were now spoken aloud in public forums.
The identities they had worked so hard to conceal were now displayed openly across media screens.
All their crimes, once wrapped in the elegance of intellectual discourse, were now laid bare, raw and unfiltered, leaving no room for denial or manipulation.
For those who had thrived in secrecy, this was nothing short of a nightmare.
"Damn it…!!! It's a trap!!!" one of them cursed.
A trap that lured them out of the shadows, tricking them into believing they still held control over the narrative.
They failed to realise that from the very beginning, this had all been carefully orchestrated, to make them feel secure, to make them believe they were still pulling the strings.
And as they stepped forward, arrogantly defending the narrative they had crafted, they remained blind to the truth.
They were walking straight into their own downfall.
They had revealed themselves.
Those whom Zeice and his friends had long called the 'Word Mafia', the plagiarists, the idea thieves, the narrative manipulators, were now under the harshest spotlight.
And there was no place left to hide.
In the midst of it all, someone watched from afar, a faint smile playing on their lips.
A war had begun, but this time, the hidden hands that had always worked from the darkness were finally exposed.
And for those who had planned this from the start, there was no greater satisfaction than watching their enemies reveal their true faces.