It began with a ripple.
Not of sound, not of light—but of thought. A flutter, like wind moving through paper minds, rustling them awake.
The Bureau of Harmony's beacon lay silent. Its collapse had knocked out half the grid surrounding central Silex. But the silence wasn't just electrical.
It was Ideological.
No more pulsing directives. No more daily affirmations broadcast through "scientific enlightenment programs." For the first time in years, the citizens of Silex woke up to their own thoughts.
Luma stood on the roof with Ion and Juno, watching the crowd gather like curious birds beneath the broken spire. She held a microphone—jury-rigged from a resistance podcasting rig—and her gauntlet served as the transmitter.
Selka and Rhon's pirate radio station had been rerouted. The Resistance had commandeered the old dish on Observatory Hill.
Today, truth would be louder than silence.
Juno nudged her. "You ready, Radio Queen?"
"No," Luma said honestly. "But that's never stopped me."
Ion gave her a warm nod. "You know the science. Now tell them the truth."
Luma took a breath, flipped the switch.
Her voice buzzed through dozens—then hundreds—of speakers, earpieces, and repurposed devices across the city.
"Hi. My name's Luma. I'm fourteen. And apparently, that's old enough to break a propaganda tower."
There was a beat of laughter from below. She smiled.
"But really—I'm just a student. A very loud, very tired student, who's seen too many people afraid to ask questions. So here's one: Why are we told not to think for ourselves? Why are we afraid of our own curiosity?"
She stepped forward.
"You're not broken for wondering how the world works. You're not wrong for questioning your teachers, your leaders, or even your science. Science isn't static. It's not a cage. It's a ladder. And we've been climbing in the dark for too long."
She paused. Somewhere, a child clapped. Then another.
"Entropy isn't just a force. It's a lie when weaponized. It's a tool misused. And we've seen what it can do. We've seen it steal thoughts, twist rules, and mute voices."
Ion joined her. "But together, we can reverse it. Not with just formulas—but with freedom."
Juno leaned into the mic. "Also, glitter cannons. Never forget the glitter cannons."
Laughter spread like a healing wave.
Then the sound cut for a second.
For just a blink.
And when it returned—dozens of other voices were broadcasting back.
One by one, radio engineers, teachers, students, and workers tuned in. Some read science poems. Some asked questions live. Some told stories of moments when they'd doubted what they were told.
In a little bakery, someone explained conservation of energy using their oven.
In a train station, a child taught his dad about light refraction with a puddle.
In the outer Verdant markets, a merchant yelled, "I KNEW THAT WHOLE 'INVISIBLE ENERGY TAX' WAS A LIE!"
The Truthstream had begun.
It was messy, chaotic, wonderful. Like entropy, but beautiful.
Back on the rooftop, Luma sat back, eyes wide.
"We did it," she whispered.
"No," Ion said. "You did."
She looked out over the city, at a sea of people reclaiming their voices, their questions, their wonder.
And she smiled.
"I think we just broke the silence."