Cael sat on the upper scaffolding of Grid Alpha, watching Hearthcore breathe.
Below, the shelters glowed with soft internal light. People moved between them with purpose. Not panic. Not fear. Just the ordinary rhythm of trying.
But his mind wasn't quiet.
Not after Theta-Black.
We're building lives on top of blueprints we don't understand.
He opened the system again, scrolling past construction stats and energy reports to the new layer: Influence Threads. It had activated after the city passed fifteen residents.
[INFLUENCE THREADS ACTIVE]
Monitoring community behavioral imprints…Emerging Nodes: 4
• [Civic Harmony] – Origin: Arna Vey• [Practical Protectionism] – Origin: Riven Tal• [Cultural Memory Drift] – Origin: Nell (abnormal)• [Architectural Curiosity] – Origin: Malen (flagged)
Cael froze at that last one.
"Flagged?"
He tapped Malen's entry. A flickering thread of data unwound, showing an unauthorized ping location: Sector T-B7, near the outer rim of Theta-Black.
"He went back."
And didn't tell anyone.
He closed the tab slowly.
Behind him, boots scuffed against the scaffolding. Myla climbed up and sat beside him without a word. She offered a wrapped package—warm flatbread from Arna's improvised stone oven.
He took it. They sat in silence for a minute before she spoke.
"You're spiraling."
Cael didn't look at her. "Theta-Black's not dead. Something's in there. Watching. Waiting."
Myla shrugged. "So is this place."
He frowned.
She nodded toward the shelters. "You think you're building a city. But cities build you, Cael. And right now, they're shaping faster than your plans."
She pulled a crystal stylus from her coat pocket and tapped it against the steel railing.
"Did you know Riven started nightly patrols?" she asked. "With weapons?"
He looked at her sharply. "What?"
"And Arna's drawing up plans for a central hearth dome. Without approval."
He exhaled through his nose. "It's starting already."
"No," she said. "It started when you placed the first wall. This?" She gestured at the city. "This is just gravity pulling everything down."
They sat in silence.
Below, Nell walked the outer wall, glowing softly, collecting fragments of chalk messages from the Monument Panel. Not storing them. Editing them.
And in the shadows near the edge of the shelter grid, Malen sat alone—sketching a design Cael didn't recognize.
It wasn't in any system library.
It looked like… teeth.
[SYSTEM NOTICE: INFLUENCE COLLISION IMMINENT]
Cultural Identity threads approaching divergence threshold.Suggestion: Host first Public Design Gathering
Goal: Reaffirm collective blueprint philosophy before divergence escalates
Cael stared at the message.
He thought of the cracked ring. The Obsidian Church. The failed Patterns. The silence of Foundation.
Then, softly, he said:
"We hold a gathering."
Myla raised an eyebrow. "Town hall?"
"No," Cael replied. "We draft blueprints… together."
She smiled.
And for once, it wasn't a challenge.