The night sky over Havendell was as beautiful as ever—stars scattered across the dark canvas, while government drones buzzed overhead, dragging neon-lit propaganda banners like mechanical mosquitoes.
"Glory to Nova." "Order is Peace." "The Eleven Were Myths."
Yeah. Sure.
And don't get me started on the skyscrapers. Their lights were so obnoxiously bright it felt like they were trying to burn the color out of your retinas. Not exactly what I wanted after slogging through university classes until 9 p.m.
I shoved my hands into my coat pockets—half out of habit, half trying to grab my phone—only to realize…
It wasn't there.
Shit.
My heart skipped. Where did I drop it? On the train? At the café? In class? Crap crap crap!
Tap.
A light tap on my shoulder. I turned, flinching slightly.
Some guy around my age stood there, holding out a familiar black rectangle.
"Excuse me, miss—you dropped this," he said.
"…Thanks," I muttered, taking the phone. "But I'm not a girl."
The guy blinked. Then his eyes widened, and his face flushed red.
"Oh my god—I'm so sorry."
I waved it off. "It's fine. Happens more than you'd think."
It really did. Between my long black hair and the so-called "pretty face" that classmates never stopped pointing out, I was used to the mix-ups. I didn't like standing out. I'd rather be part of the wallpaper—unnoticed, unbothered, uninvolved.
I turned away, brushing a few strands behind my ear, and unlocked my phone.
(Welcome, Shiebe Zackaria.)
Just as I thought. Everything was still there. I opened Juhu, my go-to news scroll app. Bad habit, sure, but one I wasn't exactly planning to fix.
- Trending Topics -
• Government officials in Ruina to raise consumer tax.
• Men's Mental Health Month – What's going on in your head?
• Top 5 Urban Legends Debunked.
• Nova is a false and good-for-nothing god.
That last one made me pause.
It was buried lower on the feed than I expected, almost like it was being suppressed. The thumbnail showed a blurry image of someone screaming while being dragged away by guards. A classic "tinfoil hat" post, right? But my finger hovered over it anyway.
I didn't even know why.
Maybe because I was tired. Or maybe because, deep down, part of me wanted it to be true.
That this world—this lie we'd been living—wasn't all there was.
I tapped on the post.
The video opened with shaky footage—someone had recorded it from a street corner. An older man, probably in his sixties, was being held down by an armored officer. His face was bruised, beard ragged, but his voice—his voice was loud and clear.
Nova is a false god!" he shouted, thrashing against the pavement. "He made the other Eleven vanish—I'm telling you! He's lying to us!"
The people around him didn't know what to do. Some pulled out their phones. Some just watched, confused. You could hear a few awkward laughs—like they couldn't tell if this was street theater or madness.
Then the guard barked something I couldn't make out and **slammed the man's face** into the concrete.
The clip cut off there. No context. No end.
Just a freeze frame of a broken man yelling into a world that didn't care.
I scrolled down to the comments.
@PinkSugarFairy12: another schizo off his meds lol
@Nova4Life: should've executed him on the spot tbh
@QuietEyes: he's not wrong tho… why haven't the Eleven been seen in YEARS
@SystemVerified: ⚠️ This comment section is under moderation by HavenNet Authority. Do not spread misinformation.
Same old bullshit.
Typical mix of trolls, sheep, and a couple brave souls asking the real questions—before getting buried or flagged.
The video kept looping silently above the comments—over and over again. That scream. That desperation. That certainty.
Was he really crazy?
Because if he was… why did my gut twist like he was right?
Nova. The One True God. Savior of humanity. Builder of the Dome Cities. Bringer of the Age of Peace.
That's what they drilled into our heads at university. Every lecture. Every exam. Every ceremony. Smile when they say his name. Clap when they play the anthem. Don't question.
And yet… I never bought it. Not really.
I always felt like something was off. Like the truth was just beneath the surface, if I could dig deep enough.
But I never did.
I was about to lock my phone when something strange happened.
The screen flickered—just once. Like a pulse.
Then a notification slid across the top.
(The Truth Awaits You. Don't Keep Them Waiting.)
I froze. My thumb hovered above the screen.
"What…?"
It wasn't from any app I recognized. The icon was simple—a glowing hexagon with circuitry woven through it.
Codex.
I stared at the notification for a few more seconds, my brain trying to place where I'd heard that name before.
Codex…
It rang a bell, but the memory was foggy—like a dream I couldn't quite remember. I chewed the inside of my cheek. I'll deal with it later.Probably just some weird adware or a prank app.
Slipping my phone back into my pocket, I turned down the street and started walking home. A gust of cold wind slipped through the cracks in my coat, sending a chill up my spine.
I hated walking this late. Too many stories of people vanishing without a trace. People like me—quiet, forgettable, nothing special. Easy targets.
Finally, I reached the apartment complex. Old. Cramped. But it had locks that worked and no cameras inside. I punched in the code and headed up the narrow stairs.
The moment I shut the door behind me, I let out a breath I didn't realize I'd been holding.
I dropped my bag, kicked off my shoes, and collapsed onto the couch like a corpse.
Only then did I fish my phone back out of my pocket.
"Alright…" I muttered, unlocking the screen. "Let's figure out what the hell you are."
I opened my browser and typed:
Codex
Instantly, pages flooded the screen—some ancient forum posts, shady blogs, half-buried news articles that were either scrubbed clean or mysteriously taken down mid-sentence. Sketchy text, pixelated screenshots, conspiracy-theory-tier message boards. But they all pointed to the same thing.
The Codex.
Ah! That's where I remembered it from.
Of course. Am I stupid or something?
The Codex—it was what allowed someone to gain an Execution.
I remembered reading about it years ago, late at night, doom-scrolling through a rabbit hole of myths and online rumors. It was always treated like some creepy urban legend.
People said the Codex "chose" you.
That it was alive. Or something close to it.
If it appeared on your phone, it meant you'd been marked. Not in congratulations, you've won a prize way, but in a welcome to a nightmare world where failure equals death kind of way.
Executions were powers granted through extreme emotional duress—suffering, fear, rage. Stuff no normal person wanted to feel.
I stared at the screen, my chest tight.
The glowing hexagon app icon was still there. Still pulsing softly.
I wasn't sure whether to scream, laugh, or throw the phone across the room.
"...It's real," I whispered.
A part of me wanted to delete it. Right then and there. Pretend I never saw anything. Go back to being just another nobody in the neon-soaked machine of Havendell.
But another part of me—quieter, buried deep—leaned forward in my gut like a whisper.
What if it's real power?
What if I don't run this time?
My thumb hovered over the icon.
This was it.
The click that would change everything.