The window was ajar. The icy winter wind made it rattle against its frame, delicately depositing a few flakes of blue-tinted snow onto the stone ledge. Outside, the sky retained that abnormal color, a heavy, dark gray, while the air was extremely cold and dry.
Far below stretched an immense courtyard. Dozens of people seemed to be rushing in every direction, running as if they were battling time itself. They were surely weighed down by administrative burdens or entrusted with crucial missions for Odyssey. Most were bundled up in massive coats to ward off the cold, while a few, curiously, wore none at all. It was a peculiar sight.
Especially from above. From this distance, they looked like a colony of ants scurrying about frantically, entirely unaware of the futility of their actions. Emma found it ironic, what seemed of paramount importance on one scale became completely trivial on another. It was all a matter of perspective.
It had been about ten days since Emma arrived in this building. This place, from what she had gathered, was the headquarters of the Council of High Knowledge. Or, at least, its new incarnation. It was an institution that bore no resemblance to the governmental bodies she once knew; it was far more authoritarian.
For her, the collapse of her old life had happened only a few days ago, but for them, over a century had passed, a harsh truth she had now accepted.
Yet, what shocked the young woman the most was the state of this new world. Despite all the time that had passed, technology didn't seem to have advanced. On the contrary, humanity appeared to have inexplicably regressed. And no one bothered to explain why.
Agatha, in particular, carefully avoided the subject. She purposefully dodged certain conversations, cutting short any questions regarding the Fall or the transition from the "world before."
She had spent all her time inside this same building, the residential district of the Capitol. While she was no longer strictly confined to her room, her movements had remained restricted for a long time. Agatha had assured her that these limitations weren't a form of imprisonment, but for her "safety." It was, according to her, to protect Emma from a rival faction operating within the government itself.
"The joys of politics," her handler had quipped.
Emma was not fooled. The word safety was a convenient smokescreen. She had quickly realized that she was neither a guest nor an ally, she was an asset. An anomaly of incalculable value that this Capitol faction jealously kept under lock and key, terrified that an opposing side might seize her or destroy her.
But then, why had her access suddenly been granted? Why were they finally letting her breathe? Communication with Agatha remained opaque, to say the least. Emma made sure to dissect every scrap of information they deigned to throw her way with a sickly paranoia.
She had quickly figured Agatha out. Behind her polite smiles and elegant manners, the woman wielded lies of omission with frightening skill. Emma listened to her reassuring speeches but only retained their emptiness; she knew full well she was being fed sweet words to lull her to sleep.
Although the situation was inherently oppressive, Emma had chosen to use it to her advantage. For a neophyte brutally dropped into this new reality, information was not just an advantage,it was the most vital resource in existence. And what better vantage point to understand this world than the very heart of its government?
By cross-referencing half-truths and the rare details Agatha had allowed to slip, Emma had pieced together a part of the disaster. After the "Great Elevation" , the world had fractured.
The emergence of the Qualia had been nothing like a graceful evolution. From what Emma could deduce, the appearance of these anomalies had been a true biological cataclysm. The old social structures had not survived the uncontrollable awakening of these abilities. Nations had collapsed from within, crushed by civil wars of unprecedented violence.
'The Qualia, huh...' she thought, her gaze lost on the blue flakes crashing against the glass.
While the internal conflicts within Odyssey seemed, against all odds, to have been under control for the past thirty years, no doubt crushed under the Capitol's rise to power, the global situation was dizzying.
The continents had been clashing in an uninterrupted war of attrition for over a two hundred years.
Besides, no one seemed to know exactly how this two centuries-old war had started. Agatha herself had never answered, carefully dodging the question. It was impossible for Emma to determine whether it was a case of true collective amnesia or a closely guarded state secret.
She shook her head and tore herself away from the contemplation of the snow. Enough daydreaming.
She had to see Agatha. Today marked the deadline of the ultimatum she had given her. The final day to hand over everything she knew about Atlas.
What should she do? Emma was deeply conflicted. She had absolutely no idea what had happened to him since their brutal separation upon waking up. He might already be dead. What mattered most now was her own situation, unstable and dangerous in the heart of this Capitol. Her analytical mind pushed her to surrender every scrap of information to buy herself a secure position, but deep in her gut, a heavy, sickly weight reminded her that it was pure and simple betrayal.
She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.
"I have chosen to prioritize my survival", she reminded herself with a newfound hardness. Things aren't like before. I am a different Emma now.
Even if her heart still tugged in the direction of loyalty, her mind had taken command. In this world, feelings were nothing but a fatal weakness. She had made her choice. The choice to put herself first.
The instinct of survival, ruthless and selfish.
Her mind was made up. She rose from her rudimentary bed and headed for the exit. But just as she reached out to grasp the handle, the heavy door opened on its own.
Agatha stood on the threshold. Behind her stood a man, hanging back, short in stature—barely five foot seven. His slumped shoulders gave the impression that he carried the weight of all the world's administrative miseries. With his small round glasses, shifty gaze, and thinning salt-and-pepper hair, he embodied the perfect archetype of the docile, exhausted bureaucrat.
"You are late, Emma. My time is precious, you know," Agatha declared with a broad, affable smile.
Despite the demand in her words, she hadn't dropped her mask of the kind, protective grandmother, which made her all the more unsettling.
Before Emma could even formulate an excuse, Agatha cut her off with a fluid wave of her hand and pointed to the visibly uncomfortable man behind her.
"This is Andrew. He will be your personal assistant from now on. But before we get into the logistical details, let's discuss serious matters... Have you made your decision?"
Silence stretched for a fraction of a second in the room. Emma's gaze shifted from the trembling little bureaucrat to Agatha's impenetrable face. Her heart was pounding against her ribs.
"I have made my decision," Emma stated, her voice carrying a coldness that surprised even herself.
Agatha's smile widened imperceptibly. The old woman made a small hand gesture toward her assistant. "Wonderful. Andrew, get out your notepad. I want every detail recorded."
The little man complied with nervous haste, pulling a pen and a thick notebook from his satchel.
"Wait," Emma interrupted, her tone sharp.
Andrew froze, his pen hovering in the air. Agatha tilted her head slightly, her black eyes sparkling with amused curiosity. "Is there a problem?"
"Not a problem. A debt" Emma corrected, holding the old woman's gaze, refusing to back down. "During our last meeting, we made a deal. I gave you his name, and you answered my first question. You promised to answer the second when my memory was... clearer."
"That's correct," Agatha purred, visibly amused by the young girl's audacity. "And what might this famous second question be?"
"I want to know everything about the Qualia," Emma declared firmly. "Not the myths or the propaganda. I want its origin, its mechanisms, its limits. What it does to bodies, what it does to minds, and above all... how I can use it."
The silence fell again, heavier this time. Andrew swallowed loudly in the background, visibly shocked by the request for such information. For a brief moment, Agatha's benevolent mask cracked, revealing the ruthless calculator hiding underneath. Then, her smile returned, but it held no warmth whatsoever. It was the smile of a predator recognizing one of its own.
"That is far more than a simple question, Emma. Ambition suits you well," Agatha murmured. "But very well. The deal still stands. It's your move now. Tell me everything your clouded mind has so conveniently remembered about this Relic."
Emma took a slow breath. Her old life had officially died.
"Alright. Here is what really happened when I woke up."