The morning haze over Afterlight was thick with tension. Smoke from smoldering settlements mixed with the dawn light, creating a surreal glow that flickered like a warning. In every province, the aftermath of Veyra's Ether catastrophe had left more than ruins—it had left fear, suspicion, and ambition festering like a wound refusing to heal.
In the western provinces, Governor Varin convened an emergency council. The chamber, built of reinforced glass and steel, vibrated faintly with residual Ether energy. Officials, merchants, and military commanders crowded inside, their faces taut with urgency.
"The Citadel claims control over stabilization efforts," Varin said, voice tight. "Yet they hesitate to send resources. Lysara preaches unity while our shipments of reactors sit in warehouses, unused. How long before our neighbors take what we've saved for ourselves?"
A general slammed a fist against the table. "We can't wait! If we don't act, the eastern provinces will seize the remaining reactors. They've been stockpiling black Ether since the surge. We need to strike now, before the Citadel even thinks to intervene."
Varin's eyes narrowed. "And risk sparking another war? The Accord is fragile enough. Do you think our people want more blood on these plains?"
The general scoffed. "They'll survive. Only the strong do. Afterlight teaches us that lesson every generation."
Across the southern plains, the city of Caltherra was a mirror of unrest, but its approach was different. Instead of military might, the council there focused on diplomacy.
Emina, head of the southern trade syndicate, paced before the council chamber. "We need emissaries in every province. Letters, meetings, trade concessions. Fear alone cannot protect us. We stabilize alliances before they fracture further."
A young clerk raised a hand. "And what of the Citadel's orders? Lysara sends her envoys with promises of safety, but can we trust her? We've seen how quickly a spark can ignite devastation."
Emina's gaze hardened. "We trust because we must. Without trust, Afterlight dies. With it, there is hope—even if tenuous."
---
In the Citadel, Lysara's council was growing restless. Weeks had passed since the first dawn, and reports from the provinces painted a picture of tension teetering on chaos.
"Varin is mobilizing forces along the western borders," Erwin said grimly. "And there are rumors that Caltherra might not follow our orders if we push too hard."
Lysara's gaze swept across the chamber. "Then we act strategically. Not with brute force, but with calculated influence. Emissaries must be dispatched immediately. Every province needs to understand that unity is the only path forward. Any province attempting rebellion will face containment—not annihilation."
A mystic, draped in violet robes, shook his head. "Containment is a fine word, but words do not bind ambition. Varin sees weakness. He sees indecision. And worse… he senses that Lio is tethered to Subject Zero. That knowledge alone may drive him to act before we can intervene."
Lysara's jaw tightened. "Then we must find him. We stabilize the core. Once he is safe and controlled, the provinces will see that unity has merit. Until then, every decision must be weighed, every move calculated."
---
Meanwhile, rumors of Lio's connection to Subject Zero spread across the provinces like wildfire. Merchants whispered in crowded markets about the boy who had calmed the Ether surge, some calling him savior, others calling him monster. Shadows followed him, unseen but felt, wherever fragments of his power touched reality.
In Veyra, survivors still picked through ruins. They spoke in hushed tones of glowing eyes glimpsed in the void, of whispers that carried across empty streets, of fleeting shapes that vanished before recognition. Fear and awe were intertwined, a double-edged pulse cutting through the city's tentative recovery.
Axel, leading a small detachment of militia, patrolled the outskirts. "If these rumors are true," he muttered to his second-in-command, "Lio has power none of us can control. And if we can't control him… the provinces will start acting as if we're already doomed."
The second-in-command, a veteran named Ryn, nodded. "Then we find him before they do. Or risk the entire continent falling apart."
---
In the east, cults of prophecy seized the moment. The Second Void had its believers, and they claimed the surge as proof that Afterlight's light was false, that the world was inherently unstable, and that new rulers—proclaimed as emissaries of the void—must rise to guide humanity.
Crowds gathered in ruined temples, chanting and waving shards of blackened crystal. "The dawn is fractured," their leader cried, voice echoing across the steps. "We stand on the precipice of awakening! The light is a lie! The void demands truth!"
Fearful citizens looked on, unsure whether to flee or join. Their eyes darted to the horizon where fragments of residual Ether shimmered in the morning haze, visible yet untouchable, proof that the world's balance was no longer theirs to command.
---
Deep within the void, Lio's awareness stretched outward. He could feel the stirrings in every province—the tension, the ambition, the whispers of fear and rebellion. The residual energy of Subject Zero pulsed faintly, almost like a heartbeat.
"I can't fix this alone," he whispered to the void itself, to the power that had tethered him. "They're fracturing. The provinces… Lysara… the people… if I falter, Afterlight will descend into war before it's ready."
A voice, faint and resonant, answered. "You have stabilized part of the surge. But the fractures remain. Your influence is limited in the material plane. You must trust others… as impossible as it seems."
Lio clenched his fists. "Trust… I'm not sure they even know how."
"You will guide them," the voice continued. "But beware—the currents of ambition are stronger than unity. Tides of discord rise swiftly when the heart is divided."
---
As night approached, the provinces simmered. Trade convoys paused mid-journey, armies shifted positions subtly, and shadowy figures moved between cities with intent unknown.
In the Citadel, Lysara stood atop the central tower, overlooking the sprawling city below. The air hummed faintly, as if the pulse of Afterlight itself was warning her.
Erwin joined her, eyes following the horizon. "The Tides of Discord have begun, Lysara. Every province, every council, every citizen—everything is moving. And not all in harmony."
Lysara's gaze hardened, determination and dread mingling. "Then we rise to meet them. We will navigate these tides. And we will survive… whatever comes."
The winds of Afterlight shifted, carrying whispers of rebellion, hope, and untamed power. The first real test of unity since the first dawn was coming—and no one, not even Lysara, could predict who would emerge unbroken.
The world was alive, tense, and dangerous.
And the tides were only beginning.
---