The silence that followed Kaelen's speech was fragile, like thin ice over deep water. The crowd in the central chamber of Memory's End stared at him, their expressions a mixture of awe, fear, and desperate hope. The golden light in his eyes was both a comfort and a terrifying reminder that the world they knew was gone.
It was Lyssa who broke the spell. She took a hesitant step forward, her voice barely a whisper. "Kaelen... what do we do now?"
It was the question on everyone's mind. The simple, terrifying question of what comes after the revolution.
Before Kaelen could answer, a sharp, electronic crackle cut through the air. A viewscreen on the far wall, which had been dark, flickered to life. The city's emergency broadcast signal—a stark, rotating triangle—flashed ominously.
Then, a face appeared. A man, elderly and severe, with sharp features and eyes like chips of flint. He wore the stark, high-collared robes of the Mnemonic Council.
"Citizens of Aethelgard," his voice was dry, precise, and carried the weight of absolute authority. "This is Provost Corvus, speaking for the Mnemonic Council. You are experiencing a system-wide cognitive anomaly. Remain calm. Do not attempt to interpret the sensory feedback you are receiving. It is a malfunction. Guards are being dispatched to all sectors to stabilize the situation."
Kaelen felt a cold dread wash over him. This was the Council's move. They were declaring this a technical glitch, something to be fixed. To be erased.
On the screen, Corvus continued, his gaze seeming to sweep over the camera and directly into the chamber. "The individual known as Kaelen, a condemned and highly unstable Anchor, is responsible for this disruption. He is to be considered dangerous. Do not approach him. Do not listen to his lies."
The image cut out. The silence that returned was now thick with tension. People who had been looking at Kaelen with hope now glanced at him with uncertainty. The Council's word was law. It had been for centuries.
Valeria stepped forward, her voice cutting through the murmurs. "That was a lie."
All eyes turned to her. The Guard-Captain, the iron enforcer of the old regime, was publicly denying the Council.
"The Provost knows this is not a malfunction," she stated, her voice ringing with military clarity. "He knows the Siphons are dead. He is attempting to maintain control through fear and misinformation." She turned to Kaelen, a look of grim resolve on her face. "The Council will not surrender its power peacefully. They will send the entire Guard force to retake this facility and silence you."
The big mechanic who had confronted the guard earlier stepped forward. "Then what do we do? We can't fight the whole Mnemonic Guard!"
"We don't have to fight them all," Kaelen said, his mind racing, accessing the city's network. He could feel them now—the Guard deployments, the troop movements. "Most of the Guards are like Valeria. They followed orders because they believed it was necessary. They don't know the truth."
He closed his eyes, concentrating. He reached out through the new network, not with a command, but with a memory. He sent the truth that Alistair had shown them—the tragic story of Seraphina, the accident, the centuries of guilt and the lie that built a city. He sent it not as an attack, but as a data packet, a burst of pure, unedited history, targeting the communication channels of the Mnemonic Guard.
He opened his eyes, weary from the effort. "I've just told them why."
For a long moment, nothing happened. Then, Valeria's comms unit buzzed. Then another guard's. And another.
Valeria listened, her expression unreadable. She looked at Kaelen. "Reports are coming in from all over the city. Guard units are standing down. Some are abandoning their posts. They're... they're confused. They're remembering things, too."
A slow smile touched Kaelen's lips. It was working.
But then, a new alert flashed on the remaining screens. This one was different. It wasn't the Council's seal. It was a simple, stark symbol: a gear intertwined with a human brain.
"The Aetherium Syndicate," Valeria hissed, her hand going to her absent weapon. "They're capitalizing on the chaos."
A new voice, smooth as oil, filled the chamber. "People of Aethelgard. The Council's lies are exposed. Their power is broken. But what comes next? Chaos? Anarchy? The Syndicate offers order. We offer a new economy, built on the free trade of memory. No more forced Siphoning. Your memories are your property. Sell them to us for power, for wealth, for a new life."
Kaelen's blood ran cold. This was worse than the Council. The Council had stolen memories to maintain order. The Syndicate wanted to turn them into a commodity, to create a world where the rich could buy the pasts of the poor.
Lyssa grabbed his arm, her face pale. "Kaelen, they can't! They'll turn everything into... into a marketplace!"
He looked at the fearful faces around him—the confused, the newly awakened, the vulnerable. He had freed them from one prison, only for a more insidious one to open its gates.
"The Library is not for sale," Kaelen said, his voice low but filled with a new, steely resolve. He looked at Valeria. "We need to secure this facility. Now. It's the heart of the new network."
He then turned to the crowd, his glowing eyes sweeping over them.
"The Council wants you to forget. The Syndicate wants you to sell. I am telling you now, your memories are yours. They are your history, your identity, your strength. They are not a weapon, and they are not a currency." He raised his voice, the golden light in his eyes flaring. "This Library will be a sanctuary. And I will defend it."
The battle for the city was over. The war for its future had just begun. And the first skirmish was about to take place at the doors of Memory's End.