A week passed, and the headlines of Arctar's press erupted with grand yet cryptic titles: 'Shape Arctar's Future -One Contribution at a Time,' 'What Could Be Forgotten Will Be Forgotten No More,' 'Every Thought Adds to the Light.'

  Each day, the titles grew more enigmatic and eye-catching, almost menacing: 'The Orb Awaits... Will You Stand or Fall?', 'The Light of Tomorrow -Students Challenged,' 'Fail the Orb, Fail Yourself.' The articles were deliberately evasive and vague, leaving the city buzzing with speculation.

  Elisabeth was masterful in stoking the hype; her ambition flared with every sold copy, and she couldn't help feeling proud as people devoured the newspapers, intrigued by the whole affair. David, watching the chaos from afar, smirked, pleased to see the diversion working exactly as he had planned.

  At last, the day of the reveal arrived. It was set for 7 p.m. in the Academy's grandest and largest auditorium: Nexus. Attendance was compulsory for students, while guests were invited and strongly encouraged to witness it.

  Meanwhile, in Arctar's main plaza, the haunting electronic melody flowed steadily into the cold air, constant and unflinching, like a lament rising toward the sky, unmoved by hypes, murmurs, or the footsteps of people passing through the plaza.

  Bozo played beneath one of the Great Trees, eyes fixed on his synth keyboard, fingers clad in worn, fingerless gloves moving over the keys, reddened from the cold. A few passerby dropped some coins into the goblet set before him.

  Lana arrived, steps quick, wearing an earthy green vest and a pink floral scarf, a steaming thermos clutched in her hands. She spotted him from afar and smiled affectionately, quickening her pace. But then she noticed a young girl with short blond curls and freckles approaching him, cheeks flushed.

  "Um, hi! I... it's c-cold outside today... and your music is beautiful... but sad... so I... I thought maybe this could brighten you up? But of course, if you don't want it, you can just throw it away! I mean, it's nothing valuable, just a flower, a daisy I picked from the Academy grounds! Ah, but I didn't mean it's not important... I actually picked it thinking of you and... umm... well..."

  She trailed off, staring at the ground, embarrassed and giddy, holding out the single yellow daisy. Bozo paused, listened, and without a word, took the flower and tucked it behind his ear, expression unflinching, then resumed playing.

  The girl stared in disbelief for a heartbeat, then exploded with excitement. "I-I... thank you! Umm, I... and bless you! Bye!" She darted off.

  Lana approached, chuckling softly.

  "Well, aren't you becoming a heartthrob now!"

  "A penniless one," he replied grimly, eyes still on the keys.

  Lana sighed. She glanced up at the crown of the Great Tree Bozo was playing under.

  The Tree, along with its three counterparts that stood in other districts of the metropolis, were the only vegetation in Arctar aside from the inexplicable lushness of the Academy grounds. Each towered at fifty meters, with a trunk circumference of over ten meters, making them imposing against the city skyline. Their bark was dense and marked with deep longitudinal grooves.

  Yet the Great Trees didn’t behave like any ordinary trees one would encounter at the Academy. Their leaves faintly glowed, a phenomenon visible at night, in hues of green, orange, yellow, and blue, and if one listened closely, the Trees hummed ever so slightly.

  Researchers had attempted to study them, taking samples and running tests with advanced instruments, but the results were always strangely nonsensical, spiraling, or inexplicably siphoned.

  For a while Lana just stood there, thoughtful, before finally saying:

  "You always play here under his branches. Maybe your melodies help him survive, since he's the only one of the Four Great Trees that isn't dying? You should go play for the other three as well!" she joked.

  "I doubt my funeral marches could revive anyone."

  "Oh hush."

  She opened her thermos, poured a steaming cup of chamomile tea, softened with honey and a squeeze of lemon, and handed it to him with a warm smile, as if the gesture itself were a caress. He accepted it with a quiet "thanks," letting the heat seep into his frozen fingers.

  "Why do you insist on playing regardless of the weather? You're wearing yourself out." she said, concern threading her voice.

  He was silent for a long moment before answering. "Can a lighthouse ever pause because it's inconvenient?"

  "It's been six years, Beau..."

  "You mean time should've healed me. It didn't. Because I'm in no need of healing, Lana."

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  "And yet... where did the enthusiastic, eager, full-of-life Beau go? The one who insisted on explaining every detail of engineering diagrams to me with such vigor, the one I laughed with, leaned on, when we were students?"

  "Life chipped the useless parts away from him, left the raw ones behind."

  "I know... I was there when it all came crashing down on you... But still, joy of life isn't useless, Beau."

  "No. But it's an effective befuddlement pill."

  Lana fell quiet, her gaze heavy with sadness, while he drank calmly, his expression steady, unflinching. She tried to change the subject.

  "Have you read the newspapers? The headlines are buzzing!"

  "I'd rather save my money for cigarettes than for media."

  "Then you're sentenced to hear me gush about it! And I'm a direct witness. Something big is coming. Every faculty is mobilized, Nexus auditorium has been sealed off for a week. Even the greenhouse scientists are pausing their work to speculate. And the newspaper keeps repeating one word: 'orb.' Rumors say the preparations are happening at night, maximum secrecy. The chairman is going out of his way for this. I've never seen him so eager, so passionate. I always thought of him as closed, firm... with hints of misanthropy, maybe... Ah! Sorry... I know you don't like to speak or hear about him..."

  Bozo said nothing, eyes fixed ahead as he drank. Then at last, his deep hazel gaze shifted toward her.

  "What about the excavation?"

  "What exca- oh! The 'dig the dream' site? Hardly anyone pays it mind right now. All anyone talks about is the 'orb'. But... how do you know about it, anyway? I don't remember telling you, it didn't seem important."

  "Just."

  He drained the last of the cup and handed it back. Lana hesitated, then asked gently:

  "The ceremony is at nine. Would you... come?"

  "No. A beggar isn't exactly a welcome sight."

  Her eyes saddened "...You're not a beggar," she whispered.

  He barely shifted his expression, but his eyes hinted he’d heard her. He placed a hand lightly on her shoulder. “I’ll listen to your recounting of the event later.”

  Lana gave a small, satisfied nod. Bozo withdrew his hand and returned to his mournful playing, while she left, feeling oddly reassured.

  -------------------------------

  Nexus opened for the crowds. The auditorium flooded with people, the first rows occupied by students and faculty members, guests settling on upper balconies.

  The hall was a vast circle over ninety meters in diameter, capable of seating more than fifteen thousand people, with balconies lacing the upper floors. At the center, a circular podium sat on the lowest level, lit by silvery-white lights. The rest of the space was dim, save for a few thin, rectangular windows high above, letting in only slivers of the sky outside.

  A square metallic case, one and a half meters on each side, sat at the center of the stage.

  David stood behind the lectern, waiting for the murmur of anticipation to settle. At last, silence fell, tense and expectant.

  "Ladies and gentlemen, students, faculty, honored guests," David began, voice commanding, "Today, we witness a new chapter in Arctar's history: a legacy in the making! Our city is known for its Academy, its lush grounds amid a metropolis of dead soil. But what of our scientific, artistic, and intellectual contributions in other fields? They stay hidden away, forgotten, locked in the shadows of our institutions! What of the people, of the rest of the world kept in ignorance, fed only the false and treacherous accounts of the press instead of our own? No! No longer! Ladies and gentlemen, behold! The Lumen Orb!"

  His voice rang sharper as he pressed a button on a remote.

  Suddenly a massive holographic-like blue sphere appeared above the metallic case, eight meters in diameter, slowly orbiting around its axis. Streaks of light flowed downward into the metallic case, while the Orb's veins pulsed in cold shades of sapphire. The crowd gasped.

  "This is the Lumen Orb! A city-wide, knowledge orb. A living archive, a quantum field where every idea, invention, creation, and research from every faculty of this Academy may be uploaded. Technology, biology, engineering, botany, literature, art, simulations, AI algorithms, architectural designs, even performances and recordings! All shall feed into this orb, and as each contribution enters, the Orb's glow will intensify. Complexity and scale determine brightness. The richer and bigger your project or contribution, the more spectacular the glow because the Orb converts that data into light-energy projections. Knowledge becomes light, light becomes a symbol of Arctar's future and legacy."

  The audience leaned forward, mesmerized by the radiant sphere. David's eyes gleamed with satisfaction.

  A student sitting in the front row, mesmerized and curious, stepped toward the orb. Its light reflected off their wide eyes.

  David yelled with fury, his voice echoing through the auditorium like thunder:

  "DO NOT TOUCH THE CASE!"

  The student cowered in fear and returned to their seat, face pale.

  David's veins showed on his temples, but he forced his nerves down. He continued, his voice commanding:

  "Students of the Academy, the Lumen Orb is primarily waiting for your contributions. Each of you, grouped in threes across faculties and years, will design a project to upload to the Orb. Your contribution determines the points you earn and the brilliance you add. Weekly rankings will be released and displayed on the main hall's bulletin board. Check them regularly. Be aware. Compete."

  Then he leaned closer to the microphone, voice hardening, tone dyer. "In case this wasn't clear enough, the project is mandatory. Failure to contribute will result in direct expulsion. This is not a request. This is your duty. Arctar's future depends on your efforts, and you, the students of this Academy, are its elite. Refusal will not be tolerated."

  A few murmurs shivered through the crowd of students. David paid them no mind and added, his voice flat now:

  'You will find your group numbers and members on the board at the exit of the auditorium. That is all."

  He stepped away from the lectern, arms crossed, a smirk tugging at his lips, as students poured out of the hall. Bewildered, worried, giddy, their reactions varied. David ignored every question, leaving them to their own curiosity.

  The board displaying group names was soon swarmed. Students clamored, searching for themselves, some squealing as they found a friend, others grumbling at unexpected pairings.

  Rosalyn lingered at the back, letting the crowd thin before moving forward. She had been seated in the middle rows during David's speech, but instead of awe, the monumental rotating orb had left her uneasy, especially with the high stakes: expulsion. And now, a group project. Her stomach knotted as she imagined the unknown people she would be paired with.

  Finally, she reached the board and scanned the names. Her eyes stopped at Group 47: Elisabeth (journalism TA), Rosalyn (architecture 3rd year), Victor (philosophy 1st year).

  Rosalyn read the names twice, just to be certain. She didn't know these people.

  Elisabeth stood by a windowsill in the corridor, observing the crowds with a satisfied look, holding the number 47 in her hand with nonchalance. Rosalyn spotted her and approached, about to greet her, when a towering figure stepped into their orbit. A dark coat framed him, long and imposing.

  Rosalyn's eyes widened, heart hammering. It was the same man she had saved from suicide, that day on the rainy bridge.

  Unsure, she whispered, "Are you...Victor?"

  He met her gaze, holding it for a long moment as if in recognition before nodding, expression unreadable.

  Her throat tightened. For the first time, she wondered if interfering had been merely an impulse or a choice that fate would insist she answer for.