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Chapter 70 - Chapter 70 – Falling Leaves of Thought

The wind had changed.

Silex no longer hummed in perfect compliance. Instead, it rustled—full of voices, questions, and stories like falling leaves, each spinning its own uncertain path.

Luma stood on the edge of the rooftop garden where the resistance had set up temporary quarters. She watched the morning sun shimmer through vines that curled around satellite wires and fractured glass. Below, in the plaza, people gathered again—not to receive orders, but to discuss.

Young mechanics compared notes on entropy dampeners. Elders retold stories of the "pre-Spire age" when knowledge passed by firelight and not force.

And in the middle of it, Juno stood on a crate teaching kids how to measure air pressure using potato skins and balloon scraps.

"Don't ask permission to be brilliant," Juno said, holding up a squealing rubber bulb. "Demand results. And also, demand snacks. Science burns calories."

Luma laughed softly, sipping from a cup of juice someone had handed her and forgotten about. Her gauntlet blinked with incoming messages. Praise, confusion, fear. Questions. Endless questions.

Ion walked up beside her, hands tucked into his coat, the wind tugging at his silver-streaked hair.

"They're hungry," Luma said. "And not just for facts. For understanding. Like… they want to think."

"That's what truth does when it finally gets air," Ion replied. "It blooms."

They stood in silence, breathing it all in. The sky felt larger, somehow. As if the weight of control had lifted just enough for the stars to be visible again—even in daytime.

"I've been thinking," Luma said slowly. "When we first left the Spire, I thought I was just following you."

"You were."

"But now… I'm not sure who's following who anymore."

Ion raised an eyebrow. "Is that your way of saying I've become the sidekick?"

Luma grinned. "Maybe a cool uncle. Or like, a mysterious long-lost cousin with high grades and terrible fashion sense."

Ion smirked. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Her smile faded, just a little. "But it scares me too, Ion. The more I speak, the more they listen. I'm fourteen. I make cereal with a blowtorch. What if I mess this up?"

Ion looked at her, eyes serious now.

"Luma, do you know why I followed you out of the Spire?"

She blinked. "Because… I stole your files?"

He chuckled. "That too. But no. I followed you because you asked the one question no one else dared to: Why not?"

He sat beside her on the stone ledge. Below them, the laughter of children swirled with the chimes of recalibrated windmills.

"You didn't wait to be ready," Ion said. "You became ready by moving forward. That's how all great teachers start."

Luma's eyes watered, but she didn't cry. She just nodded.

"Then we teach. And if we're lucky… we learn too."

From behind them came a voice.

"Learning includes hearing this, by the way."

It was Rhon, holding a broadcast tablet. "There's been a spike in entropy readings near the southern rail sector. Might be another core. Or a trap."

Luma stood up, brushing off her coat. "Well then."

Ion rose beside her, the wind catching his coat dramatically.

"Let's fall into thought," Luma said.

"And rise with answers," Ion added.

Together, they descended the stairs as the city pulsed with something stronger than fear—hope.

And the leaves kept falling, carrying questions to fertile ground.

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