— Truth is shattered. The dream remains unbroken
Shawn sat at the back of the classroom, by the window.
Outside, a familiar green stretched endlessly under the golden afternoon sun, layer upon layer, like memories unfolding in silence.
Light filtered through the glass panes of the old academic building, scattering across his desk in fragile beams—gentle, but detached, like fragments of recollection surfacing from a distant dream.
His right fingers unconsciously traced the smooth surface of the Meta Band on his left wrist. On the jade-green ring, a solid line flanked by two broken ones shimmered faintly, pulsing with a quiet glow. As if whispering: This world is but a reflection. A dream not yet dispelled.
Beside him, Lindsay was buried in her notes, brows furrowed. Though she looked focused, a vague unease lingered in her eyes.
Three days had passed since they escaped from the Dimensional Barrier.
Lucy had stayed behind in the Rift, holding the final containment field on her own, buying them the seconds they needed to flee. But the barrier had begun to shudder more frequently. Collapse was inevitable. And when it fell, so might she.
To the outside world, it seemed they had simply woken from a sudden, inexplicable coma—back to "reality" as everyone knew it.
But Shawn and Lindsay knew better.
This so-called reality was nothing more than the residual shadow of a runaway dimension—a structural illusion unraveling faster with every passing moment.
And yet, the world remained oblivious to the impending crisis.
The entire nation was preparing for a massive celebration: the launch of Vision Ark on October 1st.
The government held rally after rally; Media channels streamed the countdown to the "New Era of Civilizational Leap" 24/7; Banners of red, white, and gold draped every street and square; Universities organized parades, cultural performances, and volunteer drives—a sweeping wave of orchestrated euphoria that drowned out all questions.
Naturally, Shawn and Lindsay weren't exempt.
They'd been assigned to the school's Vision Tribute Performance Group.
The irony? Shawn was selected to deliver the closing recital, reading the Declaration of Vision alongside other "Exemplars of the New Age."
He nearly laughed out loud when he heard.
He had spent months trying to stop the Ark's activation, only to be forced into center stage, lauded as a symbol of hope for the very machine he sought to dismantle.
He glanced down at his phone. The numbers glared back in a stark crimson font:
2031.10.01 | T–15D | 16:29:57
Fifteen days left until launch.
The digits pulsed like a cardiac monitor. Each flicker stabbed his nerves.
His throat tightened. His eyes drifted back to the Meta Band on his wrist.
In his mind, Lucy's last whisper echoed: "True awakening can never be accomplished alone."
And yet, life went on as if nothing had changed.
Their first class today was Classical Philosophy.
Professor Les Kaelwyn was at the podium—a familiar figure. But Shawn couldn't absorb a single word.
His eyes locked onto Les, noticing a strange shimmer along the man's outline. Like static on an old analog screen.
He blinked hard. The distortion vanished.
"You saw that too?" Lindsay leaned in and whispered.
Shawn nodded. "That's not him."
"Reality's starting to glitch," she murmured.
As the bell rang, Shawn's Meta Band vibrated sharply. Heat flared in his pocket.
He slipped out of class and retrieved the transparent orb Lucy had left them. It split open on its own. A faint blue figure emerged—Lucy's hologram.
"It has begun," her voice crackled through faint static. "You're now inside the Trial of Awakening. Find all Meta Matrix inheritors. Awaken them."
Three names flashed in the projection. One was already right before them:
Professor Les Kaelwyn.
The orb flickered and died.
The Meta Band lit up once more, its glow swirling across their skin.
They rushed back into the classroom.
But Les was gone.
"He was just here," Lindsay whispered, eyes darting around the empty room.
Without a word, they sprinted across campus to the faculty offices. In the dim hallway of the philosophy wing, they knocked on a half-open door. An older professor peered out.
"Is Professor Kaelwyn in?" Shawn asked, trying to sound calm.
The man frowned.
"He hasn't returned today. Frankly... he's been acting strange lately. Disappearing for days. Muttering to himself. Drawing weird symbols on walls... If you're looking for him, something must be going on."
Shawn thanked him with a nod.
He and Lindsay exchanged a look.
Les wasn't running from anything. He was already inside the other side.
Following a weak signal from the Meta Band, they tracked him to the farthest corner of the old library.
Les knelt on the floor, sketching with a piece of charcoal. On the pale tiles, a strange symbol grew—spirals unfurling, branching into fractures, resembling the spatial architectures they'd once seen in the Barrier.
Lindsay stopped breathing. "This isn't imagined. He's seen it."
Shawn stepped forward. "You can see them, can't you?"
Les paused, slowly lifting his head. His eyes were hollow. Dead.
"You too..." he murmured, his voice a ghost. "It... has returned."
Suddenly he clutched his head and screamed—a raw, tearing sound that shook the air.
A crimson mark flared across his forehead: two solid lines bracketing a broken one.
It pulsed like an eye.
"It's the symbol of Li trigram (☲)!" Lindsay shouted. "He's the inheritor of the L-Matrix!"
Shawn's Meta Band erupted with light. He instinctively raised his arm. A stream of azure shot forth, forming a protective sigil around Les.
Reciting the sequence Lucy had taught him, Shawn embedded his consciousness into the array.
Les shuddered violently—then fell still.
His gaze cleared.
"You're not the first to come," he whispered.
Time froze.
Shawn's voice was tight. "What do you mean?"
Les swallowed. His face paled.
"Others came before you... They brought the Octacore. They tried to breach my mind."
"Octacore? Are you saying... CP?"
Les flinched at the name. As if it held ancient horror.
"CP... the Cognitive Parasites..."
Lindsay added, voice calm but grave:
"They don't create reality. They borrow it. They root themselves in language, reshape concepts, rewrite collective memory."
Les fell silent. His lips trembled.
"I studied Consensus Computation when I was young... thought it was just theoretical modeling... I never imagined... it could be a vector for consciousness invasion."
He trailed off. His gaze drifted upward. Something unseen gleamed in his pupils.
"I thought those memories were sealed," he whispered. "But they never left."
His fingers trembled.
He pointed toward the sky.
"They're still here... waiting for me to return."