In the days following the Chorus Protocol, Aqualis trembled with the resonance of awakening. The city had sung, screamed, whispered its soul into the ether. People walked the streets more alert, more alive. The emotional feedback left traces: some citizens wept openly in public; others stared upward as if listening for another song to begin.
But beneath the clarity came fractures.
Some remembered too much. Trauma unearthed by the harmonic wave sent a wave of anxiety through the sanctum. Lyra dispatched empathy drones and dream therapists. Jalen Corv was put on meditation relay, syncing emotional frequencies to help stabilize clusters of unrest.
Jaden Cross walked the inner orchard alone, fingers grazing the bio-vines. Each vine still pulsed with light, but he could feel something—an undercurrent. A pressure.
"The city is too quiet," he murmured.
Lyra's voice echoed from his wrist module. "Not quiet. Recalibrating."
