The footage spread before anyone could stop it.
Not clean broadcasts.
Not official feeds.
Shaky recordings. Panicked audio. People shouting as lights failed and systems unraveled mid-function. Clips of Kael standing at the junction point while everything around him destabilized.
Someone screamed his name.
Someone else screamed that he was destroying the city.
Both clips went viral.
By morning, there were labels.
The Breaker
The Contaminant
The Only Reason We're Still Alive
None of them belonged to Kael anymore.
Rae scrolled through the reactions, jaw tight. "They're not debating what happened. They're debating what you are."
Mira snorted. "That's worse."
"Yes," Kael said quietly. "Because it lasts longer."
Ashveil spoke.
"Narrative fixation reached."
The Assembly convened in chaos.
This time, it couldn't hide.
Delegates argued openly, voices overlapping, fear stripping polish from procedure.
"You can't let him act unilaterally!"
"He saved three settlements!"
"He endangered thousands!"
"He prevented erasure!"
"He caused a crisis!"
Elyra Senn slammed her hand down.
"Enough."
Silence fell—fragile, resentful.
"We are no longer discussing theory," she said. "We are discussing precedent."
All eyes turned—not to Kael, who wasn't present—but to the space where his absence felt intentional.
Orien Halvek stepped into the vacuum perfectly.
His broadcast wasn't accusatory.
It was measured.
"Kael Vorrin has crossed a line," Orien said calmly.
"Not because he acted—but because he decided for everyone."
Kael watched from a distance.
Orien continued.
"We cannot survive by replacing one existential threat with another."
Mira hissed, "He's setting you up as the greater evil."
Kael nodded. "That's smart."
Ashveil added.
"Human systems favor predictable threats over abstract annihilation."
Outside official channels, something else formed.
Groups.
Not mobs.
Not armies.
Clusters of people who had survived the eastern incident and refused to condemn Kael.
They didn't chant his name.
They shared instructions.
How to decentralize storage.
How to sever keystones early.
How to live with instability.
Rae's eyes widened. "They're copying you."
"Yes," Kael said. "Poorly."
Mira groaned. "This is going to get messy."
"Yes," Kael agreed. "It already is."
The first violent backlash came that afternoon.
Not from the Assembly.
From citizens.
A convoy carrying supplies meant for Kael's network was attacked. No deaths—but clear intent.
The message was spray-painted across the transport:
DON'T TURN US INTO BATTLEFIELDS
Kael stared at the image for a long time.
"They're not wrong," he said quietly.
Ashveil spoke.
"Public fear threshold exceeded."
That night, Kael stood before a decision he couldn't delay anymore.
Hide—and let others act in his name.
Speak—and risk becoming the center again.
Mira leaned against the wall. "If you don't say something, Orien will finish the job for you."
Kael exhaled slowly.
"Then I say something," he said.
Rae blinked. "You hate speeches."
"Yes," Kael replied. "Which means it won't sound rehearsed."
He didn't broadcast from a podium.
He used a public relay.
No amplification. No edits.
Just him.
"I won't apologize for stopping erasure," Kael said calmly. "And I won't pretend what I did didn't hurt people."
The feeds exploded—but he kept going.
"I am not safe," he continued. "I am not controlled. And I am not your foundation."
A pause.
"If you want stability, build it without me. If you want survival, accept that it will be ugly."
Silence followed.
Not agreement.
Not peace.
But attention.
Orien watched the broadcast twice.
Then once more.
For the first time since the war began, his expression cracked—not with anger, but concern.
Because Kael hadn't defended himself.
He'd defined the cost.
Ashveil spoke softly.
"Polarization complete."
Kael shut the relay off and leaned back against the wall.
"They're watching now," Mira said.
"Yes," Kael replied.
"And choosing."
Far away, the Null Accord processed new data.
Human systems were fragmenting—but not collapsing.
Worse.
They were adapting unpredictably.
And Kael Vorrin had become something harder to erase than a foundation.
He'd become a reference point in motion.
The war was no longer hidden.
And now—
everyone had a stake in it.