There are moments when the world reveals its true face.
Not through explosions.
Not through wars.
But through something small… quiet… wrong.
Mohamed woke up screaming.
His body jerked upright, lungs burning, hands clawing at air that felt too thin to breathe. The dream still clung to him like ash under the skin—pyramids collapsing inward, children chanting numbers they didn't understand, a red eclipse swallowing the sky.
Selene was already there.
She sat on the edge of the bed, calm, grounded, unshaken. She had not slept.
"You crossed something last night," she said. "That's why you're shaking."
Mohamed wiped blood from beneath his nose. "I saw them," he whispered. "Before Egypt. Before Sumer. Humans weren't… primitive."
Selene nodded. "We were reset."
Silence.
Then she stood. "Get up. If Faromet allowed you to leave alive, it's because the Order wants to observe what breaks you."
"And what breaks me?" Mohamed asked.
Selene looked at him.
"Innocence."
They arrived at the site just before dawn.
A school.
Or what remained of one.
The building was old, forgotten, scheduled for demolition—its walls cracked, playground rusted, colors faded into something resembling nostalgia rather than joy.
Mohamed felt sick the moment he stepped inside.
The air was wrong.
There were no bodies.
That was the problem.
Selene crouched and touched the floor. Symbols had been carved beneath the dust—tiny, careful, almost playful.
"These were done by small hands," she said quietly.
Mohamed swallowed. "Aiko."
A voice echoed down the hallway.
"Found youuu~"
Footsteps. Light. Skipping.
She emerged from the shadows carrying a small backpack decorated with cartoon stars.
Aiko.
Her dress was spotless.
Her shoes were clean.
Her eyes were not.
"Oh good," she said cheerfully. "You came early. Usually people arrive after the screaming."
Mohamed felt his stomach twist. "Where are the children?"
Aiko blinked. "Which ones?"
Selene moved slightly in front of Mohamed. "What did you do?"
Aiko thought about it. Genuinely.
"I showed them a game," she said. "If they answered correctly, they got to sleep."
"And if they didn't?" Mohamed asked.
Aiko smiled.
"They woke up somewhere else."
The walls began to hum.
Symbols ignited.
The school dissolved.
They were no longer standing in reality.
They stood inside a memory construct.
Rows of children sat calmly, eyes glazed, repeating phrases in unison.
Aiko walked between them like a teacher.
"Belief creates structure," she recited.
"Structure creates reality."
"Reality decides who is allowed to live."
She stopped in front of one child—a boy no older than seven.
He hesitated.
Aiko sighed softly.
"That's okay," she said kindly.
She placed her hand on his forehead.
The boy collapsed—not dead—but erased. His outline lingered for a moment like chalk dust… then vanished.
Mohamed screamed. "STOP!"
The memory shattered.
They were back in the school.
Mohamed lunged forward, grabbing Aiko by the wrist.
For a fraction of a second—
Something ancient looked back at him through her eyes.
She twisted his grip effortlessly and stepped back, tilting her head.
"You feel it too," she said softly. "Don't you?"
Mohamed froze.
"What?"
Aiko's voice dropped, losing its childish lilt.
"The truth," she said. "That humans begged for cages. That they asked to forget."
She took a step closer.
"I just help them remember… briefly."
Selene drew her weapon—but stopped.
Ryoto Nobunga stepped out of the hallway shadows.
His presence suffocated the room.
"That's enough," he said.
Aiko pouted. "But he's interesting."
Ryoto's scarred eye fixed on Mohamed. "Faromet is watching."
Aiko sighed dramatically. "Fine."
She leaned in close to Mohamed and whispered:
"I'll see you again. At the fifth convergence."
Then she vanished.
Ryoto turned to Selene.
"You should not have brought him here," he said.
Selene met his gaze. "You're afraid."
Ryoto smiled faintly. "No. I'm nostalgic."
Then he was gone.
The school collapsed inward, reality reasserting itself.
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Mohamed dropped to his knees.
"She enjoys it," he whispered. "She enjoys killing."
Selene knelt beside him. "No. She enjoys clarity. The Order took her childhood and replaced it with purpose."
Mohamed clenched his fists.
"She's still a child."
Selene looked at him with something close to pity.
"Not anymore."
Mohamed stood slowly.
Something inside him had hardened.
"They think innocence is weakness," he said. "They're wrong."
Selene nodded. "Good. Because the next convergence isn't about memory."
She looked toward the horizon.
"It's about faith."