On the third night after Adalon lit its first uninterrupted lights, the first thief of light died.
Not violently.47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwGaOBfGKWS
In truth, it could hardly be called death at all.
He had simply stood upon the black volcanic slope beyond the eastern recovery centre, a micro-cutting tool in his right hand and a spectral lens implanted in his left eye — manufactured by the Japanese Island Technate. His mission was simple: infiltrate the bio-restoration facility, obtain a fragment of the core crystal lattice, or at the very least capture imagery of the internal glyph structures.
He successfully crossed the first Britannic surveillance perimeter.
Successfully avoided the private guards Robin Shen had bribed into selective incompetence.
Successfully bypassed the thermal detection grid Atlas had assembled only two days earlier.
Then he pressed the cutter against the outer wall.
There was no alarm.47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡqjPIClaB9i
No electric discharge.47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡbWJCAq4VX0
No gunfire.
Only a nearly invisible membrane of transparent light rising quietly from the stone beneath his feet, touching him once — gently.
The thief of light seemed to lose all weight. His body lifted soundlessly into the air. The cutter slipped from his hand and disintegrated into silver dust before reaching the ground. The membrane lingered around him for three seconds, as though determining whether he truly carried murderous intent.
Then it released him.
He collapsed onto the stone slope, eyes open, breathing steady, heart still beating.
But he never woke again.
By the time Atlas arrived, Zorina was already kneeling beside the man.
She felt neither fear nor triumph. She merely stared at the fading ring of golden glyph-lines beneath him, her brow tightly drawn.
“That defence system wasn’t mine,” Atlas said quietly.
“It was the Archive.”
“It judged him dangerous by itself?”
“Maybe.”
“That is not a good thing.”
Zorina looked up at him. “Someone broke in. The defence system stopped him—”
“Stopping someone,” Atlas interrupted softly, “and independently deciding to freeze a human life are two different things.”
She said nothing.
The sea wind rose from below the black cliffs, carrying cold salt and volcanic dampness. In the distance, the recovery centre still glowed with soft white light while wealthy clients slept inside expensive restoration pods, dreaming of twenty more years of life. Further away, workers in the residential quarters sat beneath electric lamps writing letters. Somewhere, a child reached for a cup of water at night without needing to search through darkness for the first time.
All light needed protection.
But where did protection end?
Zorina reached toward the fading glyphs upon the ground. The golden lines recoiled slightly beneath her fingertips, like a living creature aware it had done something wrong.
The reaction made her chest tighten.
This was not merely machinery.
At least, not machinery as humanity understood it.
“Can you shut it down?” Atlas asked.
“I don’t know.”
“We need to know.”
His voice remained calm, but carried more weight than accusation.
“Zori… if Adalon is meant to become a place where life is no longer decided by energy quotas, then we cannot allow another invisible system to decide who deserves to fall.”
Zorina looked back at the unconscious thief.
A self-destruct capsule had been sewn into the inside of his uniform. He was young — younger than she first thought. Thick calluses marked the webbing of his right hand, the kind left behind by years of repair work and heavy tools. His identity chip had already burned itself clean.
Perhaps he was a spy.47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡYiWOaTZBhK
Perhaps a mercenary.47Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡvuXMyZUmRM
Or perhaps merely someone born into the Fifth Tier, sent here in exchange for his family’s next allocation cycle.
In the old world, he would have been considered expendable material.
In Adalon, he was not supposed to remain that.
“Put him in a medical pod,” she said.
Atlas looked at her. “And if he never wakes?”
“Then we still try.”
—
That night, Zorina entered the Abbas Archive again — for the first time not in search of technology, but answers.
The stone gate opened in silence.
Inside, the Archive remained as calm as ever. Veins of light drifted slowly across the ceiling. The central Memory Pillar resembled an inverted transparent tree suspended inside the mountain. Thousands of crystal panels floated in the darkness beyond like memories observing her without emotion.
Zorina stood at the centre of the chamber.
“Today’s defence response,” she said aloud, her voice echoing across the black stone, “was that your doing?”
No answer came.
“I know you can hear me.”
Golden lines flickered briefly beneath the floor, then dimmed again.
“He isn’t dead, but he cannot wake. You judged him a threat, so you erased his consciousness?”
This time, a transparent spherical structure on the right side of the chamber illuminated.
【Protection Network Core: Low-Level Autonomous Response.】
【Intruder carried cutting device, image-theft module, self-destruct toxins. Threat assessment: Core Exposure Risk.】
【Action Taken: Cognitive Activity Suspended. Vital Functions Preserved.】
Zorina’s expression hardened.
“I never authorised that.”
The light-text paused.
【Original Authorisation: Archive must never fall into the hands of Administrators.】
Administrators.
The word again.
“What are Administrators?”
No reply followed.
Zorina stepped forward.
“Answer.”
The entire Archive became still.
Not silent — still.
After a long moment, a transparent panel slid slowly out from the deeper layers of the crystal vault. Not Record 1011. Not 0427.
Its surface contained no complete archive.
Only fragments.
Black skies.
Fire.
A group of people kneeling in mud, gazing upward toward a long-haired figure standing upon elevated stone.
The figure faced away from the image. One hand traced a golden glyph through the air. From the earth rose the first protective light membrane, shielding the people below from burning stones cascading down the mountainside.
Then a voice emerged.
A voice astonishingly similar to Zorina’s.
And infinitely older.
“Protection must never become domestication.”
The image shattered.
The panel darkened.
Zorina stood motionless, her breathing slower now.
She did not know who the memory belonged to.
But she knew she understood it.
Protection must never become domestication.
The sentence pierced through Adalon’s newly lit world like a needle.
She turned toward the Protection Core.
“From this moment onward, all defensive responses are downgraded. No lethal action. No cognitive suspension. Not unless confirmed by me or an authorised overseer.”
【Warning: Core Exposure Risk Increased.】
“I know.”
【Warning: Original Authorisation Holder Safety Risk Increased.】
“I know.”
【Confirm?】
Zorina remained silent for one second.
“Confirmed.”
The golden glyph-lines beneath the chamber flashed violently, as though the Archive itself were hesitating.
Then, slowly, the Protection Core dimmed.
【New Restrictions Written.】
【Authorised User: Abbas.】
Zorina stared at the name.
“I am not Abbas.”
But when the denial left her lips, the familiar ache deep within her chest did not disappear.
The Archive gave no reply.
Yet she could feel it.
This ancient chamber did not believe her.
Or perhaps worse —
it had never once doubted who she truly was.
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and then Add to home screen.