In the far corner of the square, a small child held a necklace covered in dust. He didn't know its meaning, only that it belonged to a man who had disappeared two days ago.
He asked his mother with an innocent tone:
— "Why was it in our house?"
The mother's throat went dry. She reached out to take it from him but said nothing. She only smiled a faint, forced smile and pulled his head to her chest, whispering:
— "Sometimes… things just lose their way."
But upstairs, behind a shattered window, someone was watching.
He didn't have a common name in the square. Everyone only knew him by the title: "The Observer."
Faded gray hair, barely blinking eyes, and a voice rarely heard. He didn't have an Echo, but he knew how to make himself heard in other ways.
Weeks ago, he began to suspect. The number of civilians was decreasing—always slowly. Names erased. Faces vanished, then forgotten. No one asked questions. But he was writing.
He took an old leather notebook and flipped through its pages until he reached the name of the man with the necklace: "Merrin D."
"Second person from the supply teams. Disappeared after a minor dispute with one of the guards."
He smiled slowly and whispered to himself:
— "The bait was swallowed. Sadly, it seems I was right."
In an abandoned house at the city's edge, his small team was waiting. Just six individuals, none with an Echo. But each of them knew well: how to disappear—and how to plant doubt.
He said:
— "The enemy is strong. Far stronger than us. We won't beat them with force… but with time. We delay them, confuse them. If we expose them now, they'll just switch to open slaughter. If we're going to die anyway, I'd rather not die without leaving a mark."
Then he turned to a short-haired girl with alert eyes:
— "Etta, you'll sneak in and replace the disinfectant bottles. They'll start doubting the effectiveness of their meds."
The other, a tall young man with a light beard, smiled and asked:
— "And the leaflets we distributed?"
— "They'll begin to work tomorrow."
In the square, a small paper was pinned to the door of an abandoned building. It read:
"Who said the Rift was the only thing that devours people? Some monsters walk on two legs."
In the top floor of the administration building, Naive stood watching the crowd through the window. His eyes moved calmly over the masses.
Then he whispered:
— "Something's wrong."
Beside him, Ashura stood expressionless but said:
— "I feel it… the air has changed."
Meanwhile, Elsa noticed the tension in people's shoulders as she passed through them.
"They're quieter. Their eyes don't hold. As if someone is whispering to them… something we can't hear."
That night, candles were lit early. And words hid beneath the beds, as if the night itself had turned dangerous.
In the lowest corner of a crumbling cell, The Observer was drawing a new map. Not of locations—but of flows.
At the bottom, he wrote:
"When you step on the edges… the center cracks."
The next day, they gathered at the edge of the city. On the ground lay a hand-drawn map. It wasn't complete, but it was full of red marks, black circles, and tiny writing only one person could decipher: the leader.
He watched the distant square, where the "Saviors"—trusted by all—were organizing "explorations." In his eyes was a mixture of contempt… and fear.
He said softly, almost to himself:
> "They think we're blind… but we're just patient."
A girl from his team approached, holding a leathery scrap from an old notebook.
— "We found this under the house of one of the disappeared. Strange notes… he was writing about predicted disappearances, like they were scheduled. Seems like other minds in the city are starting to move."
He took the paper and read silently. The handwriting was hesitant, but the message was clear. Someone foresaw what would happen—or was part of it… then vanished.
He sighed, then said:
> "We won't face them directly. Not yet. If they knew we exist… they'd make examples of us."
Silence.
Then a smile—the kind that precedes calculated chaos:
> "We'll slow them. Confuse them. Break their certainty in their control."
— "How?"
> "We'll sabotage their explorations. We'll send children into panic-prone zones and spread rumors from within. Every small lie will birth doubt. And doubt… is the first crack in their wall of control."
He pointed to the necklace on the table:
> "And this… will be the spark."
Outside, Elsa and Merr were speaking with a group of civilians, trying to calm them and understand what had shifted their behavior so drastically.
But in the background… everything was beginning to crack.
Naive stood watching a group of children playing under the watchful eye of a man who, two days ago, was just a silent beggar—now he talked too much… way too much.
Ashura entered without knocking. He didn't speak, but his presence was enough to make Naive say:
> "The city is changing. Not toward survival… but toward rebellion."
He pulled out a small paper—on it a simple map and movement patterns of the civilians who had begun to "think." Red circles… gray markings… all pointing to one thing: someone was awakening minds.
> "We have a silent resistance. No weapons—but a skilled tongue."
He turned to Ashura:
> "I'll start silencing voices. No public killings. Just studied disappearances… with convincing reasons."
Ashura showed no opinion. He just looked at him with an expression of doubt—or maybe sorrow he wouldn't admit.
---
In a dim basement, Naive met with Elsa and Merr.
— "People will start asking questions soon. And someone's answering them—with lies that make them fear us, not the Rifts."
Elsa (nervously): "You mean… someone on the inside?"
> "I mean a mind we don't know… but one that knows us."
Then he laid out his plan:
Step One: Spread a rumor about a "neural effect" near the Rifts, causing hallucinations and conspiratorial delusions. They'll call it "Whisper Syndrome."
Step Two: Select a few individuals known for being overly active and isolate them under the pretense of protecting them—and others—from "infection."
Step Three: Infiltrate small groups by planting sociable agents who offer "official truths" and show "fake understanding" to gain trust… then dismantle them from within.
---
At the end of the meeting, Naive said coldly:
> "The city is fragile… and doubt is now our first enemy. I'll make them doubt themselves… not us."
By the seventh morning of the plan's execution, the city felt less crowded. Not because people were gone—but because footsteps had slowed, whispers grew louder, and eyes watched one another as if everyone might be a traitor.
In the small market, an old woman sat beside a pile of cloth, speaking to herself loudly:
> "Whisper Syndrome… the girl said I was delusional… but I heard my son scream at night, and he wasn't even in the room."
A young woman passing by looked at her with fear, then quickened her pace.
Fear was spreading. But slowly… and smartly.
---
Elsewhere, on the roof of a partially ruined house, the resistance leader sat with his team.
One of them said:
> "Reild disappeared last night. They say the Rift affected him… but he told me hours before that he found something in the new map."
The leader smiled tensely:
> "They're learning… good. Then it's time for the next phase."
He pulled out stale bread, broke it into pieces, and handed them out:
> "Each of you go to one of those isolated… give them this. They'll know it's our message: they are not alone."
---
In the city center, Elsa approached a young woman crying beside her child, who hadn't spoken in two days. She sat next to her, took her hand, and began to speak gently:
> "The Rifts are near… yes. And they may affect those we love. But that doesn't mean we've lost them. The child needs a hug, not a diagnosis."
Elsa smiled… but inside, she was breaking. She knew "soothing words" wouldn't last long.
---
In the storage cellar, Merr distributed bread and disinfectants to families, but noticed familiar faces appearing too often… the same people, in many places.
She stopped, suspicious. Then whispered:
> "They move around a lot… they're not scared enough."
---
In the evening, as the city lit up with faint lights powered by alternative fuel, strange papers appeared—written in an odd hand. No one knew who placed them. The paper read:
> "When they say you're hallucinating... maybe you're just one of the few who still sees the truth."