Rosalyn stood trembling, her heart racing, staring at the figure. His face was veiled. Only his striking chrysolite eyes visible beneath silver lashes: clear, piercing, cutting deep into her soul. And yet, somehow, tender…

  He didn’t move, holding the book high so that his face remained hidden behind the wide fall of his sleeve. She couldn’t tear her gaze away from his. And despite her pounding heart, she didn’t want to. The yearning, the same unbearable and familiar yearning from her dreams, enveloped her entire being.

  She parted her lips, her voice barely escaping.

  “I…”

  His eyes softened. The tenderness in them only made the ache inside her deepen. She was about to take a step closer to him when Elisabeth’s voice rang out behind her.

  “What’s with all that gasping, redhead? It’s so annoying I can’t concentrate!”

  The man vanished at once, like a shimmer dissolving in air, just as Elisabeth entered the aisle. The book he had been holding fell to the floor with a thud. Rosalyn’s eyes followed the spot where he’d stood until the glow faded completely. Then she leaned against a nearby shelf to steady herself, her pulse still hammering, her hands faintly trembling.

  “What’s with you? Did you see a ghost or something?” Elisabeth asked, one brow raised.

  “I… don’t even know…”

  Elisabeth scoffed, folding her arms. But then her gaze caught on the book lying a few meters away. Curious, she walked over and picked it up. The cover was dark green, sturdy yet chipped by age, embossed with a delicate silver vine that framed two elegant cursive letters: LV.

  “LV? No other title? Weird,” Elisabeth muttered.

  She opened it carefully. It was thin, most pages long decayed or torn to ribbons, making it appear even thinner. Those that remained were written in a graceful, slanted hand, the ink a deep green that had somehow resisted time.

  “An old manuscript!” she breathed, her excitement rising as she turned the pages, until her eyes froze on one. Her expression shifted, eyes widening with each line she read.

  “This…this could be my breakthrough…”, she whispered after a long while then started reading out loud.

  “It is not steel nor spark that shall restore the world and its withering soil, but the breath of virtue made visible. Thus I conceived the Sentinel, a vessel, a living machine, that listens not to command, but to the harmony of hearts.

  Every soul emits a frequency: subtle, unseen, yet measurable to those who know how to listen. Within that trembling current lies proof that morality itself possesses weight, tone, and resonance.

  Purity sings in high wavelengths of crystalline brightness.

  Wisdom flows in measured pulses, serene and deep.

  Hope radiates with warmth that endures decay.

  Humility hums low and steadfast, the foundation upon which all others rest.

  To receive and amplify these tones, I have bound the Sentinel to four conduits: the Four Great Trees. They are trees in name only as they are not born of soil but of design. I constructed them as vast bio-organic resonators, each rooted at one corner of Arctar.

  Northern district: Tree of Purity.

  Eastern district: Tree of Wisdom.

  Southern district: Tree of Hope.

  Western district: Tree of Humility.

  Each Tree is devoted to one of these four cardinal virtues, attuned to their particular virtue's resonance within the community, and converts that moral energy into renewal of the soil, making Arctar's barren earth once more capable of sustenance.

  Specifically, within the heart of the Sentinel, to which the Trees are bound, rests a resonance stabilizer module that refines these virtue vibrations of the community into usable energy. A reactor of bio-virtue light then transmutes resonance into infinitesimal particles of renewal, Phyto-Energetic Particles, sovereign in their power to awaken the land. Through hidden conduits beneath the city they travel, stirring dormant seeds, cleansing poisoned waters, and rousing sleeping roots. The moral becomes material.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Purity. Wisdom. Hope. Humility.

  These are indeed the four pillars upon which mankind endures.

  Yet… men are ever changing… Keeping the heart clean and virtue alive requires strength of will. Few undertake the effort… I see this more and more as the waves of corruption grow by the day.

  The harmony is faltering. The Four Great Trees, deprived of sufficient virtue, recoil gradually. Their light dims, their energy wanes, too feeble to sustain the soil which turns dead again.

  No blessing can bloom where virtue has fled…

  …Even now I sense the foreboding Collapse.

  And, increasingly often, I find myself looking at my Sentinel and wondering that perhaps a second role for it is approaching… I believe the only way to stop Morter is—”

  The text ended there, the last sentence torn away.

  Elisabeth stared at the page in silence, then began to laugh, quietly at first, then louder, and louder still.

  “Morter? The Morter? I remember that lunatic from history lessons! This manuscript must date back five hundred years! I can’t believe it! This is a goldmine!”

  “Can I see?” asked Rosalyn weakly, still leaning against the shelf.

  “No! Not now!” barked Elisabeth, frantically turning the pages in search of more. “Oh! There’s another paragraph here, at the bottom of the last page.”

  She read aloud:

  “When the hour comes, when the Four Great Trees stand on the verge of death, it shall be the sign that they can no longer contain it, that He will soon be unleashed once more. When that time arrives, I have encoded within the Trees a system that will make each of the Trees, upon sensing their final decline, choose a human who will embody their virtue to an exceptional degree, and they will bestow upon the Chosen their blessings. Those blessings are powers, great and rare, each shaped by the virtue they spring from. They-”

  The writing broke off again, the corner chipped away. But it was enough. Elisabeth let out a high, triumphant cackle, half disbelief, half delirium.

  “I can’t believe it! This isn’t just a scoop, it’s not just a project entry: this is history! I’ll make history! Ha! Victor! Victor! Get over here! Now!”

  Only silence answered her. No voice, no footsteps, just the hollow echo that bounced between the towering shelves.

  “Hey, Victor!” Elisabeth called again.

  Still nothing. On her third call, now half-irritated, half-uneasy, a sharp shredding sound tore through the quiet, followed by hasty footsteps.

  Victor emerged from a distant aisle. But something was wrong.

  He was paler than usual, his left eye hidden beneath thick black strands made the rest of his face appear even more ashen. His jaw was rigid, his brows slightly furrowed as if trying to suppress something. His movements were abrupt, almost strained, as though he were battling internally.

  Elisabeth blinked. “What? Did you see a ghost too?”

  “Why did you call me?” he cut in sharply.

  “Look what I found!” she said, triumph blazing in her eyes as she handed him the book.

  Victor took it and scanned the text in silence. Elisabeth watched, waiting eagerly. Rosalyn, still leaning against the shelf, closed her eyes, trying to steady her breathing.

  Time stretched. The silence thickened.

  Victor’s expression remained unreadable until his gaze stopped at a particular line. His brow twitched almost imperceptibly. His grip on the book tightened… tighter… until the pages began to bend.

  “Hey! Careful!” Elisabeth snapped. “That’s historical evidence!”

  He caught himself, then shut the book and handed it back.

  “Right. Good. Let’s go,” he muttered, walking past her toward the exit. The edge of a shredded page peeked from the pocket of his black coat.

  “That’s it?” Elisabeth shouted after him. “We just uncovered Arctar’s greatest mystery: the Four Trees that baffled every scientist for centuries! They’re not even real trees but constructions! Machines that sense virtue and somehow regenerate the soil! And even more, these Trees can choose people! Grant them powers! Do you realize what this means? When I publish this, the whole city will go mad! Tourism, awards, campaigns! I can already see my name on the discovery! Ha!”

  “Newspaper?” Victor stopped abruptly and turned, his voice flat. “You plan to publish this in the newspaper? Wasn’t this supposed to be just an entry for the Lumen Orb?”

  “Are you kidding? I’m not letting a discovery like this rot on a stupid student project! This is revolutionary! It’s going straight to the headlines! I’ll make sure each and every pair of eyes in Arctar sees it!”

  “And whose names are going under this discovery?”

  “As much as I’d love to take all the credit - which, let’s be honest, would be totally fair - I’m in such a good mood that I’ll be generous and include both of you too.” Elisabeth declared with the air of a benefactor.

  Victor stared at her for a long moment.

  “You will not put my name in any newspaper,” he said ominously through clenched teeth.

  The tone made her flinch. Low, controlled, yet carrying that same chill she’d heard once before, the kind that forced her eyes away from his.

  “Fine!” she snapped. “For once that I tried to be nice! I’ll just take all the rightful credit then! I doubt the redhead will mind, right?”

  Rosalyn shook her head faintly. The book was now in her hands. Elisabeth had thrust it at her mid-argument without realizing. She was now tracing the silver initials LV on the cover with her fingertips, lost in thoughts about the figure she had just seen.

  “Let’s go,” Victor said, turning away. “The power and monitoring systems will be back again soon. I still have to return the needle-key to the chairman’s office.”

  The girls followed him, Elisabeth grinning in triumph, while Rosalyn remaining pensive. As they stepped out of the Academic Archives, Rosalyn looked back into the solemn space.

  “LV…” she whispered.

  --------------------------------------

  The streetlights cast their glow across the bridge, its suspension cables traced in neon, sharp against the dark sky. Cars buzzed along on the road, swift strands of light threading and vanishing, reappearing anew.

  Bozo leaned against the railing of the pedestrian walkway, gazing out at the city’s reflection trembling in the water below. His portable synth rested beside him against the metal, its black surface catching faint glints from passing headlights. The smoke from his cigarette curled upward through the cold air, dissolving into the mist. The night carried a faint scent of ozone.

  Then, without warning, Bozo’s hazel eyes shifted, his irises glowing suddenly with a deep, golden light. He froze, unmoving, as if listening to something far beyond the world’s noise.

  A few seconds later, the glow faded, his eyes returning to hazel. He stayed still for a moment longer before crushing the cigarette under his boot. His gaze lifted toward one of the Four Great Trees shimmering faintly in the distance.

  “So… the choosing has begun,” he murmured.