The Nexus doors opened not with force—but with silence.
Clean, deliberate, final.
Selvere stepped through.
He wore no armor, no crest. Just black robes traced with pulsing silver thread. Behind him moved a half-dozen Mnemonic Sentinels—unblinking guardians whose minds had been reduced to pure recall and obedience.
Kael stood waiting in the broadcast chamber. The rebels flanked the perimeter, tense. No one raised a weapon. Yet.
Selvere stopped a dozen paces away.
"Was it worth it?" he asked, voice like falling water. "Spreading fractures that cannot be resealed?"
Kael didn't answer immediately.
He looked at the man who had once erased him.
Then said, "You saw the response. People want the truth."
Selvere's head tilted slightly.
"They want stability. Truth is an unstable element. It demands interpretation. Judgment. Pain."
He took one step closer.
"I offer you a compromise. We allow truth—some of it. Filtered. Gradual. Enough to relieve pressure without collapsing the whole system."
Lira stepped forward. "You mean propaganda."
"I mean order," Selvere said.
Kael met his gaze. "And if I refuse?"
Selvere exhaled.
Then looked to his Sentinels.
"Seal the memory well. Prepare for conversion."
Corren's blade was already in his hand.
The Sentinels moved forward.
Kael raised his voice—not loud, but cutting through the chamber like a wire.
"You can kill the truth. You can burn the pages."
He paused.
"But you've already lost the memory."
Selvere didn't blink.
The lights dimmed as the chamber doors sealed.
War had begun.