The wall pulsed to life. The new broadcast header rolled: UCA — DAILY REPORT 01.
His father’s reflection shifted in the projection, posture straightening. The voice that followed was his own.
“Citizens of Zwolle. This is Commander Martijn de Vries, newly appointed Head of Security for the Union Civil Authority.”
Rem froze with the spoon halfway to his mouth. Hearing the words from the man across the table — recorded but identical, perfect in tone — made something twist in his chest.
“From this day forward,” the broadcast continued, “you’ll hear from me every morning. These reports will be our pulse check — a measure of how we stand, how we’re adapting, and what must come next. Survival is no longer a given; it’s a discipline. And discipline begins with awareness.”
His father didn’t look away from the screen. He watched himself deliver each line, eyes narrowed just enough to judge the pacing.
Rem swallowed, the food dry and heavy. He’d known about the appointment, of course — the late nights, the family group chat. But seeing it like this, his father addressing the city, every word drilled and deliberate, felt unreal.
He told himself it was pride he felt, watching his father claim the city. But the thing in his chest wasn’t pride; it was the slow compression of air in a sealed room. The Union didn’t just live outside anymore. It lived here — in his kitchen, using his father’s voice.
“My purpose,” the screen-father said, “is simple: to keep Zwolle safe, strong, and united. The metrics you’ll hear — Thrive ranking, adaptation rate, survivability — are not abstractions. They’re the sum of every citizen doing their part. I’ll report them without embellishment, without delay, and without excuse.”
The real Commander reached for his cup, sipped, and nodded once — approving his own performance.
Rem couldn’t stop staring. The broadcast voice filled the kitchen: calm, confident, unstoppable.
“You’ll learn my voice in time — and I’ll learn yours, through action. Until then, remember what defines Zwolle: quiet resolve. Steady progress. Unbreakable coordination.”
The feed cut cleanly, replaced by the city seal. Silence pooled in its wake.
His father set the cup down, perfectly centered on its coaster. “Good start,” he said.
Rem nodded, throat tight. “Yeah,” he managed, eyes still on the screen. “You sound like you mean it.”
His father gave a short, approving nod — taking it as praise.
Rem felt the words rise anyway — congratulations, Dad — but they caught before they reached his mouth. He already knew the reply. Something about discipline. Dedication. A lesson disguised as pride. The kind of thing that left no space for him to speak at all.
So he didn’t.
Noah’s face shimmered into being beside him as Rem moved down the rise toward the rails, the projection ghosting his stride with uncanny fidelity, a second shadow in the corner of his eye.
The doors whispered shut. The capsule fell smooth and silent, glass walls framing the rise’s inner skin. Terraced gardens dropped past his view: cascades of green glowing under redirected sunlight, androids drifting through the foliage like white-clad gardeners of some palace dream. Beyond the curve of the rise, the shadeward suites glinted—mirror-dark alcoves set deep in the facade, their drone traffic tracing bright helixes in the morning haze.
“Hey, Noah.” Rem’s smile was small, cautious. The system caught it, etched the curve into light.
“Rem!” Noah’s reply came too loud, almost giddy. “Good to see you.”
“Good to be seen,” Rem said. The lift slowed, a whisper of magnets fading into the mechanical hiss of brakes. Doors opened to the rail concourse—harsher light, harsher smells. Down here the polish was thinner, steel ribs exposed between panels, androids muscling crates from autotransports, drones weaving overhead with erratic urgency. “Wanted to let you know… I won’t be in class today. I’m pushing for level three.”
Noah’s grin spread, eyes brightening. “About time. That’s huge.”
The words clung like thorns in Rem’s throat, but he forced them out. “Since we’ll be the same level… maybe we could group up.”
For a breath, Noah held the smile. Then it faltered. “Yeah, so… Eva and Mara pulled me in. Their tank outleveled—hit four—and couldn’t hang back. They needed someone, and I slotted in.”
Level four. The number sat heavy in Rem’s chest, a milestone that seemed out of reach. He passed through the crowd toward the platform, drawn by the keening whine of the arriving railcar.
“I could ask if they’ll take one more?” Noah added quickly, stumbling over his eagerness. “I’ve seen five-man clears.”
A man brushed past, shoulder rough against Rem’s arm. He lifted his own shoulders, let them fall again. The gesture passed for casual, though his mouth betrayed him with a crack in the smile. “Don’t worry about it. Just… watch yourself. Rushing ahead? It can turn ugly. I don’t want you bleeding for it.”
“I’ll be fine,” Noah said, too fast, too sure. “They’ve got the routes down. Clean clears. Smooth runs.”
The rail doors sighed open. Rem stepped into the car with the others, the projection of Noah still trailing him, translucent against the polished glass.
“Okay.” The word came out thinner than he intended, nearly swallowed by the hiss of pressure seals and the rising hum of acceleration.
The call blinked out.
The railcar surged forward, city lights streaking into ribbons. In the glass, Rem’s reflection held steady while the world outside smeared and warped, the gardens and towers of the rise bleeding away into something older, denser, rougher. By the time the speed bled off, shadows of stone walls and smoke-stained chimneys crowded the windows. The car sighed to a halt in Oldetown, and the doors yawned wide onto streets that smelled of iron and woodsmoke.
Rem paced inside his storage locker, rehearsing the plan until the words were a mantra.
Five runs, back to back. The satchel lay ready on the bench, straps pulled tight, space inside cleared for what he would bring out. Beside it sat a mound of slime cores he would burn through to suppress his level. Five tallow candles, cut to different lengths by his own precise calculations, waited next to the iron lantern. Beyond swayed his garden of fifteen night lilies.
Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.
“Okay.” His whisper vanished in the stale air. “Let’s go.”
He slung the satchel over his shoulder, stepped into the lilies, and harvested three in quick, practiced motions. Each bloom went into the padded box before its glow could fade. Back at the bench, he lit the longest candle, slid it into the lamp, and touched the glyph plate.
The gloom folded around him. Challenge Two.
He crouched low, notebook balanced on his knees. Candlelight trembled against the page as he scribbled readings, notes stacking in his cramped hand. He jotted down his ideas, both the good ones and the not so good ones, intending to sort them later. The first edges of a large pattern glimmered in his head. When the wick guttered out, he snapped the book shut and made for camp.
“Three lilies as promised.”
Arbrios blinked at the speed but took them without comment. His hands moved with old grace, and in moments a vial of crimson pressed cool into Rem’s palm.
Challenge 2 Completed
Reward: 50 XP
Reward: 1 × Healing Potion (Level 2)
You have set a new level record: 44 minutes
Rem nodded his thanks and turned back to the field. One down.
The runs blurred together. Candles burned faster, his notes sprawled wider, lilies dropped in neat bundles on Arbrios’s counter. Arbrios’s hands never faltered, but his eyes lingered on Rem a fraction longer each time, as if waiting for an explanation that never came.
You have set a new level record: 34 minutes
You have set a new level record: 24 minutes
You have set a new level record: 14 minutes
Consecutive record clears logged.
On the final run he let the essence flood him. His muscles trembled with the surge. Vision narrowed to a hard white edge. By the time he staggered into camp and passed over the lilies, his chest felt like it would split with the weight of it.
Challenge 2 Completed
Reward: 50 XP
Reward: 1 × Healing Potion (Level 2)
You have set a new level record: 4 minutes
This is a new Union of Worlds level record.
This event has been logged.
Rem’s hand went through his hair as the realization hit him.
The potion trembled in his hand. Essence suffused him, bursting through old walls in his body, bones vibrating, nerves ringing like struck wires, a heat under his skin that felt both exhilarating and wrong. Then came the cool wave and release. Something uncoiled deep inside, and he was more than he had been a moment before. He knew this feeling. He was leveling.
Performance verified. Efficiency threshold exceeded.
Title Awarded: Passwright
You have demonstrated yourself worthy of investment.
Benefit: Double the population-standard challenge pass allocation.
Union record acknowledged. Event logged in Annexation Ledgers.
Title Awarded: Record Holder
Your citizenship license has been upgraded.
Status: Provisional → Merit License
Rem’s chest heaved as he read the messages. He stood for a moment with the vial cold against his palm. A laugh that was half shock escaped him, small and brittle. His hands shook. For a breath he felt invincible, a taut wire tuned to sing. The next he felt the oppressive weight of observation, the kind he desperately wanted to avoid.
Later, in his bedroom, his bare feet padded the waxed floorboards. He was level 3. He ought to feel elated. Instead the phrase looped in his head like a stuck data packet: Union record. Logged.
“Why did you push it that far?” His voice cracked in the dark. “You just had to try for an unbreakable record.”
you complain too much. should be thanking me.
He tried to lie down, but his body thrummed with leftover energy. Every heartbeat felt too loud. Finally he pulled up what he wanted to see, the simplified interface responding with the exact sections he thought of.
Name: Rembrandt de Vries
Status: Citizen, By Merit
Race: Human (Enhanced)
Level: 3
Class: Error. No class found.
Titles
- Passwright: You have demonstrated yourself worthy of investment. You receive double the standard challenge pass allocation.
- Record Holder: Your citizenship has been permanently upgraded from provisional system access to merit based.
He stared at the new section. Passwright felt useful: twice the chances others had. The citizenship upgrade worried him. He had ignored those lectures, bored by the endless tiers and codes. Now the Citizen by Merit sat on his page like a mark. Merit meant being seen.
He paced until the daily reward notification interrupted him.
Level Two Daily Clear Rank: 1
2× Challenge passes awarded
Level Two New Record acknowledged
2× Challenge passes awarded
The new record message repeated four more times, five records shattered back to back. Just as planned.
Awarded passes doubled (Passwright).
The flood of passes meant freedom. Yet all Rem felt was the weight of having gone too far, the creeping certainty that someone, somewhere, was watching.
He flicked on his favorite world-stream: Chief and his tireless sidekick PV, deep in the mines again. The steady hum of the metal processor and the grind of the ore extractor lulled him. Chief’s voice filled the air, chatting idly with his audience as he worked, and Rem’s eyes drifted shut.
The alert pinged at the edge of Administrator Muyua’s vision, one of a hundred in the last hour. He opened it without breaking stride on his dictation.
[SYSTEM NOTICE — CITIZEN UPGRADE]
Citizen: Rembrandt de Vries (User ID: EARTH-001)
Zone: Zwolle Arcology 37
Protocol: Thrive — Progression verified (Level 2 → Level 3).
Compliance Reference: Annexation Ledger §8.2; Concordant Law §17.3.
Action: Logged to Citizen Registry (Ref: CS-T/EP-037).
Muyua skimmed the line, hissed through his teeth, and dismissed it with a twitch of his fingers. Some provincial boy had shaved a few seconds off a lily harvest. Wonderful. Brussels had transport audits piling up, a resource diversion report was already three days late, and three Union inspectors were circling his office like carrion birds. And the system wanted him to clap for a child leveling up.
Another notice bloomed. Then another. Screen after screen asking for his judgment, all clamoring at once: anomaly review, pass-multiplication check, commendation queue. He snorted and shoved them aside, dragging the energy ledger forward like a lifeline.
“Let the local monitors earn their stipend,” he muttered. With a flick, Rembrandt de Vries vanished into the same stack of unattended nothings as all the rest.
Rem slept past dawn. Thursday. No school. The word felt like both mercy and a trap.
He stayed buried under the covers until his chest began to hum — low, insistent — until the HUD in his skull insisted on being seen.
Challenge Passes Remaining: 27
Clear Record:
Level 1: 17 minutes
Level 2: 4 minutes (Union Record)
Twenty-seven. The number looked absurd, reckless. Six to start, five spent. Twelve more won from the records, then doubled outright by Passwright until the stack ballooned to twenty-five. Then two more temporary passes for the day.
He stared until the digits smeared, until he almost laughed at himself. He’d broken a record, not murdered a dignitary. No Union officer was going to storm his room for running fast. Still, try telling that to his heartbeat, hammering against his throat at every sound from the corridor.
A delivery drone clattered past. Tomas’s voice skimmed through the wall. Rem lay frozen, half-hoping, half-dreading the door would swing open. Nothing happened. Of course nothing happened.
His own mind was the worst – his own worst enemy. He knew it, even as he let exhaustion sand down the edges of fear. The ceiling tracked the sun’s slow crawl. Still the door remained just a door.
At last he shoved free of the sheets, dressed, and stepped outside.
Uniforms prickled at him. Each patrol turned his stomach, each flash of insignia forced his steps to falter. He caught himself thinking again of interrogations, then shook it off. Paranoid. They didn’t even know his name. The officer passed without a glance. Another patrol. Another swallow. Another nothing. By midday, he was almost embarrassed at how tightly he’d been wound.
Oldetown welcomed him with its smoke and spice, the easy chaos of vendors and hawkers. A skewer pressed into his hand, grease searing his fingers. He ate standing among strangers, anonymous, just another body in the tide. No one pointed. No one cared. The world spun on with its ordinary noise.
At the storage locker, he watered the lilies. He summoned the merge domain, watched it swell into a neat four-inch cube, enough to hide a coin purse, a knife. Bigger, but still just a box.
Yesterday’s triumph rang hollow now, the sharp edge dulled by nerves. He let the thought of Challenge Three slip away and wandered Oldetown instead, letting the morning dissolve into hawkers’ calls and the bark of trainers.
At a practice ring he lingered, watching young fighters cut the air with blades. Their movements had the elegance of old speech, a grammar of muscle and repetition. No class. No sanctioned path. But there were ways beyond the Union’s ledgers — ways that lived in sweat, patience, and time.
By noon, the drift was wearing thin. The crowd’s rhythm no longer carried him; it pressed, heavy and relentless. His reprieve had stretched far enough. Challenge Three waited, and he couldn’t keep circling it forever.
He almost smiled.
Everyone knew Challenge Three was a group run — required, impossible alone.
So of course I’m going to solo it.
[STAR CORPS — FIELD BROADCAST: THE RISING CONSTELLATION]
Transmission Source: Endless Frontier Registry
Status Update: Growth Confirmed.
Two hundred seventy-five signals now burn in formation.
Fifty-three favorites mark the core fleet.
Thirty-eight heroes have taken the Oath of Light.
Trash-Tier OP?! has crossed into the Rising Stars sector.
The beacon burns brighter than ever, and each new voice strengthens the transmission.
To those still watching from the outer rings — join the Star Corps.
Rate the story, take the Oath, and claim your registry among the next generation of explorers.
The stars are listening.
Service. Unity. Light.
Transmission End.