The scent of sandalwood filled the air, creating a sense of anticipation. Rebecca, clad in the traditional white robes of an initiate, fidgeted in her seat. The concrete walls, cool against her bare arms, seemed to pulse with a subtle energy. It was like the rhythm that echoed the thrumming in her own veins. A low hum emanated from the hidden ventilation system.

  She glanced around the room, tracing the intricate patterns woven into the tapestry. There were muted shades of grey and blue, contrasted against the vibrant hues of the ceremonial platform at the center of the room. A single, large tobacco plant stood as a centerpiece. Its leaves shimmered with an indigo color that contrasted against the polished marble of its container.

  The rhythmic splash of the water fountain was a steady counterpoint to the rustling of the initiates' robes that filled the air. From a series of chalices near the ceremonial platform, a thick aroma of damp earth, smoke, mint and lavender danced across the space.

  Rebecca closed her eyes, as she took a deep breath. A nervous sweat broke out on her forehead. It was cold against her flushed skin. A crushing burden of expectation and the fear of the unknown, settled upon her.

  The door creaked open, and a figure emerged from the shadows. The Proctor, his face etched with the wisdom of countless rituals, approached the platform.

  "Graduates, the time has come."

  Rebecca's heart pounded in her chest. The moment she had both yearned for and dreaded had arrived.

  Resonating with authority and pride, the proctor’s voice extended his heartfelt congratulations to the graduating class.

  "Six years of rigorous study and intensive training have culminated in this moment. You have proven yourselves worthy of the Institute's legacy."

  He paused as his eyes swept across the sea of eager faces, each marked by a mix of anticipation and accomplishment.

  "Many of your peers will embark on careers within our fledgling bureaucracy, filling vital roles that maintain the intricate machinery of our society."

  He continued, taking on a paternal tone.

  "But you, the select few gathered here today, are destined for a different path."

  The Proctor's eyes locked onto each graduate in turn.

  "If you pass this test, you will become an Advocate Supreme. Not just a guardian of justice, but a champion, as well."

  He paced before them, his every step measured and deliberate.

  "Most importantly, you will become a conduit of the divine."

  Stopping to analyze the anxiety on Rebecca’s face, the proctor continued his discourse with a sly smile.

  "Within each of you lies the spark of the Creator, the potential to wield the very essence of the Aether.”

  Moving once more, he pointed towards the large tobacco plant standing near him.

  "Our founding father and holy savior, Johannes Bonvista, introduced the potion of the Indigo plant to his followers. It was the catalyst that awakened their spark-and with it God was on their side. With it they became the Champions that brought us into this new world. And now…now, it is your turn to continue their legacy. If you awaken, embrace this power, nurture it, and let it guide you in your pursuit of justice.-For when you bring justice, it is as if the Creator, itself, speaks through you.”

  A procession of proctors, clad in ceremonial robes of shimmering gold and deep azure, emerged from the shadows. Their faces were solemn. The thick carpet muffled their footsteps as they approached the ceremonial platform. Gathering around the centerpiece, they wrapped around the magnificent indigo of the tobacco plant. With reverence, they lifted the chalices, each filled with a potion.

  The chalices were then passed among the graduates. Their hands trembled with a mix of anticipation and trepidation. Rebecca's heart pounded in her chest as she received her chalice, the smoky mint scent wrapping itself around her nose. Meeting the eyes of her fellow initiates, she could see that each of them had the same mix of excitement and fear.

  Rebecca knew that even if she didn't awaken, she could still pursue a career as an Advocate. Regardless of physical power, it was a respected path. But for her, it wasn't a choice. She wasn't destined for mediocrity; she was expected to work alongside her father, the leader of Synoro’s new era. That expectation pressed down on her, heavy and suffocating.

  What made Rebecca the most nervous was the uncertainty of it all. No one remembered the hallucinogenic trip induced by the potion. It was a journey into the unknown, a test of one's spirit that could only be judged by its outcome. Until they awoke, they were suspended in a limbo. Their fates hung in the balance.

  With a final flourish, the Proctor addressed the graduates.

  "Each of you will be paired with a Proctor to ensure your safety during this transformative journey."

  Reassuring them, he announced the commencement.

  "When you are ready, simply nod to your Proctor, and they will guide you through the awakening process."

  Rebecca turned to her assigned Proctor, a woman with kind eyes and an aura of serenity. She nodded, conveying her readiness to embark on this momentous journey. With a deep breath, she lifted the chalice to her lips. The potion shimmered with an otherworldly glow. Flowing down her throat, its exotic combination of earthy undertones and spice triggered her gag reflex. Rebecca could hear others vomiting the liquid, sounds of disgust and agony ringing her ears. Nonetheless, she was determined.

  “I’m no fucking coward!”, she thought.

  Gulp by gulp, she swallowed the abhorrent mix.

  As the last of the initiates consumed the potion, the Proctor's voice echoed through the space once more.

  "May your journeys be filled with enlightenment and your futures blessed with the divine.”

  The office was a stark contrast to the dimly lit, sweat-soaked arena outside. Bright lights buzzed overhead, casting a harsh glare on the stacks of cash and betting slips that littered Ganjo's desk. The air conditioner wheezed and rattled, struggling to combat the oppressive heat that seeped through the factory's crumbling walls.

  Rebecca slumped on a small bunk across from Ganjo, her eyes bloodshot and her movements sluggish. The adrenaline that had fueled her fight with Alonso had long since faded. It had left her feeling drained and vulnerable. Ganjo leaned back, his gaze fixed on Rebecca.

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  “That tea I gave you was strong-nothing but pure Indigo leaves. I thought you’d sleep more.”

  Dull pain throbbed through Rebecca’s back and shoulders. She knew the tea was working its magic. Without it, an excruciating fever would be torturing her at this moment. According to the severity of her injuries, Rebecca estimated it would take a day or two of full rest for the tea to restore her to full capacity.

  "So, this is what you’re up to these days?...off fulfilling some family vendettas,” Ganjo questioned with a sarcastic tone in his voice.

  Rebecca shook her head, a weary look tugging at her lips.

  "I-”

  Ganjo raised an eyebrow, a knowing glint in his eyes.

  "You never agreed with Alonso's role, I know that. But-"

  Rebecca cut him off. She was annoyed.

  "You're in no position to give me advice, Ganjo."

  The air conditioner's rhythmic drone seemed to amplify the tension. Each click and whir was a reminder of the precariousness of their situation.

  Ganjo slammed his hands on the arm rests of his chair and sighed.

  "Almost sunrise. Your place should be good to go. But…you sure you wanna go back, now?"

  Rebecca swung her legs off the bunk, wincing as her muscles screamed in protest. She mumbled, surveying the damage to her clothes and the lingering ache in her bones.

  "You think they’ll try coming after me in my own home, again?"

  Ganjo rubbed the stubble on his chin.

  “I never took Alonso for someone who would get his hands dirty. But, siding with the people who betrayed his father, not far fetched in my book.”

  “Why?” Rebecca asked.

  Blunt and direct, Ganjo replied.

  “He was a coward. It was about self-preservation and exploiting his status. Isn’t that why you disagreed with your father, when he made him the new leader of the Factory?”

  The pain radiated up Rebecca’s spine. Groaning, she sat back on the bunk.

  “Hadic was Alonso’s mentor. Alonso respected Hadic more than his own father. That’s why I was against dad’s decision. He was giving Hadic more control.”

  Reaching for a small stress ball on his desk, Ganjo agreed.

  “Yeah, but we both know better than to think this was only Alonso’s idea. Hadic is coming after loose strings, and those he can’t gaslight into imprisonment, he’s straight up…”

  Ganjo ran a finger across his neck.

  “So, you think Hadic manipulated Alonso?” Rebecca asked curiously.

  Slowly, paced and almost in sync with the tik-tok of the clock hanging on the wall, Ganjo started squeezing the stress ball.

  “Probably convinced him somehow all this was you and your father’s fault. How? Don’t ask me. But, as the mastermind behind the Factory’s psychological operations, we know Hadic has his ways.”

  Rebecca sighed as she rubbed her face. The scent of dried sweat and blood rubbed off her hand.

  “It’s a game of perception, as he would say. Better to convince the people to bow before you, than to force them. Long-term thinking was why Hadic was so successful at keeping my dad in power for so long.”

  “And now, he’s using it for himself.” Ganjo added.

  Rebecca shook her head.

  "By the way, what did you do with Alonso’s…well, whatever was left of him?"

  Ganjo's face hardened.

  "You don't want to know, and you don't need to know."

  Rebecca replied, her voice heavy.

  "If you’re trying to protect me, it’s too late."

  Ganjo chuckled.

  “I’m not protecting you. I’m protecting my connect.”

  A thought flickered across Ganjo’s face - a fleeting consideration of Veronica's threat, and how Rebecca might fit into that puzzle. But he pushed the thought aside.

  “Regardless, it’s evident we’re making it easy for them to get us. You, me and anyone else on their list-It’s not like we’re hiding.”

  “I thought you made a deal with the Dasa Vech for this very reason?” Rebecca asked.

  “Deals aren’t sustainable in our line of work. It’s a sad fact,”Ganjo admitted.

  Meeting Ganjo’s eyes, Rebecca nodded with a silent acknowledgement. They had seen, experienced and survived countless traps and betrayals. Nothing about this was new.

  Flinching from the soreness that radiated through her body, Rebecca stood up from the bunk.

  “I’m gonna go home. If I’m still tucked in my bed nice and safe, when I wake up, I’ll take it as a sign to make a move. If not, then I suppose it was my time to go.”

  Ganjo shrugged.

  “Uh, ok.”

  Rebecca's eyes fluttered open, the harsh afternoon light stabbing through the blinds like an accusation. She groaned, her body screaming with aches. The digital clock on the landline glared back at her. It was half past two. A wave of nausea washed over her. Nothing felt broken, just...wrong, as if her bones had been rearranged in her sleep.

  She stumbled downstairs, each step a struggle with her battered body. The living room was a war zone, a testament to the violence that had erupted the night before. The gaping hole in the floor, a black maw leading to the basement, was a grim reminder of her struggle with Alonso. Yet, there was no trace of blood, no lingering evidence of the carnage. Ganjo's cleaners had been thorough, erasing the night's horrors with ruthless efficiency.

  Rebecca navigated the wreckage, her movements slow and deliberate. The kitchen offered a momentary respite. But as she stepped over a fallen chair, her foot brushed against something on the floor. She bent down, wincing at the pain that shot through her back, and picked up a framed photograph.

  The image was a stark reminder of her awkward teenage years. She stood stiffly, her posture betraying her discomfort, a forced smile plastered on her face. Her mother's voice, sharp and critical, echoed in her memory. Stand up straight, Rebecca! You look like a slob. She remembered the endless nagging, the constant pressure to be someone she wasn't.

  Rebecca looked away from the shattered photograph. Her gaze swept over the wreckage of her living room, a battlefield of splintered wood and scattered memories. A lifetime of reacting, of navigating the fallout of other people's choices. Her mother's bitterness was a poison seeping into her childhood. Her father's love was a gilded cage of expectations. She'd become a master of adaptation, a legal chameleon bending to the whims of the powerful.

  Now, her sanctuary was violated. Her life hung in the balance, all because of a conflict she'd inherited, not chosen. A wave of anger, hot and corrosive, surged through her. She strode towards the kitchen door, flinging it open with a violence that echoed her inner turmoil.

  The afternoon sun beat down on the small patio. Rebecca inhaled the scent of scorched earth and wilting flowers. Her father's words, a ghost whispering in her ear: You're one year closer to being an advocate one day. The irony was a knife twisting in her gut. She'd built her life on her father's legacy, only to see she had lived it wrong.

  A vicious scream clawed its way up her throat, but she swallowed it down, the taste of bile and frustration burning her tongue. She slammed her fist into the wooden fence, the impact jarring her already battered body. A sharp pain radiated through her hand, a physical manifestation of her helplessness. She was trapped, a prisoner of other people’s past.

  Rebecca's mind raced, a whirlwind of thoughts and emotions. She was angry, frustrated, and most of all, scared. But now, she realized that the rules were meaningless. The world was a chaotic, unpredictable place, and no amount of careful planning could guarantee her safety.

  Almost immediately, she thought of Olt, and the desperate plea for help in his eyes. Rebecca had dismissed Olt, because she truly thought minding her business would keep her safe. She was a coward.

  Just as quick as her temper ignited, it dissipated. She woke up. She was still alive. Assassins and other attacks weren’t going to stop. She knew better. As little as she thought of the creator, everyone knew its existence was real. Its energy in the form of the Aether protected her. And now, she was allowed to awake. Or, at least that’s how she chose to interpret it.

  Rebecca closed her eyes and took a deep breath, as the sun beamed on her skin. The aches were beginning to soften. Surviving the events of the previous night was not completely skill or talent. She had not exerted her body with such energy in years. Perhaps, she was being given a chance to do something about it. A sigh escaped her as she realized the choice she was about to make. She would fight back, even if it meant risking everything.

  …

  Rebecca strode towards the phone, her footsteps echoing through the silent living room. She picked up the receiver, her fingers dialing a familiar number. The line clicked, but the call went straight to voicemail. Olt wasn’t picking up.

  Rebecca slammed the phone back on the hook, a surge of adrenaline coursing through her veins. She grabbed her keys and stormed out of the house, the door slamming shut behind her.