The operations centre had never been quieter; dozens of specialists occupied the room, researchers monitored global anomaly networks, analysts reviewed incoming reports, and observers documented every development, yet nobody spoke above a whisper.The synchronised dream reports continued arriving from every region of the world; each account contained slight differences in different landscapes, different details, and different emotional impressions, but one element remained the same.The identity of the person standing at the centre of every dream was unknown; the descriptions varied too much to create a reliable image. Some witnesses described a young woman, others described a young man, and some claimed the figure appeared older; others insisted the person looked no older than sixteen, but the contradictions made no sense.Selene stood near the main display reviewing hundreds of testimonies; her frustration showed. “The descriptions keep changing.”Marcus looked over her shoulder. “A

Morning sunlight stretched across the city; glass towers reflected gold and silver light into the clear sky; streets below carried the familiar rhythm of ordinary life; trains moved through elevated transit lines; delivery vehicles followed predictable routes; office workers crossed intersections with cups of coffee in their hands; students hurried toward schools; shop owners unlocked doors and prepared for another day.The city was alive, not because it had become perfect but because it had survived.Luther stood on the observation platform at the top of one of the tallest buildings in the district. Years earlier, towers like this one had represented something unique, control, and secrecy. Power concentrated into the hands of a few people who believed they understood what was best for everyone else, the skyline had once been a monument to ambition without limits; now it represented something else, like transparency, cooperation, and responsibility.The changes had not happened overni