Chronicles of the Cycle: When the Sun is Blue

Chapter 5 - Solar Flares

Isandra Veyra:

The echo of applause still vibrated in my ears as we closed the doors to the private lounge. The air smelled of expensive perfume, of sweat held back under jackets, and of the smoke from the projectors still cooling in the plaza. Outside, the people chanted his name; inside, Governor Edrian Veyra unbuttoned the collar of his shirt and threw me a victorious smile. “An impeccable speech,” I said, arranging my papers on the long table where his advisors were already crowding around with folders and tablets. “I expected no less,” he replied, pouring himself a glass of water as if he had just run a marathon. “Did you see their faces, Isandra? They believe every word.”

I nodded. There was no need to remind him that we had rehearsed for weeks to achieve just that: the right look, the perfectly timed pause, the seemingly improvised hand gesture that was anything but. Everything was calculated.

“The news channels are already broadcasting the strongest clips,” one of the advisors chimed in, showing his device’s screen. “The main headline is: ‘Fosack Prepares for a New Era of Prosperity.’”

Edrian smiled. I, on the other hand, felt that familiar knot in my stomach: the weight of the unsaid. We had decided to ignore the reports from the previous night. Not to talk about the power outages or the sailors who swore they had seen lightning without a storm in the middle of the ocean. Everything had been packaged under a single term: solar flare. Technical enough to sound scientific, vague enough to avoid questions.

“The people need certainty, not mysteries,” I murmured. Edrian glanced at me. “Exactly. And today, we gave it to them.” The advisors talked of polls, of projections, of his imminent resignation as Governor to prepare for the continental candidacy. I took quick notes, but my thoughts drifted elsewhere. I had learned that power was sustained not by truths, but by narratives. And last night, when the lights had flickered across all of Fosack, I had seen something in Edrian’s eyes I had never seen before: a glint that had nothing to do with politics. A glint that chilled me to the bone.

Miguel:

“Did you see the speech?” Karol asked, her mouth full of fries, as she pointed to one of the giant screens in the institute’s cafeteria. I shrugged. “Yeah, I saw it at the mall yesterday. I don’t know… it all sounded too perfect.” Karol laughed. “Well, that’s what politics is all about, isn’t it? Sounding perfect.”

I looked at her but said nothing. Inside, something bothered me. Not the speech itself, but the fact that everyone seemed to have forgotten what happened the night before. “Aren’t you worried about the blackouts?” I finally let out.

Karol raised an eyebrow. “What? The electrical storm? They already said it was a solar flare.”

“That’s what they say…” I whispered, staring down at my tray. The television was still talking about it. Interviews with scientists, colorful graphics of the sun emitting sparks of fire, all narrated in a reassuring tone. But I remembered something else: the way the light in my room had flickered as if the world was about to shut down, the heavy silence that had slipped through the window before everything returned to normal. And on the street, the faces of people looking up at the sky as if they expected something to descend from it.

No… it wasn’t just a solar flare.

“Hey, are you listening to me?” Karol nudged my arm.

“Yeah, of course,” I lied. The classes passed, and the chatter about the speech continued in the hallways. Everyone seemed more excited about the “new era the Governor announced” than about the power failures. Even Maestra Zara had made a brief comment before starting History: “How inspiring to hear a leader with such vision.” But when a boy raised his hand to ask if solar flares were normal, she cut him off with a strange quickness, deflecting the topic to ancient maps of the continent.

I noticed. And that unease grew in my chest.

After classes, while Karol talked about plans for the weekend, I felt a steady gaze on me. I spotted him in the crowd of students: a man in a dark suit, too elegant for the campus, leaning against a wall as if he were waiting.

He approached me when Karol went to get drinks.

“You have a good eye for questions,” he said in a low voice.

“Who are you?” I asked, taking half a step back.

He smiled, as if he had expected that reaction. “Someone who listens to what others keep silent. A group of us meets to talk about… what’s really happening in Fosack.” He handed me a black card, no logos, just a number written by hand.

“Come if you want answers.” And he was gone, as quickly as he had appeared. I stood there with the card between my fingers, feeling my curiosity burn. Karol returned with two drinks and found me distracted. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing…” I said, pocketing the card. But it wasn’t nothing. It was the beginning of something.

Isandra Veyra:

Later, in the office, Edrian skimmed through the digital newspapers with a studied calm. I stood beside him, reviewing the next day’s schedule.

“The polls will go up with this,” he told me without looking at me. “The people want to believe, and I gave them a reason.”

I nodded, though my mind was still stuck on the night before. There was something in the way the advisors avoided the topic, in the speed with which the official story had been constructed. As if it had all been ready even before it happened.

I kept silent. Sometimes, silence was the only thing that kept me safe.

Miguel:

That night, while Karol sent me messages about her family, I pulled the black card from my pocket. I turned it over and over in my fingers.

It had no name. It had nothing. Just a number. I took a deep breath, like someone preparing to jump into a dark river. And I dialed.