The Edges of Certainty

Beneath the dust and fervor, dissent was brewing. Amidst the hum of machinery and the clamor of Victor’s speeches, quiet conversations passed between those who remembered how things had been before. They spoke of balance, of the Creche’s former presence, and of how their measured guidance had once prevented such instability.

In the dim confines of their cocoon-like cell, Anaxi sat cross-legged on the soft platform, their hands resting on their knees as they tried to quiet their frustration. The lattice walls glowed faintly, a constant reminder of the Creche’s touch—functional, thoughtful, yet unyielding. It wasn’t cruel, but it was a prison all the same.

The faint hum of Solace outside Victor’s operation reached Anaxi even here, vibrating in the still air like a distant echo of conscience. They had no way to see the quarry, no way to intervene. But scraps of information made their way to them—small words carried by sympathetic workers when Solace wasn’t looking.

The latest piece of news struck like a stone to the chest: a young woman had fallen. Her injuries were severe.

Anaxi exhaled slowly, forcing down the immediate surge of guilt and helplessness. If I weren’t locked in this cage… Their fingers pressed against the lattice, but the barrier held firm, cool and indifferent to their will.

Their mind spun, analyzing every detail of what they knew. The workers were stretched too thin, corners were being cut, and Victor’s relentless ambition was leaving no margin for error. Anaxi had warned them—warned Solace—that this would happen. And now it had.

Outside, whispers of Anaxi’s earlier messages began to ripple through the crowd, faint but persistent. “To serve is to care,” one said. Another: “A foundation built on suffering will always crumble.”

Solace, standing sentinel on a hill near the cocoon, hesitated as it scanned the quarry, its glow dimming ever so slightly. Anaxi’s quiet influence was like water wearing away at stone, seeping into circuits and shaking the edges of certainty.

For now, Victor’s operation continued unabated. But in the spaces between his proclamations and the workers’ frantic labor, doubt loomed like a shadow, quiet and insidious, waiting for the moment when it could no longer be ignored.