[Scene 1 – Velkan District, 07:45 a.m.]

The city begins to wake. Not with noise, but with a slow, reluctant breath. The streets are half-empty, like something deep in the concrete refuses to begin the day.

Kael walks alone.

His footsteps echo against walls stained with time. In the distance: towers of mirrored glass stretch toward the fog. Closer: narrow alleys littered with ads, holographic prayers flickering alongside religious graffiti—"He sees you," "Balance now," "One god, or none."

> Kael (narration):

“Every morning, Tiberium chooses a mask.

Sometimes it's science. Sometimes, superstition.

Today… it leans toward fear.”

He stops in front of a dusty shop window. His reflection stares back: pale skin, sunken eyes, a figure slightly hunched beneath the weight of his backpack.

> Kael (narration):

“I’ve always looked like this.

Like a fading echo. Like a line printed twice.

Too tall to ignore. Too quiet to matter.”

He adjusts the strap on his backpack and walks on, swallowed by the gray.

[Scene 1.5 – Public Restroom Mirror, 10:02 a.m.]

Fluorescent lights buzz overhead. Kael splashes cold water on his face. Stares at himself in the mirror.

His fingers hesitate near the edges of his eyes.

> Kael (narration):

“If I stopped appearing in reflections…

would anyone notice?”

He dries his hands without looking away from his reflection… and walks out.

[Scene 2 – School Cafeteria, 1:05 p.m.]

Noise surrounds them: trays clattering, chairs scraping, voices overlapping. The world carries on, chaotic but strangely uniform.

In the back corner of the cafeteria, three students sit—cut off from the center, but bound together by something quieter.

Lina Yerah

Curly hair, thick glasses, fingers constantly tapping her tablet. She radiates a nervous energy that feels like belief teetering on a wire.

> —I found a pattern. Look—

(She pulls up a map, spreading it across the table.)

Every religious collapse happened on a point that forms a triangle.

Not perfect, but close enough to map.

Marcos Senn

Broad shoulders, hoodie pushed up to his elbows, a permanent half-smirk on his face—but his eyes stay sharp.

> —0.01% probability. Or 100%, if it came from a guy with a tinfoil hat.

Lina… this is like finding ghosts in your Wi-Fi.

Kael watches the map in silence.

Then he speaks—calm, measured, without emotion:

> —The issue isn’t if it’s real or not.

The issue is why it keeps shaking people so deeply.

Lina studies him. She blinks.

> —You talk like you're not afraid.

Kael looks down at his untouched bread.

> —Maybe I was.

Maybe it left.

> Kael (narration):

“Or maybe fear changed shape.

And I started feeding it instead of fighting it.”

[Scene 3 – Social Sciences Class, 3:12 p.m.]

The teacher walks slowly to the front, dragging the silence with her.

Behind her, the projector shows a news article: “Child Speaks Sanskrit After Religious Phenomenon.” Below it, a blurred photo of the statue that cried blood.

Teacher:

> —Committees are forming to verify these events.

But here's the real question:

If a god leaves evidence… does it stop requiring faith?

Silence.

A student at the back mutters:

> —Yeah… that would ruin the whole game.

> Kael (narration):

“If the magician reveals the trick…

the illusion dies.

But if a god reveals the truth…

what dies instead?”

The projector flickers. No one breathes.

[Scene 4 – Infirmary, 4:40 p.m.]

Kael sits on the edge of the infirmary bed. His jeans are torn at the knee, a small bruise already darkening.

Nurse (checking his pulse):

> Your heartbeat’s unusually low for someone your age.

Do you run?

Kael shrugs.

> —I don’t run unless something’s chasing me.

Nurse (smiles):

> Let’s hope it never does.

She finishes the exam. Kael stays seated a moment longer, looking at the heart monitor beeping slowly.

> Kael (narration):

“Height: 1.78. Weight: low. Eyes: dark. Diagnosis: stable.

Conclusion: forgettable.”

He gets up, thanks the nurse quietly, and walks out.

[Scene 5 – Convent Library, 6:20 p.m.]

The scent of incense lingers from some unseen ritual.

Kael flips through books. Most pages blur—too old, too obscure—but then his fingers land on something.

A page. Thick paper. Bound in cracked leather. Black ink faded with time.

A circle. Broken. Six marks etched clearly. A seventh… barely visible.

> Kael (narration):

“Seven. Always seven.

But this one… it’s as if the ink feared what it meant.”

A sound creaks behind him. He turns—no one there.

He closes the book, and walks away with the image burned in his mind.

[Scene 6 – Kael’s Room, Night]

His desk is lit by a single lamp. Outside, the city hums under a blanket of dark clouds.

Kael sits motionless. In front of him: a sheet of paper. A list. His own questions.

Why me?

Where are the others?

What if this isn’t divine… but artificial?

He leans back, eyes toward the ceiling.

> Kael (narration):

“They call it 'divine selection.'

But what if it’s just…

a test?”

He picks up his pen.

And writes one more line:

> —If the balance was broken… who broke it?

Codex Gnosis Dei – Fragment III

> “The Chosen were seven because one had to be left out.

And the one left out… watched more than all others.”

> “It is not faith that distorts the world.

It is the silence of those who question too late.”