K.P.R lifted his helmet between his arms as if cradling his own shattered heart. He stared at his reflection in the glistening, wet blackness of the visor—a gaze of haunting innocence. It wasn't the look of a grown man, but that of a small child who had been stripped of everything he ever owned.

"I can hear their voices again," K.P.R whispered to himself. "It’s a feeling I crave to experience once more. Why do I feel this warmth? Why do I long to go back there? But where, exactly, is there?"

Echoes stirred within his mind, memories of something lost long ago. For a fleeting second, the helmet in his hands transformed into a football. He could feel the grip of a child’s hands, the roar of the stadium crowd thundering around him. A voice cut through the cheer: "Come on! Throw the ball! What are you waiting for?!"

"Why do these visions keep haunting me? It’s becoming... irritating," K.P.R said softly, his voice regaining its cold calm. "No matter. I must leave anyway." He slid the helmet back on, gripped the handlebars, and vanished into the distance.

Meanwhile, in territory Alpha (α), within the big House, hours had passed since the crime. The atmosphere had begun to settle, but the silence surrounding Suleiman’s five brothers at the dining table was deafening. They sat like carved statues of distress, their collective gaze casting a shadow of terror upon the room.

The brother seated in the center broke the silence, his hand resting heavy on the table. "I’ve been informed that our man is on his way to bring the investigator."

"And why bring someone from the other side of the world when you have those here who can execute such tasks without the extra cost?" snapped his brother, the broad-faced man with the thick mustache, his voice laced with resentment.

"I’ve told you a hundred times," replied the eldest brother in the center. "I do not trust anyone from our circles in territory Alpha (α), nor the Ministerial territories. They are all under the shadow of suspicion."

The youngest brother, his long hair cascading over his shoulders, looked at his brother with the mustache. "You understand the heaviness of the situation, Omar. If it leaks that Solomon changed the Graviton control codes before his death, it will trigger a shockwave that could destabilize the entire regime."

The clean-shaven brother, adjusted his posture, shifting his arm from the back of the long-haired brother’s chair. He addressed the eldest in the center: "Hakim, if you don’t trust the Ministerial territories, why did you choose to dispatch an agent who works for the 'Astrolabe' Ministerial Institution? Or are you simply choosing your enemies based on a whim? Because if that’s the case, it means even your brothers here are within your circle of doubt!"

"Why would I doubt my own brothers, you fool?" Hakim retorted, his voice rising with tension.

"Tell that to Solomon. You are responsible for his death!"

"No! We are all responsible!" Hakim roared. "Your presence here makes you responsible. Carrying the family name makes you responsible—not just for Solomon’s death, but for the corruption, the decay, and the killing in our outer territories that we’ve fought so hard to stabilize all these years."

As they spoke, glowing tattoos, identical to the ones on K.P.R, flickered and pulsed on the sides of their necks. Hakim continued, regaining his composure: "I am well aware that the three Ministerial territories are semi-autonomous entities, born from the remnants of your father’s past administrative failures. Yet, we hold shares in every one of them. They are tethered to us, and today our position is stronger than ever. Legislation is born only within these walls. As for 'Astrolabe', even if it represents the administrative body of territory Gamma (γ) it still answers to us. Solomon founded it; he owned 90% of it. His death and the cessation of funding will cripple them. They will do anything to regain their dominance, which is why their loyalty to us is absolute—though I haven't even told them the codes are missing yet."

The thick-bearded brother sitting next to Omar interjected: "oh, yes, Regarding those codes... we must secure them immediately, or the scent of this scandal will spread. That is what I truly fear."

"What matters now is that we project strength before the Ministerial Representatives," the long-haired brother said, his eyes fixed and steady. "We cannot show a single crack of tension. They are already on their way to the assembly hall. The referendum begins in an hour. we must be united in our narrative so we don't get dragged into questions we can't escape. It is best if we let Hakim lead the dialogue, as he is the eldest."

"And what about the Heir?" the clean-shaven brother asked, his voice dripping with contempt.

"Yes," added the bearded brother. "Everyone will be expecting his presence in the hall, even if he is still a year away from the legal age to take the throne."

Omar moved toward the table, his face contorted with rage. "Who? Selim?! That pampered brat? I wouldn't trust him to manage a chicken coop, let alone lead this nation! The boy is seventeen years old and still wets his pants! My young daughter doesn't even do that. I wish he had never been born... he is a shame on this family."

the clean-shaven brother again, turned to Hakim. "Didn't you oversee the boy's training?"

Hakim closed his eyes, absorbing the pressure, then exhaled slowly. "Noaman, you know I am doing my best, but he is still fragile. He needs time and guidance; we are his uncles, after all. Perhaps he just needs space... he did just lose his father. Besides, we have more urgent matters to discuss right now."

Upstairs, in his room, Selim sat on the edge of his bed in absolute silence. Tears flowed like a relentless stream. Grief was a noose around his neck, and a profound sense of shock filled his weary, hollow eyes.

He was alone, without a soul to comfort him, unaware of the storm that awaited him just outside those doors...