《Æther Originel》 The Silent Sky **Chapter 1: The Silent Sky** The sky never moved. That was the first lie. Since the day he was born, Kael had lived beneath that perfect stillness. The Dome stretched above him like a taut veil of light, on the verge of breaking¡ªbut it never did. The morning blue was painted with care, flawless. The clouds¡ªwhen they appeared¡ªhung motionless, suspended like fragments of a forgotten dream. Even the sun, locked at the apex of the artificial sky, shone without warmth. It never failed. It rose every day, to the second. And yet today, Kael found no comfort in it. Sitting cross-legged on the smooth floor of his habitation unit, he stared at the ceiling without truly seeing it. Filtered air whispered gently from the vents, carrying a scent too pure to be real¡ªmaybe synthetic lavender. Everything smelled like nostalgia for a world he¡¯d never known. A memory reassembled. A past bleached of its texture. He lived alone, at the village''s edge, in a standard residential cell. A white, immaculate hexagon. Built-in furniture. Retractable bed. Smooth, lifeless surfaces. Every item in its place. Every order upheld. A soft chime echoed from the doorway. ¡°Day Two Hundred Seventy-One of Unity. Morning cycle begins. Rise and offer your breath.¡± Kael didn¡¯t move. He hated that command. *Offer your breath.* It was the first act of the day: inhale deeply, raise your arms to the Dome, and exhale slowly in thanks to the gods for the air they granted. A ritual learned before words. To breathe was to submit. This morning, Kael kept his breath. He closed his eyes. He listened. The village stirred. Footsteps on metal tiles. Joyful voices. The flutter of banners being unfurled. And that melody¡ªthe same, always. Four rising notes, and one that fell. The Hymn of Unity. It was meant to symbolize ascension, then return to the people. To Kael, it sounded like a fall. He rose slowly, muscles dull and heavy. A soft tension coiled in his chest¡ªlike a string pulled too tight. He stepped to the embedded mirror and studied his reflection. The same dark eyes. The same disheveled hair. The same quiet, narrow frame. Behind his ear, a faint burn mark shaped like a glyph. He didn¡¯t know what it meant. His mother had hidden it. Protected it. But never explained it. You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. He dressed: gray tunic, fitted pants, black boots. Not yet the ceremonial uniform. That would come later, on the Plaza of Breath, when everyone gathered to sing and give thanks. For now, he could still move unseen. He stepped outside. The morning light bounced off polished metal walkways. The village was already alive. Families swept thresholds. Children ran with glowing ribbons¡ªphotonic trails turned into games. Stalls filled with glistening fruit, identical to last year¡¯s. The same smiles. The same phrases. The same motions. Further down, at the training square, other youths sparred in rhythm. Kael watched them for a moment. Their movements were precise. Clean. Rehearsed. Like actors repeating a role. He had been told to join them. He was one of the selected. An honor, they said. A duty. But he didn¡¯t go. Not really. Sometimes he watched. From a distance. This tournament¡­ made no sense. ¡°Kael! You¡¯re late for prep!¡± It was the baker¡¯s son, grinning, vanishing into the crowd. A perfect day. Flawless order. A lie polished to obsession. Kael walked the central path, beneath arches etched with sacred glyphs. He didn¡¯t linger. He used to admire them. Now he knew they spoke to no one. Empty relics. At the village center stood the Obelisk of Breath, a tall white pillar veined with soft blue light. Later, during the ceremony, the Elders would place their hands upon it and recite the First Oath: *We breathe because They allow it.* Kael could no longer say those words. He continued toward the overlook above the sector¡¯s edge. From there, the curvature of the Dome became visible. Through the reinforced glass, he could see a sliver of space. The stars were invisible during the day cycle. The Dome filtered them out. But sometimes¡­ when the sensors lost sync¡­ a spark broke through. And on those days, he felt real. He sat. And waited. A celebration drone passed overhead, releasing silver dust. Music swelled from the village speakers. Voices lifted in harmony. He didn¡¯t turn back. Because the sky blinked. Just once. A flicker. A tremble in the light. The sun wavered. The air dimmed to dusk. Then¡ªeverything returned to normal. No alarms. No reaction. But Kael had seen it. He stood slowly, every sense on edge. Around him, the villagers continued their cheerful theater. Laughter. Songs. Dances. If anyone else had noticed the breach, they showed nothing. He turned away. Headed toward the central pillar. A chill ran down his spine. Something long forgotten was surfacing. An image. A phrase. His mother, long ago, as he lay half-asleep: *One day, the sky will forget how to lie. When that day comes¡­ listen to your breath. Not theirs.* --------- Thank you for reading Chapter 1. Have you seen the blink too? If so¡­ welcome beneath the Dome. *¡ª The Architect of the Dome* Chapter 2: Festival of Unity, War in Silence The day of the Festival had arrived. And the sky remained still. Songs drifted through the morning air. The scent of fresh bread, ritual blossoms, and synthetic incense mingled with the sterile breeze filtered through the Dome¡¯s vents. Everything shimmered. Everything smiled. Kael moved slowly down the main ramp, eyes unfocused, arms slack at his sides. Around him, children raced with trails of light wrapped around their wrists ¡ª photonic ribbons that flickered as they ran. They laughed beneath painted masks, dressed in costumes stitched with ancestral symbols. Mechanical birds flew overhead, casting luminescent patterns on the glass walls of the enclave. Flags lined every street. And the word Unity hung on every surface like a prayer. But Kael saw only shadows. The Festival of Unity was meant to celebrate the ¡°eternal harmony¡± between the three Clans. A beautiful lie. Rehearsed. Recited. The tournament beginning tomorrow was officially described as a sacred dance ¡ª an offering of courage and excellence. But Kael was beginning to understand otherwise. A group of young trainees practiced nearby in a circle. One of them, shirtless, carved fluid arcs into the dust with a training blade. His movements were sharp, deliberate. The others clapped and whistled. Kael recognized a girl from his cohort among them. Her smile was too bright to be honest.
¡°He¡¯ll be chosen for sure. Flame Clan¡¯s backing him this year.¡±
¡°His sister fought, remember?¡±
¡°She never came back.¡±
Silence. Brief. Uncomfortable. Kael turned away. He walked on, toward the Square of Offerings. At the center stood a great circular altar, veiled in translucent cloth. Twelve urns sat in a perfect ring, each one containing tightly rolled scrolls, sealed with shimmering glyphs in every color of the spectrum. A little boy ran up, dragging his younger sister by the hand. He pointed at one of the urns, beaming.
¡°Look! That¡¯s Aunt Mera¡¯s name!¡±
The girl frowned. Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
¡°Mama said we shouldn¡¯t read the names out loud¡­¡±
¡°But she was chosen, right? She left this morning. That¡¯s what Mama said. The gods needed her.¡±
Kael felt his stomach twist. He remembered Mera. She had rocked him to sleep when his mother was away. She wasn¡¯t old. She wasn¡¯t sick. She was simply¡­ gone. Offered. And no one mourned her. He walked away. Farther on, near a pool of ceremonial water, two hooded figures poured a translucent liquid into the basin. One of them whispered to the other ¡ª words too soft to catch. Kael watched as the water curled into a faint blue whirlpool. Then stilled. A sharp, acrid scent stung his nose. Poison? No. Not here. ¡­And yet. He stepped back slowly. No one seemed to notice. Behind him, voices rose:
¡°This year, we need to meet the quota before the second trial.¡±
¡°The Council was clear. No exceptions ¡ª not even for the younger ones.¡±
Kael turned his head. Two elders, masks lifted, were speaking in low voices. Their eyes passed over him, distant, empty. They did not see him. He became silence. He drifted onward. Down a narrow side street, he caught a glimpse of her: Lyra. He knew that walk ¡ª like she was always one breath above the ground. Lyra, daughter of the Root Clan¡¯s Chief. Distant. Untouchable. Always watching before she struck. She wasn¡¯t wearing her ceremonial uniform yet. Just a plain white tunic, unmarked by any insignia. Her hair was pulled into a neat twist. Her eyes moved across the crowd, sharp and calculating. Then she saw him. And she didn¡¯t smile. She didn¡¯t look away. And something in Kael¡¯s chest shuddered. A heartbeat. But not his own. Later, at the training esplanade, the elite of his age group performed ritual combat forms. They moved in a perfect circle, blades slicing through the air like choreography. Each movement was greeted with cheers from the watching crowd. Kael did not join them. He sat on a low wall, far from the center. He recognized the moves. He had been trained in them. He knew how to turn, how to breathe, how to simulate grace. But today, every motion seemed hollow. Scripted. Mechanical. In the crowd, a man with pale hair stood watching him. Tall. Still. Hands clasped behind his back. No insignia marked his robe, yet he radiated power. Kael looked away. The final exhibition match was announced. Two fighters stepped into the ring: a muscular boy, body tattooed ¡ª and Lyra. She entered the circle. Silence fell like a curtain. Then came the blur: metal clashing against metal. The boy roared. Lyra said nothing. Her movements were fluid, composed, almost slow. But then ¡ª all at once ¡ª the boy collapsed to one knee, gasping, defeated. No blood. But something had broken. A ripple passed through the crowd.
¡°He didn¡¯t last?¡±
¡°They say he fainted this morning¡­¡±
¡°His flask¡­ wasn¡¯t it supposed to be pure water?¡±
Kael felt a chill creep down the back of his neck. At the center of the circle, Lyra raised her gaze. And this time, he understood. She had been sent. She was watching him. He rose, silently. Faded into the crowd like mist. Above him, the sky still shone. Motionless. Unchanged. But Kael¡­ Kael was breathing. And each breath felt heavier than the last.
The tournament had not yet begun. And already, the war had begun within him. ¡ª The Architect of the Dome