Adrasteia is calm.
The exterior remains: open, flexible, and not forceful.
But inside,
behind the discussion room that started to come to life,
among the notes whispered between Bearers—
Reed began to change.
Reed stood alone in the observation tower.
He looked far away, towards World Six,
and behind the silent sky that no longer contains stars,
he heard himself.
Not the sound of the past.
But a reflection of something he once buried.
"Form can grow without force, he said."
"But they still want you to submit."
"They keep spreading."
"They're still hunting."
"Then how long will you let your form grow like a flower
if the fields were burned every night?"
Reed didn't answer.
But his eyes were not calm.
Long ago, Reed fled the war.
Because he knows: the war will win.
And when the war is won,
the meaning of always losing.
But now,
war does not come as troops.
War came as a system.
As isolation.
As denial.
And before her—
the world did not change.
