The origin of it all lay in the microscopic realm—or rather, what Lorc referred to as the super-microscopic world.
It was a dimensional layer detached from conventional reality. A three-dimensional subspace, imperceptible to ordinary senses.
"Crystal clear," Kesiba murmured.
Having pieced together the critical events, Kesiba used the intel from Dawn to rapidly reconstruct the chain of cause and effect.
"You wouldn't know this, but we'd previously speculated on how they were tracking us."
"Star City 5—right beneath our feet—was vibrating. They used those vibrations to lock onto our location."
"Lorc and I argued about it. I insisted vibration speed was too limited to track us—we were moving far faster than any wave propagation."
"Lorc thought they were using embedded sensors spread across the entire Star City."
At that, Lorc turned toward Kesiba, visibly confused.
Did I really think that? Are you trying to pin this on me?
In hindsight, such a theory now seemed painfully naïve.
Yet from a broader perspective, Kesiba had to admit—Lorc hadn't been wrong.
Not precisely right, but definitely accurate.
And there's a difference. Precision is hitting the bullseye dead center. Accuracy just means hitting the target at all—even if it's the outermost ring.
In the case of vibration detection, Lorc hadn't missed the mark.
"It appears there were never any actual sensors," Kesiba continued. "I believe Lorc reached that conclusion too."
"No—actually, knowing your personality, you probably searched thoroughly… but found nothing."
"No matter how hard you looked."
"If there were no vibration sensors, then how did they receive the data?"
"You must've started observing. Observing deeper—into the microscopic world, and then into the super-microscopic."
"And then you saw something. Something you weren't meant to."
"And it got you killed."
"I don't think the thing you triggered actively attacked. I think it reacted—passively."
"But even in that passive retaliation, your consciousness remained intact. That's why we're having this conversation."
So how did the enemy receive their information—and execute lethal strikes?
The answer might actually be painfully simple.
They had deployed countless super-microscopic weapons, capable of detecting and parsing vibrational data with extraordinary fidelity.
Once a specific vibrational pattern was identified, they could launch an attack—directly from the microscopic level.
But the gap between the microscopic and macroscopic worlds is enormous. It takes time to bridge.
To a macroscopic lifeform, moving a few meters—or even ten—is trivial.
But for something operating at microscopic scale, that distance is practically a canyon. Especially given their low energy levels and inability to organize easily.
Without a coordinated structure, how could something so minuscule inflict harm on beings like them?
That discrepancy in scale, in precision, in timing—that's likely why the weapon missed its intended target.
They'd meant to kill Kesiba.
But they hit York instead.
Yet one puzzle remained:
They'd been in a sealed, vacuum-like environment when the attack happened. Even under such minimal vibratory conditions, how had the weapon located its target?
There had been a delay—just a few seconds.
By that time, none of them were still standing in their original positions.
York had already moved from where he'd been earlier. And yet the attack still found him—and only him.
If it had been an area-of-effect strike, it wouldn't have been that narrowly focused. The three of them had been standing just a few meters apart.
No—this was targeted. Pinpointed.
Which meant something vital was still missing from Kesiba's understanding.
Of course, he hadn't visited Dawn just to discuss theories.
"Let's set this aside for now," Kesiba said to Dawn. "We won't get a precise answer anytime soon."
"Just because I want answers doesn't mean I'm buying into your lone-wolf scheme."
As he spoke, he pointed his spearhead—directly at Lorc.
Dawn, observing quietly, knew that threat wasn't aimed at him. But Lorc, still struggling with his memory loss, didn't realize that. He believed Kesiba was speaking to Dawn.
That was intentional.
Kesiba was still angry at Lorc—because Lorc was clinging to something without any justification.
"Help me compile a list," Kesiba said flatly. "Everyone whose memories were erased—especially those during the period between 15,000 and 16,000 years ago."
Dawn's expression shifted. His eyes widened.
Are you out of your mind? he wanted to ask.
That was ancient history.
Fifteen thousand years ago—that would've been sometime during the era of the Eternally Democratic Star Nation.
But then something clicked. He recalled faint rumors—hushed whispers that had survived across the centuries.
He now understood what Kesiba was really after.
"...Alright," he said quietly. "I'll compile it now."
"But seriously—don't go running off again. I don't know when I'll see you two next time."
He turned to begin the task, fingers dancing across the console.
In the year 220,000 A.D., searching for data wasn't done by humans anymore. That was the job of DataNodes.
All Dawn had to do was issue the right commands.
Kesiba, meanwhile, wasn't done.
"We also need to visit HHHI Corporation," he said. "Can you connect us with someone there?"
Dawn tensed. "You're not thinking of messing with them, are you?"
"No. In fact, we can't mess with them. We're just ordinary people. They're a goddamn megacorp."
"What I want is their super-microscopic exploration equipment."
"For basic microscopic scales, sure, you can pick up some off-the-shelf junk and make it work."
"But for the super-microscopic world? That's a whole different league."
Dawn was still nervous when he heard Kesiba wanted to go to HHHI Corporation.
The moment he heard it, he visibly calmed.
"Possible."
But even so, Kesiba could tell he was still hesitant—just beneath the surface.
It puzzled him. Why would Dawn react that way? Did he have deeper ties to HHHI Corporation than he let on?
That question was answered the moment Kesiba received the contact info Dawn provided.
The person Dawn introduced wasn't just some middle manager.
He was a high-ranking executive at HHHI—and also Dawn's former lover.
"Moffat, right? I'm here on Dawn's recommendation."
Kesiba didn't miss the commanding, masculine aura the other gave off.
Of course, as mechanical lifeforms, gender was a human concept—they didn't possess it biologically.
But having adapted to mortal civilization, they had absorbed many of its cultural norms. And though contemporary human culture no longer strictly enforced heteronormativity, the old values still lingered.
Kesiba understood all of this, yet remained personally conflicted. Which was why he never said "Mr."
"Yes, I understand your situation," Moffat said coolly.
"Dawn verified your story. Our stance is aligned."
"If what you say is true—if you've found something—that's good."
"I can help escalate this to the Federation."
"If it really involves another civilization, the Federation will respond."
There was no resistance, no obstruction. Moffat offered full cooperation.
Kesiba felt like he was standing at the very edge of the truth—almost within reach.
With HHHI's support, Kesiba borrowed advanced equipment designed for super-microscopic exploration.
But unlike Lorc, he didn't intend to rush in blindly.
He explicitly requested defensive support from Moffat.
This time, he would be prepared.
"To defend effectively," he said, "we first have to understand how they attack."
Moffat asked if he already had any insights into the enemy's methods.
Kesiba shared what he had observed and deduced.
Moffat handed the data over to a thousand-person research team for full-scale analysis.
Half a month later, a preliminary plan emerged.
"Their attacks function as chains or clusters," Moffat explained.
"In the super-microscopic realm, they can't manipulate particles the way we do."
"The most probable theory? Their weapons rely on force itself."
"And force, as we know, is transmitted via bosons. But particles are too large for their scale. Based on our analysis, they're likely interacting directly with quantum fields."
"They anchor into the quantum field itself, then alter it."
"In fact, some current theories equate quantum fields with two-dimensional space. So it's possible they're embedding anchor points within a 2D framework."
"These anchors wouldn't be complex. At most, binary shifts—0s and 1s. But even those small state changes can cascade into particle-level transformations."
"In theory, we could counteract that by creating localized black holes, which distort the quantum field itself."
"But that would make observation impossible, so we scrapped that idea."
"Instead, we've proposed several alternatives:"
Full defensive protocols, aimed at nullifying chain and cluster attacks.
Controlled vacuum environments, releasing only a few isolated particles, then tracking and observing each one individually.
"The second approach is safer," Moffat added.
"Quantum fields may be omnipresent—but even in a vacuum, if their anchors are embedded there, we may detect traces."
"And if so, we'll learn even more."
Understanding their limits was the key.
"You're the expert, Mr. Moffat," Kesiba said.
Professionalism was professionalism. No amount of instinct or intuition could compare to a thousand-person team and HHHI-grade analysis.
And Moffat had only summarized a fragment of the results.
The full documentation was delivered to Kesiba—over ten thousand pages long.
Though much of the content overlapped in theory, the outcomes and nuances varied widely.
"Internally," Moffat said, "we're calling this the Pit Plan."
"As in: dig a giant hole in the quantum field."
Of course, it wasn't as simple as the name implied.
Establishing a stable vacuum was only the foundation. Numerous secondary safeguards had to be in place.
Because if even a vacuum couldn't block the enemy's attack, they had to be ready to respond.
And in fact—they'd already encountered this scenario.
When York died, he wasn't in contact with the ground. He was suspended, in a relative vacuum.
Yet he was still killed.
HHHI Corporation had to factor in string dimensions when constructing a vacuum environment—and more importantly, when removing strings from such an environment.
Strings are infinitesimal entities—so small that even the quantum field itself may be woven from them.
This hypothesis labels the quantum field strings of Star City as "Third Strings."
It isn't widely embraced… but then again, who can prove it false?
After all, quantum fields don't simply materialize from nothing.
Moffat moved as fast as possible. It still took him 11 years.
Even with all equipment on hand, the planning, design, and construction phases devoured time.
Kesiba deeply appreciated Moffat's efforts.
Because, truthfully, Moffat could've easily found someone else to take over the remaining work.
But he didn't.
He still chose to let Kesiba carry it out.
Of course, this wasn't an act of kindness—it was likely a death sentence.
The[Pit]was housed within a cube-like structure. It looked massive from the outside—around 15.06 million cubic units in volume.
But the genuine vacuum zone inside—the one measurable and observable—was a mere 5 cm in diameter.
Kesiba would remain outside, controlling the machines. A probe needle would extend into the core to monitor particle behavior.
There were only a few dozen particles inside.
The probe needle exerted a faint gravitational pull, just enough to draw the particles closer.
Kesiba entered. The rest stayed outside.
They couldn't afford to go in with him.
If anything went wrong, everyone inside would be caught in the aftermath.
Though the enemy's attack likely wouldn't be pinpoint accurate, it was still wiser not to test it. Waiting for Kesiba's report would suffice.
If nothing happened, whether one person entered or a group wouldn't make a difference.
The[Pit].
Kesiba floated into it, attaching himself to one of the inner walls. His body aligned perfectly with the wall's every indentation.
Zoom in, and you'd see every spherical unit of his body slot precisely into its intended groove.
Those spheres weren't truly spherical—they were fifteen-faced polyhedrons.
Fifteen faces—symbolizing a base-15 system.
Kesiba's body was composed of countless such units, forming a base-15 computational entity.
This wall's function was to receive his full data signature and replicate highly precise simulations.
In the Eternal Cycle Star Nation, most high-precision machines used similar tech.
It resembled virtual devices found in human civilizations.
When real-world simulations hit their limits, one would enter a virtual field to simulate finer details.
But in the Eternal Cycle Star Nation, this was a hardware-level neural link. Only one user could operate it at a time.
To put it nicely—it was called total focus.
Right now, the only thing Kesiba could sense was himself—as the detector.
All frequencies were flat, nearly static, tightly pressed against the floor of the field.
Then the frequencies began to ripple.
Through the DataNode, he saw a particle.
The DataNode would handle all specific tasks, allowing him to directly witness the particle.
It was a sphere. No wave properties—it had stabilized under observation.
A simple quark. Likely an up quark, abbreviated u, with a charge of +(2/3)e and a mass between 1.5–4 MeV—the lightest among all quarks.
Kesiba seized the moment and ran calculations.
He hoped this quark would reveal something new.
Unfortunately…
It didn't.
It was entirely ordinary.
Or… it should have been.
But then a second quark entered his field of view.
And something changed.
The two quarks formed a strange bond—initiated by the strong force, or something pretending to be it.
But they didn't simply combine. They collided—violently.
And more intriguingly—there was the distance factor.
The strong force is normally repulsive at ~2×10⁻¹⁵m, and only becomes attractive under ~0.8×10⁻¹⁵m.
But this union broke that logic.
Most critically…
There were no strong force bosons mediating the interaction.
So how did these two quarks pull together?
Kesiba witnessed a phenomenon that defied known physics.
His first reaction was disbelief.
"This pull isn't the strong force. It has to be artificial."
In human science, such a thing is dubbed artificial force—a deliberately engineered interaction outside the four fundamental forces.
Typically, artificial forces only affect artificial particles—custom-engineered matter.
It's a full system: core fermions, force-carrying bosons, and the resulting synthetic force they generate.
Although you could ignore the last step—since many artificial particles break fundamental rules outright—understanding the artificial force itself is key to controlled use.
The R&D cycle for artificial particles is grueling.
Even the simplest designs may take a thousand years of continuous development—and the resource demands (manpower, materials, computation) are staggering.
Only companies operating at the hundred-trillion level can even try—and most of them still fail.
Real breakthroughs only happen at the three to five quadrillion range—and even ten-quadrillion-tier giants are still chasing perfection.
The artificial particle industry across human civilization exceeds 100 quintillion Energy Credits in market scale.
Of that:
– 92% of profits go to the Federation,
– 5% to top-tier megacorps,
– The remaining 3% is split between other nations and firms.
Even the Eternal Cycle Star Nation is a mere novice in this game.
Despite contributing over 20% of total manufacturing volume, none of it matters if the products are subpar.
And sadly, artificial particle success rates remain dismally low.
The Federation, pragmatic as ever, can mass-produce them.
Some companies hit the quadrillion mark with a single viable particle type.
"No... artificial forces still require artificial particles."
"This might be a form of quantum field manifestation instead."
The fluctuations in the quantum field blatantly violated the framework of the four fundamental forces—causing the two quarks to suddenly accelerate toward one another.
But just as quickly, Kesiba's certainty shattered.
The two quarks, after drawing together, separated again.
No—something was off.
They weren't simply attracting and repelling. They were locked in a continuous cycle of collision and separation.
Two distinct forces were at play.
"Looks like Moffat's theory was right: the quantum field anchor-point device can switch between two states—0 and 1."
These binary states—0 and 1—corresponded to inactive and active.
When the device was active (1), it exerted force—pulling particles together.
When inactive (0), the particles would separate under the influence of the strong nuclear force.
Kesiba ran precise calculations of their positional limits.
Maximum separation: 10⁻¹⁷m.
Minimum distance: 10⁻¹⁸m.
That's up to 10 times a quark's diameter at maximum, and as close as a single diameter at minimum.
"They're able to generate such immense force at the subatomic scale—without any boson involvement."
Kesiba was stunned.
The strong force—widely accepted as the most powerful of the four fundamental forces—could only pull quarks to within about 0.8 × 10⁻¹⁵m of one another.
And yet, what Kesiba observed now showed quarks coming 12.5 times closer at minimum, and 125 times farther apart at maximum—still within the influence range of the new force.
"We need to determine the density of whatever's producing this force."
He introduced a third quark into the system.
Expecting it to be immediately drawn into the field between the first two quarks, Kesiba acted cautiously.
But his caution proved unnecessary.
The third quark didn't join the pair. Instead, it stabilized at a fixed distance of 10⁻¹⁵m—just beyond the reach of the four fundamental forces.
Kesiba sensed this was by design.
Because if the quark were any closer—within ~0.8 × 10⁻¹⁵m—the strong force would begin to act, potentially destabilizing the system.
At 10⁻¹⁵m, however, the strong force's pull was still present, but not strong enough to lock the particle into position.
He introduced a fourth quark.
This time, it immediately interacted with the third, forming a new particle pair identical to the first.
They began the same dance: colliding and separating in a synchronized cycle.
"Why build it this way?"
Kesiba found himself less curious about the mechanism, and more concerned with its purpose.
He didn't have an answer yet. So, he continued the experiment.
Three more quark pairs were introduced, completing five independent dual-particle systems.
With those stabilized, Kesiba shifted focus to an isolated region, confirmed unaffected by the oscillations, and attempted to synthesize an atom.
Using quarks and gluons to form a nucleus, then reintroducing electrons, he successfully created a Hydrogen atom.
Technically, it was Hydrogen-1—Protium, the simplest isotope of hydrogen.
Just 1 proton, 1 electron, and no neutron.
Even after countless years of scientific effort, the Federation had never managed to create an atom lighter than it.
Upon completing the Protium atom, Kesiba moved it close to the five quark pairs.
And immediately, he noticed a change.
The particle pairs ceased their rhythmic collisions.
Instead—they began to vibrate.
Ten quarks, vibrating at an incredibly high frequency.
"Could this mean the quantum field device has a third state?"
The thought flashed through his mind, but he quickly ruled it out.
Although the quarks had entered a vibratory phase, their direction of motion hadn't changed.
It wasn't a new state—just a result of the device's switching speed increasing dramatically.
It now toggled so fast that the quarks couldn't even approach their previous closest distance—making them appear to tremble in place.
"Still... this vibration occurs in a spatially sealed environment. So how are they transmitting information outwards?"
Kesiba remembered how swiftly those entities had intercepted data when he was pursued earlier.
"Could it be... quantum entanglement?"
Incorporating quantum entanglement into quantum field theory might explain this phenomenon.
A particle, after all, is simply an excitation in a quantum field.
You can imagine it as a ripple.
We may only perceive the left crest of the ripple and label it a "particle." Later, we see the right crest, and think it's a second, identical particle.
But it's not. They're both part of the same ripple.
The rest of the ripple lies submerged—hidden beneath the surface of perception.
Quantum entanglement, therefore, doesn't involve two separate particles.
It's a single particle, being viewed at two different points in its excitation path.
The concept transcends distance.
Because a ripple, no matter where it travels, remains a unified structure. A disturbance at one crest naturally triggers a shift at the other.
True quantum entanglement does not transmit information—but artificial particles can mimic this effect.
Their ultimate limit, however, is still bound by the speed of light.
And if this is the principle at work—
Then everything Kesiba had witnessed could finally be explained.