The cellar under the abandoned lecture hall smelled like chalk dust, copper, and a bit of overly enthusiastic teenage sweat. Juno shoved open a rusted ventilation grate, and they dropped one by one into a large underground space once used for Spire emergency drills—now their new classroom.
"Not exactly Ivy League," Juno said, arms wide, "but it's got charm. And hopefully not asbestos."
Luma glanced around. Makeshift benches made of repurposed shelves, scavenged screens flickering with half-functional holograms, and bundles of fiber wire snaking along the ceiling. A few kids—young engineers, tinkerers, and dreamers—looked up expectantly.
Ion stepped in behind them, setting down a crate. "We'll teach them how to question. That's a far more dangerous weapon than anything the Bureau could manufacture."
"Also more fun," Luma added, dropping her bag and pulling out her juice pouch. "Alright, class. Who here knows why toast always lands butter-side down?"
A wiry boy In the front raised his hand. "Bad luck?"
"Gravity and rotational inertia, actually," Luma said, sipping. "But points for honesty."
Juno fired up a projector—an old salvaged orb from a school lab that sputtered a little before casting a crude diagram of a falling slice of bread.
"Let's break it down: center of mass, angular momentum, and height of table. In short: physics is a prankster."
They dove into more lessons—light bending around corners using glass shards, building rudimentary thermometers using alcohol and straws, and even generating voltage from spinning magnets. Every demo came with laughter, odd failures, and wild theories that somehow made perfect sense once explained.
"Why do electrons jump levels?" a girl named Eris asked during a segment on atoms.
"Excitement," Luma said dramatically. "Just like you do when the cafeteria finally serves something that's not moss-based stew."
Ion chuckled. "More precisely: energy absorption. But yes, excitement works."
By the third session, the room had grown packed. Some were hiding from the Bureau, others just tired of propaganda. All were hungry for truth.
A knock sounded from the ceiling. Rhon dropped down through the hatch with Selka.
"Hey, rebels," Selka grinned, holding up a blinking drive. "Tarn Vesh just launched a citywide transmission. He's painting the Bureau as saviors. We need to respond—now."
Juno glanced at Luma. "You ready to speak to more than just kids?"
Luma looked around at her class, their handmade tools, eager eyes, ink-stained hands. Her voice was quiet but sure.
"We'll teach the world. One spark at a time."