When they reached the school gate, Koran and Timo's steps slowed slightly, as if the tall white walls carried an invisible weight upon their shoulders.
The metal gate opened in complete silence, following the scanning of the identity card on the side device. A faint sound came from within it, like an electronic whisper: "Welcome back."
They passed through the wide entrance, and the first thing that greeted them was the large stone courtyard—so clean it gleamed—surrounded by small metallic trees planted in pots, their leaves glowing in soft blue and green hues due to internal lights embedded in their stems.
In the corners, scattered students gathered in silent circles at times, and cheerful ones at other times, exchanging small devices in their hands or whispering quietly, while tiny surveillance drones the size of a palm hovered slowly above their heads, scanning the scene.
Timo, as usual, showed no hesitation. He walked forward lightly, waving with a wide smile to a distant friend: "Come on, Koran, we'll be late for the first class!"
As for Koran, he was calmer; his eyes did not pick up friends or conversations, but slowly moved across the building walls—those polished white walls that hid behind them thousands of electronic eyes—and the floors that made no sound, even if dozens ran across them.
When he entered the classroom, the students had already begun taking their seats. The class was clean, simple, everything arranged as if designed to preserve order more than to educate.
Koran sat in his usual seat by the window, next to Timo, who began chattering enthusiastically about a new video game he had gotten yesterday. But Koran barely heard what he was saying: his eyes were scanning the other classmates—ordinary on the surface, but their faces, at that moment, looked to him like masks. Scattered whispers, fleeting glances, fingers busy with small transparent screens.
The teacher entered: her steps were quiet, steady, the sound of her heels rang clearly in the stillness. A somewhat tall woman with neatly tied gray hair, dressed in a dark gray uniform with fine metallic pieces on the shoulders, holding an electronic tablet in her hand.
She stood in front of the class, looking at them all with a steady gaze, then said, in a tone neither warm nor cold: "Today is a special day… as you all know."
Silence fell for a moment, then she added, as she opened her tablet and cast a quick glance: "There will be no lessons today. An official broadcast will be shown to you later—it is part of your curriculum."
Some students exchanged excited glances, while Timo smiled clearly and whispered: "I bet it's about the grand celebration!"
The teacher raised her eyes for a moment, as if she had heard what he said, then murmured in a cold tone, barely audible to the class: "The celebration will be different from what you expect."
That sentence stuck in Koran's mind, as if it wasn't just a hint but a hidden warning whose meaning couldn't be grasped. Then, without adding another word, she immersed herself in her device, leaving the class to sink into its murmurs.
The class didn't remain silent for long after the teacher's words, as a faint chime rose from the electronic board hanging on the front wall… a soft tone, but it carried something unsettling, like a small wind inside a long tunnel.
The teacher stopped moving, raised her head, and said dryly: "Prepare yourselves. The broadcast is about to begin."
In the next moment, the lights dimmed automatically, and the class was enveloped in cold blue light. The large screen at the front began displaying slow images, appearing and fading softly, like an unfinished dream.
The first scenes were of distant kingdoms, towering cities, glass towers glimmering under a pale sun, rivers winding through neighborhoods, vast squares flooded with crowds, people moving like calm waves.
In the background, heavy music rose, a mixture of deep bell tones and fragmented, melancholic harmonies, like a chant from an ancient time, seeping into the ear slowly, but leaving an indelible mark.
Then, suddenly, words appeared in large glowing silver font: "History is being rewritten."
The class fell into complete silence; even Timo, who usually never stops whispering, was struck speechless by the scene before him.
Other scenes appeared, this time closer, stranger: dark halls lit by faint torches, masked people standing in circles, their faces hidden under golden and silver masks, adorned with sun and moon symbols.
"Prepare to welcome the New Age of Light."
Said the deep voice from behind the screen, solemnly, as if each word was engraved into the air. Koran felt something strange in his chest... that sentence in particular echoed within him like a tolling bell.
The screen continued its display! Caravans passed under giant gates, crowds waving brightly colored banners—but with no clear symbol. Then, in deliberate slowness, a silhouette began to appear in the center. It was nothing but the outline of a human figure sitting on a high throne, shrouded in shadows, but around his head, a faint circle of light shimmered, like a glowing lunar halo.
"The heir... is about to be revealed."
The screen's voice was quiet, but behind it, something hidden—there was someone whispering behind it in inaudible words, just shadowed sounds barely detectable.
Koran felt a cold shiver creeping down his spine, his hands involuntarily rising on the table. He didn't understand what was affecting him this way... but the scene was not comfortable at all.
The teacher remained silent, without comment, and the students stared in awe, no one daring to speak.
The broadcast ended as it began—suddenly, with an abrupt shutdown. The class returned to its natural light, as if nothing had happened. For seconds, the class remained submerged in silence, as if they had forgotten how to breathe.
When the screen turned off, and the light withdrew abruptly, the class felt, for a moment, like it had been emptied of air, a heavy stillness blanketed everyone, as if time had stopped in that fleeting moment.
But, as is the nature of humans, the class quickly regained its pulse. Scattered whispers began to spread in the corners, rising gradually as if everyone was waiting for someone to start first.
Timo, as usual, was the first to break the invisible wall, bursting with childlike excitement: "Wow! Did you see that, Koran? That celebration is going to be amazing!"
He leaned toward his friend, eyes shining with pure joy, continuing as he gestured dramatically with his hands: "Caravans, masks, banners, and the new heir! Man, I've never seen anything like this before!"
Koran didn't reply. Timo's eyes were sparkling like a child on a holiday, but Koran felt as though his friend belonged to a completely different world at that moment… a simple, structured world that saw nothing behind what was shown on the screens.
He slowly turned his gaze around. Some students were chatting excitedly with their peers, discussing what they had seen and throwing fun guesses about the heir's identity, while others simply nodded indifferently or returned to their small screens, as if the whole display was just a fleeting entertainment not worth lingering on.
But Koran... wasn't like them. There was something disturbing in his depths, something he couldn't describe, a feeling as if everything he saw today wasn't entirely real, but precisely designed, meticulously orchestrated, like a grand play where every actor performed their role perfectly.
His mind began whispering to him, slowly, like an underground stream creeping beneath the surface: "This all seems too polished... too grand... too coordinated."
"Even the crowd sounds... even the musical tone... everything is in place with eerie precision."
He didn't know why, but inside, he refused to believe what he saw was just a normal celebration.
"Sometimes, when everything is too perfect, it's no longer comforting."
"It becomes like a trap... a big, quiet trap, and no one sees its edges."
He clenched his hands for a moment, feeling his palms cold despite the warm weather, then lifted his eyes toward the glass window. Outside, everything looked normal... the sun, the metallic trees, the tiny drones observing from afar. Yet for some reason he couldn't explain, he was absolutely sure that nothing was truly normal.
When the bell rang for the end, the sound was different than usual—a heavy metallic tone, long and lingering in the air, as if warning them, not alerting them.
The students began gathering their things slowly, some still whispering about what was shown on the screen, others acting as if everything had ended. Timo was bubbling with excitement and leaned toward Koran, whispering: "Oh, I can't wait! I'm going to watch the coronation with my dad in the big Lamakta Square. Koran, you should come too!"
Koran, who had been watching Timo with a distant gaze, replied indifferently, as if speaking to himself, not to Timo:
"…Maybe."
He knew deep down he didn't want to go, but something was pushing him to agree, as if his curiosity had become too heavy to resist.
They left the school together. The street outside the school was no longer like it had been in the morning. Everything had changed. Huge screens had risen above the buildings, showing the same scenes they had seen in the broadcast, but at a faster pace now, loud music, clapping sounds repeating in a hypnotic loop:
"The heir's parade… is near."
"Prepare for a different era."
"The heir… is very close."
Passersby in the streets were a mix of excited faces and indifferent ones. Some stood watching the screens eagerly, while others continued walking uninterested, as if the celebration had become just a static background to their daily lives.
The smells in the streets were mixed too; the aroma of bread wafting from nearby bakeries blended with synthetic perfume from mechanical vents and the smell of hot oils from small food carts, creating a strange mixture hard to identify.
Speakers on the announcement poles broadcasted official notices every few minutes, in an automated but artificially warm tone:
"We remind you to attend the parade in the major squares… entry to restricted areas will only be allowed for permit holders."
"Make this day unforgettable for you and your children."
Timo, walking beside Koran lightly, continued insistently:
"Koran! We have to go. Imagine! We might see the heir himself, or at least the coronation! They say it will be different from anything before."
Koran didn't respond immediately. He was walking slowly, observing the faces around him, the screens, the flags that had suddenly appeared above shops and windows. Everything was glowing and screaming:
"The heir… the heir… the heir."
Deep inside, he heard a quiet, insistent inner voice:
"Why now exactly? Why does everyone seem ready in advance… as if they were waiting for this moment before we even heard of it?"
"It's as if the whole city had been prepared for this event, even before it was finally announced."
He sighed slowly and said in a low voice:
"Alright, we'll go."
Timo smiled victoriously, unaware that his friend hadn't said that out of enthusiasm—but from a very different motive.
At that moment, before they could walk far, something caught Koran's attention suddenly. He slowly raised his head, and his eyes locked onto a massive screen towering over a large building in the city center. The image was unlike the others. There were no crowds, no music, no slogans. Just… a mysterious shadow sitting on a dark throne, its features unseen, but surrounded by a faint glow, as if the throne itself pulsed with a life of its own.
The image did not move, but it carried immense weight, as if it were watching everyone who looked at it. Then, in a soft voice from the speakers above the screen, it slowly spoke:
"He is closer… than you think."
Koran felt the whole world freeze for a few seconds. His eyes remained fixed on the screen, and within his chest, a faint strange pulse echoed like a distant resonance.
He knew… that shadow wasn't just an image.
It was looking at him.