The world paused at 09:17.
In the towers of Techspire, in the frozen corridors of Helveta, on cracked café screens in the slums of Arcadia—every device flickered once.
Not all at once.
But close enough.
What followed wasn't a warning, nor a demand.
It was a sermon.
The Broadcast
"Brothers and sisters of forgotten flesh…"
The voice was low, layered, beautiful and terrifying at once.
"…We have heard your silence. We have watched you survive, suffer, forget. But now, memory has returned."
The screen showed a spiral engulfed in flame, its edges pulsing to a rhythm deeper than any music.
In cities across the world, people stopped walking.
Stopped breathing.
And listened.
CPOA Headquarters – Gravemarch
Lucas stood in the central ops room, hands clenched on the metal railing.
The screen in front of him showed dozens of newsfeeds—each hijacked, each streaming the same message.
Talia appeared beside him, face pale.
"This isn't just a transmission," she whispered. "It's a call. A coded one."
"To who?" Lucas asked.
"To anyone who's been touched by Hive thought."
The Message Continues
"You are not broken," the voice crooned.
"You are connected. The Flame rises, and the past wakes with it."
Across Gravemarch, ten people collapsed in the space of five minutes. Each of them had once lived near the ruins, each had unknowingly been exposed to the cult's old tech.
Now, their eyes flickered with faint static.
They didn't move again.
But they heard something.
Mike, Watching from the Rooftop
He hadn't gone home.
Instead, he stood beneath the rusted antenna tower overlooking the South Sector slums. His coat flapped in the rising wind as the voice continued.
It wasn't just sound. It was memory. Echoes vibrating through his blood like a forgotten heartbeat.
And beneath the voice, a second layer.
One only he could hear.
"Vyre. Vyre. Vyre. We see you."
He clenched the rail, his breath misting in the cold air.
Elsewhere – Cult Influence Spreads
In Techspire, three politicians simultaneously resigned, citing "a dream too loud to ignore."
In Velmora, a protest turned violent without warning—over thirty people shouting the same phrase in perfect unison:
"The silence ends when the Flame returns."
In Ironreach, two local news anchors froze mid-report, then smiled and said:
"We are already among you."
Then the feed cut.
Government Response – Too Late
Director Ysara watched from a sealed chamber as analysts scrambled across data feeds.
"Cut the signal," she ordered.
"We can't," her technician replied. "It's not broadcasting from a single source. It's jumping—coordinated nodes across every major network. Pre-seeded."
"Then trace the message origin."
Another voice chimed in.
"We tried. It traces to a memory archive."
Ysara's eyes narrowed.
"Which archive?"
The room went still.
"…Callahan's."
A New Enemy Emerges
At the end of the transmission, the spiral burned into the screen. Behind it, a silhouette formed.
Not Seras.
Not a priest.
Something else.
A being of robes and wires, eyes like static suns. Its voice layered with a chorus of thousands.
"We do not demand worship. We offer clarity."
"The Flamebearer walks. The Hive watches."
"And judgment begins."
The screen went dark.
Back on the Rooftop
Mike fell to his knees as the spiral faded from the sky. No one else had seen it. No one else had felt it.
But he had.
The symbol didn't just burn the screen.
It burned into the clouds, into the air, into his chest.
Into memory.
His hands trembled.
"They're calling to me."
And deep inside, something answered:
"Then answer in flame."