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Outside the window, there was a new window. It stared through to another place. Chrysanthe, seven and a quarter going on seven and a half, wasn’t afraid when she saw it. She’d had warning. In fact she thought it was pretty, though people were in states of panic about the appearance of inexplicable portals throughout the city – throughout many, many towns and cities everywhere, it was soon announced. The edges of these viewing portals rippled as though painted with brushstrokes of the magnetosphere, which itself shimmered strangely. Surrounding dimension had an uncertain plasticity.

Everything changed. School was temporarily canceled, to start again soon remotely. A network tree was distributed that linked student families, who would contact each other to share resources. Adults with critical jobs were escorted to work by new armed guard units present in every neighborhood. Basic supplies were distributed.

Some neighborhoods were evacuated for strategy zones. Following this, an alarming seventy-five percent of transmission signals were hijacked and stolen. That was how much current human technology already contained adapted Vedani developments. The resulting mayhem was barely handled. Main media channels had been seized, as well as high-grade communications (though some antiquated signals remained functioning). Even mapping was bad. Things were turning old-fashioned. The armed guard units were sending runners through the neighborhoods. Adults were speaking in whispers.

The images flickering through the portals were disjointed, though people began to solidify theories as to their meaning with a quickness. Groups formed around different interpretations. Those secretly aware of the true stories saw truth begin to appear from conjecture. They bided their time as cautioned, allowing people to work it out themselves as best they could.

We aren’t scared. We’ll be fine. We’re not going to do anything stupid. We are the beloved, and we know what’s happening.

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