Not exactly how I pictured this going, Juniper thought, watching another wave of delegates flow past, their formal attire marking them as representatives of the industrial supply councils. The gravity of challenging such deeply entrenched interests settled over her like the morning’s frost.

“The market access tariffs alone…” Sophia murmured, her eyes tracking the delegations’ movement patterns. Her usual playful energy had been replaced by laser focus as she absorbed every detail.

Then they heard it - Roma’s voice, but not in any language they’d expected. He stood near the entrance to Courtroom 3, engaged in fluid conversation with several senior delegates. His command of their ancient dialect was flawless, each complex phrase carrying the weight of someone intimately familiar with their customs and power structures. The delegates’ faces transformed as they listened, respect and recognition replacing their earlier reserved expressions.

“Well that’s new,” Daniel said softly, his shoulders tensing slightly as he watched the exchange. The implications of Roma’s linguistic abilities - and what they suggested about his connections - settled between them like evidence they hadn’t prepared for.

Through the windows, helix park’s power grid pulsed its morning cycle, but even its familiar rhythm felt altered. Every aspect of their world seemed to be shifting beneath their feet, like sand being pulled past their ankles by retreating waves - each grain a certainty being carried away, leaving them unsure whether they were being drawn out to sea or simply witnessing the world reshape itself around their planted feet.