“Moko, eat cookie,” Terayla said, tugging on his arm with concern. The distant gaze of the group she played with pondered at her unexpected departure, her sudden desire to run toward Moko. Her presence disrupted the talk between him and Roven. The wondering adults and Lorace peered down at the little girl. She stood with eyes looking nowhere but on his. She said again, “Eat cookie. It will help.”

Moko traded glances with her, staring with bewilderment. At first, he thought she was very attentive to have spotted his state from afar. It was remarkably keen when she caught him while in the middle of being humored alongside other people by the thrill of tossing his cursors like it was some sort of toy. Any normal person wouldn’t notice him.

But it was as simple as the presence of the blue cat resting on his arm. Its head lapped on his wrapped hand, coating his wound with the same numbing prowess. Though it was as magical as it seemed, he knew the cat was also connected with her own individual self. The cat would exhort Terayla with some sort of response, especially in his current state. His hand was tense. He hadn’t realized just how stiff his body was. It had remained this way since the reunion, the gathering of ones he did and didn’t know. And with the latest info from Roven, it was impossible to feel calm.

“A cookie?” Moko questioned, his tone subtly shaky. “I’m fine, but thank you–”

“No! Eat.”

Moko jerked his head, feeling the intensity of her light voice. It was bold of her to speak so loudly in front of people. Even the ones beside them were silent, spawning an awkward atmosphere that gave him a second-hand embarrassment. He complied after such a sounding order. All he wanted was to escape the unnecessary attention she brought.

He took out his Cookie. Terayla reached and pinched the System before he could do anything, extracting a cookie for him.

(–1)

2.913 Million Cookies

Moko had encountered this a few times. The System changed into a simpler notation when reaching up to a million cookies. He didn’t know the rationale for this mechanism, but it could be to prevent users from feeling overwhelmed. It certainly worked for him. But even a million cookies alone were tough to grasp. Amidst that mountainous quantity, this shortened notation would keep him from dealing with the rapid ascent of numbers. Though appealing at first, it became an eyesore. The cool part was that the number hadn’t changed, even when Terayla pulled out a singular cookie.

She handed it to him.

“Thanks,” Moko said, grabbing the dessert. She nodded and departed without another word. To the group she went, and with an excitement that resumed their enchanting game of catch-and-throw with his own cursors.

“She grew a lot,” the mother commented beside him, her voice gentle. “The last time we saw her, she could barely raise her voice. She would only hide behind our boy.”

The father added. “Any child can change with little effort. When we found out that Moko’s Systems treated Assets differently, this whole game of tossing started. His System doesn’t have Magnification, so they could use his cursors without being concerned with repercussions.”

“Yeah, but,” Moko mumbled, eating his cookie, “when I told you guys the cursors could hurt, I wasn’t joking.”

“We know.”

“Then why are kids playing with them?!”

“Relax,” Roven said. “Our team went through a lot of trouble. Let them have fun before the Big Day. Besides, nobody here can throw those things like you can.”

Lorace joined in and said, “I tried chucking those things; they’re powerful, alright. But you need to put so much strength into it. I can’t even do what you can. You think the cursors are dangerous? What if you’re the one who has some crazy power? If you can tear down trees with those finger-clicking madness, how hard do you throw them?”

Moko noticed his parents giving a secretive glance, a certain grin invoking prior knowledge of those questions. If anyone had taken down a few dozen trees in Kartha, it was him.

“I don’t know. I just do. Just practice,” he answered blatantly.

“That’s… one way to put it,” Lorace said, conflicted. He leaned back on his stool and scratched his head.

Once Moko finished his chocolate chip cookie, Roven’s voice prompted him to refocus on the matter. He asked, “Should we continue where we left off? I didn’t consider it before the girl said something. I realized that this sudden turn-up might be stressing.”

“No,” Moko replied, insisting him to continue. Despite having a sure word, his mind still reeled. Each story told a different view. Impy had shared his. And now it was Roven. When he had spoken of his encounter with the General, the problem seemed bigger than he originally thought. The picture of the grim day of Awt deepened. And for some reason, Moko was greatly disturbed by it. He glanced at his injured hand with some retrospect. He then eyed Roven and said, “I’m fine. Keep going.”

There was no obvious reason Roven would be sharing this, but Moko assumed the possibilities. The most plausible one, he thought, was a distressing one.

He was trying to get him to join their team and save the children.

Moko wanted to intervene. All he could do was ask and stop this talk, stop and turn away. But the truth about the men who affected their lives, including him, was unfolding. How could he reject listening?

“The Consortium is a devious group,” Roven said, “especially when it comes to larger affairs of this realm. After meeting the General, the following few days have been rough. I went to speak with the Consortium, but they refused to help us. Or rather, wardens and brokers keep us away from speaking to any of them.”

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

“Why are they refusing?” Moko asked.

He shrugged and replied, “It’s a mystery. Their isolation, besides accentuating the stock market, is also a mystery. They tend to leave the people alone because the divine laws pre-operate to keep dangers away. This makes protection tight even without human intervention. Because of such, their only focus is to get stronger.”

The ambiguous veil surrounding the Consortium was confusing, but the name Consortium was confusing enough. He knew the titbit about them. It was not a typical Domain, and multiple people ran it. Moko asked, not knowing anything else, “Speaking of the Consortium, who are they? Where did they come from?”

“They’re a wide collection of people who direct the stock market and the cultivation of Lei’s economy. The Bank binds itself to the Consortium in contracts. They began from the World’s earliest days. To my knowledge, here is how things began…”

In the beginning, the High Realms created six realms in six days. Each day counted for each realm. On the seventh day, they brought the last piece of land to symbolize rest and leisure, the land that was the speculated throne for the gods: the Lei Realm. The entire World was governed by divine laws made by unseen celestial beings. Yet, on that very day, the High Realms vanished. The celestial eyes turned away. The presence of any divine figure ceased. What remained were footprints of their magical works, maybe even cursed ones.

Portals were mysterious phenomena scattered throughout the lands. They were gigantic fabrics of red-beaming light connecting the mortal World to an unknown World. Systems arise behind the crimson blanket, and those who reach their hands would receive its virtue. Unable to walk through Portals because of their repelling properties, no one knows what lies beyond them.

The early days were violent. The Lei Realm disregarded Systemless people as insignificant beings. So when a System user attacks, their punishment goes unnoticed. Likewise, nothing judged the crimes Systemless people committed. The laws heed the ones closest to the touch of the celestial eyes, and Systems bring them closer to that divine essence.

Thus, if two System users clash together, it would be regarded as a crime. System-Systemless clash was not. And obviously, Systemless-Systemless clash was also not.

Because of this law, there was a war between Systems and the non-users. In truth, no one was an arbiter for justice. Even with Systems, nothing stopped people from cultivating and using numbers to control society—to control the Lei Realm with fair means. They only guarded the Portal to prevent people from gaining digital powers. Evil brewed, and a powerful clan crafted a seamless defense for anyone trying to reach the Portal.

When the Lei Realm was suspected of becoming a criminal’s hideaway, individuals gathered from every corner of the World. Led by one man seeking justice, he formed an alliance to become arbiters of the chaotic realm. With their combined Systems, they have ended the violence that nearly shattered the peaceful realm. Now, they have a significant influence on Lei’s economy and security. The man still lives to this day, and he’s residing in the Consortium, and all of us call him the Watchful Eye.

Over time, three arbiters emerged: Scholomark, the Bank, and the Consortium.

Scholomark is in the northern region, and it carries strict scrutiny over who gets Systems.

The Bank is in the southern region, and it brings the stock market to emerge stakeholders for investment. This would encourage any person from different realms to travel to the Lei Realm because successful investing would greatly empower their Systems.

The Consortium is a collection of people who “watch” the realm with the same intensity.

“Nevertheless, the Consortium had a different motive. They obviously know what happened in Awt, but they don’t respond to anything,” Roven said. A little chuckle aired from him. “That’s why we’re here to do justice. You can’t help but think we’re the next leaders to stop evil.”

“We’re living nowhere close to the horrendous past of Lei. It’s delusional,” Neylan remarked, teasing him with the harsh reality.

“I can dream,” Roven grunted. “That said, even I don’t know much about the Consortium myself.”

“Is there a reason?” Moko asked.

He nodded. “The Watchful Eye. He lived for centuries. His System has been cultivating ever since. Because he lived for so long, I don’t even know how strong he is. Because of his powerful system, my guess is that he is gradually gaining the power of the High Realms. Celestial identities can observe multiple things around them at once—like how the laws operate. He can see what users are doing with their Systems. And since he is powerful, he might even know what everyone’s saying from miles away.”

A striking epiphany shook Moko. Recollection of past talks surfaced, specifically the time when he discussed with Polla. Roven’s explanation and Polla’s oblivious observations were strongly connected.

(Earlier) “Do you know why people aren’t talking about this?” Moko asked. “Ever since I got my System and traveled, I didn’t hear anything about it until now. What’s up with that?”

“I don’t know, man. The Crunch is a universal concept in Lei Systems, so it’s strange to treat it as something special or novel. If no one talks about it but a couple, it’s best to do the same.”

Moko was certain about it. But to affirm his suspicions, he asked, “Is that why everyone’s not talking about the circumstance?”

Roven nodded, giving a definitive answer that everyone agreed upon. “The Consortium is very mysterious, but we know that they can hear us speak some parts, especially the circumstance. When someone speaks about it, the Bank might pursue you. The Bank is another matter, and people have mixed thoughts about that Domain. Our basic rule is that as long as no one calls out that word or other niche terms, then everyone’s okay.”

There was a sneaking thought that Polla’s continual use of the Crunch might’ve brought his unfortunate fate. Moko could only feel sorry for that guy.

But Moko felt an unsettling pinch grinding his stomach. He had also mentioned the Crunch. The loophole in this personal word would be its normal use of crunch for chewing. If they had warned against even casual use, then no one should speak for any purpose without the possibility of getting caught.

Regardless, Moko had spoken the same. The longer Roven continued, the stronger his feeling of being observed. Another side of him believed he’d be fine. The Watchful Eye only observed people with Systems. Moko couldn’t even make a clear consensus if his System really was one. A Cookie System. He could only hope for safety and peace. And Roven went on with his speaking, briefing his operation while everyone, including Moko, approached the Big Day. The day when they would strike the captors, and Moko’s decision to pledge to assist would be fulfilled.