**Forward**

Muses of Spindle.

Dream is dying.

Regardless of who you stand with, be it the Academy or Free Idea Forum, no matter what exactly you think is ruining the Dreamscape (there’s also a very real threat to the world in a literal sense coming from these Concepts and Transcendentals) there is no denying that Dream is fading, corrupt, flawed.

The Academy is corrupt. Censorship is issued for the smallest of infractions. Secretaries are shut in closets, put on leashes. Bribes are issued, both by the Syndicate to the Academy (look no further than the permission to frack vignettes) and in the Academy itself. Or at least, that is how Hugo Bryn would have it.

The Free Idea Forum are murderers and egotists. They kidnapped the Muse Fall Ever Faster, a friend to many, for no real crime, and consider her death to be collateral damage, despite it achieving nothing. For the sake of their ego, they burn memes into the fabric of Dream, causing untold pain and suffering to Muses, and doing harm to Jo themselves, causing an obsession over an abstract idea which is hardly conductive to creative thought. They might claim they are reciprocating the vicious tactics of the Academy, but that argument only goes as far as to justify that they are morally comparable. Hardly a compliment, is it Siren?

But what is most heart-breaking is that they cloak themselves in this legitimate criticism of the Academy. They bring in Muses, rightfully dissatisfied with this state of affairs, and lure them into participation in this corrupt affair, due to lack of alternatives. Likewise, the Academy brings in well intentioned Muses, who only wish to build a better society, and uses and manipulates them to uphold its own corrupt regime. 

I know you are out there, those whose light still burns bright in the darkness for hope of a better tomorrow. Academy, Free Idea Forum, everyone. Change is coming, and it is now we must seize the initiative. Now is the time for unity. A tomorrow ruled by the leaders of the Academy or the Free Idea Forum is not a future worth striving for. But together, I know we can reach a future worth living in!

So please, I implore every one of you. Turn your backs to the leaders who would have you believe they truly want what is best. Turn your backs to corruption, to kidnapping, to murder! Together we will build an Academy that truly works for the good of Muses, and a Dream worth existing in. For Spindle! For Muses! For Jo!
One small flame may flicker dimly, but a conflagration will truly shine. 

-Darkest Light

//The rest of the Manifesto sets out proposals in more detail, including the sacking and punishment of corrupt officials, a trial process for crime independent of the Academy itself, a focus on rehabilitation instead of Censorship, and news sources independent of interference from the Academy.//

I want to share with you some stories of The Revolution. In the interests of journalistic integrity, I will disclose that I am an Inquisitive of the AOT, and I leave to the reader to infer from that what they will. All of these stories I have reconstructed with as much accuracy as I was able: from Vig-net recording, from interviews and in some cases from my first hand account. 

I believe that what these stories show is the true nature of the FIF: the dark, violent heart of the revolution.

**Blood in the Streets**

Now the wind howls. It howls between between the eaves in a thin cobbled street on the outskirts of Spindle. Pretty awnings hang from the houses, and the roofs are painted with colorful tiles, though neither so remarkable as to distinguish it from its neighbours. It is an unremarkable street, home to many muses who lead unremarkable lives. If it has a name, it will soon be forgotten, because from today it will be known as Revolution Street.

The line of inquisitives stand resolute in the street. They stand in an orderly row, arms folded, pins shining brightly on their breasts. They face down a mob of FIF freedom fighters, armed to the teeth, and though they are outnumbered two to one they stand firm, unbreakable.

Ten of Masks stands between the two units of Muses. “Step aside, Inquisitives. Your time is over. Lay down your weapons and you won’t be harmed. Fight us, and expect no quarter.”

The Inquisitive Prefectus laughs harshly. “Ten of Masks. I was hoping I’d get to be the one to bring you in. Fall was the perfect model of a reformed Muse... she was a good kid.” they pause. “You’re a monster. You’re not going to get away with what you’ve done.”

The Inquisitives draw truncheons with a sharp snap. 

“Oy, the rest of you, give us Ten and you can go back to your homes. We’ll forget this ever happened.”

Ten of Masks looks behind him, to the FIF fighters waiting, to the Muses watching terrified from shuttered windows, to the Inquisitive Prefectus before him. “I’m sorry it had to be this way.”

In a single fluid motion he draws his gun and plugs the lead Inquisitive three times. The FIF, the Inquisitves, look on in shock as the first stone is cast.

Then, as a wave of fury long held back, the FIF charge. The struggle to pull the Prefectus behind their lines even as they raise their truncheons to meet the oncoming assault. 

**Raiding the AoT**

Master Inquisitive Erin Glasco stumbles as the building shakes. She straightens herself, takes a deep breath to drive back the rising panic and regain her calm, stern demeanor. 

She steps out into a flurry of activity: panicked young Inquisitives tasked with burning all the dangerous material for fear it should fall into rebel hands. It feels strange, after so many years of taking care of these books so diligently, that she should be the one in charge of destroying them. 

Master Inquisitive Paul Francis approaches her. “Erin, they’re panicking.”

Erin regards the frantic Muses quitely. What strikes her most is how young they all seem. How unprepared. “It is a shame that they are not better trained.” She cannot help that her voice cracks as she says it.

Paul turns to look at her, a sad smile on his face. “We could surrender.”

She looks up at the particles of burning paper that drift through the air. “No, we cannot.”

Paul sighs loudly. “It just seems so unfair. They didn’t sign up to die, terribly, burning books, torn to pieces by bloodthirsty rebels.”

Erin looks about at the Inquisitives, most of whom had served in the library, under her. After a long pause she replies. “They signed up to defend Spindle, and they’re doing a //bloody// good job of it.”

Paul chuckles in surprise. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you curse before Erin!”

“Don’t get used to it!” the Librarian snaps. Her demeanor softens, “And don’t tell them that. Go Paul, you aren’t needed here.”

“But-”

“I don’t believe this is the end of the Academy, and Muses like you, //good// Muses need to survive. Okay?”

“Erin...” He hangs on the words, but then salutes and retreats.

Erin sighs. At least she saved one of them. She turns to the rest of the Inquisitives. “If you want to run, I won’t stop you. I joined the AOT to protect Spindle. These documents contain the locations of caches of dangerous Tropes, the identities of undercover Inquisitives, everything we know about what causes memification. If these fall into the hands of the FIF they will have a gun they can point at the head of every Muse in Spindle. So for the sake of Jo, do your jobs and do them right.”

None among them reply. Some do run, but to their credit most stay, a few even salute. 

Erin turns to the Muses guarding the main entrance, she recognises one, although forgets his name… it was ridiculously long. “You know,” she says, as much to herself as to him. “Most Inquistives seem to think I never leave the library. Ridiculous, isn’t it?” She breathes a heavy sigh. “Lock the door behind me, I’ll try to stall for time. If you manage to finish before they breach the door then for Jo’s sake //run//.”

“Yes, ‘mam.” Arhibold replies.

The guards salute crisply and Erin goes to step across the threshold and hesitates. She always kind of thought that one day they would find her Faded between two big bookcases after becoming hopelessly obsessed with finding some old tome. She’d rather hoped that it would be clutched so tightly in her hand they wouldn’t be able to pry it off of her. Ha! Well, fighting revolutionaries while her library burned? It made a better story, at least.

She stepped through the door listed for the all too familiar click of the locks behind her. 

She does not have to wait long for destiny. Ten of Masks comes down the corridor, flanked by a unit of FIF rebels. 

“Out of my way, Inquisitive!” He growls, voice distorted by the echoing mask.

“No.”

“I am Ten of Masks and you //will// stand aside! Those archives hold hostage the history of every Muses in Spindle, and we will not be chained by your records any more!”

Erin can’t help grinning at the irony, that Ten is here to destroy something that is already being destroyed. Still, there are other things he must not find. “I don’t care who you are,” she snaps. “You are not going into my Library.”

Ten raises his gun and fires a few shots at her, but she already has her truncheon in place to deflect them.

“One does not become a Master Inquisitive without some Strife,” she growls. “You’re strong, I’ll give you that, but I think my reason for fighting is better.”

Ten holsters his gun angrily, “We don’t have time for this! Master Inquisitive Erin Glasco,” he intones as he raises his hand, a tattoo on its back beginning to glow. “You are overthrown.”

She shrieks as cracks ripple across her body and she drops to the ground convulsing. Ten steps over her and tries to force the doors but finds them locked and cries out in rage.

Please, she thinks, let them get away...

**The Sacrifice**

I stride through the hall of Justice. Around me Inquisitves snapped to salute, they had never seen me but they knew by the effects of my rank. They seemed relieved, grateful for a source of authority in this trying time. I nod firmly, try to be who they need me to be. I’m not. But I can pretend. 

At the head of the room the leaders of the Academy crowd around a table, arguing about their response to the attack. As I approach Orwell looks up to me and gives a single nod. 

“Where's Lipwig? We should have heard back from her by now.” Paul Francis asks, concerned about his friend.

“We need to take the fight to them!” Barks Hugo Bryn.

The doors fly open and an out of breath Inquisitive stumbles into the room. They salute, remarkably sharply considering their exhaustion, “Sirs! The Revolutionaries have breached the the Vaults.”

“That's impossible!” Wynkyn Caxton shouts. 

“I don’t know what to say sir, I saw it with my own eyes. They’re playing all of the Tropes, sirs. //All// of them.”

The Principal Inquisitives gasp. This… this is what I had always feared. A breach into the Transcendental at the heart of Spindle. So close to the Juice battery… 

The Inquisitives a frozen. The ignorant by confusion, those who understand what this means by fear. A guiding voice is not enough. 

“I will go.” I say. 

“But sir-” Orwell starts. I raise a hand to silence him. The other Inquisitives look with confusion upon his submissive behaviour. Funny how long we kept this secret and how easily it was revealed.

Orwell salutes, and hesitantly the others do as well. I turn to leave but pause, “Don’t try to hold the building. The Academy of Thought is not a place.”

“Yes… sir.” he replies.

I leave the room and begin to make my way down. I warp the corridors around me to avoid the Free Idea Forum: I don’t have time to deal with them. As I bend the building around me I sense a familiar presence. Joseph Caesar. Two bands of Free Idea Forum fighters are converging on him. I consider the risk. Do I have time to delay? 

Yes. For him, I do.

I isolate his corridor, twist it up and bring it to a junction with mine. He comes running around the corner, unaware of his translocation. He pauses as he sees me, “You!” he cries, hesitating, “...sir? What is going on?”

“The Free Idea Forum have led a revolution that we were woefully unprepared for. The fighting has been brutal, the Vault has been breached, and, if I don’t do something, it is possible the city will collapse into the Transcendental.”

Joseph Caesar stares. “What?”

I shake my head. I can feel the mounting pressure beneath us. “I’m sorry Joseph Caesar, I wish I had more time to guide you. You’re one of the good ones. Muses like you are the future of the Academy of Thought.”

Understanding dawns in his eyes, “You’re one of them, aren’t you? A Concept.”

“Yes. I am The Sage. I am the Authority from which The Academy flows.”

Joseph fixes me with a glare that is hard to meet. “Then you have much to answer for. Tell me, were you simply ignorant of the corruption, the tyranny, or were you complacent?”

I wish I had longer to explain. “You give your fellow Inquisitives too little credit, there is far more good than bad here. But… perhaps I did not guide them as closely as I could have.” I sigh heavily. “We were supposed to protect Dream, protect the Mundane: we were to be the watchers at the gate, not the Tyrant on their throne.”

I lay a hand on his shoulder and try to hold his gaze. “Joseph Caesar… do better.”

He doesn’t say anything. I know he is confused, but there is no more time. I turn back to my mission, pointing to a corridor I have just created.

“Go that way: it will lead you outside. This building is about to drop into the Transcendental. I advice you not to be here when that happens.”

“What are you going to do?”

“What is necessary.”

I turn and stride away.

As I build a path to the vault I reflect on my time in Dream. It was good to have been here. To live, to pass time, to make friends, to watch them grow. It was like getting to be a person.

I pause. I don’t have to go back. I could walk away. In legends, the Sage often walks away, the final witness to tragedies they were unable to prevent. My nature does not //demand// I take this stand. 

No. I don’t have to. I choose to. 

I can feel the The Transcendental radiating out from vault. Not hot, but the icy cold of that crystal reality. As I approach I feel my uniform shift to flowing robes, my staff appearing in my hands once again. 

At last I reach the Vault. From floor to ceiling is a great vertical breach into the Transcendental. It's unstable, spreading, feeding on the Juice of Dream. The barrier between worlds has been worn so thin... 

I can’t stop it. But I can contain it. It will take everything I have, all the Juice I’ve hoarded over Jo’s life. 

As the cracks spiral around me, shivering reality to pieces I see the twisted reflections of the Concept on the other side. A terrible armoured figure, crowned with iron thorns: The Tyrant. Part of me is saddened to be denying him the opportunity I had. But when I stare into dark pits of his eyes, I know that if I let him through he would devour this world and all the ones beyond it. He cannot help that this is what he is. No more than I can.
 
I dig in my feet and reach out into the heart of the Breach. I feel the membrane that separates that which //is// from that which //could be//, feel the frayed edges. I gather them all together in my hand, spin them like a cage around the building. 

It was good while it lasted.

I heave with all my strength of will, collapsing the Transcendental around the building. As the wall of timelessness falls towards me, I only hope that the others have escaped. I hope that I have not trapped them with me.

**Conclusion**

There are many stories of the FIF brutality on that night I have not told here. However, there is another story, a story from before that day, which I think is even more damning. I will not tell it in full, because it is not entirely mine: it is the story of my closest friend, Fall Ever Faster. 

Fall Ever Faster was a reformed Muse. She was Censored by The Academy for her crimes, but repented and tried to do better. What's more, she joined the AOT as a secretary. In her time with The Academy she tempered justice with mercy, she offered kindness unconditionally to all she encountered. She was a not a fighter, she never held a weapon.

The FIF murdered her.