The lie did not come screaming.
It came polished.
Rhen first saw it etched into a coral-slate carried by a trader who looked genuinely apologetic. The tablet bore the seal of the High Tides Council and the careful language of concern.
ANONYMOUS TESTIMONY MISUSED.
CITY LOGS COMPROMISED.
WHISTLE SYSTEM EXPLOITED BY MALIGN ACTORS.
Rhen felt the weight stir—alert, cold.
Nymera read it once, then again, her jaw tightening. "They're not attacking transparency," she said. "They're attacking trust."
By noon, the narrative had spread.
A forged anonymous testimony circulated—claiming an expedited response had been secretly extended beyond sunset. Screenshots followed. Partial logs. Carefully cropped.
People gathered at the bowl with furrowed brows and folded arms.
Skelda slammed a hand against the stone. "It's fake."
"That's not enough," Nymera said quietly.
Rhen nodded. "Proof beats truth when fear's involved."
The city hummed uneasily, its cadence uneven for the first time in days.
A Moonbound warden stepped forward, eyes conflicted. "If anonymity can be abused, how do we trust anything said without a name?"
The question landed hard.
Nymera didn't answer immediately. She turned to the tiers. "If we remove anonymity, who stops speaking?"
Silence.
A human dockhand raised her hand slowly. "I would," she said. "I can't risk my kids."
A merfolk apprentice nodded. "So would I."
Rhen felt the fracture widen—thin, dangerous.
Nymera took a breath. "Then we don't remove anonymity," she said. "We strengthen verification."
Skelda frowned. "How?"
"Dual custody," Nymera replied. "Anonymous testimony requires corroboration by process, not person. Time stamps. Cross-channel consistency. Independent observers rotated randomly."
Rhen added, "And a public challenge window. Claims stand only if they survive daylight."
The Moonbound warden hesitated. "And if a false claim passes anyway?"
Rhen met her gaze. "Then we own it—and fix it publicly."
The city listened—calculating the cost.
Before a vote could be called, a ripple moved through the canals—not pressure, not hunger.
Attention.
Nymera stiffened. "They're watching this."
"Let them," Rhen said. "So are we."
The verification ran fast.
Engineers traced the forged testimony's timing—found a mismatch with ward cycles. Observers cross-checked flow patterns—no extension recorded. The cropped images were revealed by uncropped logs—available, unchanged.
Nymera stood before the bowl as the findings were read aloud.
"This was an attempt to discredit the process," she said. "Not the outcome."
The city exhaled—some in relief, some in embarrassment.
Skelda's voice cut clean. "The claim is dismissed. The anonymity system stands—with upgrades."
Applause rose—muted, thoughtful.
That night, the Councils escalated again.
Not with lies this time—but with invitations.
Panels. Advisory seats. "Partnerships" offered publicly, terms privately.
Rhen snorted when the first arrived. "They want the mic without the logs."
Nymera nodded. "They want to speak over people."
The city debated—hard.
A young human mediator stood. "If we refuse every offer, we look closed."
Nymera agreed. "Then we don't refuse. We reframe."
The counter-offer went out at dawn.
Open panels. Public agendas. Recorded deliberations. Rotating facilitators chosen by lot. No vetoes.
The Councils' responses were… selective.
Vael accepted—conditionally. Morcant declined—publicly.
The city watched.
Rhen felt the weight shift—not heavier.
Directional.
At dusk, a different test arrived.
A voice from the tiers—shaking, anonymous—alleged coercion by a city warden. Not fabricated this time. Messy. Uncomfortable.
The city froze.
Nymera's eyes closed for a heartbeat. "This one's real."
Rhen felt it too—the pattern didn't lie.
Skelda swallowed. "Then we investigate."
Publicly.
The warden was removed from duty pending review. Support was offered to the speaker. Details were logged with care.
It hurt.
It held.
That night, Nymera stood alone on the bridge longer than usual.
Rhen joined her, quiet. "You protected the mic," he said.
She nodded. "And learned it can cut."
He took her hand. "Cuts that heal are still worth it."
Below them, the canals flowed steady.
Far beyond the fjords, the narrative faltered—not broken, but complicated.
And hunger—unused to complication—waited.