In the heart of Eden, where glass towers gleamed and technology hummed with unyielding efficiency, the sprawling Media Tower stood as a symbol of absolute control. Its sleek obsidian exterior absorbed the city's dazzling light, casting a long shadow across the immaculate streets below. Every citizen knew the building housed the central nervous system of Eden's media empire—where all the news, entertainment, and information passed through the filters of the Lantrun family. And now, that system was in the grip of something far more urgent.
Inside the tower's largest conference room, all the titans of Eden's media conglomerates had assembled. The heavy doors sealed behind them with a faint hiss, locking them into what felt more like a bunker than a boardroom. There were no windows, no connection to the outside world beyond what the screens on the walls showed them—each one flashing with the symbol of Eden: a golden star engulfing the Earth. The attendees shifted nervously in their seats, whispering among themselves. It wasn't often that the High Inquisitor himself, Orin Lantrun, summoned them. When he did, it was never without dire reason.
Sitting among the most powerful individuals in Eden's media landscape were the owners of broadcast networks, digital platforms, and news agencies. Each of them had built empires under the watchful eyes of the Lantrun family. To them, the meeting was no ordinary one—it was a gathering that would define the direction of all media in Eden for the foreseeable future. In attendance were not just the heads of the news agencies, but also major social media influencers, community leaders, and celebrity managers. They all understood the stakes. Failing the High Inquisitor meant more than professional ruin. It meant erasure.
The room fell silent as the doors swung open once more. Orin Lantrun entered with slow, deliberate steps, his presence immediately shifting the atmosphere. Dressed in a perfectly tailored black suit, the High Inquisitor exuded an air of cold authority. He was young, barely older than most of Eden's social media stars, but the gravity in his icy blue eyes belied his years. His expression was one of calculated indifference, as if he were already judging their usefulness to Eden's future.
He moved to the head of the conference table, pausing to let the tension simmer before speaking. His voice, when it came, was calm but laced with an underlying menace.
"Ladies and gentlemen," Orin began, scanning the room, "we are at a pivotal moment in the history of Eden."
The screens behind him flickered, showing the recent broadcast that had shaken the world—the destruction of Slaver's Bay by Eden's nuclear might. In stunning detail, the mushroom clouds and the annihilation of those ancient cities played out once more, as the gathered media heads looked on. Many had already seen the footage, but witnessing it again, in such a controlled and silent setting, made the devastation all the more chilling.
"The cities of Slaver's Bay have been wiped from existence," Orin continued, his voice as cold as the imagery behind him. "The Supreme Leader did what had to be done. For years, he tried to negotiate with the slavers. He extended the hand of peace. But they answered with armies, with defiance, with arrogance. And so, we responded. As of now, those who once perpetuated the horrors of slavery have been erased. But... the world is watching. And now, it is your job to ensure that Eden is seen as the righteous force that it is."
He paused, letting the weight of his words settle in the room. The assembled group exchanged uneasy glances. Orin's reputation as the enforcer of Eden's ideological purity was well-known, and none wanted to be the one to ask the wrong question.
Jonas Rahl, the head of the largest news network in Eden, cleared his throat. His voice wavered slightly, betraying his nerves. "High Inquisitor... with all due respect, why do we need to spin the narrative? Surely, the destruction of Slaver's Bay speaks for itself. They were slavers. The world should understand that Eden did what was necessary."
Orin's gaze sharpened, pinning Jonas to his seat with an almost physical force. "Do you believe the world understands justice, Jonas? Do you think the minds of our enemies, of those who thrive in corruption and violence, will naturally gravitate toward the truth?"
Jonas swallowed hard, his bravado crumbling under Orin's scrutiny. "No, of course not, High Inquisitor. I only meant—"
"You meant to question my directive," Orin interrupted, his voice a frigid blade. "Understand this, all of you: truth is a tool. It can be wielded, bent, shaped. And in Eden, we wield it. The older citizens, those who fled slavery, understand the cost of freedom. They will not question what we did. They remember the chains. But the younger generation, those who have only ever known Eden's light—they will ask why."
Orin stepped away from the table, pacing slowly around the room. His presence was oppressive, each step calculated, his voice steady and unyielding.
"The younger citizens, especially those in the creative sectors, those in education—they may start to question the morality of what we did. They may ask why we did not find another way. They will wonder if we were the aggressors. These are dangerous thoughts. And it is your job to ensure that they do not take root."
A nervous silence fell over the room. The weight of Orin's expectation was palpable.
Lena, one of the most prominent social media influencers, raised a tentative hand. "High Inquisitor, if I may... how exactly do we frame this? I mean, the destruction is... it's hard to ignore. The footage is everywhere."
Orin turned to Lena, his expression unreadable. "We do not hide what was done. The footage will remain. But you will spin it. You will emphasize the countless attempts our Supreme Leader made to broker peace. You will highlight the evil of those cities—the cruelty, the inhumanity. Frame Eden as the reluctant hero, forced into action by the barbarism of others."
He leaned forward slightly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "And you will distract them. Flood the networks with stories of Eden's triumphs, of celebrity gossip, of meaningless dramas. Create a narrative so compelling, so all-consuming, that the truth becomes... irrelevant."
Orin straightened up again, turning back to the group as a whole. "You will saturate every channel, every platform. Documentaries, films, TV series—everything must point to one simple fact: Eden is righteous. Eden is just. And anyone who says otherwise will be dealt with."
The words hung in the air, a threat that needed no further elaboration. Everyone in the room knew what it meant to cross the High Inquisitor.
Jonas, still shaken, managed to find his voice again. "And if someone does question it? Publicly?"
Orin's smile was cold, devoid of warmth. "Then they will cease to exist. Their name, their presence, everything they have built will be erased. Just like the cities of Slaver's Bay."
A chill ran through the room as the reality of Orin's words set in. Failure wasn't just personal ruin—it was erasure from history itself.
Orin glanced at the clock on the wall, signaling the end of the meeting. "You have your orders. Eden's people must never doubt us. You are the gatekeepers of their reality. Do not fail us."
As Orin turned to leave, the gathered media heads and influencers began to murmur amongst themselves, already strategizing how to carry out the High Inquisitor's directive. They knew the stakes—this was no ordinary propaganda campaign. It was a full-scale war for the minds of Eden's citizens. And in that war, there could be no mistakes.
The door slid shut behind Orin, leaving the room in a tense silence. The weight of the task ahead loomed large.