The City Where Lies Cannot Survive -Rintu Anower

The city was called Veritas, and from above it looked like a living circuit board that silver roads glowing softly at night, towers breathing light, rivers humming with quiet energy. People said Veritas was not powered by electricity alone, but by something rarer: truth.

Junaid had grown up hearing that sentence so many times that it felt like a rhyme. Teachers said it. News screens repeated it. Even the automated announcement at the city gates whispered it in a calm, neutral voice: Hello everyone!

Yet Junaid, twelve years old and endlessly curious, had always wondered how a city could possibly run on something as invisible as truth.

On the morning everything changed, Junaid was late.

He ran through the narrow skywalks, his backpack bouncing against his shoulders. Transparent walls showed the city below and delivery drones gliding like birds, citizens walking calmly, holographic signs adjusting themselves as people passed. Above all of it stood the Core Spire, a needle of light rising into the clouds. That was where the city’s heart lived: the Truth Engine.

Junaid skidded into his classroom just as the bell chimed.

“You’re late,” said Zafar, grinning from the seat beside his.

“I know,” Junaid whispered, catching his breath. “My mother asked me if I finished my homework.”

Zafar raised an eyebrow. “And?”

“I told her yes,” Junaid admitted.

The grin slipped from Zafar’s face. “You lied?”

Before Junaid could answer, the lights above them flickered.

Just once. Quick. Like a blink.

The class went silent.

Everyone knew what flickering lights meant.

Manik, who sat near the window and rarely spoke unless necessary, slowly turned his head. His sharp eyes rested on Junaid.

“Did you feel that?” Manik asked quietly.

Junaid swallowed. He nodded.

Veritas reacted to lies.

Not immediately. Not dramatically. But even the smallest untruth disturbed the city’s balance like a stone dropped into still water.

Their teacher, Ms. Afsana, cleared her throat. “All right, children. Let’s begin.”

But Junaid couldn’t focus. His heart pounded harder with every passing minute. When the final bell rang, he rushed outside, Zafar and Manik following close behind.

“You shouldn’t joke about that,” Zafar said once they reached the lower plaza. “Even small lies weaken the system.”

“I didn’t mean to,” Junaid replied. “I just didn’t want her to be upset.”

Manik adjusted the strap of his bag. “That’s how lies usually begin.”

They stood beneath a public screen showing the daily Truth Index—a glowing number that measured the city’s honesty levels. Today, it was slightly lower than usual.

Zafar stared at it. “It’s dropping.”

Junaid felt something cold settle in his chest.

That evening, as Junaid walked home, the streets felt different. The lights were dimmer. The air hummed unevenly. At one corner, a service robot froze mid-step, its eyes blinking rapidly before rebooting.

At dinner, his mother asked again, “Did you really finish your homework?”

Junaid opened his mouth.

The lie sat on his tongue like a stone.

“No,” he said finally. “I didn’t.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Then the lights steadied.

The humming softened.

His mother nodded. “Thank you for telling me the truth. Finish it after dinner.”

That night, Junaid couldn’t sleep.

He kept thinking about the city, about how it seemed to listen. About how truth made it stronger and lies made it stumble.

The next day, Zafar burst into the schoolyard, breathless.

“The Core Spire restricted access,” he said. “My uncle works there. He says the Truth Engine is unstable.”

Manik’s expression darkened. “How unstable?”

“Enough that if the Truth Index drops further, parts of the city could shut down.”

Junaid felt his chest tighten. “Because of lies?”

“Because of accumulated lies,” Zafar said. “Thousands of small ones. Excuses. Half-truths. Things people say to avoid discomfort.”

The three stood in silence.

Then Manik spoke. “We should go to the Spire.”

Zafar blinked. “Are you serious? Kids aren’t allowed anywhere near the Core.”

“Rules are flexible when systems fail,” Manik replied calmly.

Junaid looked from one friend to the other. Fear tugged at him but so did responsibility.

“I started one of those lies,” he said quietly. “I want to help fix it.”

By dusk, they were moving through maintenance tunnels beneath the city. The walls glowed faintly, reacting to their presence. Pipes whispered with flowing energy. Above them, the Spire rose like a pillar of moonlight.

At a sealed door, Manik connected a small handheld device.

“How do you have that?” Zafar asked.

Manik shrugged. “My sister builds things.”

The door slid open.

Inside, the air felt heavy, not physically, but emotionally. As if every unspoken truth in the city had gathered there.

The Truth Engine floated at the center of a vast chamber that a sphere of light and data, constantly shifting. Streams of glowing symbols flowed into it from every direction.

But something was wrong.

Dark fractures ran through the light, like cracks in glass.

A voice echoed softly through the chamber.

“Honesty levels compromised.”

Zafar whispered, “It’s talking.”

The voice continued, calm but strained. “Truth sustains order. Deception introduces entropy.”

Junaid stepped forward, his legs trembling. “Can it hear us?”

“Yes,” the voice replied.

Manik inhaled sharply. “We’re just kids.”

“Truth recognizes no age,” said the Engine.

Zafar swallowed. “How do we help?”

The sphere pulsed. “Correction requires acknowledgment.”

Junaid felt the weight of every small lie he’d ever told press against his chest. He remembered pretending to understand lessons he didn’t. Saying he was fine when he wasn’t. Laughing at jokes he found cruel.

“I lied because I was afraid,” he said aloud. “Afraid of disappointing people. Afraid of being judged.”

The fractures shimmered.

Zafar stepped forward. “I exaggerate to feel important. I say things I haven’t done. Things I haven’t earned.”

Another shimmer.

Manik hesitated, then spoke softly. “I stay silent when I should speak. I let wrong things pass because honesty feels risky.”

The chamber grew warmer. Brighter.

The cracks in the sphere began to close.

“Truth restored through courage,” the Engine said. “However, repair requires expansion.”

“Expansion?” Junaid asked.

“Truth must move beyond this chamber,” the voice replied. “It must be lived.”

The lights surged.

Screens across the city flickered to life, showing ordinary people like shopkeepers, students, officials pausing, thinking, choosing their words more carefully.

The Truth Index began to rise.

By the time the three friends stumbled back into the open air, dawn was breaking. Veritas glowed brighter than Junaid had ever seen it.

At school, Ms. Afsana smiled as they entered. “Good morning. Today, we begin a new lesson.”

“What lesson?” Zafar asked.

She tapped the board, where a single sentence appeared:

A nation is built on what its people dare to say honestly.

Junaid glanced at his friends. Manik nodded once. Zafar grinned, but softer this time.

The city outside hummed steadily, alive and balanced.

And Junaid finally understood.

Veritas wasn’t powered by machines that detected lies.

It was powered by people brave enough to let lies go.

And that, he knew, was the kind of future worth protecting.