Part 1: The Challenger

210: "A voice came from above and spoke to the man, 'An important thing will happen to you.'"
The lecturer is young and proud, standing like a newly sprouted grapevine growing upright.
210: "What will it be? The man asked."
210: "You will gain wealth, you will gain fame. You will walk in the garden of wisdom and happiness. The voice answered."
210: "Thus, until he died, he spent his life waiting for his fortune, and it never arrived."
The lecturer walks from one side of the square to the other, an unfurled scroll in his hands.
210: The voice from above brought promises—a glimpse of his forthcoming fate.
210: He believed in the promise, and, in doing so, forged his own tragic end.
37: ...
A soft, contented cooing comes from the audience.
37: ... Mhmm ...
Sophia: 37 ... 37 ...
The whisper fails to awaken the sleeping girl.
After hesitating for a moment, Sophia reaches out and gently shakes 37.
37: ... Hmm ... Huh? What's happening ... ?
37 rubs her eyes, lifts her disheveled hair, and looks around in a daze.
37: ... Has 210 finished his speech yet?
Sophia: Not yet, but you were sleeping so soundly just now that you were snoring a bit. I was worried they might hear you ...
Sophia: And ... it doesn't seem polite to sleep during someone else's speech ...
Sophia: Especially for 210, you know how much he enjoys delivering these lectures. He's always so concerned about whether he has the audience's attention ...
37: Surely though it's worse to hinder others from acquiring knowledge like this?
37: Truth should neither rely on such rhetoric nor be so opaque in presentation. I fail to see how there could be any real knowledge in all this flamboyance.
37: Yawn, so you see, I'm simply lessening his sins ... At least the rhythm of his speech makes for a fine sleeping aid ...
37 yawns softly and leans against Sophia.
Yet the rhetoric about fate, path, and glory of self-selection continues to pour into their ears.
37: ...
37 opens her eyes once more to see Sophia gazing forward intently beneath her red hair.
37: Are you truly so rapt by this topic?
Sophia: ... I suppose I'm not sure yet.
Sophia: People have always cared about their fate, about what will happen tomorrow and the next day.
Sophia: I don't know my own number yet. I don't understand my essence, let alone fate ...
Sophia's gaze drops to her clasped hands resting in her lap.
Sophia: His lecture does make sense: working hard and striving forward is obviously a good thing.
Sophia: But I feel like I still haven't found my way.
Sophia: I only just arrived here, there's still so much for me to learn ...
Sophia's voice is subdued, fading until finally reaching a whisper.
She takes a deep breath, as if to revitalize her spirit, and lifts her eyes to look at 37.
Sophia: What about you, 37? Aren't you curious at all about your fate?
Sophia: Ah ...
37: ... Mhmm ...
37 breathes out a steady huff.
37: ○ ... is not the greatest prime number ...
Obviously, she needs sleep, and she is especially adept at falling into deep slumbers.
210's impassioned rhetoric is apparently so tedious to her that she can't hold her eyes open even another moment.
210: "When the man lay sick in bed, he cried up to the voice from above, asking, 'When will all that you have promised finally arrive?'"
210: "The voice from above scorned him, saying, 'It has already come and gone, only you never sought it out.'"
210: "So the man lamented his cowardice, his idleness, and all the fortunes he had lost."
210: That's why we should be vigilant about our own fortunes. We must keep our vision clear, listen to our own voice, and not stagnate waiting for the promises of others.
210: If we succumb to cowardice, or complacency, even those gifts promised to us by fate can slip away.
210: Human innovation and knowledge come from courage, a thirst for truth, and constant curiosity.
210: It is for this reason that we must forge our own paths and control our own fates—
He raises his hand high, and the future rhetorician begins to emerge.
As he makes his eloquent speech, a pile of seashells amasses before him, one by one, representing the audience's support.
He is satisfied, but not completely.
210: Fate—yes, and as we're discussing fate, we cannot ignore the fate of those sitting among us.
210: Our star of Hermes, fell upon fate at birth, bringing us hope for enlightenment.
210: We could let her speak, to show her light hasn't diminished, but it seems sleep has taken hold of her, preventing her from shining.
210 turns around and points abruptly to the other side.
210: But fortunately, there are still those among us who can represent the inevitability of fate.
He extends his hand, palm up, fingers forward, in an inviting gesture.
The crowd disperses like startled fish, revealing a young man.
210: Come, Atticus, my friend—he who will receive the "revelation."
210: You are destined to become the perfect number, to receive all the wisdom and all the promises due—our future leader of Apeiron.
210: Don't let silence swallow that light. Please articulate to us your views about fate and share your wisdom.
The young man, given a prestigious title, does not stand out in the crowd. His gaze slides over the inviting hand and rests on an empty spot in the air beside it.
Atticus: This is your speech, not mine, 210.
210: But surely no one understands fate better than you, our perfect "6", awaiting the arrival of your fate every moment, every day.
The young orator holds the moment with anticipation—yes, if anyone deserves to show wisdom comparable to his own it would be his present target.
He greedily seeks the arrival of what he imagines to be an evenly-matched debate.
Atticus: ... I ...
All eyes move to surround Atticus. Accustomed to being invisible in a crowd, he attempts to turn slightly as if to escape the challenge and the weight of their gaze.
Sophia: Hmm, Atticus doesn't seem too happy. What is this "revelation" that 210 is talking about?
37: Oh nothing important. Just a lot of nonsense.
37: All leaders are supposed to receive a special "revelation" when their soul numbers are revealed. It's the sign of a 6's succession to leadership.
37: Like the oracle of Apollo in Delphi.
The commotion must have disturbed her sleep, or perhaps it is the peacocking of the orator that awakens her.
Sophia: It all sounds incredible. Are you saying they can hear the voice of the gods ... ? Or is this something about numbers ... ?
The redhead, still new to the island, seems in awe.
However, 37 thinks it's no big deal.
37: But the leader's number has always been 6, so there's nothing new about this "revelation." We already know the outcome.
37: 210 uses far too many meaningless words. Why not just call him 6?
Sophia: You mean, call Atticus 6? But isn't the current 6 "that person" ...?
37: Oh, yes, Atticus hasn't received the "revelation" yet.
37: But he will be 6 eventually. It's in his destiny.
Atticus: —I don't really know about that.
The young man's voice grows louder, interrupting the distant whispers.
Sophia: ... !
210: How can that be?
210: You are number 6, we all know. You will become number 6 and possess everything a 6 should have—infinite wisdom, supreme vision, a sharp mind, and the poise of a leader.
210: Since you inherited the bloodline of the prophecy, your "revelation" has been predestined since your birth. It's even more clear than a voice from above.
210: See how similar you are to the person in the story. You both heard the prophecy, and you both know your own fates.
210: What did you gain from it? And what did you hear?
It is a bold challenge.
A verbal challenge from the proud peacock to the island's future leader.
210: You didn't throw your seashell; I want to know why, perhaps you can illuminate some of your ever hidden thoughts.
210: My friend, it is through the clashing of minds in a debate that we can gain a deeper understanding of one another. I pray you will share—
"Clack."
210: ...
His speech is interrupted by a crisp clattering sound. He looks down to see a new addition to the seashells at his feet. His hoped-for opponent gently tossed his "challenge" aside along with the shell.
210 cannot read anything other than "humiliation" in the shell.
Atticus: You misunderstand, 210. I have no thoughts on fate ...
Atticus finally meets his gaze.
Atticus: I don't have an answer to your question.