Preface of "ONE DAY IN LOCUS NULLIS"
In the city of Locus Nullis, where regulations throw shadows and algorithms track the pulse of life, a silent boldness emerges. Aira, the teacher of unseen truths, walks the fine line between order and heart; her gaze is steady, her hands kind, defying the hard eyes of control. Through her, we see how whispers of boldness and the delicate light of sincerity may reverberate through the lattice of steel and code, confirming that conscience blossoms where measurements fail. This story acts on the brink of fiction, and it raises questions such as how we assess, hope, and rise when the system cannot see our emotions.
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ONE DAY IN LOCUS NULLIS
A Fantasy Short Story
by Leni Marlina
(Indonesia)
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Aira heard the question before she opened her eyes: “If today your name vanished from the system, would you still believe that God never makes a mistake?” She could not tell where the voice came from, whether it rose from her own thoughts, from the fear she had long pressed into silence, or from the wounded sky of Arctura that never quite healed. The voice was soft but heavy enough to tighten her chest.
It was that indistinct hour when night had not fully retreated, and dawn had not yet arrived. Arctura existed in a dim pause between the two, suspended like a prayer unfinished. From the small window of her modest dwelling, Aira watched a thin green line glow across the central district’s energy dome. It resembled a crack in the sky, hinting that a civilization built on machinery could never be whole. She rose before her biometric alarm spoke her name. Machines waited for commands; humans woke from hope, fear, or burdens too human to articulate.
Water flowed for only fifteen minutes in the outskirts, just enough time to wash, pray, and gather herself before entering a day she already sensed would be heavy. The central district had more water than it needed, more privilege than it could see. Aira never envied them. Purity, she believed, was not measured in minutes, but in intention.
When the artificial sun flickered awake, she felt as if she were stepping onto a bright stage built by technicians rather than by God. Today the world around her felt especially narrow. It was the day The Registry would determine the fates of thousands of teachers. Regarding the system, teachers were numbers of digits that could be reassigned or erased. But humans continued to hope, even when that hope was nothing more than a fine crack beneath the weight of algorithms.
Aira walked to school along the low-gravity pathway where vehicles floated overhead like privileges she could never afford. Locus Nullis, her teaching district, was a place that existed clearly enough to be plotted on maps yet too insignificant to be mentioned in official meetings. In the schoolyard, drones dropped boxes of science modules from the sky, and the children cheered as if a miracle had descended from metal wings. Their uniforms rarely matched; the patchwork of colors made the courtyard look like a world resisting standardization. Aira found comfort in that. In a city governed by code, children were the only ones who still chose their own colors.
The staffroom screen lit up shortly after she arrived. The room fell into a silence so tense it seemed to vibrate. Names scrolled down the display: green for security, yellow for suspended, red for erased. Aira’s name appeared among them.
AIRA NADHIRA — RED
She did not cry. She did not speak. She simply felt a small broken invisible crack somewhere inside her, painful in its quietness. Her sorrow had little to do with income or status. It came from knowing she had been measured by something incapable of understanding a human heart.
“I’ll go teach my class,” she said softly, before pity could reach her.
She entered her classroom and began teaching the circulatory system, a topic she loved because she believed biology was a reminder of divine design balanced, intricate, and full of whispered miracles. One student asked why birds never became dizzy when flying sideways. Aira smiled and answered, “Because God places their balance where we least expect it.” The children brightened; to them, she was not temporary. She was the teacher who made the world make sense.
But even as she spoke, the school’s systems flickered. Panels glitched. Surveillance drones hovered in unstable patterns. Aira noticed a rhythm in the failures, a pattern others overlooked. Something was wrong in the eastern wing.
She ran to the energy control room. Heat pressed against her skin. Indicator lights blinked like a faltering heartbeat. A small explosion was imminent, small but dangerous enough to injure dozens of children. When she tried to override the system, it rejected her credentials. Auxiliary staff like her had no authorization to save the future.
She whispered, “Ya Allah… You know better, then pulled the circuit manually. Sparks burst in a spray of blue. The sharp smell of burning metal filled the room. For a moment, the most advanced technology in Arctura yielded to a human act of courage.
The children would never know how close they had been to catastrophe. They only cheered when the lights returned. Aira trembled, knowing punishment might follow. Or perhaps mercy.
Hours later, a district vehicle took her to the administrative tower. A district officer questioned her with a mixture of disbelief and curiosity. “How did you know something was wrong?”
“Science showed the signs,” she replied. “God gave me the courage.”
The officer studied her, then glanced at the screen as her status updated:
REVISED: AIRA NADHIRA — GREEN (RETAINED)
Aira lowered her gaze. “I didn’t do it for the status. I did it because the children trust me.”
The officer understood then why no algorithm could evaluate sincerity.
That evening, a real sunset, not an engineered one, rose behind the dome. The colors were soft, uneven, honest. Aira walked home beneath it, aware that Locus Nullis had not changed and the system had not changed. But she had. And sometimes, one changed soul is enough to save a small world that depends on it.
She understood, as she stepped into the soft dusk, that saving a single day is its own way of saving the future. And for her, that was enough.
The End
(Leni M_NN_Storynet (2)-13/1/2026)
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About the Author - Leni Marlina
Leni Marlina was born in Baso, Agam, West Sumatra, and is currently based in Padang, West Sumatra, Indonesia. She is a poet, writer, and lecturer in the English Literature Program, Faculty of Languages and Arts, Universitas Negeri Padang, where she has taught since 2006. Her recent publications include the single-author poetry collections "The Beloved Teachers" (2025) and "L-BEAUMANITY: Love, Beauty, and Humanity" (2025), as well as the "English Stories for Literacy" trilogy (2024–2025). Beyond poetry, she writes short stories, essays, literary criticism, and reviews, and translates a wide range of literary and journalistic texts. Her work consistently engages language as a space for reflection, empathy, and the affirmation of human dignity.
Alongside her academic career, Leni is actively involved in literary and cultural journalism. She works as a freelance writer and contributor for various digital platforms and is also entrusted as an editor and redactor for several media outlets. Among them are "Suara Anak Negeri News Com" and "Negeri News Com", where she focuses on issues of education, literacy, literature, culture, and humanitarian concerns. Both platforms are guided by a shared commitment to “voicing the voiceless.”
Her contributions to literature have received both national and international recognition. She was awarded Best Writer 2025 by SATU PENA West Sumatra at the 3rd International Minangkabau Literary Festival (IMLF-3), chaired by Sastri Bakry; received the ACC International Literary Prize 2005 from the ACC Shanghai Huiyu International Literary Creative Media Centre; and was honored by the international literary community The Rhythm of Vietnam (2025). Since 2025, Leni has served as the Indonesian Poetry Ambassador for the ACC Shanghai Huifeng International Literary Association (ACC SHILA), while also holding the position of ASEAN Director for ACC SHILA Poets. In the same year, she was appointed by the Capital Writers International Foundation as National Director (Indonesia) for the Panorama International Literary Festival (PILF), held in India in January–February 2026. For futher information, visit panoramafestival website.