The sky didn't shatter. It opened.
It began with a glow. A strange, shimmering hue that crept into the horizon like ink bleeding through parchment. First violet. Then crimson. Then a color Sam couldn't name — like light and shadow had birthed something alien between them.
He stood alone on the crude wooden tower overlooking the Shal'Ka camp, breath held in awe and fear. The night had always offered some comfort since his arrival in this forgotten age — cool breezes, firelit laughter, distant howls that promised wildness but not doom.
Tonight was different.
"Sam!" a voice called from below.
Tek, limping slightly, was climbing the notched logs like a determined monkey, his sling still on after the lion attack. "You have to see—"
"I see it," Sam said, his voice low and tight.
They watched together.
Above the canopy, the stars bowed to a new presence — a glyph had etched itself into the heavens. A spiral nested within an equilateral triangle, all bound by three thin rings that pulsed faintly as if alive. It didn't move like clouds or stars. It hovered, arrogant and sharp, asserting its unnatural right to exist.
Tek gasped. "That… that's not fire. That's not the moon."
Sam didn't answer. He couldn't.
Because deep inside his pocket, the Crown Stone had begun to vibrate.
Then — it spoke.
"🧠 Memory Node Active. Seeding Signature Detected.""Pattern Match: Observer Class. Tesseract Network Echo: 1% Integrity.""Status: Earth-T-0843. Year Index: -9982. Seeding Cycle… disrupted."
His knees buckled.
"Sam?!" Tek caught his elbow.
The watchtower spun. He dropped to one knee, clutching his head as searing heat shot down his spine. But it wasn't pain—it was input.
Memories.
Not his.
He saw forests burning—not with fire, but with light. Machines gliding like birds, leaving trails of metallic spores in their wake. Creatures, half-organic, half-clockwork, kneeling in reverence before a spire that floated in the sky. Earth — or a version of it — seeded with life, with rules, with experiments.
"This is not your world," whispered the voice inside the stone."This is a template."
The vision snapped shut like a bear trap.
Sam gasped for air, sweat pouring from his forehead. Tek gripped his shoulder, terrified.
"Did it… speak again?"
Sam nodded slowly, eyes wide with horror. "That glyph. I've seen it. On the artifact. It's the same."
"Then it's a sign," Tek said, almost whispering.
Sam stood, slow and shaking. "No… not a sign."
He looked up.
"It's a message."
Below, chaos reigned.
Children screamed, women wailed, warriors argued.
Elder Karun stood tall near the fire, arms stretched to the stars.
"The Eye has returned!" he cried. "As it did before the Burning Ice! As it did when the gods left us with only stone and fear!"
One warrior knelt. "Shall we pray? Shall we burn offerings?"
"No," said another, gripping a spear. "We sharpen blades."
Sam descended into their madness like a storm. "Silence!" he barked.
Dozens of eyes turned. Even Karun quieted.
"That thing in the sky," Sam said, stepping into the firelight, "is not a god."
Whispers rippled.
"Then what is it?" a woman asked, clutching her son.
"It's a beacon. A call. Something… or someone, is listening."
"And what are you to it, Fireblooded?" Karun asked carefully.
Sam hesitated.
A second passed. Then two.
"I don't know," he said, truthfully.
That shook them more than any lie.
Back in his hut, Sam sat for hours.
He barely noticed Tek entering with bark, charcoal, and animal glue.
"You asked for this," Tek said.
Sam nodded. He took the items and began crafting.
The Crown pulsed gently each time his hands moved toward drawing the glyph again — the one from the sky, and from the artifact. He crushed the charcoal finer, mixed it into paste, then began sketching on cured bark.
The triangle came first. Then the spiral. Then the rings.
Each time he etched a line correctly, the Crown vibrated—like it approved.
"Language," Sam murmured. "Or… encryption?"
Tek sat quietly, watching.
"You know," Sam added, not looking up, "you're the only one here who doesn't treat me like a god."
"That's because you bleed," Tek said.
Sam smiled. "Fair point."
That night, Karun came.
He entered the hut silently and sat without invitation.
"There are songs," he said softly, "that speak of the Eye."
Sam looked up. "What kind of songs?"
"Forbidden ones," Karun replied. "Tales the ancients whispered only when drunk enough to forget their oaths."
He reached into his robe and unfolded a cloth bundle.
Inside was a piece of animal skin—old, brittle, ink-faded.
On it: a drawing. Crude. Shaky.
But unmistakable.
The same glyph.
"You've seen this before," Sam said.
Karun nodded. "Only once. When I was a child. The stars pulsed like blood. My grandfather opened the Vault of Ash and showed us this. He said, 'They will return not for peace, but for what was left behind.'"
Sam touched the skin reverently.
"You've always known I'm not one of you."
Karun smiled sadly. "We knew from the moment you arrived. But we also knew… the gods we feared might be men in strange clothes. Or monsters in kind ones."
Sam blinked at him. "So what am I?"
Karun rose, looking tired.
"I think… you're the coin. Not the side."
He left without another word.
Alone, Sam stared at his drawing again.
Then the Crown flared.
A new glyph appeared beside it — small, simple.
Like a reply.
"Signal Detected: Observer Class — Retrieval Pending."
He froze.
"Someone's coming," he whispered. "Or… someone's already here."
He stumbled outside, drawn to the stars.
They didn't twinkle tonight.
They felt like eyes.
Watching. Studying. Calculating.
The fire had given the tribe warmth.
But now it had lit a signal fire in the heavens.
And Sam?
He was no longer just a myth in the minds of a lost tribe.
He was a target.