Earth was quiet.
Too quiet.
While the galaxy burned near the Oort Cloud, cities below held their breath. No sirens. No panic broadcasts. Just the low hum of emergency generators and the rustle of leaves in wind that didn't know it carried the fate of everything.
In a reinforced med-bunker beneath Geneva, Scarlett Kane lay on a narrow cot, drenched in sweat, fingers digging into the sheets. Her skin still glowed faintly—the afterimage of the cosmic healing she'd poured into the void hours ago. But here, now, she was just a woman in labor. Alone. Exhausted. Terrified.
"Push, Scarlett," said Dr. Aris, her voice calm but tight. "He's coming fast."
"I know he's coming fast," Scarlett snapped, then winced as another contraction ripped through her. "I've done this before—"
"No," Aris cut in gently. "Not like this."
She was right.
This wasn't just birth.
It was convergence.
