The surveillance chamber pulsed in crimson light. Twenty-three senior minds stood silent, shadows drawn long and trembling.
Dr. Tian Wei braced himself against the console, shoulders trembling under the weight of 189 lives buried beneath fractured Earth. Elena stood at his side, her lips pale with tension. Kai and Amara flanked them, every nerve sharpened by terror.
The clock read 3:54 PM. Two minutes since the strike that nearly broke their world.
"Bedrock depth: one hundred twenty meters," Tian muttered, his voice low, almost prayerful. "We… might still be invisible."
On the displays, defense systems held at 87% capacity. Fragile numbers, but numbers that meant hope.
Elsewhere, children clung to parents inside reinforced pods—seventy-two hours of air and water between innocence and oblivion. Blast doors sealed like coffins, splitting families with tearful goodbyes.
The remaining adults scavenged for weapons. Plasma cutters became rifles, mining blasters became cannons, stun batons crackled in unfamiliar hands. Scientists, scholars, and engineers—clumsy soldiers arming themselves with desperation.
In the lobby, voices rose in whispers of faith. Mandarin. Arabic. Spanish. English. Different prayers, same fear. Even the faithless prayed in silence.
Then the impossible appeared.
"External Camera Unit 7—" Lisa Zhang's gasp cut the silence.
The black fog parted.
Above the abyss, vortexes spiraled open like wounds in reality, sucking the darkness aside. Thirteen hours of night fractured. Threads of daylight poured through.
And there it was.
A colossal shadow, wings spanning nearly four hundred meters, carved across the sky. Obsidian feathers blotted the heavens, yet moved with an unnatural, elegant stillness. Every flap stirred unseen currents that withered plants below.
The camera zoomed.
A head emerged. Twelve green orbs—eyes larger than men—glowed with an ancient, unbearable intelligence. A corvid beak jutted forward, sharp enough to tear steel.
But in that gaze—there was no hatred. Only something stranger. Patience.
Then—
The facility vibrated. Walls groaned. Consoles rattled. The voice came not through speakers, but through matter itself.
"You humans," it spoke.
Not male. Not female. Not young. Not old. The tone was timeless, the weight infinite.
"I am a traveler. I mean no harm."
Silence.
Power absolute. Words impossibly gentle.
"I have come to guide you… to salvation. Come."
The contradiction shattered human minds.
Twenty-three collapsed instantly—neurons fried by the impossibility of what they heard. Medical alarms screamed. Dr. Kim rushed from console to console, bodies shaking under neural overload. Hyperventilation. Cardiac failure. Seizures.
The survivors clung to reason by threads.
Tian's hands clenched white against the console.
Elena pressed trembling fingers to her chest, as though steadying a failing heart.
Kai's neural interface sparked, data streams frying in overload.
Amara's mind raced—probability matrices breaking, collapsing, reforming.
And yet… above them, the sky healed.
Darkness retreated. Shafts of sunlight cut across land. Plants uncurled trembling leaves, like awakening from nightmare. Birds rose, tentative, singing as if testing hope itself.
The creature hovered. Patient. Motionless. Two hundred meters above the surface, neither striking nor retreating. A god waiting for an answer.
Now humanity faced the choice.
Accept the traveler's call—risk salvation or annihilation.
Remain buried—count days until supplies withered away.
Seek negotiation—bargain with something beyond comprehension.
In sealed pods, children slept. Futures unborn, depending on a decision no human had prepared to make.
The twelve emerald eyes burned down upon them. Eternal. Alien. Expectant.
On this blade-edge moment, history paused.
And Tian Wei whispered the truth that no one else dared:
"Our choice… will echo across eternity."