4:31 PM.
The two colossal feathers shimmered in the sunlight one final time. Then—like ancient scrolls burning away in silence—they dissolved into drifting motes of black starlight.
When the last ember faded, only two orbs remained.
Perfect spheres, black as the abyss itself, pulsing faintly with hidden galaxies inside. They did not shine so much as they consumed light, bending it inward, every pulse of their core a heartbeat that did not belong to this world.
Relics.Not weapons, not tools. Something more. A piece of Kakabhushundi's essence itself.
Tian reached for one. His glove sensors screamed with indecipherable readings, numbers spiraling off charts. Yet in his palm, the orb felt alive—a strange warmth radiating from its impossible surface.
Amara secured the second, her gaze sharp yet reverent. "Even our technology… it can't name this."
But before awe could root itself—
The horizon darkened.
4:34 PM.
The black miasma rolled back in. A cosmic tide, sweeping at two hundred meters per minute, reclaiming what light had briefly been restored. Leaves shriveled, grass turned to dust, life once again snuffed under the suffocating shroud.
"Complex Control—emergency extraction! Seal surface in sixty seconds!" Tian barked, his voice cutting through the rising static.
They ran. The earth itself seemed to chase them.
The titanium gates slammed shut behind their descent, sealing the complex in steel and electromagnetic firewalls. Through the narrow viewport, they watched the world vanish again—devoured by darkness.
What Kakabhushundi had given them… was already gone.
The descent back underground felt like sinking into safety. Each passing meter shed tension from their shoulders, though hearts still thundered in disbelief.
And then—the doors opened.
Level 2's lobby erupted in cheers. One hundred and eighty-seven voices screamed in relief, laughter and tears mingling into a single roar of life.
Elena broke through the crowd, tears streaming down her face as she threw her arms around Tian. "We thought you were gone! Lost to the void forever!"
Tian, normally stone, allowed himself a rare smile. "Not lost. Not yet."
Amara spoke then, her words rising like a song. She painted the vision of Kakabhushundi with reverence—his wings spanning the sky, his voice threading through atoms, his relics given as proof.
Fear melted into wonder. Skeptics fell silent. The two glowing orbs pulsed softly, demanding belief with their very presence.
To scientists, they were impossible data.To the faithful, they were sacred artifacts.To children, they were hope made real.
Tian raised his voice above the din, firm but warm.
"Tonight, we live! Tonight, we feast! Celebrate survival, divine contact, and the hope that has returned to us!"
The command was not luxury. It was strategy. Unity through joy. Strength through shared breath.
The dining hall blazed with light.Laughter and music filled the air.Tables overflowed with carefully rationed food, freed for one night.
Children ran, shouting with wild joy. Parents watched with eyes wet from equal parts relief and grief. Languages from every corner of the earth blended together in a hymn to survival.
It was not just a feast. It was humanity's defiance, a declaration: we are still here.
And yet—behind Tian's calm smile lay unspoken truth.
The darkness had returned.Supplies dwindled.Every calculation pointed toward collapse.
Only one path remained—the eastward call, the promise of salvation wrapped in mystery.
So as laughter echoed through steel corridors, quiet preparations began. Weapons charged. Medics sorted supplies. Engineers checked transport systems.
Some would march into the unknown.Some would stay, guarding the fragile sanctuary.
But tonight, none of that mattered.
7:47 PM.
The celebration softened to quiet conversation. Dreams and fears mingled. Whispers of divine wings and ancient eyes traveled like myths already being born.
The two orbs pulsed gently in the center of the hall, beating like twin hearts, reminding them all—
They were not alone anymore.
The darkness above waited.The east beckoned.
And in that fragile warmth, 189 souls clung to hope, not knowing whether tomorrow would bring salvation… or the abyss.