They climbed through the afternoon, following Leila to a peak she'd scouted days before. It wasn't the highest, but it had a clear view east, and more importantly, cover—a cave system behind a waterfall that masked thermal signatures.
Aris set up her equipment, using satellite hijacking techniques she'd learned from a paranoid colleague. It took hours, but finally, she had a feed—not mainstream news, but a raw satellite data stream from a scientific research satellite she'd piggybacked onto.
The Gobi settlement appeared as a cluster of heat signatures on the infrared display. It was larger than Kael expected—dozens, maybe a hundred people. They moved about normally, unaware of the countdown ticking toward zero.
"Can we estimate the yield?" Erika asked, staring at the screen.
Aris called up overlays. "If they're using tactical warheads... maybe 50 kilotons. Enough to vaporize the settlement and leave the surrounding area poisoned for centuries."
The French teenager—his name was Pierre—started crying softly. No one comforted him. There was no comfort to give.
They watched through the night. Kael didn't sleep. He sat at the cave mouth, watching real stars, not satellite feeds. Aris joined him as the first hint of dawn tinged the sky.
"You should rest," he said.
"So should you."
He shrugged. "I'm not tired. Not really. I think... I think I could stay awake for days."
"Your body is optimizing," she said. "Conserving energy, managing resources. You'll still need sleep, but probably less. Maybe two hours a night."
"More time to think," Kael said bitterly. "Lucky me."
Aris sat beside him. "Why did you really say no to David?"
"Because he looked at us and saw tools. Or investments. Not people."
"And you think the world will see us as people?"
"I think we have to try." He looked at her. "You could have gone with him. You're baseline. You're not in danger like we are."
Aris was quiet for a long time. "When I was twelve, I had a teacher who told me science was about truth. Not comfort, not convenience. Truth." She picked up a stone, turned it in her hands. "You're the most important truth I've ever encountered. Walking away from that... it would be like a priest walking away from God."
"You don't believe in God," Kael pointed out.
"No. But I believe in truth. And the truth is, you're still human. Just... more." She looked at him. "And if humanity can't make room for 'more,' then maybe we don't deserve to continue."
From inside the cave, a gasp. They hurried back to the screen.
On the satellite feed, movement. Vehicles approaching the settlement from multiple directions. Tanks. Troop carriers.
"They're giving them a chance to surrender," Leila whispered.
They watched as figures emerged from the settlement—Longevos, hands raised. The military vehicles stopped a kilometer out. A standoff.
"Maybe they'll take them alive," Pierre said, hope in his voice.
Then, on the thermal imaging, they saw it. One of the Longevos moved suddenly, faster than human. A tank barrel twisted, crumpled like foil.
"Oh no," Aris breathed.
Chaos on the feed. The Longevos were fighting back. They moved like blurs, dismantling vehicles, disarming soldiers. But more soldiers came. And then...
A new heat signature appeared in the sky. Streaking downward.
"Missile," Aris said tonelessly.
It struck just outside the settlement. A flash of white heat on the screen. Then another. And another.
"They're not using nukes," Erika said, confused. "They're—"
"Testing," Aris realized. "They're testing our resilience. Seeing what it takes."
The settlement was burning now. But the heat signatures—the Longevos—were moving. Some were down, but others were fleeing into the desert, impossibly fast.
Then, the decision must have been made. Because the next signature was different. Larger. Slower.
"That's it," Aris whispered. "That's the warhead."
They all leaned closer, though part of them wanted to look away. Kael found he couldn't. He owed them that much—to witness.
The warhead detonated at ground level, right in the center of the settlement.
On the thermal feed, everything went white. Then, as the sensors adjusted, they saw the crater. The shockwave expanding. The fireball.
And within the fireball, heat signatures.
Moving.
"Impossible," someone breathed.
But there they were—dozens of bright spots in the inferno. Crawling. Standing. Staggering out of the blast zone.
"They're alive," Pierre said, his voice full of wonder and horror. "They're alive!"
The feed cut out then—either because the satellite moved on, or because someone didn't want the world to see what came next.
In the cave, no one spoke. The silence was heavier than any noise.
Finally, Leila said what they were all thinking: "So now they know. Nukes don't work. What comes next?"
Kael looked at the blank screen, then at his hands. He thought of the people staggering from nuclear fire. He thought of David's words: You'll want to see what comes after.
"This," he said, standing. "We build. We build something that can't be destroyed. Because now they're afraid. And when people are afraid of what can survive a nuclear bomb... they either run or they try harder."
Aris stood beside him. "Where do we start?"
Kael looked at the group—at Leila's determination, Erika's strength, Pierre's youth, the older man's grief. He thought of the settlement they could build, not as a hideout, but as a statement. A declaration that they existed, and they would continue.
"David mentioned Siberia," he said. "Remote. Defensible."
"You said no to him," Erika pointed out.
"I said no to his deal. Not to the location." Kael met each of their eyes. "We go. But on our terms. Not as someone's experiment. Not as someone's investment. As people. Building a home."
Leila nodded slowly. "How?"
"The same way we got here," Kael said. "Together."
As dawn broke fully over the Alps, they began to plan. Not just for survival, but for a future. For the first Chronopolis. For the Aeon Compact. For the thousand-year story that would begin in the ashes of a decision made in a cave, watching a screen.
Aris watched Kael as he spoke, outlining, organizing. She saw not just a man, but the seed of something that might outlast nations. And she knew, with a certainty that frightened her, that she would dedicate whatever years she had left to helping that seed grow.
The world had tried to prune them. They would become a forest.