It began with a sky that bled a color no one had ever seen before.
Not crimson. Not violet. Not indigo.
Something darker. Something... alive.
From orbit, satellites caught the anomaly seconds before it hit. It wasn't a typical solar flare—it didn't originate from the sun at all. Instead, it bent around it, like light from a faraway mirror aimed precisely at Earth. The flare carried no heat. It emitted no traditional radiation. It was data—dense, radiant bursts of encoded energy.
Scientists called it the Singularity Pulse.
It struck the Earth's ionosphere at exactly 4:44 a.m., blanketing the skies in a hue that defied explanation—Vanta-Blue, darker than black, absorbing every trace of light. Strange lines danced through it, glitching like broken code.
For eleven minutes, the world held its breath.
Planes froze in midair. Screens went blank. Satellites vanished. People across every continent experienced a simultaneous sensory distortion. Some passed out. Others screamed. Everyone remembered the number: 4:44.
Then came the silence.
And something inside thousands—maybe millions—of people began to stir.
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