The ancient, alien star chart hung in the holographic heart of the Council chamber, a silent testament to a dead civilization's last, desperate hope. It was a map to a miracle, a ghost story written in the stars, and it had just become the single most divisive and terrifying topic on Earth.
"It is a fool's errand," Ivan Petrov stated, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that was not an opinion, but a declaration of fact. "We are the seven pillars of this Coalition. The commanders of the world's last army. And you propose we abandon our posts, abandon this planet, to chase a myth from a civilization that failed to save itself?"
His cold, pragmatic logic was a bucket of ice water on the fragile spark of hope Amira had ignited. He was right.
"He's right," Sophia added, her voice quiet but firm. "The Vultures could return tomorrow. Or a new internal threat could emerge. Our duty is here. We are the shield. We cannot leave the world defenseless to go on a treasure hunt."
The Council was fractured. The debate raged, a storm of logic versus faith, of duty versus desperation.
It was Jack Wilson who silenced them all.
He strode to the main console and brought up the final, damning image of his war game simulation: the red stain of Vulture conquest bleeding across the map of the Earth, and the cold, stark number at the bottom. SURVIVAL CHANCE: 0.01%.
"This is what your duty gets you," he said, his voice a low, angry snarl. "This is what staying here, being the shield, and fighting with what we have gets us. The most well-documented, most heroic, and most complete extinction event in the history of this galaxy."
He turned, his eyes burning with a brilliant, desperate fire. "I am a man of science. I believe in data. And the data is screaming at us that we have already lost. Our best technology is a child's toy. Our strongest weapons are a minor inconvenience. Staying here is not a strategy. It is a suicide pact."
He pointed to the alien star chart. "This... this is an anomaly. A variable. A one-in-a-billion chance to change the equation. And in a world where our survival chance is zero, a one-in-a-billion chance is the only rational choice we have."
His cold, brutal logic hung in the air, unassailable.
Lin Feng, who had been silent throughout the debate, stepped forward. He raised his hand, and the violet, perfectly controlled sphere of Annihilation Fire pulsed in his palm.
"This is the greatest power on this planet," he said, his voice a flat, hard line. "And it was barely enough to scratch their harvester ship. I can feel my own limit. A ceiling of power that I cannot break. We have all reached our peak."
He looked at Jack, then at the others. "The doctor is right. We are not abandoning the fight. We are going to find a sharper sword."
The two arguments, the scientific and the spiritual, the mind and the sword, were a hammer and an anvil that forged a new, terrible consensus.
Diego, his hand resting on the stone floor, felt the deep, ancient pain of the Earth, a pain that had been inflicted before, and he knew they could not survive another wounding. Sakura, who saw the world as a fragile, fraying tapestry, knew they needed a stronger thread. Amira, who had seen the abyss, knew this was the only path that did not lead directly into it.
Ivan and Sophia, the last holdouts, were not convinced by hope. They were convinced by the utter, absolute lack of any other option.
A new, grim silence settled over the chamber. The decision was made. It was not a vote; it was a shared, unspoken, and terrifying acknowledgment of the truth.
"We cannot just send a team," Amira whispered, the final, chilling piece of the puzzle falling into place. "The Priest's vision... it was a quest for their greatest warriors. This isn't a place you can just find. It's a place you must be worthy of. The key is not a ship. It is the strength of the seeker."
They all understood. The seven of them. They were the strongest. They were the keys.
They had to go. All of them.