4:31 PM.
The surface was still. The wind had died. The air itself seemed to pause in reverence.
The two colossal feathers shimmered one last time in the sunlight—monuments of obsidian majesty, glimmering with faint emerald veins. For a breath, they seemed eternal, as though the world itself bowed before their existence.
And then—silence.
Like ancient scrolls burning away without flame, the feathers unraveled into drifting motes of starlight. No sound, no heat. Only a slow dissolution, each fragment glowing faintly before vanishing into the air.
When the last ember faded, the miracle changed form.
Two orbs remained.
Perfect spheres, black as the abyss itself, each pulsing faintly with an inner rhythm—like heartbeats that did not belong to this world. Within their depths, galaxies twisted and collapsed, light bent inward, swallowed by their gravity. They did not shine. They consumed.
Not weapons. Not tools. Relics.
Fragments of Kakabhushundi's essence.
Tian stepped forward, drawn as though by invisible threads. His gloved hand reached toward the first orb.
Warning sirens screamed inside his suit—radiation off charts, energy readings spiraling into nonsense. But when the orb touched his palm… warmth. Alive. Not metal, not stone. Something else. Something that chose to be held.
Across from him, Amara secured the second. Her sharp eyes betrayed reverence rarely seen."Even our technology…" she whispered, voice trembling. "It can't name this. No classification exists."
But awe had no time to take root.
The world darkened.
4:34 PM.
The black miasma returned.
It rolled across the horizon like a tide of cosmic poison, devouring light at two hundred meters per minute. The restored greenery shriveled to ash. Leaves crumbled, grass withered into dust. What had been rebirth seconds ago was smothered once again.
The abyss reclaimed its throne.
"Complex Control—emergency extraction!" Tian's command roared through comms, steady despite the terror clawing at his spine. "Seal surface in sixty seconds!"
The ground seemed to chase them as they ran. Soil cracked beneath their boots, shadows stretching unnaturally, trying to drag them back. The miasma licked at the air, tasting for life.
They plunged into the descending lift. Hydraulic gates slammed shut behind them. Steel shrieked as electromagnetic firewalls blazed to life, sealing the fortress like a coffin.
Through the narrow viewport, they watched the last shard of sky vanish—swallowed whole.
What Kakabhushundi had given, the darkness had stolen back.
The descent was silent.
Every meter downward stripped the suffocation from their lungs, but their hearts still thundered. The orbs pulsed in their hands like living burdens, heavy with meaning.
Finally—the doors opened.
Level 2's lobby erupted.
Cheers burst like floodgates breaking. One hundred and eighty-seven voices screamed together—relief, disbelief, uncontainable joy. Hands clapped, tears streamed, voices cracked.
They were alive.
Elena cut through the crowd, her cheeks streaked with tears. She flung her arms around Tian, sobbing against his shoulder."We thought you were gone! Lost to the void forever!"
For once, the stone-faced doctor allowed himself a smile. Small, tired, but real."Not lost," he said softly. "Not yet."
Amara stepped forward then, her voice steady but rich with awe. She told them what she had seen—Kakabhushundi's wings blotting out the heavens, his voice that resonated through atoms, his promise carved into the sky.
Every word was a seed of fire. Fear withered. Wonder bloomed. Even the skeptics, who had hidden their doubt behind clenched jaws and furrowed brows, fell silent when the two orbs pulsed. Their glow demanded belief.
To scientists, the orbs were data beyond comprehension.To the faithful, they were sacred artifacts.To the children, they were hope made real.
And to Tian, they were all three—and something more. A choice.
He raised his voice then, not as a commander, but as a man holding fragile humanity together. His words cut through the chamber like iron wrapped in warmth.
"Tonight, we live! Tonight, we feast! Celebrate survival, divine contact, and the hope that has returned to us!"
The roar that followed shook the walls.
It was not indulgence. It was strategy. A feast against despair. Unity forged in laughter instead of silence.
The dining hall blazed with light.
Music spilled from battered instruments. Tables overflowed with food—ration packs carefully saved, unlocked for one night of excess. Spices released aroma that had been forgotten. Synthetic wine poured into trembling cups.
Children ran wild, shrieking with joy. Their feet pounded steel floors, echoing like drums of life. Parents watched, half-smiling, half-crying, knowing such laughter might never come again.
Languages mixed—Mandarin, Arabic, Swahili, English—melding into one hymn. Humanity's scattered voices fused into a single declaration: We are still here.
Tian sat among them, smiling faintly at the sight. He allowed the warmth to reach him, if only briefly. But behind his calm expression, truth gnawed.
The darkness had returned.Supplies dwindled.Every calculation pointed toward collapse.
Only one path remained. The eastward call. The promise of salvation cloaked in mystery.
9:47 PM.
The celebration softened into a hum of quiet conversation. Laughter faded into stories. Survivors leaned close, speaking of dreams and fears, whispering myths already forming around the name Kakabhushundi.
Children dozed against their parents, bellies full for the first time in weeks.
At the center of the hall, the two black orbs pulsed gently. Their glow was not bright—it was steady, heartbeat steady. Twin hearts of the unknown. Reminders that they were not abandoned.
The people clung to that warmth, fragile yet fierce.
Above them, the abyss waited.Before them, the east beckoned.
And in that narrow space between terror and wonder, one hundred and eighty-nine souls chose to believe—if only for tonight.
That tomorrow would not be their end.
That tomorrow might yet be the dawn of something greater.