10:30 PM.
The Grand Conference Chamber pulsed with dim red emergency light, shadows stretching across the steel walls like bleeding scars. The hum of holographic projectors filled the air, their unstable glow weaving tension through every breath. Above the central dais, streams of numbers flickered—food reserves, oxygen levels, vehicle capacities, atmospheric data. They were just digits, cold and lifeless, yet to every soul in the chamber they cut like blades pressed against their throats.
One hundred sixty-six adults gathered in the hall. Twenty-three children slept two levels below, kept deliberately away from the weight of choices no child should ever face.
Dr. Tian Wei stood at the podium, his posture tall, but his hands hidden behind the lectern trembled faintly. Elena was at his right, her eyes burning with unshed tears. Kai and Amara stood at his left—one a voice of stark pragmatism, the other still clutching the memory of wings made of starlight.
The warmth of the feast was gone. The echo of laughter had already faded into silence. What remained was not celebration, but the raw calculus of survival.
Projected records told their truth with cruel clarity:
Six exploration trucks.
Twelve solo emergency pods.
Three cargo haulers.
Enough total capacity for forty-seven lives. Not more. Not less.
Supplies were finite. Environmental suits—scarce. Medkits heavier than weapons. Solar panels useless in a sunless world. GPS signals absent, replaced by fragile compasses that jittered near the abyss. Portable lamps became false suns, their batteries bleeding dry like wounded soldiers. Every line of inventory screamed the same sentence: not enough.
Tian's voice broke the silence, steady but grave."Every voice counts tonight. We do not choose only for ourselves, but for our children. Three paths lie before us: remain underground and endure, march eastward as the traveler commanded, or divide and pursue both."
The chamber erupted like a dam bursting.
10:36 PM.
Kai rose first, his neural interface shimmering cold graphs into the crimson air. He spoke with the precision of sharpened steel."In total darkness, artificial light fails. Our field readings prove it. Moving blind is annihilation. To remain underground, adapt, conserve—this is survival through science. To walk east on whispers is suicide."
His words carried the weight of rationality, and half the chamber clung to it like drowning men clutching driftwood. Engineers, analysts, technicians—they nodded in relief. Known laws were safer than divine riddles.
But then Elena stood. Her voice rang out like fire cracking dry wood."You all saw it. Kakabhushundi parted the darkness. He gave air, gave artifacts that twist the laws we once believed immutable. Staying here is not safety—it is slow extinction. Moving east is not blind faith. It is our only chance."
Her words cut through the chamber like a blade of light. The dreamers lifted their heads. The faithful wept openly. The desperate clung to her voice as though she spoke oxygen into their lungs.
And thus, the room split—logic against faith, calculation against belief, fear against courage.
10:52 PM.
The arguments grew jagged, breaking old bonds. Friends shouted until veins rose in their necks. Lovers turned on one another, eyes trembling with the fear of different futures. Parents clutched their arms as they realized their children's fates hung on words they had not yet spoken.
"Darkness cannot be bargained with!" one scientist screamed.
"Then let it devour you!" cried a believer.
Amara's eyes narrowed. In her arms, the two black orbs pulsed faintly, as though absorbing every argument, every trembling heartbeat.
Through it all, Tian listened, his face carved from stone, but his inner thoughts swirled. One step eastward could be salvation… or annihilation. One step inward, deeper underground, could be safety… or a tomb.
11:10 PM.
The storm of debate reached its breaking point.
Dr. Kim, voice raw from shouting, finally rose above the clamor. "I don't care who goes east or who stays. My oath is to heal. If you march into the unknown, I will be there with my medkits until the last breath leaves my hands."
Marcus Torres, grease still clinging to his sleeves, slammed a wrench against the table. "Machines break. I fix. Doesn't matter where. Doesn't matter when. Wherever humanity stands, my hands will keep your engines alive."
Lieutenant Chen stood, her military frame unbending. "Orders or no orders—my duty is to shield civilians. If you march east, I march with you. If you stay, I stand guard."
Courage bloomed like sparks in the ashes.
One by one, voices rose—not in argument, but in resolve.
By the time silence reclaimed the chamber, forty-four volunteers had stepped forward. Their reasons varied—faith, curiosity, sacrifice, resignation. But their faces glowed with the same quiet fire.
The rest—one hundred and twenty-two—chose to remain. Bitter relief filled them. Sanctuary over pilgrimage. Known death over uncertain salvation.
11:40 PM.
The chamber dimmed as Amara carried the two black orbs into the center. She placed them on the dais. Their crystalline glow spilled across the chamber like oil and starlight.
The orbs pulsed—once, twice—steady heartbeats that belonged not to humans, but to fate itself.
Scientists leaned forward, scribbling frantic equations about quantum harmonics. Believers crossed themselves or bowed low, whispering prayers. Somewhere, a child's drawing of "the winged one" fluttered in the draft, taped to the chamber wall.
The artifacts were silent, but their silence was louder than thunder. They were not just relics. They were judges.
12:15 AM.
Tian stepped forward again. His voice cut through the stillness."We finalize at dawn—if dawn ever comes. Tonight, prepare. Those who march east, gather strength. Those who remain, fortify this sanctuary. Both paths are survival. Both are human."
No applause followed. No cheers. Only the raw sound of breathing, of hearts grappling with the weight of their choices.
For some, the Great Divide felt like betrayal. For others, it was salvation. But beneath the arguments, beneath the fear, one truth bound them together—this was sacrifice, not weakness. Two halves of humanity, severed but enduring.
12:23 AM.
The chamber slowly emptied, footsteps echoing like thunder fading into distance. Families reunited with trembling embraces. Soldiers sharpened weapons in silence. Engineers double-checked machinery with hands that refused to stop shaking.
In the center, the two orbs continued their pulse, untouched, unblinking. Silent witnesses to humanity's fracture.
The Great Divide was sealed that night.
One group would march into the abyss, carrying faith, courage, and desperation.The other would guard the fragile light underground, clinging to reason, order, and the steel walls around them.
Above them, the darkness waited.Beyond them, the east beckoned.
And somewhere unseen, the traveler's gaze lingered—watching, weighing, waiting.