The two boys strolled quietly through the misty yard behind the orphanage, where the scent of wet earth and rusted swings hung in the air. The sky was still grey from the storm, and puddles splashed underfoot as they walked.
Jayden—eyes heavy and voice low—spoke everything. About the man who claimed to know his parents. About the envelope. About the strange puzzle that kept him up all night.
Ren listened without interrupting, his usual playfulness toned down by curiosity and concern.
"Wait… you still have the letter, right?" Ren asked as they stopped near the broken fence that marked the end of the orphanage grounds.
Wordlessly, he pulled it from the inside of his hoodie, slightly crumpled but still dry, and handed it over.
Ren unfolded it, scanning the weird symbols and phrases.
"This… this doesn't even look like a language," he muttered. "And these spiral numbers—man, this is way beyond me."
As he turned the envelope over, something caught his eye. Light markings—almost faded—etched into the back flap.
"Hey—look at this," Ren said, pointing. Jayden leaned in. His eyes narrowed.
He stared at the messy string of numbers and symbols. His mind kicked into gear.
No… not random.
Within moments, it clicked.
"It's the Tyrene Cipher," he whispered.
Ren blinked. "The what now?"
Jayden didn't answer right away. Instead, he pulled a pen from his pocket and scribbled rapidly in the corner of the envelope, mentally decoding the symbols, separating the noise from the numbers.
After about a minute, he had them.
Its coordinates...
"43.6629° N, 79.3957° W," he murmured.
Ren's jaw dropped. "You got that fast. How did you figure it out so quickly?"
He paused.
And then, like a fleeting breath of memory, it came rushing back.
A blurry flash of sunlight through curtains… a younger version of himself sitting on a rug scattered with toy blocks and books… His mother's calm voice guided him, showing him how to arrange numbers into hidden meanings. The Tyrene Cipher. He'd hated it at first. It made no sense. But she never gave up on him, and eventually, it became their secret game. A language only they shared.
His chest tightened.
"It was my mom's favorite cipher," he said softly. "She taught it to me when I was little. It took me weeks to get it right. But once I did… I never forgot."
Ren was quiet for a second, then gave him a knowing nod.
"Well," he said, folding the paper back up, "I think it's safe to say this mystery just leveled up."
The Council of Earth
PRESENT DAY...
After the wave of emotion—shock, awe, disbelief—the world slowly quieted again. News anchors ran out of breath, religious leaders ran out of verses, and social media began repeating itself.
It was time to act.
All eyes turned to the world governments. Presidents, prime ministers, and chancellors—those who claimed to lead now had to prove it.
The United Nations declared an emergency global summit. This wasn't a glossy stage show of diplomatic pleasantries. It was war-room serious.
No travel, no press. This summit was entirely digital.
Each leader appeared on a secure video grid, seated before national flags or plain backdrops. Behind them: teams of cybersecurity experts, logistics officers, military analysts, and sleepless advisors.
Wide screens in dozens of situation rooms mirrored one another in real time. Every major power was present.
The chatter of preparation buzzed through the speakers. Cables coiled. Keyboards clicked. Translators murmured in booths.
A voice finally broke through the noise.
"What do we do now?" The speaker was a Scandinavian official, his voice tight with urgency.
The screen grid shifted. Leaders straightened up, stiffening in their seats. The weight of the question fell like a hammer.
There was a pause.
Then, a calm but firm voice broke the silence. A woman, an African president, leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed with resolve.
"We have to prepare."
She was about to continue when another voice cut in sharply, this time from an Eastern nation.
"Or we could start by not trusting any of this," he snapped. "How are we to know this isn't just a ruse by some other country here?"
A hushed shock rippled through the digital space. Faces turned cold. Tension bloomed.
And then, the screen glitched. Just for a second, barely long enough to react.
Then again.
Suddenly, a new face appeared on every screen. He wasn't among the world leaders. He wasn't supposed to be there at all.
Panic erupted behind the leaders. Technicians scrambled, fingers flying across consoles.
"We've been breached!" one shouted.
But the firewalls were clean. No sign of intrusion. No data trail. No signal spike.
"Who are you?" asked the U.S. president, rising slightly in his chair.
The figure on the screen didn't flinch. He wore a dark coat, neatly tailored. Silver at his temples, voice like a calm storm.
"You want answers," he said. "You want solutions."
A pause. No one spoke.
"I am the solution."
He stepped slightly back so they could see him fully.
"My name is Elric Vahn. I run Project Sentinel."
Gasps echoed from some corners. Others froze in disbelief.
The Russian president leaned in. "I thought that was a myth."
But Vahn continued without missing a beat.
"Project Sentinel was real. Launched in the shadows shortly after NASA's first outreach into deep space. It was created to train and prepare uniquely gifted individuals for this exact moment."
The pressure in every room seemed to double.
Some faces betrayed recognition. They knew. They had been there, in the founding committee. Others were blindsided.
"For years," he said, "we worked in silence, waiting. But the program lost its traction. Budget cuts. Lack of proof. The usual."
"And now... I'm restarting it."
"Under a new name. PROJECT EOS."
His tone sharpened—less a request, more a decree.
"All I need is your cooperation, financial support, and open access to every nation and every region."
He took a breath, eyes sweeping across the grid of stunned leaders.
"This is not up for debate. We train. We prepare. We survive. Or we fall."
Then, just as quickly as he appeared, the screen glitched—and he was gone.
Silence. No one spoke. Not even the tech teams.
And then, one by one, the world leaders began to log off, each swallowed by the weight of impossible decisions...