8:12 AM – May 26, 1639 – Santiago, Republic of Chile

  For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Elza awoke not to gunfire, screams, or the looming shadow of death—but to silence.

  A soft light filtered through the hospital room, golden and warm, painting the white walls in hues of gentle morning. The bed beneath her was soft. Real sheets, clean linen. Her head rested on a pillow that smelled faintly of vender and antiseptic. She blinked against the brightness, sluggish and heavy, as if waking from a deep underwater dream.

  Her body ached. Dull pain throbbed along her ribs, her shoulder, her legs—reminders of the hell she had crawled out of. But she was alive.

  She lifted a hand slowly, studying the IV line taped to her wrist. The steady beep of a heart monitor pulsed beside her. Her gaze shifted to her clothes: not the torn and bloodied rebel uniform she’d grown used to, but a clean hospital gown. Her skin had been washed, her wounds bandaged. Someone had cared for her.

  She sat up, groaning, and turned toward the window.

  And what she saw nearly stole the breath from her lungs.

  Beyond the gss stretched a vision of the future—a city that soared into the sky with gleaming towers of steel and gss, roads lined with moving machines, glowing signs, and rivers of lights that shimmered even in the early dawn. The Andes stood tall in the background, snow-capped and majestic, their ancient forms dwarfed by the human spires rising before them. A wide, clean avenue curved below the hospital, where people bustled about in clothes too fine, too bright, too clean for her war-torn mind to process.

  Elza pressed a trembling hand against the gss.

  Santiago. She remembered one of the green-uniformed men saying that name before she’d passed out. They’d spoken in another tongue—Portuguese, Spanish, she still couldn’t tell. But they had carried her here, into this impossible world.

  She watched as a long silver tube roared overhead, soaring through the sky like a bird made of metal, leaving behind a fading streak across the perfect blue. Elza flinched instinctively—old reflexes—but there was no explosion. No fire. Just a peaceful ascent. A routine wonder unlike Gaia continent.

  Her breath fogged the gss as she leaned closer.

  The sky outside was a canvas of pastel clouds and golden rays, the sun peeking through like a watchful god. The wind gently moved the trees lining the street far below, leaves shimmering green under the light. In the distance, a massive electronic billboard dispyed a looping animation—vivid colors, smiling people, and fshing words in a nguage she couldn’t read.

  But she could understand the tone. Joy. Peace. Prosperity.

  Her throat tightened.

  This was another world.

  She wasn’t in Yulkon anymore.

  She looked down at her hands. The scars, the bruises, the dirt of war had been scrubbed away—but the memory still clung to her like ash. She thought of her people, her friends. The ones who died screaming. The ones who vanished into the jungle, never to be seen again.

  Tears welled in her eyes, but she wiped them away quickly.

  Elza had survived. She was here. And whatever this pce was—this city of giants, of clean streets and silent machines—it had taken her in when her own world had burned around her.

  The door clicked softly behind her.

  She turned sharply, instinct fring, but it was just a nurse in blue scrubs, carrying a clipboard and smiling politely. He said something gently—words she couldn’t understand—but his tone was kind. Reassuring. He gestured to her, then to the breakfast tray beside the bed.

  Food. Not rations. Real food.

  Steam rose from a bowl of broth, and a warm roll sat beside it with a pat of butter melting slowly across its golden crust. Fruit. Cheese. Things she hadn’t tasted in years. She blinked, heart racing.

  Was this a dream?

  The nurse waited patiently, smiling again before quietly stepping out. No soldiers. No guns. No shouting.

  Only sunlight and silence.

  Elza turned back to the window. A distant helicopter buzzed toward the mountains, its rotors cutting the air as it disappeared behind one of the tall towers. She reached for the warm roll on the tray, her hands still trembling, and took a slow, cautious bite.

  Tears blurred her vision as the fvor bloomed on her tongue.

  It was real.

  She had made it out.

  And for the first time in her life, Elza felt something she had never known in full— hope.

  The door creaked open again, this time more deliberately. Elza turned, a little more composed now, though her body was still stiff with tension. In walked a woman in a different set of scrubs—pale green, neat, clean. She had dark, curly hair pulled into a bun and a soft smile that reached her eyes. Pushing a food cart in front of her, she stopped just a few feet from the bed.

  The moment the scent hit her, Elza’s stomach clenched—not in pain this time, but hunger. Real, ravenous hunger. Her senses fred awake. Whatever was on that cart smelled nothing like the bnd, dry rations she had known. This was warm, fresh, rich.

  “Buenos días,” the nurse said kindly, her voice gentle, melodic. She gave a small wave. “Welcome to Santiago.”

  Elza blinked. The name again. Santiago. She managed a slight nod, eyes fixed on the cart as the nurse began to uncover the ptes.

  There was no mistaking the look on Elza’s face—the nurse chuckled softly. “Comida,” she said, motioning to the dishes. Then, with a slower gesture, she pced a hand over her heart and said, “Amigos.”

  Food. Friends. Elza didn’t understand the words fully, but she felt them.

  Steam rose from the uncovered ptes, carrying with it the aroma of grilled meats, spices, and something sweet beneath it all. The nurse carefully arranged the tray on a folding table and wheeled it in front of Elza. She pointed to each item one by one with the patience of someone used to caring for the lost.

  A bowl of rich, golden chicken broth filled with soft noodles, bits of potato, and fragrant herbs—cintro, maybe. Elza leaned closer and took in the smell. It reminded her faintly of something from her childhood, but warmer, deeper. Beside it sat a neatly folded portion of pastel de choclo—a baked dish yered with ground beef, olives, and egg, all beneath a thick crust of sweet corn mash, lightly browned and glistening with butter.

  On the side, a small sad of sliced tomatoes, onions, and avocado, drizzled with olive oil and lemon juice. Fresh. Vibrant. Like something grown in a nd untouched by war.

  And finally, a small piece of warm pan amasado, a type of local bread—thick, fluffy, still steaming inside. The smell alone was enough to make her throat tighten. A small gss bottle of water and a cup of warm tea completed the tray.

  Elza stared at the meal. Her hands hovered over the tray, uncertain. She looked at the nurse, eyes wide and unsure.

  The woman nodded with a smile. “Eat,” she said in a soft tone. “Todo tuyo.”

  All yours.

  Elza’s fingers wrapped around the spoon. The moment the broth touched her lips, everything stopped. It was simple, but perfectly made. The fvor seeped through her chest like warmth from a fire. She took another spoonful. Then another.

  Then she broke off a piece of the bread. The outer crust was crisp, but the inside was soft and airy. The butter melted against her tongue. She hadn’t tasted anything like it in years—maybe ever. Her lips trembled.

  Then came the pastel de choclo. A forkful brought an explosion of fvor: savory meat, sweet corn, the salty bite of olives, and the rich texture of egg all wrapped in one perfect bite. Her hand shook as she lowered the fork. Her eyes welled up.

  Elza dropped her spoon gently, covering her mouth with her hand. Her shoulders quivered.

  Tears slipped down her cheeks.

  The nurse didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She just sat beside the bed, her presence calm, steady.

  Elza took another bite.

  For the first time since her homend was consumed by fire, since her comrades fell one by one, since she watched the forests of Yulkon bcken under bombardment—she felt human again. Not a warrior. Not a survivor. Just a person. A woman sitting in a clean bed, in a quiet room, with a pte of real food in front of her.

  She finished everything. Slowly. Carefully. As if afraid it might disappear.

  The nurse gently refilled her cup with tea and handed her a napkin. Elza accepted it, wiping her eyes. Her breathing slowed. The panic faded just a little more.

  Out the window, the morning sun climbed higher, glinting off the gss of the skyscrapers. The city moved on, unaware of the girl who had lived through hell now quietly eating breakfast in a pce that felt like heaven.

  Elza didn’t know what the future held. But for the first time, it felt like there might actually be one.

  The warmth from the meal lingered in Elza’s chest long after the st bite. Her limbs, still weak, were no longer trembling. For the first time in what felt like weeks, her body wasn’t in survival mode. It was simply existing. Healing. Processing.

  The nurse gave her a kind nod, then gathered the empty tray and stepped out of the room, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  Silence settled in.

  Elza leaned back into the bed, her gaze drifting once more to the towering skyline outside the window. She couldn’t take her eyes off it. A part of her kept waiting for the illusion to break—for the buildings to turn to ash, for the air to fill with sirens or gunfire again. But it didn’t. The sky remained a rich blue, brushed with strands of high white clouds. Below, cars moved along the roads in calm, measured patterns. She didn’t recognize the shape of them, their speed, or how quiet they seemed from up here. But they weren’t military vehicles. They weren’t tanks.

  Then knock* knock* knock*

  She sat upright, instincts fring, heart thudding.

  Another knock.

  She opened her mouth, unsure whether to call out.

  A third. Firm. Precise.

  The door opened slowly, cautiously.

  Two men stepped in. Both wore casual jackets and scks—pin enough to pass as civilians, but their posture, gait, and expressions said otherwise. Clean-cut, alert eyes. One of them scanned the room quickly before shutting the door behind them.

  They spoke first. One of them, the taller of the two, greeted her not in English or Spanish—but in Italian.

  “Buongiorno, signorina. Siamo amici. Non vogliamo farvi del male.”

  Good morning, miss. We are friends. We mean you no harm.

  Elza’s eyes widened. It took a second to register, but she understood every word. Her mother had taught her bits of the old nguage when she was a child. Her mind, still foggy, tched onto it as if it were a rope thrown down into a pit.

  “Parte lingua…?” she asked cautiously.

  The shorter one nodded, his accent clearer but fluent. “We thought this would be easier than English or Spanish. We’ve been briefed. You are Elza of Yulkon, correct?”

  She nodded slowly, uncertain. “How… do you know me?”

  They exchanged a quick look.

  “I’m Agent Morris. This is Agent Carter,” the taller one said, in Italian still. “We’re with the United States of America. Our mission is to gather intelligence and ensure the safety of foreign allies. You’re in Chile now. Santiago. Safe.”

  “United… States?” Elza repeated, frowning. “What is that? A kingdom?”

  The shorter one, Carter, chuckled. “Not quite. A republic. Large. Powerful. We’re a union of fifty states across the ocean, thousands of kilometers away. You’ve met some of our allies already—Chile, Brazil, Peru. We all… came together after learning about your situation.”

  Elza blinked, trying to absorb it.

  “We detected the Gra Valkan invasion months ago,” Morris continued. “But until recently, we didn’t have authorization to intervene. That changed when the Barbarossa fleet entered international waters. When they sughtered the Yulkon people.”

  Her stomach turned.

  “You were lucky to survive,” Carter added more softly. “We tracked a lot of the battle. We picked up survivors. Others… didn’t make it.”

  Elza’s hands tightened into fists. “What about the others? My people. The rebels. Any of them still alive?”

  Morris reached into his coat and pulled out a tablet. He tapped a few times, then turned the screen toward her. A photo appeared—grainy, low-resolution, but unmistakably familiar.

  “Elric. Wounded but alive. He’s being treated at a base in Brazil. Your leader, Marta… we haven’t located her yet. But we have teams searching. A few others have made it. We’re doing what we can.”

  Elza’s breath hitched. “So not all of them… not everyone died.”

  “No,” Carter said. “And now that you’re here, we can help you do more.”

  She looked between the two men. Her voice cracked. “Why? Why help us? What does your America want?”

  The room went quiet. Then Morris answered.

  “We’ve seen this before. A regime from another world, bent on conquest, killing civilians, torching cities, ensving others. We’ve fought wars like that. Won some. Lost too many. But when our satellites caught what the Gra Valkans were doing in Yulkon, our government realized something—this isn’t just your problem anymore.”

  “We have a doctrine,” Carter added. “It’s called defending liberty. It’s not perfect. It’s messy. Sometimes we get it wrong. But when people like you fight back against monsters like them—we don’t sit on our hands.”

  Elza looked down at the white bnket, fingers curling into it. Her voice barely rose above a whisper. “They burned everything.”

  “We know,” Morris said. “And they’ll answer for it.”

  The three sat in silence for a moment.

  Then Carter smiled faintly. “You’ll learn more in time. About Earth. About our world. Pnes, electricity, medicine, communication satellites, nuclear power, even TikTok.”

  Elza gave him a look of total confusion.

  “Forget that st one,” Morris muttered.

  She couldn’t help it—a small, sharp breath escaped her nose. A ugh, half-formed. A sound she hadn’t made in weeks.

  Morris straightened. “You’ll be debriefed soon. But for now, you’re safe. Eat. Rest. There’s a future coming, Elza. One worth fighting for.”

  Both agents exchanged gnces, then leaned forward in their chairs, their tones shifting. The room’s atmosphere grew tense. “Let’s talk about the situation in your world, does your world have magic?” one of them said in fluent Italian.

  Elza blinked, still amazed at how easily she understood him. She nodded, slowly. “What do you mean by magic? We don’t have those. But importantly. After the disappearance of Kain, everything colpsed. Gra Valkan didn’t waste a second. They unched brutal campaigns across the continent. Yulkon was one of the st to resist.”

  She paused, eyes darkening with memory.

  “Many nations tried to hold out. Thalnor, Venerath, Soltenna... They all crumbled. Gra Valkan pced puppet regimes across the continent, stripping them of sovereignty. The people are watched, censored. Executions are common. Any resistance is crushed with force. They rule through fear.”

  The agents listened carefully, one jotting notes.

  “But the worst,” Elza said, her voice low, “was Karthedon. Their capital vanished. One day, it was there—millions of lives, bustling streets, history. Then... nothing. A fsh of light, then silence. Ashes. No one survived. After that, the remaining governments surrendered.”

  The room fell dead silent.

  The older agent looked shaken. “You’re saying a capital was erased?”

  Elza nodded. “Wiped from existence.”

  The two agents exchanged a grim look. “We’ve seen this before,” the younger one muttered. “In another summoning incident. Japan. They called it a nuclear bomb.”

  Elza leaned back, startled. “You... you know this weapon?”

  “It’s one of the most destructive weapons ever built by man,” the older agent said. “We spent half a century building and fearing them. They're not magic. They’re science. Pure physics—splitting atoms to release a catastrophic burst of energy. One bomb can destroy a city. Burn people into shadows. Poison the nd for years.”

  Elza looked horrified, the color draining from her face.

  “But how... how would Gra Valkan get such a weapon?”

  “That’s what we’re trying to figure out,” the younger agent replied. “Your world—Gaia—isn’t supposed to have anything like this. Not naturally. It only confirms what we’ve feared: someone’s handing them tech far beyond your world’s timeline.”

  The older agent nodded. “We need to know who. And how far they’ve spread it.”

  Elza clenched her fists in her p, her voice hoarse. “If they have more of those bombs... they won’t stop. They’ll burn every city until the entire world kneels.”

  Carter’s brow tightened as he exchanged a grim gnce with Morris. “She said they wiped out an entire capital?” he muttered in English.

  Morris nodded, his voice low. “Karthedon. That lines up. Like Japan before, they’re using Earth-origin weapons again. This confirms it.”

  Switching back to Italian for Elza, Morris leaned in. “The weapon you’re describing—it’s called a nuclear bomb. A device of unimaginable destruction. It’s not magic. It’s science. It was developed on Earth nearly a hundred years ago. Only a few countries ever used or possessed them... until now.”

  Elza’s eyes widened. “You... you knew about this? Before Gra Valkan?”

  “Yes,” Carter said. “But we swore never to use it again after Hiroshima and Nagasaki. Your enemies—Gra Valkan—they don’t care about humanity’s limits. They’re using this weapon to conquer.”

  She sat back, stunned. The name “Hiroshima” meant nothing to her, but the weight in their voices made her skin crawl. “And you just let them use it?”

  Morris shook his head. “No. They didn’t get it from us. We suspect they copied it—or were given access to information from the st summoning incident. You said a nation named Kain disappeared?”

  Elza nodded. “It was powerful. A new force on our world. Their technology rivaled Gra Valkan’s, and their ideals were honorable. But one day, they vanished... just like that. And when they were gone, Gra Valkan moved in. They installed puppet governments in Venerath, Soltenna, and parts of Thalnor. They used that weapon to shatter Karthedon’s capital—without warning. And the rest of the continent fell into silence.”

  The agents sat motionless. Elza looked down, her hands clenched in her p. “My country resisted. We fought from the shadows. But it was useless. They broke us.”

  “No,” Morris said firmly. “It wasn’t useless. You resisted a totalitarian regime with no support. That’s more than most could do.”

  “And now you’re here,” Carter added. “You survived. That’s why we’re talking to you.”

  Elza gnced between them. “Why? What do you want from me?”

  Morris exhaled. “Hope.”

  Elza blinked.

  “You’re not the only one who’s fought Gra Valkan. The United States of America—our home—has seen what they are. And we’re not the only ones. Brazil, Chile, Peru—those soldiers who pulled you from the forest? They’re part of a new coalition forming to push Gra Valkan back. We’re building something. And we need people who know the terrain. The politics. The resistance movements that still exist. We need leaders who haven’t given up.”

  Elza’s voice was hoarse. “You want me to be one of them?”

  “You already are,” Carter said. “You just haven’t accepted it yet.”

  Outside the window, Santiago’s skyline shimmered under the early afternoon sun. Distant clouds rolled zily across the peaks of the Andes. For a long moment, Elza said nothing. The Earth they described sounded impossibly vast, united yet divided, powerful yet restrained. But now... now it was beginning to turn its eyes on Gaia.

  Morris reached into his coat and pulled out a tablet, swiping to a map of Gaia. Red zones marked Gra Valkan-controlled regions. Yellow highlighted resistance areas. Green fgs showed known Earth military presence.

  He turned it toward her. “This is what we know. But we need more. We need you to help us fill in the gaps. Strategically. Politically. And if you're willing... publicly.”

  “You want me to be the face of resistance?” Elza asked, incredulous.

  “You’re a princess of Yulkon. And the st known survivor of its royal bloodline. That means something—not just to your people, but to the continent.”

  “And with us,” Carter added, “you’ll never be fighting alone again.”

  Elza felt the weight settle in her chest—not fear, but something heavier. Responsibility. For years she’d fought only to survive, driven by grief and fury. Now, for the first time since the fall of Yulkon, she saw a path forward that wasn’t just escape.

  It was a fight for the world.

  She looked up at the agents, her voice quiet but steady. “Then I’ll help you. But not as a symbol. I want to fight.”

  Morris gave a small, proud nod. “That’s all we needed to hear.”

  10:42 AM – August 11, 2023 – European Space Agency Headquarters, Paris, France

  The atmosphere inside the main hall of ESA headquarters was tense but controlled. Dozens of scientists, military observers, engineers, and representatives from the most powerful nations on Earth had gathered for a cssified, multi-national summit. The fgs of countries from both Earth and the Summoned world lined the perimeter—each bearing the silent witness of worlds now colliding under the banner of shared survival.

  The summit’s goal to confirm the existence of the artificial megastructure now identified as the “New Earth,” and establish joint protocols for exploration, defense, and survival. For many, it was the first step in confronting a reality far greater—and far more dangerous—than any known world.

  Rows of screens illuminated the conference room, showing detailed satellite captures, infrared readings, and the now-infamous spatial projection: an Earth-like disk, vast and surrounded by a frozen wall of jagged, continuous ice.

  The meeting commenced with a low murmur of greetings, professional handshakes, and nods of acknowledgment. Attendees from the United States, Russia, France, Japan, and China exchanged formalities with newly integrated nations like the Mu Republic and the Holy Mirishial Empire, their white-robed delegates standing in quiet contrast to the Western suits and military uniforms.

  Dr. Amelia Vortner, a pnetary physicist from Germany, was among the first to step onto the central stage. She adjusted her microphone, cleared her throat, and looked out over a crowd that included generals, diplomats, royal envoys, and top-level researchers.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” she began, voice measured and sharp, “what we are about to present today will confirm what many of you already suspect: we are not living on the Earth we once knew.”

  There was no reaction, just stillness. Everyone had been briefed on fragments—sensor anomalies, sor orbit drift, and atmospheric shifts—but now came the hard truth.

  She nodded toward the main screen. “This is the current composite imagery from our Lagrange-point telescopes, taken over the past 72 hours.”

  The dispy lit up with a slow rotation of the new Earth. There was silence.

  It was enormous. The pnetary body measured over 307,000 kilometers in diameter—making it more than twice the size of Jupiter, yet retaining Earth-like terrain distribution and gravitational behavior. Ocean patterns, visible through cloud-filtered overys, stretched across vast spans of surface—some regions dwarfing Earth’s entire Pacific Ocean.

  The screen zoomed in further to reveal a massive boundary encircling the pnetary surface—an ice barrier that formed a near-perfect ring, extending out to unknown distances. The implication was immediate and chilling.

  A voice came from the back—Commander Hervé Belmond of the French Strategic Space Command.

  “If this ice perimeter were to melt…”

  He didn’t finish. Dr. Vortner did.

  “…it would submerge every known ndmass several times over. The thermal bance of the pnet could colpse, disrupting oceanic currents, weather systems, and likely destabilize tectonic structures entirely.”

  A quiet gasp came from one of the Mirishial delegates. A moment ter, silence returned.

  Another scientist, Dr. Enzo Mazzanti from the Italian Astrophysics Consortium, stepped forward and continued.

  “What’s equally arming is the orbital positioning. The new Earth—or what we’re calling Earth-A—appears locked in a sor orbit consistent with Earth’s, but the gravitational interactions with the rest of the sor system have changed. We are witnessing the beginnings of minor orbital perturbations to Mars and Venus. Long-term, the pnetary equilibrium may be at risk.”

  A representative from Japan raised a question.

  “Is there any precedent for this kind of pnetary shift? Is this even possible under normal physics?”

  Mazzanti shook his head. “No. This isn’t natural. It’s artificial. Manufactured. Controlled. Somehow… this entire structure was pced here.”

  A projection came up, showing thirty-two sectors—each resembling Earth’s nd-sea ratio—distributed across the pnet like tiled ptes on a vast mosaic. Only one of them—the current habitable zone—was poputed. The others were barren, featureless ocean.

  “There are thirty-one more sectors just like ours,” said Vortner. “Each one equivalent in scale to a continental Earth, currently lifeless and filled with seawater. There is no atmospheric pollution, no biosignatures. But structurally, they are near-identical in topography. It’s as if this world was designed to host multiple civilizations at once.”

  A murmur rippled across the hall.

  Percs, Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Holy Mirishial Empire, leaned forward, fnked by Siwalf and Philme, the youngest of the trio—sharp-eyed, composed, but clearly overwhelmed.

  “This... this is not the work of man or elf or any race known to us. This is the work of gods.”

  From the Mu Republic’s delegation, Gandolf—Section Chief of International Affairs for Outside the Civilized Areas—remained calm, though visibly processing the implications. At his side, Jules, Subsection Head, narrowed his eyes and broke the silence.

  “It’s possible we were brought here for a reason. Or perhaps we’re part of a rger system—something... multiversal.”

  Nods followed from NASA's Deep Space Liaison, Dr. Keith Larrimore.

  He stood and tapped his tablet, bringing up another slide—this time, from an independent deep-scan by the NASA Voyager III probe, unched into high Earth orbit before the event.

  The image showed the new Earth surrounded by what appeared to be dozens—possibly hundreds—of simir worlds, each embedded in a honeycomb-like structure across a white, icy ndscape. The crowd stiffened.

  “This,” he said, “is what we believe the true structure is. A megastructure. Each ‘Earth’ isoted in its own basin, surrounded by miles of ice. It could be natural. Or it could be constructed. We don’t know. But our Earth is one of many.”

  Vortner spoke again, now slower, the weight of her words heavy. “We are no longer alone in the conventional sense. We may be one of many human civilizations—separated by design.”

  Percs’s face remained frozen, but Siwalf whispered something to Philme, who slowly nodded, her jaw tight. The idea of divine separation wasn’t new to them, but to see it rendered with hard scientific data challenged centuries of doctrine—even the ones she'd grown up believing.

  “What happens if we attempt to reach another basin?” asked a Russian representative.

  “We don’t know,” said Dr. Larrimore. “The ice is several kilometers thick, and possibly reinforced with unknown materials. Initial analysis suggests it contains metallic elements we haven’t cataloged. It’s likely not ice as we understand it.”

  Another scientist from Brazil, Dr. Cami Resendes, added, “If this structure extends across space in all directions, the gravitational implications are massive. We may not be in the same universe anymore.”

  More murmurs followed.

  Commander Belmond cut through the noise. “So let’s talk strategy. What are the risks and opportunities?”

  Dr. Vortner nodded. “Risks: unpredictable climate change, unknown organisms or pathogens in uncontacted regions, and destabilization of the sor system if this structure begins to shift. We’ve already seen atmospheric anomalies over the Atntic.”

  “Opportunities?” Gandolf asked directly, eyes locked on the NASA representatives.

  “The potential for expansion. Resources. A pnetary canvas. If the other 31 sectors are stable, humanity could eventually settle them. Not just Earth-born civilizations, but also those from Elysia or elsewhere—assuming diplomatic retions remain peaceful.”

  “Which is a big assumption,” muttered an American military advisor.

  Everyone turned serious again.

  There was no telling what existed beyond the current sector. No telling what created this world, or why. But what was clear now was that this was not a normal Earth. It was a new stage. Possibly a test. Possibly a trap. But definitely something beyond the design of any known civilization.

  12:14 PM – August 11, 2023 – European Space Agency Cafeteria, Paris, France

  The main doors of the conference hall slid open with a soft hiss, and the buzz of conversation spilled into the corridor. The first phase of the summit had ended in heavy silence, broken only by hushed voices and shuffling papers as participants filed out for a brief intermission.

  Gandolf and Jules—representing the Mu Republic—walked together down the curved hallway lined with gss and steel. Sunlight poured in from the wide windows, casting long reflections across the polished floor. The cityscape of Paris stretched out beyond the gss, old-world architecture standing against a sky pierced by satellites and jet contrails.

  They passed military officers speaking in fast, clipped English, and civilian scientists ughing softly over datapads, their conversation spattered with words neither Gandolf nor Jules fully understood.

  “Everything here moves like a machine,” Jules muttered as they reached the cafeteria doors.

  “It's beyond precision,” Gandolf agreed. “It’s... methodical.”

  They stepped into the canteen. Stainless steel counters, glowing digital menus, and humming vending stations greeted them. The smell of grilled vegetables, rich broths, and coffee filled the air. People from at least a dozen nations—both from Earth and from beyond—stood in line with trays, talking quietly over lunch.

  The two Muan ambassadors took their pce behind a pair of NASA staff and scanned the glowing screens above the kitchen stations.

  “I still can’t get over it,” Jules said under his breath. “They invited us. Us. To this.”

  Gandolf gave a dry smile. “Along with the Holy Mirishial no less. Usually we’re on opposite ends of every negotiation table.”

  “The Americans are the ones that made the call,” Jules added, picking up a tray. “The fact they grouped us together says a lot.”

  They moved down the line. A friendly staff member offered them dishes in English, then switched effortlessly to French. When it became clear neither Gandolf nor Jules could follow, she simply smiled, held up two fingers, and served them each a neatly arranged tray: pan-seared salmon over wild rice, sautéed greens, and a slice of warm bread with soft cheese.

  Jules took a slow breath, stunned. “Meals like this... are served during meetings?”

  “Daily,” Gandolf said, settling at a window-side table. “This is just lunch.”

  They sat and looked out across the ESA campus, where technicians walked past autonomous ground carts and small drone crews idling between assignments. Beyond the perimeter, one of the agency’s massive satellite dishes rotated silently under the sun.

  The world had changed. That much was clear.

  As they ate, their conversation returned to the summit.

  “That orbital projection...” Jules shook his head. “Thirty-two regions? All that water? If Gra Valkan gets to any of those uncimed sectors first—”

  “They’ll expand unchecked,” Gandolf finished. “The fact they used a city-killing weapon tells us everything we need. They see this as a war of domination, not survival.”

  “And if Earth doesn’t act quickly, they’ll seize the opportunity.”

  They both ate in silence for a moment, the weight of what they had learned sinking deeper with each bite.

  Gandolf finally broke the silence. “You felt it too, didn’t you? That moment when we saw the Earth’s true scale?”

  Jules nodded. “It felt... wrong. Or maybe too perfect. Like we were pced into a model. A test chamber.”

  “Not just us,” Gandolf said, gesturing toward the building. “Them too. Earth. Their cities. Their systems. Look around.”

  They both gnced at the wall-mounted digital clocks above the cafeteria entrance. There were five of them. Paris. New York. Tokyo. Shanghai. Santiago.

  All five were nearly synchronized.

  Jules blinked. “Wait. Why are New York and Shanghai showing the same time?”

  Gandolf leaned forward, whispering. “That’s not a mistake. One of the side reports mentioned it—since the dimensional dispcement, the global time zones have compressed. The Sun’s retive position over the pnet is... different. It’s not rotating on a traditional axial tilt anymore. The entire day-night cycle has shifted.”

  “They’re calling it the Temporal Fttening Effect,” added a nearby voice. It was a passing NASA linguist with a badge beled "Multinational Integration – Temporal Studies." She gave them a quick nod and moved on with her tray.

  Jules looked stunned. “Even the way we measure time is changing.”

  Gandolf leaned back in his chair, staring out the window again. “This isn’t just a new world. This is a new era.”

  They both watched as a small drone lifted from a maintenance pad outside the building and zipped toward one of the ESA's central towers. The sky overhead remained clear, scattered with high-altitude aircraft leaving no contrails. And still, that same uneasy silence lingered in their thoughts.

  For all their own advances, the Mu Republic had never imagined a civilization like this—one where satellites tracked gravitational pulses, where countries coordinated unches through orbital corridors, where machine learning systems updated forecasts in real time.

  “This is what the 21st century looks like,” Jules murmured. “Automation. Precision. Data in every pocket.”

  “And we’re still catching up to the 20th,” Gandolf replied.

  They didn’t say it aloud, but both knew the truth: the world as they knew it was gone. The Summoning had redefined everything—power, science, politics, even time itself. And now, sitting in the middle of the ESA cafeteria, surrounded by humans from different stars and centuries, they were no longer just diplomats.

  They were witnesses to the beginning of something vast.

  And possibly… something dangerous.

  Canteen Hall, North Wing – Holy Mirishial Delegation Table

  Percs, Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Holy Mirishial Empire, sat in silence, arms crossed, untouched lunch growing cold before him. Across the small gss table, Chief Siwalf and Philme conversed in their native tongue, their voices low and measured. Hers was quieter—carefully controlled—but tinged with unease beneath the surface.

  The canteen hummed with quiet discussion from Earth delegates and Gaia counterparts alike, but the Mirishial delegation remained aloof, seated slightly apart from the rger clusters of activity.

  “They exaggerate,” Siwalf muttered, pushing away his tray. “Gra Valkan this, Gra Valkan that. The Empire is thousands of kilometers away, isoted by sea and divine geography. They’ll never reach our territory. Let them squabble with the Mu and those scattered jungle states.”

  Percs gave a noncommittal grunt, still scrolling through transted digital transcripts of the meeting on the tablet provided by the American liaison. His golden robes shimmered faintly under the artificial lights, but he looked every bit the agitated politician whose expectations had been quietly shattered.

  Philme leaned forward, keeping her voice even. “We shouldn’t underestimate their ambition.”

  “Ambition, yes,” Percs replied at st, “but not capability. The Empire is protected. Holy ground. Our naval perimeter is intact. They won’t breach the Divine Barrier.”

  Siwalf smirked. “They’d sink trying.”

  The three shared a look of calcuted indifference. Despite the chaos unfolding across the other continents, the Holy Mirishial Empire remained untouched. Isoted by sheer distance, ringed by fleets and ancient doctrines, their status had been unchallenged for generations.

  Until recently.

  Her gaze drifted across the room, lingering on the bustling clusters of Earth scientists—chatting rapidly, pointing at floating projection dispys, tapping away on sleek handheld computers. Their energy was contagious, but it stung something deep within her.

  “I still remember,” he said, quiet now, “how our envoys once spoke of Mirishial as the center of civilization. The gods’ chosen nd. Untouchable.”

  Percs narrowed his eyes but didn’t interrupt.

  “And then,” Philme continued, voice quieter, “we lost to Morocco.”

  The table went still.

  Even Siwalf didn’t joke.

  That battle—though barely acknowledged in their internal records—had become an open wound in the Empire’s pride. A nation the Empire had considered beneath notice had defeated a Holy Mirishial fleet in open waters. Their ships, fast. Their targeting systems... precise. Coordinated strikes. Modern doctrine. Even now, the High Command dismissed it as a fluke, a trick, or divine punishment. But they all knew.

  It wasn’t divine punishment.

  It was Earth’s reality.

  Percs finally spoke, his voice low. “Their weapons are refined, yes. Their war doctrine is systematic. But what rattles me most... is the casualness of it all. These ‘phones,’ these computers they carry. What we consider state secrets—stored in our central archive towers—they carry in their pockets.”

  He nodded toward a nearby table where a pair of young NASA technicians were hunched over a tablet, exchanging satellite data with gestures and soft chatter.

  “Do you realize,” he continued, “their smallest civilian devices make our mainframe diviners look primitive? One showed me a map of the entire world in his hand. And he wasn’t even military.”

  Siwalf’s lips thinned. “They live in a different age. It’s not just power—it’s literacy of power. Integration. Fluency. We build machines. They build systems.”

  She opened a small Earth-issued tablet and tapped through a few dispyed files, eyes scanning quickly, absorbing everything she could despite the sensory overload. “Their medicine, too. Their satellites. Their weather prediction systems. Even their agriculture... You could feed ten times our popution with half the effort.”

  Percs sat back, exhaling through his nose. The quiet pride of Holy Mirishial, once unquestioned across the world they knew, had begun to feel hollow.

  “Perhaps we’ve been too proud,” he admitted under his breath.

  Then he tapped the screen, and the recent pnetary scan appeared again. The massive ice-bound Earth. The thirty-two segmented regions. The surrounding void filled with simir constructs.

  Percs passed the device to Philme.

  “This… this is not something our priest-astronomers could even imagine.”

  She looked up, unsettled. “If this world was built… then by whom?”

  Siwalf answered, his voice ft. “Not gods.”

  There was a pause.

  “Then what?” Philme asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

  “Something worse,” Percs replied quietly. “Something with intent.”

  They sat for a long time in silence, the sounds of distant ughter and rustling trays forgotten. For centuries, Holy Mirishial had viewed itself as a divine nation, chosen and superior. But today, in the cafeteria of a space agency built by a world they’d once ignored, they saw the scale of their miscalcution.

  The room around them buzzed with foreign energy—scientists and soldiers, generals and advisors, all working toward something vast. Something dangerous. Something unknown.

  And for the first time, the Holy Mirishial Empire was not leading the conversation.

  It was catching up.

  12:41 PM – August 11, 2023 – European Space Agency Headquarters, Paris, France

  The break had done little to ease the tension in the room.

  As the representatives, scientists, and military officials returned to their seats, a hum of specution lingered in the air. Coffee cups and water bottles sat forgotten on the tables. The projected map of Earth-A—massive, segmented, and enclosed by an icy ring—remained on the central dispy, like an unanswered question looming over the discussion.

  Dr. Larrimore of NASA stood once again at the front, fnked by a new panel of satellite specialists and Earth science engineers. The room dimmed as he tapped his remote and a new series of visuals appeared on the main screen—high-resolution imagery from orbital reconnaissance drones unched just a week prior.

  “Ladies and gentlemen,” he began, “what you’re seeing now are scans taken across multiple sectors of the ice barrier. After deploying a full pass using synthetic aperture radar, we’ve confirmed the presence of at least ninety-two unique megastructures—each the size of a small city—distributed along the outer perimeters of these ice regions.”

  A wave of murmurs spread across the hall.

  The screen zoomed in on one of the structures—an impossibly vast complex embedded directly into the ice, its surface a tticework of towers, intake spires, and curved energy collectors arranged in a radial formation. At the center sat a massive vertical pilr—hundreds of meters wide and easily several kilometers tall—driven deep into the ice, surrounded by concentric rings of smaller substructures.

  They resembled engines—but not for propulsion. These were rooted, stabilized. Stationary.

  “We’ve named them for now: Tertiary Stations,” Larrimore continued, “a term borrowed from a theoretical energy grid model proposed during Earth’s pre-space expansion age. But these… these are far beyond anything we’ve ever attempted.”

  Another image appeared, showing three such stations evenly distributed in one of the unpoputed sectors—each spaced hundreds of kilometers apart but connected by what looked like underground conduit channels buried under the ice. Heat signatures, while minimal, registered in precise repeating intervals.

  Dr. Cami Resendes from Brazil took over the mic. “Based on atmospheric sampling and energy emission readings, we believe these structures are part of an ancient pnetary energy production network—possibly geothermal, possibly tapping into something deeper. Their output is difficult to measure directly, but if our models are accurate, each Tertiary Station could generate energy at the scale of a small star over time.”

  A stunned silence followed.

  From the Russian delegation, a military analyst leaned forward. “You’re saying the power from one of these could run a continent?”

  “Several,” Resendes answered. “If distributed efficiently.”

  Philme of Holy Mirishial narrowed her eyes. “Are they active?”

  “No signs of full operation,” Dr. Larrimore responded. “But they’re not dead either. Minimal energy fluctuations indicate a kind of standby mode. Dormant, but stable. If someone—or something—reactivates them, we don’t know what would happen.”

  Jules of the Mu Republic raised a hand. “How long have they been here?”

  Dr. Vortner stepped forward. “Unknown. But based on isotopic dating of the ice formations surrounding their bases, they predate Earth-A’s current surface environment by at least a million years. Possibly more. That’s assuming the structure and pnetary model wasn’t moved or altered since then.”

  The weight of her words crushed the room.

  Gandolf leaned into the mic. “Then who built them?”

  That question sat in the air, unanswered.

  Percs, composed as ever, asked the more immediate concern: “Are they weapons?”

  “We don’t believe so,” Larrimore said. “There are no offensive signatures. No kinetic ptforms, no radiation spikes typical of directed energy weapons. These look like infrastructure. Industrial. Not military.”

  “Could they be repurposed?” someone from the Chinese delegation asked.

  Larrimore hesitated. “Maybe. But doing so would require technology beyond our own. We haven’t even begun to penetrate the ice casing on the nearest one.”

  Philme leaned toward Siwalf, voice low. “We always thought magic was the foundation of creation. But this... this makes our deepest relics feel like toys.”

  Back on stage, another image appeared—a wide shot of three Tertiary Stations aligned across a gcial region. Massive storms brewed around them, but the stations remained untouched, unmoved, as if protected by an unseen force.

  “There’s one more thing,” Dr. Resendes added. “The ice is thick—over fifteen kilometers in some sectors—but in areas surrounding the stations, it’s been compressed unnaturally. In some cases, we found impossible geometric formations in the ice yers, almost as if the stations bend reality around them.”

  “You’re suggesting spatial manipution?” asked a physicist from JAXA.

  “We don’t know what else to call it.”

  The room slowly quieted. The cascade of voices, the overpping questions, and the heated whispers about power, risk, and history gave way to a stillness shaped by gravity—not fear, but realization.

  Dr. Amelia Vortner stepped back from the podium as the lights brightened slightly. The closing statements were ready.

  From the upper gallery, a neutral moderator—appointed by ESA and accepted by both Earth and off-world representatives—stood.

  “Before we adjourn, I will read the provisional statement of cooperative intent. This will be distributed to all attending delegations within the hour.”

  He adjusted his earpiece and began:

  “In recognition of the confirmed expansion of terrestrial structure and the presence of pnetary-scale technological anomalies, we, the undersigned parties, agree to establish an immediate scientific and diplomatic coalition to investigate, monitor, and protect these discoveries.

  We acknowledge the unknown origin, purpose, and function of the structures cssified as Tertiary Stations, and recognize the potential risk associated with unsupervised access or forced activation.

  Until further research is complete, no nation or organization shall engage in excavation, reverse engineering, or activation attempts of these sites without express multiteral agreement under the oversight of an international council.

  A new working body will be formed: the World Cooperative Observatory Initiative (WCOI), headquartered in Geneva, with field branches in Santiago, Tokyo, and Lisbon.”

  There was no appuse. Only nods. Quiet pens scratching. Governments absorbing the weight of responsibility.

  The lights dimmed slightly once more—not for another presentation, but for a final message.

  The host of the summit, a senior ESA official with decades of diplomatic and scientific experience, stepped to the center podium. The murmuring slowed. Conversations stopped.

  He looked out across the room—not as a scientist or a statesman, but as someone who, like everyone present, had just witnessed the unraveling of everything once thought familiar.

  “I thank you all for your presence today,” he began, his voice steady but heavy. “What we have shared here is not simply discovery. It is a confrontation with possibility—possibility so vast, so far-reaching, that even the most rational among us must admit: anything could happen.”

  He paused, letting that settle.

  “We do not know what this pnet truly is. We do not know who built these structures. We do not know if we are the first to walk here… or the st. But we do know this: from this moment forward, our decisions will matter more than ever. Not just to our nations. Not just to our people. But to the very course of civilization.”

  There was no appuse. Only silence.

  He continued, voice lowering slightly.

  “We must act with humility. With care. With unity. Because for the first time in all our histories—on Earth, on Gaia, in every corner of every kingdom—we are looking at something no longer mythical or divine. It is real. It is mechanical. It is cold. It is waiting.”

  Then he stepped back, leaving nothing else to say.

  As the hall began to empty and attendees drifted toward the exits in hushed clumps, the Holy Mirishial delegation remained in their seats. Percs stared ahead bnkly, lips pressed into a thin line, his posture rigid. Siwalf leaned back, rubbing his temples slowly with both hands, while Philme hunched forward over her closed notepad, as if she might throw up.

  Philme broke the silence first. Her voice was ft, shaky. “So… we’re living on a hollowed-out machine world covered in ice, surrounded by ocean, with ancient power pnts the size of cities?”

  Siwalf exhaled hard through his nose. “That's the short version, yes.”

  Percs blinked slowly, like he hadn’t processed it until just now. “And they’ve known for weeks.”

  “Months,” Philme muttered. “Some of them probably longer.”

  They all sat for a few seconds more, just letting the reality settle in.

  Siwalf looked at the nearest wall screen, which still dispyed the image of a towering Tertiary Station surrounded by swirling ice. “We thought they were bluffing. That Earth was trying to impress us. Show off their science fiction.”

  “Yeah,” she said, eyes wide. “But this… this wasn’t fiction. This was a gut punch.”

  Percs finally spoke, his tone dry. “What was it the French moderator said? ‘We’re not the first in the room?’” He scoffed. “More like we just found out we walked into someone else's house.”

  Across the room, Jules and Gandolf from the Mu Republic sat slouched in their chairs, their trays from lunch untouched beside them.

  “I can’t even pretend to understand half the words they used,” Jules mumbled. “Spatial dispcement, gravitational damping, synthetic aperture recon. I wrote down terms I’ll need a dictionary for.”

  Gandolf didn’t respond immediately. He was still staring at the st satellite image on his tablet, fingers gripping the device tightly.

  “They have weather models that can see into next week,” he said quietly. “We’re still using scrying stones.”

  Jules let out a short, humorless ugh. “I actually thought we’d find ways to negotiate, maybe argue over jurisdiction. But now? I’m just wondering if they even need us.”

  “They do,” Gandolf said, his voice firmer. “Not because we’re equals. But because they’ve seen what happens when civilizations colpse. And they don’t want to be the next Gra Valkan.”

  Jules nodded slowly. “Still... today felt like a history book being thrown at our heads. Over and over.”

  Percs gnced over at them across the room and offered the faintest of acknowledgments.

  "Too much," Siwalf murmured, shaking his head. "Too fast."

  Philme finally sat upright and adjusted her robe. “We need to debrief. Carefully. There’s no way the High Temple’s going to accept this at face value. But, the Holy Mirishial society won’t accept this.”

  Percs didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was quiet, but final.

  “Then maybe it's time they stopped pretending the gods still run this world.”