Chapter 5: The Breach
The ground shuddered beneath Aela's feet as she sprinted toward the Cradle with the others. Dust lifted from the moon's gray surface, drifting upward in lazy curls before settling again. Ahead, the horizon pulsed with a deep turquoise glow—stronger, brighter, no longer subtle or contained.
Khorin ran beside her, breath ragged. "If that thing opens up again, how do we even respond? With what? A datapad and optimism?"
Aela didn't answer. The resonant pull inside her chest was growing stronger with each step, like a string tugging her forward. She couldn't shake the feeling that the Cradle wasn't just waking—it was searching.
When they reached the ridge overlooking the structure, the sight stole the breath from every throat.
The Cradle was transforming.
A massive fissure now split the top like a blooming flower, its organic shell peeling back in slow, fluid motion. Luminous strands of energy arced upward, weaving a shimmering curtain that crackled like frozen lightning. The once-dull surfaces were now vibrant, flowing with intricate patterns that shifted like living circuitry.
Captain Jora cursed softly. "This is not a breach—it's an emergence."
Engineers scrambled to set up sensors, but their screens flickered uncontrollably, the data unreadable.
Aela stepped closer to the edge, unable to tear her eyes away. The pressure in her mind sharpened.
Come.
It wasn't a plea.
It was a summons.
Jora caught her arm. "You are not going in there. I mean it. We don't know what we're dealing with."
Aela turned to her, voice steady. "But it knows me. It's reaching for me. If I don't respond, we'll lose any chance of understanding what's coming."
"Or you'll die." Jora's voice cracked, just slightly. "And then we're all blind."
Aela hesitated. She wasn't fearless—her heart hammered, her palms shook—but something deeper than fear was pushing her forward. The visions hadn't felt like threats. They felt like warnings.
And responsibilities.
Khorin moved to Jora's side. "Captain… maybe she's right. Every time that thing pulses, our equipment fails. But Aela is still stabilizing. If it wants to communicate, she's the only conduit we've got."
Jora pressed her lips together, torn between protocol and survival instinct. "This is insane."
Aela managed a faint smile. "You said that yesterday too."
Before Jora could respond, the ridge shook violently. A column of light shot upward from the Cradle, casting the landscape in a blinding glow. The air vibrated with a deep, resonant hum—like a thousand voices speaking as one.
Through the light, shapes appeared.
Not fully formed bodies, but silhouettes—echoes of the beings Aela had seen before, projections shimmering in the air above the Cradle. They moved in synchronized waves, their forms stretching and bending like shadows caught in water.
Khorin gasped. "Are those—?"
"Communications," Aela whispered. "They're trying to speak."
One of the shapes detached from the others, drifting forward until it hovered directly in front of Aela. Its form was tall and fluid, crowned with tendrils of luminous energy that flickered gently like embers.
Aela stepped closer.
Jora hissed, "Aela, don't—!"
But it was too late. The projection extended an arm, and a thin beam of light touched Aela's forehead.
Her vision exploded.
She was nowhere—floating in a void filled with swirling galaxies and rivers of time. She saw the Cradle not as a structure but as a seed of potential, meant to birth entities capable of maintaining cosmic balance. But something had fractured its timeline, leaving the gods unfinished, unstable.
Humanity.
Humans had altered the universe in ways they didn't understand—disrupting ancient cosmic rhythms by expanding too far, too fast, leaving the Cradle stranded in this broken state.
Aela saw a branching path: one reality collapsing inward, the other expanding into chaos.
Balance was gone.
Until now.
"You are the spark," the voices whispered. "The bridge. The resolver."
Aela's consciousness snapped back into her body. She staggered, knees buckling, the world spinning.
Khorin caught her. "Aela! Talk to me—what did you see?"
Aela steadied herself, breath shaking. She looked at the Cradle, now pulsating as if waiting for her answer.
"They're not attacking us," she said. "They're asking for help."
Jora frowned. "Help with what?"
Aela swallowed hard.
"To finish being born."
The ridge fell silent, every pair of eyes fixed on her.
Because the next step wasn't scientific.
It was a choice—hers alone.