The Council ended with more noise than answers.
Chairs scraped stone, translators murmured, and the hall of the Concordium emptied one delegation at a time.
When the last envoy's footsteps faded, Vonix remained.
Above him, the seven luminous crests revolved in slow harmony.
The silence that followed wasn't still—it breathed.
He whispered to the air, "Containment, not control."
Then he turned away.
Behind him, the lights dimmed once, as if exhaling.
— — —
THE CONCORDIUM DOCKS — NIGHT
Rain slanted through the wind.
Floodlights shimmered off metal decks as airships lifted into cloud.
Sarah Avelon stood near the edge, coat rippling, watching lightning crawl along the horizon.
Her wrist device blinked—once, twice—then began to pulse in rhythm with the thunder.
Her pilot's voice crackled through the comm.
"Director Avelon, cleared for departure."
She didn't answer.
Another flash split the sky, identical to the one before it.
Then another.
Patterns—perfect, repeating.
"You're speaking again," she whispered to the storm.
Only the rain replied.
She turned and boarded her skimmer.
— — —
ARCHIVE CENTRAL — TWO NIGHTS LATER
The Archive tower glowed like a pale blade against the skyline.
Inside, the command floor hummed with quiet urgency.
"Localized resonance spikes across five regions," a technician said.
"Same frequency as the Varda collapse."
Vonix read the data without expression.
Comik joined him, weary.
"The public's calling it skyfire. The feeds say it's weather."
Vonix stared at the blue lightning beyond the window.
"It's not weather," he said. "It's response."
"Response to what?"
"To us."
— — —
VERDANT REIGN — BORDER OUTPOST
Rain soaked the forest canopy.
A young patrolman leaned against his transport—until the world went silent.
No rain. No wind. No sound.
He looked up.
Through the trees, the stars shifted, forming a spiral of faint blue light.
It pulsed three times, steady as a heartbeat—then vanished.
He grabbed his radio.
"Station Five, I've got… something in the sky. Pattern confirmed."
Static. Nothing else.
— — —
AVELON INDUSTRIES — PRIVATE LAB
Sarah stood before a wall of holographic maps.
Every point of data pulsed in the same rhythm, converging north.
The glass sphere glowed softly, echoing the pattern—like remembering an old rhythm.
She touched it. "You're awake."
Outside her window, clouds twisted into slow circles.
Sarah's voice was calm but low.
"You're calling something back."
The sphere brightened in answer.
— — —
NORTHERN SKIES
Thunder rolled across the world in measured beats.
Above the polar storms, lightning curved into a ring—lines within lines.
Archive satellites caught the image, then went dark.
For an instant, the planet seemed to breathe.