One evening, while scanning the sky, Mara picked up a faint, pulsing beacon—an old Earth frequency, almost lost beneath the cosmic noise. The system translated the signal: survivors, far away, reaching out in hope. The news electrified everyone. Should they answer? Should they try to bring more people here?
The debate ran late into the night. Rhea's voice trembled with excitement as she argued for finding and helping others. Lin worried about resources, about safety. Alex listened, weighing the risks and the possibilities, feeling the old ache of loneliness for all those still out there in the void. In the end, they sent a message back—simple, welcoming, and full of hope.
That spring, a sickness swept through the camp. It started with coughs and fevers, spreading fast among the children. The system's medical protocols kicked in, and Mia took charge, supported by everyone else. Fear gnawed at the adults—old memories of loss threatening to overwhelm them.
But this time, they weren't alone. Lin fixed broken equipment, Rhea brewed herbal teas, Mara told stories to distract the little ones, and Alex sat up late, holding hands and whispering comfort. Nights were restless, full of worry and longing, but also full of the warmth of bodies piled together, drawing strength from closeness.
When the last child's fever broke, the relief was overwhelming. They wept and laughed and held each other tightly, grateful for the resilience they'd built together.