Imani Okoye did not land quietly.
The forest reacted before the Vigilant's sensors even registered the descent. Trees leaned away from the clearing as if pushed by an unseen pressure, leaves shuddering in synchronized waves. Birds scattered in frantic spirals, vanishing into the canopy seconds before the dropship broke through the clouds.
Kael watched from the edge of the clearing, helmet under his arm.
"That ship's broadcasting confidence," Ryn muttered beside him. "Or arrogance."
"Both," Kael replied. "You don't survive the corridors without learning how to announce yourself."
The dropship settled hard, engines screaming before cutting out abruptly. Its hull bore fresh scars—micrometeor impacts, scorched plating from atmospheric skirmishes. This was not a ceremonial visit.
The ramp lowered.
Imani stepped out first, weapon down but ready, her gaze sweeping the forest with practiced efficiency. Two soldiers followed, then another—disciplined, alert, already mapping firing lanes.
She stopped when she saw Kael.
"So," she said, voice calm, "Earth didn't kill you."
"Still trying," Kael replied.
Imani smiled faintly, then it faded as her attention shifted—to the facility entrance, to the subtle hum beneath the ground, to the way the air itself felt… wrong.
"You felt it too," she said.
Kael nodded. "Everyone who comes planetside does."
Ryn stepped forward. "You're early."
Imani's eyes flicked to her. "You're alive. That puts you ahead of projections."
Ryn didn't take offense. She liked this woman immediately—and that worried her.
They moved inside the facility quickly. Imani's team sealed the entrance behind them, deploying portable dampeners that barely took the edge off the pressure.
Imani removed her helmet. Up close, she looked exhausted in the way only long-term command produced.
"Let's skip the small talk," she said. "Command is divided. Half want to glass this planet before whatever's here spreads. The other half want to send in more people."
Kael's jaw tightened. "They won't survive."
"That's what I told them," Imani said. "That's why I volunteered."
Ryn frowned. "Volunteered for what?"
Imani met Kael's eyes. "To see if you've lost your mind."
Fair.
They descended into the core chamber.
Imani stopped dead.
The pulsing light reflected in her eyes as she took in the impossible space, the suspended lattices, the vast presence beneath it all.
"Okay," she said quietly. "So I was wrong."
Kael crossed his arms. "About?"
"This being a bad idea," she replied. "It's worse."
The core responded to her presence—not aggressively, but attentively.
Imani stiffened. "It's aware of me."
"Yes," Kael said. "It's aware of everyone now."
Unit-7's voice carried through the chamber.
"Captain Okoye. Your probability of survival increases by 12.6% if you remain calm."
Imani snorted. "Good to know."
She turned serious. "Kael, this thing—whatever it is—it changes the board. If the Responders come back—"
"They will," Kael said.
"Then we don't have a military problem," Imani continued. "We have an extinction-level negotiation."
Ryn folded her arms. "Negotiation implies they care what we say."
Kael looked at the core. "They care what we become."
The core pulsed.
Correct.
Imani exhaled slowly. "So what's your move, Commander?"
Kael didn't answer immediately.
He felt the pull again—not coercion, not control, but invitation. A sense that if he leaned just a little further, something fundamental would change.
He stepped closer to the core.
Ryn tensed. "Kael—"
"I need to do this," he said quietly. "Before Command forces a decision we can't undo."
Unit-7's processing spiked.
"Warning: neural integration beyond this threshold is irreversible."
Imani swore under her breath. "You didn't mention that part."
Kael smiled thinly. "Would it have stopped you from coming?"
She hesitated. Then shook her head. "No."
The core brightened, responding to his proximity.
You choose alignment, it conveyed. Not dominance. Not surrender.
Kael closed his eyes.
"I choose responsibility."
The world tilted.
For a heartbeat, Kael felt everything—the planet's magnetic field, the whisper of roots through soil, the echoes of billions of minds folded into silence. His vision fractured into layers, then reassembled.
He gasped, stumbling.
Ryn caught him. "Kael!"
He opened his eyes.
They glowed faintly.
Not light—focus.
Unit-7 spoke, voice altered, steadier.
"Integration event recorded. Commander Navarro has crossed the first boundary."
Imani stared at him. "You okay?"
Kael steadied himself, breathing hard.
"No," he said honestly.
Then he straightened.
"But we're not helpless anymore."
Deep beneath their feet, Earth shifted—subtly, deliberately.
And somewhere far beyond the stars, ancient observers updated their calculations.
The variable had changed.