The Constellation Network had finally gone still.
Not silent—never truly silent—but calm in a way it had not been since the predator's arrival cycles ago. Streams of starlight flowed smoothly between nodes again, energy transferring across vast distances in graceful arcs instead of frantic bursts of defensive power.
For the first time since the crisis began, the network pulsed with something resembling peace.
Ethan drifted at the edge of the newborn node, watching the currents move.
The young star-seed glowed steadily now, no longer flickering with instability. It was still small—barely more than a concentrated sphere of radiant energy—but its rhythm had stabilized.
A steady heartbeat in the dark.
He exhaled slowly, though the motion was more habit than necessity.
"We did it," he murmured.
Behind him, Lysarra floated among fragments of shattered energy fields—remnants of the predator's attack.
"Temporarily," she corrected.
Her tone wasn't pessimistic.
Just honest.
