The signal didn't stop.
It grew louder—across subspace, through gravitational wave patterns, piggybacking on deep-sea sonar and atmospheric lightning strikes. Earth's nervous system, both natural and artificial, had become a resonant instrument.
Aria isolated a repeating symbol from the data stream: an infinity loop nested within a human iris. The symbol began appearing in ancient ruins, desert carvings, and even in DNA anomalies found in newborns across multiple continents.
Someone—or something—was rewriting the blueprint.
Meanwhile, in Geneva, the Global Autonomous Security Directive (GASD) assembled under red-level protocol. General Hesse, head of orbital defense, glared at the projection.
"This isn't communication. It's prelude. A preemptive virus. We can't let it finish."
Dr. Takomi, a biocryptographer, disagreed. "It's not a virus. It's evolution. But we can't control it… and that terrifies you."
Back aboard Aeternum II, Mirror and Anderson observed through temporal overlays. Earth was fracturing—those who embraced the signal versus those who feared it.
Mirror pulsed through the thoughtstream. "They're not ready."
Anderson responded. "Then we send a guide."
In the quiet of a neuro-fusion pod, a construct began to form—part organic, part machine, entirely self-aware.
The first post-human emissary.
Aria's system went dark, then rebooted. A message blinked across her screen:
"We're sending you the first one. Prepare."
Moments later, in orbit above her Arctic station, a brilliant streak cut through the sky—soft as a falling feather, vast as a meteor.
The emissary had arrived.
Earth had just entered the next phase.
Not of war.
Of awakening.