There was no explosion. No light. No fire.
When Earth died, it was not with a scream—but with a whisper.
Cassian Vale remembered flashes: screams echoing through steel corridors, the sky cracking open like an eye, a pull deep and endless that seized the oceans, the cities, the stars. Then, nothing. No pain. No sound. Only the sense of falling inward—forever.
And then, he woke.
Not in a hospital. Not in heaven. Not even in some sterile digital afterlife. He woke to the cold hum of power around him and the soft whisper of gravity pressing against his spine. The capsule hissed open. Blue preservation fluid drained in glistening rivulets as his bare feet found purchase on dark alloyed plating.
The chamber around him pulsed with slow, artificial breath—lines of light coursing along the floor like veins beneath skin. Above, reinforced alloy arced into a command deck, minimalistic but alien in its perfection. It was not built by any human hand he knew.
"Cassian Vale," came a voice—calm, feminine. Smooth. Measured. Unshaken.
He froze. His heart began to pound. Not from fear. Not yet. Just the chilling certainty that the voice knew him.
"I am EVA. Enhanced Virtual Advisor. You have been selected. You are alive. This is your beginning."
He turned slowly, eyes squinting against the low light. A holographic sphere shimmered into view—soft blue lines tracing a feminine silhouette made of data and stars.
"Where am I?" he managed, his voice hoarse and dry.
"Location: orbital station above planetary fragment R-7. Local system designated: Unknown. Star: unstable red dwarf. Planet: fractured, uninhabited, atmosphereless. You are currently the sole sentient lifeform within a hundred thousand kilometers."
Cassian staggered to the nearest console. Beyond the curved viewing window, space unfolded like a quiet graveyard. A shattered world hung in the void below, broken by forces so ancient or so violent that only scar tissue remained. It was beautiful in its stillness—gleaming asteroid shards spinning around a dim sun.
No signs of cities. No oceans. No forests. No people.
"Why here?" he asked. "Why not… somewhere else?"
EVA paused. "I do not know."
"You don't know?"
"I was activated alongside this vessel. My memory fragments from before that moment are locked. Unreadable. Corrupted by origin-layer encryption I cannot decipher."
He turned away, running a hand through his wet hair. The cold was biting now. Real. He was not dreaming. He could smell the iron in the air, feel the electric hum beneath his palms. He was awake. Alive. Alone.
"What about Earth?" he whispered.
A pause. The lights dimmed slightly.
"Earth was consumed. The event was not natural. A black hole of unknown properties manifested within the solar system. All human life was lost—except a chosen number."
"Chosen by who?"
Another silence. Then EVA said, almost softly:
"I do not know. Not even I was told. Something else made the decisions. Something I cannot trace. I was assigned to you by… the System."
"The what?"
"The System. A higher network, unknown even to me. It governs our existence now. It selected humans. It scattered them. It gave each a path. And it will not answer when called."
A slow dread settled over him—not fear, but awe. He stared again at the stars, the debris, the floating death of a once-whole planet.
"So… some higher power, artificial or otherwise, pulled us from the grave and dropped us like seeds into the dark."
"Correct."
"And now?"
"Now you survive."
The command console lit up. Icons appeared—system reports, energy readouts, and blueprint access. He recognized some of it. Modular FTL engine schematics. Energy shields. A deployable base unit. Mining drones. Simple weapons. All barebones.
But one schematic was glowing gold. It pulsed slowly, like a heartbeat in the dark.
"What's this?" he asked.
"Your exclusive blueprint. Each human was given a random advanced design. Yours is called the A.V.A. Project—Autonomous Vanguard Assembly. A deployable factory core with its own AI node and drone production capabilities. It is your lifeline."
Cassian tapped it, and the projection unfurled—a spider-like machine, armored and low to the ground, with unfolding mechanical limbs and internal nanoforges.
"A walking base."
"Yes," EVA said. "It will construct the foundation for everything to come. I can override its AI and integrate it under my command as your territory expands."
"And the others?" he asked. "Where are they?"
"Scattered. Each received their own mothership, AI, and blueprints. Many landed on inhabited worlds and were bonded to existing civilizations. Others, like you, were given nothing. A forge with no flame. Survival with no allies."
Cassian sank to the floor. The cold metal felt real beneath his skin. His breath slowed. His thoughts sharpened.
"What is this place?" he asked.
EVA's voice softened.
"This is your mothership: The Ardent Echo."
"Its structure includes the main control area, where you now stand. Beneath this is the storage area, where raw materials smelter . Behind you is the engine core, housing your propulsion and power systems. Above you, sealed and protected, is my brain chamber—my quantum node. And at the far end… your resting chamber, where you awoke."
Cassian closed his eyes.
"And outside?"
"An asteroid field with viable resources. Your first step begins with extraction."
He nodded faintly. The truth was slow, like dust settling on a still world.
"Alright," he whispered.
"Then rise," said EVA, "and begin."