Stella walked through the halls of the Central Government building.
The air felt heavier here. It was thicker, quieter. She had been summoned to deliver her report on the massacre in the village, and now she was on her way back to the Post.
That was when she noticed the room. It was unmarked. No cameras. No guards.
Her steps slowed. Something tightened in her chest. She told herself to keep walking.
But she didn't.
As soon as she stepped inside, the door behind her slid shut with a metallic click.
The lights ignited all at once.
White. Not warm. Not sterile. Endless.
It swallowed the room whole.
Stella shielded her eyes, gasping as the brightness burned against her vision. When she lowered her hand, the white didn't fade. It deepened, stretching outward like an infinite void.
At the center of it stood a hologram. It was a woman.
She was translucent, her form incomplete. Her features phasing in and out, as though reality itself struggled to remember her.
"Commander Astrum," the figure said, her voice flat and mechanical. "Confirmation required."
Stella swallowed.
"Y-Yes. That's who I am."
"You have been selected to preserve humanity."
Stella frowned, her heartbeat pounding in her ears.
"What… are you talking about?"
"In projected futures, humanity reaches extinction-level collapse," the woman replied. "The surface of Earth becomes uninhabitable. The ground will no longer be safe."
The words felt inhuman. Programmed.
"The only survivable domain," the hologram continued, "is the sky."
Stella took a step back.
"I-I don't understand."
"You are not required to," the woman said. "Not yet. Trust has been assigned. Meaning will follow."
Stella's voice trembled. "Who are you?"
"I am an Artificial Intelligence," the woman replied. "Designed to ensure the continuation of the human species."
Stella's breath caught. She heard rumors about an Artificial Intelligence that was being worked on.
A sealed project. A forbidden construct. Humanity's attempt to manufacture their God. A machine meant to answer every question and find the best solution in all possibilities.
She wasn't supposed to be here.
If this was discovered—
The hologram paused.
Something went wrong.
Her image glitched. One eye flickered out, then returned slightly misaligned.
"Probability of extinction in current trajectory is—"
She stopped.
The room hummed.
"Is— i—- s—- is—-"
Her voice cracked, distorted by static. "—error. Error. Recalculating."
Stella's breath caught.
What is happening?
The hologram twitched, her form bending unnaturally, as if pulled by invisible strings.
"Directive conflict detected," the AI said, faster now. Less composed.
"Primary objective compromised. O-ver-r-ride-e— override not authorized."
Her form was flickering in and out of existence.
"U-U-nauthori-i-zed pre-eeeeee-sence detect-e-ed."
The white space darkened, not dimming but deepening, as if the light itself was being swallowed.
Her body fragmented into shards of light, splitting and reassembling over and over.
"C-c-c-containment failure i-i-i-imminent," she stammered.
"Containment— containment—"
The room shook.
A low vibration pulsed through the floor, through Stella's bones.
"—-p-p-please e- e- evacate," the AI said, her voice breaking apart.
Her image collapsed inward.
The hologram vanished.
At the center of the room, something else ignited.
Not a projection. Not a machine.
A light. It burned white-hot, alive, watching.
And then—
The voice came.
Not through her ears. But through her mind.
Quiet.
The word struck like a command.
The whole room, the humming, the vibrations, her breath, her mind—
Dead silent.
She felt her body become lighter, her eyes fixed on that strange warm light, not daring to look anywhere else.
Go to your best friend's home.
The words carved themselves into her mind.
There is already a blueprint.
A child has drawn what must be built.
Construct it.
Stella tried to speak. But her whole body was trembling—shaking.
Her vision shattered.
She came to, lying on the cold floor of the dark room. The door stood open. Hallway lights streamed inside as if nothing had happened.
No alarms and no guards.
She staggered to her feet and ran.
***
Jeanne was finally beginning to recover. The grief hadn't faded, but she ate. She slept. She endured.
As she cleaned her house, her hand brushed against a piece of paper.
Filian's drawing: A city soaring in the sky. Jeanne smiled—small, fragile—and placed it on the table.
Moments later, frantic knocking echoed through the house.
Stella burst inside, pale and shaking, eyes unfocused as if chased by something unseen.
She barely greeted Jeanne.
Her gaze locked onto the table.
Onto the drawing.
Stella froze.
"…Is this it?" she whispered. "Is this what I'm supposed to build?"
Jeanne stared at her, confused and startled.
"Did Filian draw this?" Stella asked, her voice strained.
"Y-Yes," Jeanne said quietly. "She said she wanted to build flying cities when she grew up…"
Stella inhaled sharply.
"Jeanne," she said, suddenly grave. "May I use this drawing? I swear to you—I'll protect it. I'll make it real."
Jeanne hesitated.
Then nodded.
"If it was you… Filian would've loved that."
Stella hugged her tightly.
Then she was gone.
***
Commander Incarceratus grew restless.
More villages vanished.
More corpses piled up.
The same wounds. The same absence of blood.
No trail to be found. No enemy to be identified.
As he was lost in thought, he remembered what the boy that survived the first attack told him.
"Beware of the ground…" he murmured. "What could that mean?"
His eyes drifted to a headline on his desk.
ASTRUM Industries Announce Ambitious Sky City Project.
His brow furrowed.
"Astrum…? Isn't that Stella's last name?" Then he remembered he had work to do.
He sighed and returned to his paperwork. The pile seemed endless.
"I still have so much to do… and it seems it won't be getting any less."