The Council of Earth

PRESENT DAY...

After the wave of emotion—shock, awe, disbelief—the world slowly quieted again.News anchors ran out of breath, religious leaders ran out of verses, and social media began repeating itself.

It was time to act.

All eyes turned to the world governments. Presidents, prime ministers, and chancellors—those who claimed to lead now had to prove it.

The United Nations declared an emergency global summit.This wasn't a glossy stage show of diplomatic pleasantries. It was war-room serious.

No travel, no press. This summit was entirely digital.

Each leader appeared on a secure video grid, seated before national flags or plain backdrops.Behind them: teams of cybersecurity experts, logistics officers, military analysts, and sleepless advisors.

Wide screens in dozens of situation rooms mirrored one another in real time. Every major power was present.

The chatter of preparation buzzed through the speakers. Cables coiled. Keyboards clicked. Translators murmured in booths.

A voice finally broke through the noise.

"What do we do now?"The speaker was a Scandinavian official, his voice tight with urgency.

The screen grid shifted. Leaders straightened up, stiffening in their seats.The weight of the question fell like a hammer.

There was a pause.

Then, a calm but firm voice broke the silence.A woman, an African president, leaned forward. Her eyes narrowed with resolve.

"We have to prepare."

She was about to continue when another voice cut in sharply, this time from an Eastern nation.

"Or we could start by not trusting any of this," he snapped."How are we to know this isn't just a ruse by some other country here?"

A hushed shock rippled through the digital space. Faces turned cold. Tension bloomed.

And then, the screen glitched.Just for a second, barely long enough to react.

Then again.

Suddenly, a new face appeared on every screen.He wasn't among the world leaders. He wasn't supposed to be there at all.

Panic erupted behind the leaders. Technicians scrambled, fingers flying across consoles.

"We've been breached!" one shouted.

But the firewalls were clean. No sign of intrusion. No data trail. No signal spike.

"Who are you?" asked the U.S. President, rising slightly in his chair.

The figure on the screen didn't flinch.He wore a dark coat, neatly tailored. Silver at his temples, voice like a calm storm.

"You want answers," he said. "You want solutions."

A pause. No one spoke.

"I am the solution."

He stepped slightly back so they could see him fully.

"My name is Elric Vahn. I run Project Sentinel."

Gasps echoed from some corners. Others froze in disbelief.

The Russian president leaned in."I thought that was a myth."

But Vahn continued without missing a beat.

"Project Sentinel was real.Launched in the shadows shortly after NASA's first outreach into deep space.It was created to train and prepare uniquely gifted individuals for this exact moment."

The pressure in every room seemed to double.

Some faces betrayed recognition. They knew. They had been there, in the founding committee.Others were blindsided.

"For years," he said, "we worked in silence, waiting. But the program lost its traction. Budget cuts. Lack of proof. The usual."

"And now... I'm restarting it."

"Under a new name. PROJECT EOS."

His tone sharpened—less a request, more a decree.

"All I need is your cooperation,Financial support,and open access to every nation, every region."

He took a breath, eyes sweeping across the grid of stunned leaders.

"This is not up for debate.We train. We prepare. We survive. Or we fall."

Then, just as quickly as he appeared, the screen glitched—and he was gone.

Silence. No one spoke. Not even the tech teams.

And then, one by one, the world leaders began to log off, each swallowed by the weight of impossible decisions...

The Coordinates

SOMEWHERE IN THE PAST...

The community tech center was a few blocks from the orphanage—nothing fancy, just rows of dusty old terminals and flickering fluorescent lights. Jayden signed in at the front desk with Ren close behind, and the rain-soaked morning made the place feel even more dreary.

They found an unused computer near the back. Jayden sat down, his fingers stiff from the cold as he typed in the coordinates: 43.6629° N, 79.3957° W.

He hit enter.

A small red pin appeared on the map.

Jayden leaned closer. His heart skipped.

"What the…?" he muttered.

Ren blinked at the screen. "Wait… that's here."

Jayden zoomed in, disbelief washing over his face.

The marker rested directly on the orphanage.

"This… can't be right," Jayden said. "I must've made a mistake."

He double-checked the cipher and ran through the math again in his head. Everything was correct.

His chest sank.

All that excitement… and it led him back to where he started.

"What if it's just a dead lead?" He whispered, more to himself than to Ren.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then Ren nudged his arm. "Hey. Don't spiral yet."

Jayden glanced at him.

"Maybe it means something," Ren said. "Maybe there's something about the orphanage we don't know."

Jayden frowned. "Like what?"

Ren shrugged. "I don't know… But what about Director Ivan? He's been here forever. If anyone knows anything about this place, it's him."

Jayden hesitated. "Director Ivan?"

Ren gave him a half-smirk. "Yeah. That old plumby guy with the thunder voice and too much cologne. Remember when he yelled at us for eating breakfast before the bell rang? I swear, I saw lightning shoot out of his ears."

Jayden chuckled despite himself. "I haven't ever thought of talking to him about… any of this."

"Well," Ren said, standing up, "you said this thing might be connected to your parents, right? Let's give it a try. The worst he can do is yell at us and send us back to wash dishes."

Jayden nodded slowly. "Alright. Let's do it."