They appeared.
As Ethan and Sylvia swam across the vast stretch of ocean, the towering metal wall before them shifted. A section of it opened with mechanical precision, revealing a hidden passage. From within, multiple flying contraptions emerged—sleek, metallic, and shaped like saucers. They moved with deliberate intent, gliding through the air before stopping directly above the two children.
"State your identities," a voice demanded from one of the hovering vehicles.
"Our names are Sylvia and Ethan! We're humans from the continent!" Sylvia shouted back, her voice carrying urgency and exhaustion.
She wanted to say more, to explain everything, but she held herself back. For now, that was enough.
A metallic ladder extended from one of the crafts, descending until it pierced the surface of the water just in front of them.
'Finally,' they both thought.
Without hesitation, Sylvia reached it first and began climbing, her limbs heavy but determined. Ethan followed closely behind, gripping the rungs as they ascended toward safety.
…
"What were the results?" Celeste asked as Jeremiah, her co-worker and partner, stepped into the room.
"Humans through and through. Just…" he trailed off, hesitating for a brief moment before handing her a file.
Celeste took it from him, her expression calm at first. But as her eyes scanned the contents, her brows slowly lifted, surprise and confusion mixing in equal measure.
"These genes… are amazing."
Ever since the khaerix had appeared, humanity had been forced to evolve. Science and technology had advanced rapidly, particularly in the field of bioengineering. Humans were no longer simply born—they were refined. Soldiers, especially, were enhanced far beyond natural limits, trained and modified to endure the harsh conditions brought about by the khaerix's relentless terraforming.
And yet, even among the best of these engineered soldiers, what she was seeing now was on an entirely different level.
'Their potential is off the charts.'
This wasn't just impressive—it was unprecedented.
No matter what, she had to see them herself.
"I'm going to meet them," she said, rising to her feet.
Jeremiah stepped aside without protest, allowing her to pass.
"You aren't going to stop me?" she asked, pausing briefly.
"Why would I?" he replied with a grin. "The life of an overhyped doctor is worth less than a genius like me."
Celeste scowled at him but said nothing further, turning and leaving the room.
A few minutes later, she stood in front of the containment room where the two children were being held. The guards stationed outside immediately straightened and stepped forward.
"Ma'am! We advise you not to enter the room!" one of them said firmly.
Celeste raised a brow.
"I want to see them," she replied calmly. "And besides…"
She paused, considering the situation.
They were still unidentified. Whatever they had gone through, it couldn't have been easy. Maintaining their composure alone was already remarkable.
"…do you really think they'll be able to do anything to me?"
Yes, they had potential—but potential and strength were not the same. And this facility was guarded by some of the finest soldiers humanity had to offer.
"…understood," the guard said at last, though his reluctance was evident. He stepped aside.
Celeste opened the door and entered.
Inside, two children sat together.
A girl with white hair and crimson eyes, and a boy with black hair and blue eyes.
At first glance, they were distinct. But the longer she looked, the more apparent it became—their faces were nearly identical. Only the subtle differences in physique distinguished them.
'The girl… is most likely the older one.'
They both stared at her with clear wariness, their gazes sharp and guarded. The girl positioned herself slightly in front of the boy, her posture protective, as if shielding him.
"Don't worry, I'm friendly," Celeste said, forcing a smile. It wasn't something she was used to, and it showed—but she tried anyway.
"It's just that it's not every day children make it back from a place that's already been destroyed."
She crouched down to their level, meeting their eyes directly.
"My name is Celeste Lucifer. For better or worse, I'm a scientist."
The reaction was immediate.
Their eyes widened in shock.
For a brief moment, Celeste wondered what she had said wrong—until the boy spoke.
"…Jonas."
…
"I see… so you knew my dad."
Celeste's voice was steady, though a faint trace of something lingered beneath it.
When she had first received news of humanity's defeat and retreat, she had already assumed the worst. Deep down, she had prepared herself for this outcome.
"We didn't just know him," Sylvia said quietly, her gaze lowered. "He's the reason we're here."
Celeste exhaled softly.
"Let me guess," she said, her tone almost casual. "That old geezer said something about being an adult and ran off to get himself killed."
The words sounded harsh, but there was no real malice behind them—only a weary kind of acceptance.
Hearing confirmation of his death was still a shock. But unlike the two children before her, she hadn't witnessed it. She hadn't been there.
They had.
And they had clearly taken it far harder.
'The fact that it's only two of them means…'
Their parents—or whoever had been responsible for them—were likely gone as well. Their homeland had been destroyed. The weight of that kind of loss would be enough to break most people.
"Yes," Sylvia answered.
"I knew it," Celeste muttered, shaking her head slightly. "Those ideals of his were going to get him killed sooner or later."
She sighed, then glanced at them again.
Perhaps her detached reaction helped, in some small way. Perhaps seeing her accept it so plainly made it easier for them to breathe, even just a little.
They slowly lifted their heads, meeting her gaze.
"No need to feel guilty or burdened," she said, her tone firm but not unkind. "His death was his choice—his sacrifice. Feeling guilty would only disrespect his wishes and resolve."
Then, without hesitation, she reached forward and pulled them both into a hug.
Ethan stiffened slightly before speaking.
"You don't resent us?"
Celeste shook her head.
"Did you kill him yourselves?" she asked.
"No."
"Did you betray him?"
"No."
"Then it's alright."
Maybe her response was cold. Maybe it seemed too simple for something like death.
But blaming them wouldn't change anything.
It wouldn't bring him back.
'The only thing we can do… is move forward.'