The radar screen was painting the sea with green fire.
Elias stood behind Valdez on the bridge, watching the contacts multiply. They weren't ships. They were energy signatures—vast, diffuse, and moving like schools of fish. Dr. Voss was at the navigation console, her fingers trembling. The Aurora's engines strained as she pushed them through the growing swells.
"The vents are spreading faster than we thought," Voss said. "The Architect's seals are failing all over the Pacific. If we don't find the Cradle soon, there won't be a world left to save."
"The Cradle," Elias repeated. He had heard the name only once, in a fragment of the Architect's logs. "You said it's where the original keystone was forged."
Voss nodded. "Beneath the deepest trench. The Architect built a station there, long
