Back at the lab

Levon staggered, his chest heaving, sweat dripping down his face. The old man stepped forward.

“Are you all right?”

“Wait,” the silent third man spoke. His tone cut like a blade. The old man stopped at once.

The stranger lifted a hand, gesturing. The other two men obeyed instantly, pulling Levon upright. His legs buckled, refusing to hold him.

Then the third man pressed two fingers against Levon’s forehead.

Calm. Sudden, unnatural calm.

The panic drained away like water through a sieve. His breathing steadied. His muscles relaxed. His legs felt solid again. Within seconds, everything felt normal — too normal.

Levon blinked. “How… how did you do that?”

He knew he should be horrified. He should be demanding answers, shaking with terror. Instead, his body was serene, his mind leveled, as if someone had muted the storm inside him.

The man sighed. “Listen. Every answer I give will only lead to more questions. And I don’t have time to stand here explaining them all. I have work to return to. So here’s the deal: I’ll give you the basics. After that, we’ll send you to where you’ll get the rest of your answers. Fair?”

Levon wanted to argue, to curse him out, to demand the truth. But instead, the words washed over him, undeniable, sinking deep like commands he couldn’t resist.

“...Sure,” he muttered. He couldn’t even tell if it was his choice — or theirs.

The lab hummed with quiet energy — machines whirring, scientists murmuring, lights flickering across walls of glass and steel.

“Great,” said the man at last. His voice was calm, practiced. “My name is Narad Abel, assistant chief of Orchidia. I know you’re overflowing with questions — why you’re here, who we are, what happens next. All of that will come, in time, at the Academy. For now…” A screen shimmered into existence behind him. “…we need to verify your record.”

The screen scrolled with data.

“Levon Cho. Age: thirty, by Earth’s calendar. That is one-third of a day in Xacodia. Born on Neptune. Relocated to Earth after rebel conflict. IQ: 180. No disabilities. Vitria active, but not awakened.”

Levon’s face twisted — then split into laughter. Wild, uncontrollable laughter that shook his body and echoed through the sterile lab.

“Did I say something amusing?” Narad asked, unbothered.

Levon didn’t answer. He just laughed harder, his voice filling the chamber until workers abandoned their stations, staring.

“Enough,” Narad said, striding forward, hand raised.

“Don’t touch me!” Levon snarled. His laughter died in a heartbeat, replaced by fire in his eyes. He stood panting, sweat slicking his forehead.

Narad froze, then smiled faintly. “Impressive. Your Vitria resisted mine.” He flicked the screen, adjusting the entry. “Vitria: active. Not fully awakened.”

Levon’s chest rose and fell. His voice cracked out: “What is Vitria?”

“The essence of everything,” Narad replied without hesitation. “The building block of existence. It made you. Me. Everything.”

“Impossible,” Levon spat. “I’ve never heard of it. And we’re not even the same species.”

Narad’s eyes glinted. “But we are. Over one hundred thousand years ago, we crossed the universe, seeding Vitria across billions of galaxies. It sparked life wherever it could. Your world isn’t unique. Every system that took root looks like us. You already brushed against the truth — your kind called it panspermia.”

The word struck Levon like a blow. His chest tightened. If this was true, he wasn’t just standing in a lab — he was staring at the origin of life.

“So Earth… all of us… came from here?”

“Not just Earth,” Narad said. “Billions of other worlds. All born of Vitria.” He waved sharply, dismissing the gawking scientists back to their work.

Levon’s voice rose. “Then why didn’t you come sooner? Why let us tear ourselves apart with gods and wars and lies?”

Narad’s expression hardened. “Because we didn’t want all of you here. Over ninety-nine point nine nine percent of you — across every galaxy — are failed experiments. Dormant. Useless. Only a few awaken. That’s why we are… surprised you made it. If your Vitria is this faint, your IQ should be at least 195. But the record says 180. An outlier.”

Levon smirked bitterly. “That’s because I sabotaged it. My real score’s over 200.”

Narad studied him, then nodded slowly, correcting the entry. “Now it aligns.”

Levon’s voice sharpened. “How does a city survive in the void? What keeps it from collapse?”

“Xacodia’s mass is beyond measure,” Narad said smoothly. “It halts our sun and moon in motion.”

“You call them sun and moon too?”

“Yes. And Xacodia’s influence is known to you already. Your scientists call it the Great Attractor.”

Levon’s stomach dropped. “That anomaly pulling entire superclusters—are you telling me this city is the reason!?”

Narad didn’t flinch. “Calm yourself. The city you see is a fine-tuned illusion. In truth, the distance from where you arrived in Xacodia to this lab is millions of light years. But with Vitria, we fold space. We open doors. We make the unfathomable appear… livable.”

Levon’s fists clenched. “Who is ‘we’? Who bends this Vitria?”

Narad’s face softened into reverence. “Our Mother. The one who made us. The hand behind Xacodia. Creator. Goddess. Ruler above all.”

Levon stood frozen, awe and terror wrestling in his chest.

Narad glanced toward the doors as they opened. “Here comes your ride to the Academy. Good luck, Levon. We’ll meet again.”