Kellensky stood by the window for the first time in a long while.

  In any other circumstance, this would have been strictly forbidden.

  For security reasons, the windows were always shuttered; even a glance toward the outside was classified as a risk factor.

  But today was different. He stood before the unshielded glass, fully absorbing the sight of the cold, desolate streets.

  Sunlight struck a patch of snow on the roadside, shattering into brilliant shards of light across the frozen pavement.

  As he watched the scene, tears slowly welled in his eyes.

  He thought of his people who had perished.

  The children. The women. The elderly. Those who had never held a gun.

  Those who should have had nothing to do with this war had fallen to the enemy’s assault. Only yesterday, a missile had struck a train.

  Without a moment to escape, they were consumed by the flames.

  Kellensky was suffocated by the weight of his own perceived incompetence. His fury did not lash out at the world; it was turned entirely inward, sharp and unforgiving.

  Did I truly not know? Could I really not have predicted this war? Why didn't I prepare better?

  Politically and diplomatically, he had been an amateur.

  He should have been ready before the first shot was fired. He should have minimized the sacrifice of his people. That entire burden now rested squarely on his shoulders.

  Yet, one thing remained.

  The fact that he had refused to surrender until the very end was the only thread holding him together. Perhaps it was that unyielding will that made him wonder—if only for a fleeting moment—whether the gods had not yet turned their backs on him.

  Just then, Yevgeny, his Chief of Staff, approached with hurried steps.

  "Mr. President. Heads of state from around the world are requesting calls. I

  ntelligence agencies are also demanding we share information on the current situation."

  Without turning away from the window, Kellensky spoke. "It was expected.

  This is an unprecedented event... something humanity has never encountered in its entire history."

  After a brief pause, he added, "Yevgeny, share what we know as much as possible."

  "Yes, Mr. President. But there is one problem." Yevgeny’s voice dropped an octave.

  "The footage of you shaking hands with that mercenary on the public broadcast. At the time, he was just a man—a routine meeting for a mercenary contract—but if what he says is true, hasn't this encounter itself become a historic event?"

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  He took a breath and continued.

  "Foreign intelligence agencies are being relentless. They want to know exactly how you came into contact with him. How should we respond?"

  Kellensky fell into a brief silence.

  "Tell them this," he said, his voice firm.

  "Tell them we didn't know either. We had no idea if he was an extraterrestrial entity or linked to that spacecraft. Tell them we were simply contacted by someone who wanted to help, and it was a routine meeting, just like with any other mercenary group."

  Yevgeny hesitated.

  "Mr. President... do you think they will believe that? Especially the Americans; they've already run a background check on that Asian mercenary. They say his records don't exist in any database in the world. They are going to be persistent."

  Kellensky exhaled a low sigh. "Hmm... Yevgeny, for now, I cannot reveal how I came to know him."

  He spoke slowly, measuring each word.

  "We still don't know the nature of that spacecraft. We cannot rule out the possibility that they are enemies of humanity. If they are, and if it's revealed we are deeply connected to them... it means we could be branded as enemies of humanity as well."

  He turned his head to meet Yevgeny’s eyes.

  "So, keep the details of the meeting a secret."

  "...Understood, Mr. President."

  A moment later, Kellensky asked, "Yevgeny, is this event... spreading across the entire world?"

  He could not even begin to imagine the true magnitude of the ripple effect this would cause.

  The fact that something unprecedented in the entirety of human history was being broadcast in real-time—right here, in this era, on this very frontline—felt utterly surreal. It was a reality that refused to sink in.

  "Mr. President. To be honest, YouTube is already drowning in this story," Yevgeny continued cautiously. "There’s such a deluge of breaking news that it’s becoming difficult to even organize the situation. However... there is one interesting development."

  Kellensky raised his head, his gaze sharpening.

  "Reports are coming in that conflicts between nations, local wars, and small-scale skirmishes have ceased almost simultaneously across the globe."

  Yevgeny paused for a beat before adding,

  "It seems that while their previous wars were merely problems between humans, what is happening now is perceived as a matter between humanity and… the cosmos. Everyone is terrified."

  "And one more thing—" His voice dropped to a low whisper. "The religious world has fallen into absolute chaos."

  "Religious leaders?" Kellensky asked. "Why?"

  "A debate has ignited over whether that craft is on the side of the gods we’ve believed in, whether they are the gods themselves, or if they are the enemies of God," Yevgeny explained, catching his breath. "In several countries, citizens are already taking to the streets, shouting that 'traditional religion has collapsed.' Groups worshipping the craft are multiplying at an alarming rate."

  At those words, a cold shiver ran down Kellensky’s spine. He remained silent, staring out the window, lost in thought.

  This wasn't a small pebble tossed into a pond. It was a massive boulder.

  The ripples wouldn't stop at the surface. They would overflow the pond, breach the banks, and surge outward. No—this wasn't the ripple of a pond at all.

  It was a tsunami from the deep ocean. It was an unprecedented hurricane sweeping across a continent. From the perspective of human history—it was no different from the asteroid that wiped out the dinosaurs striking the Earth once again.

  Kellensky’s fist clenched instinctively.

  He was afraid. Could the daily lives of ordinary people ever survive this?

  "Yevgeny..." he asked softly. "This tragic war of ours... it might actually come to an end."

  He paused, then added tentatively, "But the lives of the people... won't they crumble?"

  Yevgeny shook his head. "Mr. President, we still don't know their true nature. But as long as they don't strike first—" He spoke with firm conviction. "People will still love, pray, eat, and sleep. For now, it seems all we can do is watch."

  "Ah..."

  Kellensky muttered the words as if memorizing them. "Love, pray, eat... and sleep, just as they always have."

  A faint smile brushes across his face, lingering on his lips for only the briefest of moments.

  Kerensky thinks to himself:

  'Perhaps maintaining the simple routines of our daily lives is the final, best defense for preserving our humanity amidst this vast chaos.'