Perspective: Leila Danvers, Investigative Journalist, Global News Network (GNN)
The hum of static filled the control room long before the image stabilized.
Leila Danvers leaned forward in her chair, eyes fixed on the trembling screen. The footage had come through a dozen encrypted channels before reaching her desk — raw, unfiltered, terrifying. She'd seen war, corruption, famine; she'd stood knee-deep in the rubble of broken cities. But never this.
On the monitor, a man walked through chaos. His silhouette glowed faintly, a shimmer that rippled the air. Bullets whistled, bent, and fell harmlessly around him. The shockwaves of explosions dissipated before reaching his body. Soldiers who moments ago had charged him in rage now dropped their weapons and fell to their knees. The man raised his hand, and the sky above him split with light — a column of radiance that silenced the battlefield.
The timestamp read 06:43 local time, Eastern Varas Front.
Leila's heart hammered in her chest. The man on the screen — the dictator everyone feared, the one who had risen from the ashes of three failed states — was no longer a man.
He was something else.
The newsroom was unusually quiet. Reporters stared at their monitors, lips parted in disbelief. A few whispered prayers. Others simply watched.
A low voice broke the silence. "Varas Broadcasting has confirmed it," said Michael, her assistant, his tone hesitant. "He's declared a new political order — The Dominion of Light. Claims it's a 'unification of purpose under divine truth.'"
Leila blinked, slowly turning her head. "And the other nations?"
"They're falling in line. Two neighboring governments have already pledged allegiance."
Leila took a long breath and exhaled through her teeth. "All because of that thing he's carrying…"
"The relic," Michael said, lowering his voice as though the word itself could draw attention.
Leila turned back to the footage. The dictator's chest gleamed faintly where armor met flesh. Not metal, not jewelry — something older, something alive. For a brief second, the camera caught its surface reflecting not light, but movement — like an eye looking back.
Her cigarette had burned to the filter. She crushed it in the ashtray, her fingers trembling. "You said the footage came from the southern front?"
"Yeah. Freelance drone pilot. He disappeared right after sending the feed."
She didn't reply. Instead, she pulled up the satellite overlay on her desk screen. The Dominion's borders pulsed red with newly claimed territories. Behind those borders, reports of strange weather, mass hallucinations, and "miracles" were spreading faster than verified news.
She muttered, "This is how gods are made — through fear and footage."
A ping. New message.
Encrypted channel: Orion Node — one of her most reliable anonymous sources.
The text was short.
> They found another one. Deep Atlantic trench. Tell no one. Send no crew.
Her throat tightened. Another relic? The last time such a rumor surfaced, it had triggered a secret military operation, a coup, and a continent in flames.
"Michael," she said. "Cross-reference any seismic anomalies in the Atlantic over the last 48 hours. Include classified maritime frequencies."
He frowned. "Are we chasing ghosts again?"
Leila shot him a tired look. "You saw what just happened in Varas. Ghosts are the only thing left worth chasing."
He hesitated, then nodded and left her alone in the dim control room.
Leila leaned back, running her fingers through her hair. She hadn't slept in two days. Her reflection stared back at her in the darkened glass of the screen — hollow eyes, the face of someone who'd spent too long staring into the edge of truth.
She remembered her last broadcast — the one that had exposed a multinational arms deal and nearly cost her career. She'd sworn off chasing the "mythology beat," the stories of relics and cosmic artifacts whispered about by soldiers and smugglers. But here it was again, too real to ignore.
She whispered, "How many more of you are out there?"
A gust of wind rattled the windows. Outside, Manhattan stretched below her — restless, awake. Electronic billboards replayed the same images she was watching: the man who'd become a god, raising his hands to a sky that seemed to obey him. Crowds in the streets cheered and wept. Churches reopened, politicians prayed on live television. The world had gone mad with belief.
The newsroom doors slid open. Michael returned, carrying a tablet. "You'll want to see this."
He placed it on the table. Lines of seismic data filled the screen — minor tremors, deep-sea disturbances. One stood out.
"Coordinates?" she asked.
"Mid-Atlantic trench. The signal's rhythmic — like a pulse."
Leila's pulse matched it. "A pulse?"
He nodded. "It's… almost biological."
They stared at each other.
"Get me the global feed," she said suddenly.
"You're going live?"
"Now."
"Leila, the board won't approve that. You'll be airing classified content."
"Then they can fire me tomorrow," she snapped. "But people need to see what's happening tonight."
She stood, straightened her jacket, and stepped before the studio camera. The lights burned white and unflinching. A red indicator blinked — ON AIR.
Leila steadied her voice.
> "This is Leila Danvers, Global News Network.
If you're watching this broadcast, then you've already seen the footage. The man once called Chancellor Voss's rival, now turned conqueror, has unveiled a power no military on Earth can match.
Nations are surrendering, faith is being rewritten, and for the first time in human history, the definition of 'god' has become political.
But this story isn't over. My sources confirm signs of another artifact — a second relic — beneath the Atlantic Ocean. What it is, or who it will awaken, I don't yet know.
What I do know is that our world stands on a threshold. Between faith and extinction."
She hesitated. The weight of what she'd just said pressed against her lungs.
> "I've spent my life reporting wars, disasters, lies. But this… this feels different. This feels alive. And if any of you are listening — those who still believe truth matters — keep your eyes open. Because the Maker's echoes are not done with us yet."
She ended the feed. The red light faded.
The silence afterward was deafening. Michael stood frozen. The city outside seemed to hold its breath.
Then, somewhere in the distance, thunder rolled — though the sky above was cloudless.
Leila turned to the window. On the horizon, the ocean shimmered faintly, as though reflecting something beneath its surface.
Her phone buzzed again. Same encrypted source.
> It's waking.
She whispered, "God help us."
The floor beneath the GNN building trembled ever so slightly — just once, like a heartbeat.
And in the darkness below the Atlantic trench, something ancient opened its eyes.
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