Chapter 6

  "The Stone of God"

  Iraq – 2006 Following the American invasion, the country was plunged into chaos. The collapse of state structures, the weakness of the new army and police, the emergence of uncontrollable armed militias... Added to that were civil wars, daily bombings, constant fear. Iraq was burning.

  During a clash in the middle of the desert, an explosion—similar to so many others—nonetheless triggered something unprecedented. A moment after the detonation... Everything stopped. Armored vehicles, soldiers from both sides, debris hurled by the blast... Everything began to float. Suspended in mid-air. Even the sand seemed frozen, as if space itself had been twisted, stretched, halted. Time hadn't slowed. It had surrendered.

  At the center of this supernatural silence, a white stone hovered. Massive. Smooth. Perfectly still. It emitted neither heat nor perceptible vibration. Yet around it, several phenomena seemed to coexist:

  opposing air currents,unstable atmospheric pressure,impossible electromagnetic fluctuations.

  As if multiple incompatible physical laws were trying to occupy the same space. The conflict had uncovered an inexplicable archaeological discovery. A singularity. Impossible to determine how long this stone had rested there. Or even if the word "rested" had any meaning for it.

  The U.S. Army, under President George W. Bush, was immediately seized with the matter. The area was sealed off. Reports classified. A special team was deployed on site. Among them:

  heavily armed soldiers,scientists,archaeologists,and a civilian doctor, integrated into the team for officially "logistical" reasons.

  He stepped out of the armored vehicle. A blond man in his late thirties. Thirty-five, single. He calmly adjusted his glasses while observing the phenomenon. Even for him... it was beyond anything he had studied. — Lord... he murmured. On his white coat, a badge was pinned. Dr. William Campbell.

  Tents were quickly set up around the site. The desert, usually silent, now echoed with hurried voices, crackling radios, satellite phones saturated with contradictory orders. Soldiers secured the perimeter while scientists tried to understand... the incomprehensible.

  Dr. William Campbell stood at the center of the camp, surrounded by makeshift screens and sensors. He watched the metrics scroll by with an almost pathological focus. — Look, he said suddenly. Everyone turned to him. — Here, he continued, pointing at a screen, — we have Arctic winds. — And there... flames comparable to volcanic activity.

  He switched displays. — The magnetic field is both positive and negative. — Simultaneously.

  A murmur ran through the group. — Time seems frozen, he went on. — Look at this soldier floating.

  The image showed a man suspended in the air. — You might think he's dead... — but observe his posture.

  He zoomed in. — He's giving orders. — His body is immobilized, but his intent remains intact.

  Silence. — Here, space is distorted. — There, the ground cracks. — And right next to it... it rebuilds itself.

  He ran a nervous hand through his hair. — As if everything around this stone... — had its opposite.

  He paused. Reflected. Then murmured: — Wait... He began counting. — Tornado... — spatial distortion... — volcanic activity...

  He scribbled on a tablet. — Ten... — eleven... He suddenly looked up. — Twelve.

  The scientists exchanged glances. — Yes, he said, almost exhilarated. — That's it. — There are twelve distinct phenomena around this stone. — The others are just variations.

  He smiled, unable to contain his excitement. — Fascinating...

  Dr. William Campbell was Scottish. A physician by training. A scientist by vocation. A recognized genius in some circles, marginal in others. He had spent nearly twenty years writing revolutionary theses on extreme systems physics, ordered chaos, temporal paradoxes. Brilliant. Solitary. Terribly socially awkward. But what he had before him... surpassed everything.

  A scientist interrupted him: — Why twelve? William blinked. Then shrugged slightly. — I have no idea.

  A sincere smile formed on his face. — But that's precisely why we're here. He adjusted his thick-lensed glasses. — To find out.

  And for the first time in a long while, William Campbell wasn't thinking about publishing. He was thinking about understanding.

  — Have you tried approaching it? Dr. Campbell asked bluntly. An officer nodded. — Yes. — Impossible.

  A scientist took over, visibly shaken. — Soldiers who get close are either frozen in place, — or instantly burned, — or crushed as if entering an invisible press.

  He paused. — In short... it's impossible.

  William remained silent. He stared at the data. The images. The incoherent curves. Then a simple question fell. — If everyone dies near this phenomenon... — who reported it?

  A slight unease spread through the group. — A child, sir.

  William slowly raised his head. — A child? — Yes, the officer confirmed. — A boy about eight years old. — He was wandering near the site after the explosion. — He showed no symptoms, added a doctor. — No burns. — No cellular distortion. — Nothing.

  William straightened. — You're telling me... — that children aren't affected? — It would seem so, a scientist replied cautiously. — At least... not in the same way. — We've tried with drones, another added. — They disintegrate. — Animals? Dead. — Adults? No survivors within thirty meters.

  William ran a hand over his chin. — And the child? — He got within five meters. — He said the stone... "was looking at him."

  Silence. William adjusted his glasses. — Exact age? — Eight and a half. — Emotional state? — Calm. — No panic. — No signs of post-traumatic stress.

  William closed his eyes for a second. — It's not a matter of mass. — Nor pure biology.

  He reopened them. — It's a matter of... development.

  The scientists exchanged looks. — A child's brain isn't yet fixed. — Their cognitive patterns are malleable.

  He pointed to the stone. — If this phenomenon is a singularity of contradictions... — then a mind still under construction might not be rejected.

  — What are you suggesting, Doctor? the tense officer asked.

  William took a deep breath. — That this thing doesn't tolerate certainties.

  He paused. — And that children... — don't yet know what the world "must" be.

  A heavy silence fell over the camp. — You mean it chooses? someone ventured.

  William didn't answer immediately. He was looking at the stone. — I'm just saying... — it doesn't kill randomly.

  He turned to the officer. — Bring me that child.

  A murmur ran through the assembly. — Sir, it's dangerous— — Everything here is dangerous, William cut in calmly. — But if we want to understand... — we have to start with what survives.

  He adjusted his glasses one last time. — And for now, — it's the children.

  He stopped short. — Wait, he said. Everyone fell silent. William observed the stone, then the data, then the faces around him. — What truly differentiates adults from children? — Cognitive development? a scientist suggested.

  William shook his head. — No. — Everyone develops at their own pace. — That doesn't hold. — Emotional maturity? — Insufficient.

  He reflected further. — What do they all have in common? — The one thing they all share.

  Silence. — I don't know, sir...

  William slowly raised his eyes. — Innocence.

  A heartbeat. — Bingo.

  He turned to the team. — Children haven't yet crystallized their relationship with the world. — No dogma. — No absolute certainty. — No definitive view of what "must be."

  He pointed to the stone. — If this singularity rejects what is fixed... — then only beings still malleable can approach it.

  A scientist frowned. — You're saying that... — only the innocent are compatible?

  William nodded slowly. — Yes.

  An officer spoke gravely: — Then we have no choice.

  William didn't respond right away. — If we want to understand this stone... — we'll have to try.

  He took a deep breath. — With different profiles. — Different ages. — Different levels of development.

  Silence fell again. — Not to see if it works, he added. — But to understand how far it goes.

  No one protested. Because the conclusion was obvious. The stone wasn't hostile. It was selective. And for the first time, humanity had realized that innocence wasn't a moral value... but an access key.

  In a country ruled by chaos, exfiltration proposals were disseminated. Simple flyers. Carefully chosen words. Humanitarian evacuation. Priority medical program. International protection. In ravaged streets, they were read as a possible way out. A promise. A chance to escape hell.

  The scientists knew nothing of it. Buried in their metrics, models, and hypotheses, they saw only volunteers. Individuals ready to participate. Consenting subjects. Exploitable profiles. After all... humans always see what they want to see.

  The first groups arrived. No uniformity. Children, yes. But also teenagers. Adults. Elderly. People scarred by war... and others surprisingly preserved. Everything was noted:

  age,background,education level,psychological state,ability to approach the zone.

  Some adults crossed the initial boundaries without immediate reaction. Others were rejected instantly. Some children didn't pass either. Gradually, a pattern emerged. It wasn't age. It wasn't the body. It wasn't strength.

  In a tent lit by flickering screens, William Campbell reviewed the results. He frowned. — It's not a biological question... he murmured. — Nor even experience.

  He reread the profiles. A forty-year-old man, no reaction. A thirty-year-old woman, violent rejection. A teenager, frozen. An elderly man, intact. He looked up. — What makes the difference... — isn't what they've lived through.

  Silence. — It's what they've lost.

  It needed a name. A name for this program aimed at understanding the stone. Defining what it accepted. Determining what new possibilities this discovery would unlock. William stood. Joined his thumb and index finger, as if placing the stone at the center of his gesture. A circle formed. — Zero, he said simply.

  Eyes turned to him. — I'll call this project "Zero." — Because we're seeking the point where everything begins.

  He paused. — Before corruption. — Before certainty. — Before the world closes in on itself.

  He lowered his hand. — Innocence isn't a matter of age. — It's a state.

  No one objected. Protocols were expanded. Criteria refined. And without ever uttering the word "child," Project Zero had just paved the way that would lead... to the irreparable.

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  A year later, scientists faced a new challenge. No one could touch the stone. Even when subjects managed to approach, they all eventually hit something. A wall. Invisible. Intangible. Variable. Some stopped several meters away. Others mere steps. But none had ever managed to lay a hand on the stone.

  William Campbell paced in front of the screens. Impatient. Irritated. His foot tapped frantically on the floor. — Unacceptable... he murmured.

  A voice rose behind him. — Sir. — What!? he snapped. — You should see this.

  He approached.

  In an observation area, several blocks were arranged. In the first, an elderly man was making a flower grow. Not slowly. Not naturally. The stem shot from the soil as if drawn by an invisible force. — How long has he been here? William asked. — One year, sir.

  In another block, a woman about twenty-five raised her hand. Small gusts of wind swirled around her, lifting dust in awkward spirals. — Same duration? — Yes.

  William narrowed his eyes. — They still haven't crossed the threshold... — but something's changing. — There's more, sir.

  Soldiers opened a hatch. A man about forty-five was brought in by force. He didn't seem there willingly. But William paid no attention. — Proceed, a soldier ordered.

  The man stood before a flower pot. He extended his hands. The pot began to twist slowly, as if the material softened between his fingers. William watched, fascinated. Then the man stopped. He shook his head. (That's enough.) — Continue, the soldier ordered.

  The man obeyed. Flowers burst from the deformed pot. Then they began to float. The soil scattered in the air. The man gritted his teeth. — Continue.

  The flowers disintegrated. The pot fragmented into particles. — Continue.

  The man screamed. Then suddenly... Nothing. His arms fell to his sides. His nose bled profusely. His eyes filled with red tears. He collapsed. Dead.

  No one spoke. Screens kept recording. Metrics scrolled. William remained motionless. — He exceeded his limit, a scientist said calmly. — His mental state collapsed. — The stone doesn't give, another added. — It lends... then takes back.

  William didn't respond immediately. He stared at the body. — No, he finally said. — It doesn't take back.

  He straightened. — It demands.

  Iraq — 2009 — (getting angry) The sharp sound of a pen thrown against the wall echoed, followed by the brutal rustle of papers tossed to the floor. — I heard correctly. — Yes, Doctor. — We've received the official order to withdraw.

  Silence. — We're treading water. — The new president wants total withdrawal of armed forces from Iraqi soil. — We won't be able to cover what we're doing here anymore.

  William clenched his jaw. — Damn politicians... — They have no vision. — To them, we're just another secret project, — buried under a pile of bullshit files.

  He stood abruptly. — We've discovered an object of unknown origin, — something that challenges everything we know about the world, — and these idiots are cutting our funding.

  A weary scientist dared intervene: — We have to admit... we haven't made much progress in three years.

  Another added coldly: — Subject lifespan doesn't exceed two years after exposure. — That doesn't help.

  A soldier approached William and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. — This operation has a cost, Dr. Campbell. — Whether you like it or not. — You should go home. — Enjoy the generous salary you've earned these past three years.

  William slowly raised his head. — How much time do we have left? — One month, sir.

  A long silence. — Very well.

  The others left the room. William remained alone, facing the bay window. In the distance, the white stone still hovered, unchanging. — Tell me... he murmured. — Please... tell me what I should do.

  The stone didn't answer.

  Three days later — Scotland The airport was gray, swept by a fine rain. William walked for a long time, dragging his worn suitcase, until reaching an old dusty car. He inserted the key, hesitated... then turned it. The engine coughed. Groaned. Then started. William gave a faint smile under his thick beard—three years without really looking in a mirror.

  He stopped in front of a large stone house, ancient, solid. Bouquet of flowers in hand, he took a deep breath... and knocked. The door opened. A woman stood there. Silent. Motionless. — Surprise, he said awkwardly, raising the flowers.

  She stared at him, without emotion. — Wipe that smile off your face. — And put those flowers away.

  He froze. — Have you forgotten we're divorced?

  Silence. — Oh right... that's true. — You were too busy to notice.

  She crossed her arms. — It's been five years today, William.

  He lowered his eyes. — Agathe... I— — Agathe MacLeòid, she corrected sharply. — You no longer have the right to call me that.

  Agathe MacLeòid. Of Scottish origin, descendant of an old Highlands lineage. Proud. Upright. Broken.

  Footsteps echoed behind her. — Mom? A boy appeared in the doorway. Eight years old. Messy brown hair. Curious gaze. He studied William for a long time, without fear, without hostility. — Dad? he simply asked.

  Agathe hesitated a second. — Yes. — That's your father.

  The boy approached slowly. William felt his throat tighten. — Yes... — And you're Isaac.

  Isaac Campbell. The boy examined him further, then declared in a surprisingly calm tone: — You look tired.

  William gave a sad smile. — Yes... — I think I am.

  Agathe opened the door wider. — Come in. — But don't think everything's forgiven.

  William crossed the threshold.

  He had sent much of his salary each month. Enough for Agathe and Isaac to want for nothing. They had met years earlier, at a conference where William presented one of his theses. Agathe MacLeòid, brilliant student from the Highlands, had just completed long studies. He was already recognized for his work. She was twenty. He twenty-six. She, extravagant, curious, full of dreams. He, socially awkward, passionate, fascinated by the unknown. She admired his atypical intelligence. He was drawn to her energy, her light. They lived together three years before marrying. William was twenty-nine. Agathe blowing out her twenty-three candles. A year later, Isaac was born.

  But passion doesn't always withstand time. William gradually sank into his work, especially after being recruited by the U.S. government. His research took all his space. Agathe tried to pull him back. — Listen, you can't keep going like this. — You have a family now. — We have enough to live several lifetimes. — I know... he replied. — But you don't understand. — My work is useful. — I'm going to change the world. — You have a world here too, William. — I know... but if you knew all the strange phenomena waiting for explanation... — The world is so mysterious. — I can't pass it by.

  Silence. Agathe slowly removed her hands from his face. — Sometimes... — I wonder if you don't love your science more than us. — Stop, you know that's not true. — It is. — When I see you in your office, you have that light in your eyes... — the one you no longer have with us. — It has nothing to do... — It does. — Look at your son. He needs you.

  Isaac, barely three, watched them. Agathe took him in her arms. — Come here, my heart. — What are you doing up at this hour?

  She took him to bed. When she returned, her voice was calm. Too calm. — I'm filing for divorce, William. — No... let's not go that far, listen— — No. she said, raising a finger.

  Silence.

  The divorce was quiet. William left her the house. He moved to a small apartment a few streets away. He wrote sometimes. Asked for news of Isaac. No response. He chained missions. Then alcohol. Then emptiness. Two years passed. William turned thirty-five. Then a call. Still hungover from the night before, he listened to a voice speak of a mysterious stone discovered in Iraq. An anomaly. An unprecedented phenomenon. They were counting on him. Three years later, at thirty-eight, he returned. With a thick beard. Tired eyes.

  In the silence, Agathe served him coffee. She placed the cup in front of him, calmly. — You're still as beautiful, he said softly.

  She didn't respond. — You've aged, she finally said, without aggression, simply factual.

  He gave a slight smile. — You know me... — Me and my research. — I've worked so much I've forgotten even how to shave.

  A silence settled. William continued, more serious: — Listen... — I'd like to get to know him better. — He's my son. — You can't keep preventing me from seeing him.

  Agathe sighed. — That didn't seem to bother you for five years. — No... — Don't say that.

  He lowered his head slightly. — You can't imagine how hard it's been for me.

  She remained silent a moment, then simply asked: — And what do you want to do with him? — I don't want my son to grow up without knowing what his father does. — Which is? — I want him to be proud of me.

  Agathe followed his gaze. Isaac was playing on the floor, focused, absorbed in his toys. He was building something, destroying it, starting over. William murmured: — Look at him... He searched for words. — He's... — so... Then, with a sincere smile: — Innocent.

  Agathe watched the scene. In William's eyes, she saw that light she had loved so much long ago. The one of the passionate man, awestruck, driven by something greater than himself. She told herself she couldn't forever forbid a father from seeing his son. That Isaac deserved to know this man. What she didn't know... was that this light wasn't that of a tender father. But the same passion. The same intensity. The same gaze he once cast on what would later be called the Stone of God.

  William continued: — My mission is coming to an end. — I'd like to take him with me. — So he can see my work.

  Agathe hesitated briefly, then replied: — On one condition. — I come too.

  William smiled. — Of course, he answered affectionately.

  Agathe nodded. Convinced she had made the right choice.

  Young Isaac played with a plastic airplane. He made it soar between his hands, imitating the engine noise, then landed it clumsily on the floor. — Vrrrrr... — Psshhh... successful landing!

  A few days later, a reflectively camouflaged plane sliced through the Iraqi sky. On board: Dr. William Campbell, Agathe, and their son. The aircraft landed on an isolated runway, surrounded by soldiers and armored vehicles. Engines shut down with a deep rumble.

  The facility was immense. Barbed wire. Watchtowers. Helicopters in slow rotation. Isaac's mouth fell open. — Wow...

  Agathe remained silent. Observant.

  They were escorted to the main complex. Inside the lab, William introduced his family. Some scientists exchanged surprised looks. It wasn't common. Bringing family to a secret camp... especially at project end. But given closure preparations and William's status, higher-ups turned a blind eye. — This is my son, Isaac, he said proudly. — And my wife, Agathe. — Ex-wife, she corrected calmly.

  William gave an embarrassed smile. — Yes... ex-wife, he rectified.

  Isaac wasn't listening anymore. Soldiers. Helicopters. Scientists in white coats. It was like the movies. His mind overflowed with dreams.

  In the distance, he saw it. A massive white stone, hovering in the air, motionless, silent. Isaac stopped. Agathe moved closer to William. — Tell me... what is that?

  William looked at the stone. — That, he simply replied, — is why I'm here.

  Isaac, intrigued, picked up a small pebble. Without thinking. Without intent. He threw it with all his strength toward the stone. The pebble rose. An eerie silence settled. Isaac already turned away, satisfied with his throw. Then— DOOOIIING. A deep, resonant sound, echoing on itself, as if the air had been struck. A shockwave rippled through the entire area. Non-lethal. But powerful. Tents fluttered. Dust rose. Instruments vibrated. William rushed to his son. — You okay?! Isaac blinked, surprised. — Yes...

  William hugged him tightly. — It's nothing. — Just avoid throwing rocks at that big thing, okay?

  Isaac nodded. — Okay...

  In the distance, the stone remained. Unchanged.

  They spent a week together; he showed his son his work, who nodded, pretending to understand everything... so as not to upset his passionate father. Agathe watched from afar...

  That night, two weeks before Project Zero's definitive withdrawal, the stone illuminated. A cold white light, pulsing in waves. Then instruments went wild. A storm of electromagnetic waves swept the camp. Alarms blared. Lights flickered. Everyone woke with a start. — What's happening?! shouted Dr. Campbell, his voice almost drowned by the deep rumble from the stone. — We don't know! a running scientist replied. — It... it's activated!

  Pens flew off tables. Papers began to float. ZIUUUUUM. — Where's my son?! — In his tent!

  William started running. Soldiers were already at maximum alert. — All posts, shields active!

  ZIUUUUM — PFFFFFFFFT. Then— A flash. A second. And suddenly— BOOOOM. A distant mountain exploded. — We're under attack! soldiers yelled.

  Another mountain disintegrated in deafening roar. In the sky, two luminous masses clashed at impossible speed, creating shockwaves that tore the air and pulverized the landscape. Nothing precise was visible. Only trajectories. Collisions. Destruction.

  William paused a moment. He adjusted his glasses, hands shaking. His heart beat fast. Too fast. Not from fear. From excitement. It was as if two extreme phenomena were interacting. Two singularities. Two incompatible forces seeking to cancel each other.

  He snapped back and ran again.

  He burst into the tent. Isaac was curled in a corner, trembling. — Where's your mother?! — She... she told me to hide, Dad... — I'm scared...

  William grabbed his son's arm. He squeezed hard. Too hard. — Follow me. — And Mom? — She'll join us.

  It wasn't a conscious lie. It was an omission.

  In total chaos, the doctor and his son dangerously approached the massive white stone. VIUUUUUM — BOOOM — BOOOM. Shockwaves erupted in the sky without logic. Soldiers fired into emptiness, unable to comprehend their targets. Instruments exploded. Communications dead.

  William held Isaac's hand. Firmly. — Dad... where are we going?

  The noise was deafening. The light blinding. William didn't answer. His gaze fixed ahead. On the stone. He had entered the stone's zone. Where selection occurred. — We'll finally know...

  With each step, vibrations intensified. Air trembled. Ground undulated underfoot. — Dad!

  No response. William was fascinated. Reality seemed to have lost coherence. Earth turned on itself. He looked back: space distorted, as if distance was no longer a constraint but a variable. Hurricanes spun backward. Lava flowed upward. Rain fell... but only from a precise point, then rose.

  He advanced slowly, surely. He understood. I've passed.

  When he finally saw the stone up close, he saw what no subject had observed long enough. The stone wasn't smooth. It was covered in gigantic inscriptions. Layers of superimposed languages: Ancient Egyptian. Hebrew. Arabic. Mayan. And others... unknown. As if every civilization had, at some point, tried to understand it.

  He had no time to analyze further. He hit something. An invisible wall. — No... — Isaac, advance!

  — I'm scared... — Trust me!

  William felt a sudden burn on his forearm. He looked down. His skin reddened. Then blackened slightly, as if heated from within. He gritted his teeth. — Look! he shouted. — I'm offering you my son, Isaac! — Please... answer my call!

  VIIIIUUUUUM. Isaac advanced. Farther than his father. William felt another burn, this time on his chest. A dull, deep pain, non-lethal... but relentless. — Listen to me! — They think I'm wrong... but I know! — I know you're special! — Give me the answers!

  Isaac kept advancing.

  Outside, shockwaves ceased. Chaos seemed to freeze. As if the confrontation had ended.

  William then heard footsteps behind him. Slow. Assured. He turned. A man stood there. Brown-haired. Perhaps twenty... or younger. His stride calm, controlled. So assured it gave him the aura of a much older man. He dragged behind him an unconscious child, brown-haired, about thirteen. William sensed it immediately. This man... had no name.

  The stranger stopped, observed the scene without emotion. — Who are you?

  Silence. — What is this stone? — Do you have answers?

  The man finally spoke, in English: — Me... I have no name.

  His gaze slid to William's badge. — And you are Dr. William Campbell.

  Contained animosity vibrated in his voice. He advanced, dragging the unconscious child over the distorted sand. — Abraham, he said calmly, — was tested by God. — He had to sacrifice his son... Isaac.

  Isaac advanced further, steps from the stone. He reached out. William felt a searing burn on his face. His skin blistered slightly. He cried in pain but stood firm.

  At the last moment, the nameless man grabbed Isaac. — At the final moment, he continued, — an angel intervened to stop the sacrifice.

  He hurled Isaac backward. William caught him, stunned. The man went on, voice now hard: — You people, under the pretext of science, — play at being gods.

  He fixed William. — Tell me, Doctor. — How many people have died because of you? — How many have you sacrificed in the name of your blind faith?

  William panted. Burns progressed slowly on his body, like mechanical, unintentional punishment. — Have you counted? — Or simply chosen ignorance?

  Silence. — Abraham had two sons.

  He paused. — Do you see your Project Zero as your child?

  He then gently placed his hand on the stone. The stone didn't react. He firmly gripped the unconscious child. His gaze hardened. — No matter the excuses you give yourselves... — you're nothing but a monster.

  Then— He vanished. The white stone vanished with him.

  The field collapsed. The zone regained gravity. The sky calmed. William fell to his knees. His body bore severe burns, progressive, non-lethal. Isaac was unharmed.

  Minutes later, Agathe rushed to the scene. Dust settled slowly. Sirens still wailed in the distance. She threw herself on her son, hugged him, kissed him repeatedly, trembling... then, without a word, slapped Dr. Campbell hard.

  The slap rang clear. William remained silent. He didn't protest. He didn't justify. But when he slowly raised his head, Agathe saw what she never should have. The burns on his face, neck, arms... were healing. Slowly. Visibly. Skin regenerating before her eyes, as if the pain had never existed. Almost monstrously.

  Agathe stepped back, holding Isaac close. She didn't scream. She didn't cry. She simply murmured: — Monster.

  Days later, she returned to Scotland with her son. Without a word. Without explanation. Without a backward glance.

  Project Zero was officially classified. Tents dismantled. Equipment packed. Anyway... the stone was gone.

  William, silent, gave final instructions to soldiers. Then a scientist called him. — Doctor... look.

  William approached. — Those flashes clashing that night... — they have a shape.

  Freeze frame. William immediately recognized the man who had introduced himself as nameless. And opposite him... the unconscious boy he dragged. — I don't know who these individuals are, the scientist continued, — but their clash caused colossal damage.

  William didn't respond. — Look here, he insisted. — Everything stable... — then the stone starts glowing. — That's when their confrontation begins. — It's as if they came from the stone, William murmured. — Exactly. — As if they didn't exist before the activity signs.

  William stroked his beard slowly. — There's more, the scientist added. — Some explosions don't match their fight. — Look here... during a major vibration... the stone seems... damaged.

  He zoomed. A crack. — Doctor... I think the stone cracked. — And projected fragments at supersonic speed.

  William calculated mentally. — About 8,000 meters per second... — Yes. — At that power, debris propelled like atomic bomb equivalents. — But directionally... uncontrollably. — What would that do? William asked. — Global dispersion. — Impossible to map precisely.

  Silence. — Project Zero isn't dead, William finally said. — It's changed scale.

  He looked up. — Fragments of the stone are scattered worldwide. — Over an inestimable radius. — Which means... — A global search.

  Later, William Campbell used all his persuasion with Area 51 officials. They hesitated. But couldn't ignore such a threat. Pursuit of Project Zero was discreetly approved. — Have you found a name for this stone, Doctor? one asked.

  William thought of what the nameless man said. Of Abraham. Of Isaac. Of his own reflection in that broken mirror. He stroked his beard, adjusted his glasses, and replied: — Yes.

  A silence. — The Stone of God.

  Japan — 2009 — I'm going to be late... A woman about twenty-five hurried down a still-quiet street. Her bag bounced against her hip. The subway wasn't far. Suddenly— A violent gust swept the street. Not an explosion. Not a shock. A brutal air displacement, as if something had crossed space at high speed. — AAAAH!

  Passersby screamed. Papers flew. The woman lost balance, hair whipped by the blast. Then, silence. A discreet sound echoed. Clac. Nothing spectacular. Too faint for such a gust. Intrigued, she turned. A narrow alley. Dark. Empty. She approached hesitantly. On the ground, or rather above it, a stone floated. Medium pebble-sized. There was an impact point in the concrete... but the stone didn't touch it. Suspended inches above, motionless. That explained the lack of noise. She drew closer. On the white surface, a symbol was engraved. Ancient. Clear. She frowned. — ...Hebrew?

  She had studied the language at university. The letters familiar. She read softly: — "Knowledge."

  A shiver ran through her. Without really thinking, she reached out. Her fingers brushed the stone.

  FLASH. A brutal white burst. Total. She staggered back, gasping. A shopkeeper, drawn by screams, approached the alley. — You okay, ma'am?!

  She looked up, disoriented. — Uh... yes.

  Her voice trembled. — You sure? — Yes... yes.

  She ran a hand through her hair. Only then did she feel something strange. The reflection in a window. Her eyes. Blue. Deep azure blue. And her hair... silver. Where, seconds earlier, it had been black. She froze. The stone was gone. The street resumed its course. But something, within her, had changed.

  United States — December 31, 2023 I was walking casually through Las Vegas streets. I'd gotten special leave from the NoName organization, thanks to excellent recent mission results. After all... with my time manipulation, extracting top-secret files had become almost trivial. This year, I turned thirteen. Noah told me I was born exactly at midnight, between December 31 and January 1, 2011. A birth between two years. Between two worlds, perhaps. He also admitted he'd never found more about my origins. And coming from my future self, I'd accepted it. I had no name.

  Still, I'd asked an organization member for a discreet investigation. On a little girl who escaped in Nevada during Project Zero's purge. They found her trace. After all... her particularity wasn't exactly discreet.

  I hummed idly as I walked, until reaching an improvised fairground. The girl had been taken in by a woman named Maria, who died the previous year from lung cancer. A cancer never diagnosed, never properly treated. Yet... given her survival duration, miracles were already spoken of. Maria had undeniable resilience. Since her death, the girl remained orphaned, protected by an older boy who treated her like a little sister. His name was Léo. Their rundown neighborhood shielded them from social services. Out of solidarity. Habit. Humanity.

  I stopped. Before me stood a Japanese girl, about my age. She gazed at the sky. The moon reflected in her azure blue eyes. Her long silver hair danced lightly in the wind. She had that melancholic air... that silence almost alive. Yes. It was you. My first love. That mute girl, as innocent as dangerous. You who, like me... had no name.

  She slowly turned her head. Our eyes met. I gave her my biggest smile. — Haha... so? — How've you been, all this time?

  She opened her mouth, surprised. Then suddenly, she threw herself into my arms. She cried. And at that precise moment, fireworks lit the sky, marking the new year. The world celebrated unknowingly. And that day... you were my most beautiful birthday gift.

  To be continued...