4338.212 · July 31, 2018 AD
A Jar of Small Survivors
Karen carries a jar of spiderlings toward the planning table where Grant and Sarah sit surrounded by blueprints and hope. She has ideas to pitch—trees, shade, life returning to this scorched world. But as she watches them sketch futures and speak of timelines, something twists in her chest. They're still dreaming of Earth. They're still talking about going back. And Karen isn't sure she can be the one to shatter that.
Vincent is finally secured—staked by the river where he can drink but not drown, contained but not forgiven. Karen drives the metal deep into the baked earth and steps back, scanning the horizon for something she can't quite name. Shade. Colour. The absence of birdsong. This place needs more than survival. It needs restoration.
She returns to her caravan and retrieves the jar she's been keeping—dozens of huntsman spiderlings, stowaways from Earth, fragile and fierce and dancing against the glass. They're proof that life finds a way. They're the beginning of something.
Armed with her jar and her vision, Karen approaches the planning table where Grant and Sarah sit with Chris, heads bent over diagrams and dreams. Their enthusiasm is infectious. Their hope is palpable. And it breaks her heart.
Because they still talk about timelines. About returning. About Bonorong waiting for them on the other side of the Portal.
They carry a truth they haven't yet discovered.
And standing at the edge of their borrowed light, Karen forces a smile and lets them dream a little longer.
