In the silence, filled with the ringing of the fliiruses, a completely earthly sound suddenly broke through.

  Loud. Prolonged.

  Jo-Jo’s stomach growled.

  Everyone froze for a second.

  He blushed.

  “Sorry…” he muttered. “I… guess I got a little overwhelmed.”

  Alexander turned to us and, for the first time since all of this began, smiled genuinely. Softly.

  “It’s late,” he said calmly. “You’re exhausted. And hungry.”

  He looked at all of us. “This Christmas… is unusual. We still have an hour, maybe two, before the active phase of labor begins.”

  “I’ll give instructions and have you escorted somewhere to rest. You’ll remain here. I don’t think it’s wise to leave the Womb right now. The disinfecting chamber might delay you again.”

  “No,” Lia said immediately. “We’re fine.”

  “Yes,” Jo-Jo added. “Don’t worry about us. There are more important things happening.”

  “We’re not children,” Lia said quietly. “We see what’s going on.”

  Alexander shook his head.

  “I still insist. You need to recover.”

  He looked at us seriously.

  “I’ll be back soon.”

  And he left quickly.

  Lia turned to me.

  “And you… you knew about all this?” she asked softly. “About this world? About Phil?”

  Jo-Jo was looking at me too.

  “We understand,” he added. “Why you didn’t tell us. Alexander explained. It was for safety.”

  I lowered my eyes to my hands, still faintly shining as the drying film faded.

  “I didn’t really know much myself,” I said honestly. “Truly.”

  I gave a bitter half-smile. “Serenitas was placed on me. I didn’t remember.”

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  I looked at them.

  “I even hit Alexander over the head with a statuette once.”

  Jo-Jo’s eyes widened.

  “You what?!”

  “Yes,” I said quietly. “I thought he’d come to kill me.”

  A pause settled.

  Then Lia laughed softly — not mockingly, but with relief.

  “Well,” she said, “at least now it makes sense why he looks at you that way.”

  I felt my cheeks burn.

  “What way?” I tried to sound innocent.

  Jo-Jo snorted.

  “Like a man who got hit in the head with a statue and still fell in love.”

  “Jo!” I snapped.

  He shrugged.

  “What? I’m not blind.”

  Beyond the translucent wall of the bubble, Phil breathed deeply and evenly, his body rocking in the boiling blue substance, and the world seemed to stand on the edge of something beautiful being born.

  And in the middle of all of it — in the Womb, at the heart of living space — there stood us: blue, faintly shining, tired, hungry, and absurdly human.

  Christmas truly was unusual.

  We didn’t get to continue the conversation.

  From behind the thick growth of fliiruses came the sound of German speech.

  Clear. Slightly sharp. Familiar.

  I turned.

  Out of the greenery stepped Frau Schwarzenegger.

  She wore an apron — dark, neat, embroidered. A small bird sat on her shoulder, bright, with an iridescent throat. It turned its head from time to time, watching us carefully.

  She attempted a smile.

  Awkward — but sincere.

  She stepped closer.

  On her arms I saw the scars again. Old. Darkened. As if her skin had once burned and tightened.

  “Guten Abend, happy Christmas!” she said loudly. Then she looked at me.

  “Miss Shrimp.”

  Her voice softened.

  “My little deception is now revealed,” she said with a slight bow of her head. “Please understand… and forgive.”

  I nodded.

  “And now,” she said, “follow me.”

  The bird clicked its beak softly.

  She turned and walked forward, parting the dense growth. The plants obediently moved aside.

  I exchanged a look with Lia and Jo-Jo, scanning for Alexander.

  He was nowhere in sight.

  “Let’s go,” I said.

  I rolled Lia’s chair forward. Jo-Jo walked beside us, holding Bridget’s leash. The dog was remarkably calm — only sniffing the air intently, as if aware that what was happening lay far beyond ordinary canine logic.

  We walked for quite a while.

  The plants grew denser. The air warmer. The ground beneath our feet springy, almost alive.

  And then I noticed the caterpillars.

  The same ones the pteroseruses had poured into the large bowl of blue substance. Thick, pale green, glossy and damp. They clung to the plants, moving slowly.

  Frau Schwarzenegger stopped.

  Calmly, efficiently, she removed one caterpillar from a plant. It did not resist.

  “Well then,” she said, slipping into German almost automatically, “komm schon… go on, chew us an entrance to the dining room. Schnell.”

  Then she turned to the bird on her shoulder.

  “Little bird, show him where to chew.”

  The bird took off. Hovered in the air like a hummingbird. It held position, marking a precise point in space — where we saw nothing but dense greenery.

  Frau Schwarzenegger lifted the caterpillar and placed it directly beneath the bird.

  In midair.

  The caterpillar hung there… and began to chew.

  We saw nothing — but we heard it.

  A soft, moist crunch. As if dense fabric were being bitten through.

  Gradually, space began to part.

  First a thin crack.

  Then a sliver of light.

  Then an opening.

  With every bite, the passage widened.

  And suddenly—

  sunlight.

  Real.

  Warm.

  Alive.

  It was strange — by my calculations, it should have been late evening.

  Before us opened a lawn.

  I stopped.

  The grass was fresh, soft, as if it had just grown. In the center stood a beautifully decorated table — long, festive, covered with a cloth embroidered in gold.

  And a fir tree.

  The one Lia, Jo-Jo, and I had once brought to Phil.

  It was richly decorated. Ribbons. Glass ornaments. Golden stars.

  And beneath it — gifts.

  Wrapped. Beautiful.

  Among them — ours.

  The very ones we had left in Phil’s kitchen.

  And others too. Someone had carefully transferred everything here. Even arranged them neatly.

  The table had not a single empty place.

  Exquisite dishes. Warm bread. Fruits. Roasted vegetables. Fish with herbs. Sauces in clear bowls. Cocktails in crystal glasses shimmering pink, gold, blue. The table overflowed with splendor.

  Even for Bridget there were treats — bowls on the grass, delicacies arranged carefully in the shape of hearts.

  We gasped at once.

  Jo-Jo breathed out:

  “This is… for us?”

  Frau Schwarzenegger straightened slightly.

  “Help yourselves,” she said gently. “Make yourselves comfortable. Rest.”

  The bird settled again on her shoulder.

  And while we stood there — looking, whispering, exchanging glances — Frau Schwarzenegger disappeared.