"And the seventh?" Victor asked, breaking the moment of contemplation that had followed Maria's summary.
The group exchanged glances, the weight of unfinished business hanging between them. Samuel had been notably quiet throughout their heated negotiations, his notebook filled with observations but his own intentions unspoken.
"Samuel," Atlas said, turning to the researcher. "You've heard everyone's reasoning. What's your take?"
Samuel considered his words carefully. "You've each chosen practical, forward-thinking wishes. Enhanced capabilities, knowledge, environmental protection—it's a comprehensive framework." He paused, pen tapping against his notebook. "I don't believe there's anything I could add that would benefit us more than what's already been proposed."
"So you're passing?" Lily asked, surprise evident in her voice.
"Not passing," Samuel corrected. "Agreeing. Your collective approach addresses the major survival concerns. Adding another personal wish might create unnecessary complications."
Victor's eyes narrowed. "That's very generous of you. But it leaves six wishes allocated and one open. What happens to the spare?"
"We hold it in reserve," Samuel suggested.
Atlas nodded slowly. "We should gather more information." He looked at the blue screen hovering nearby. "We can see Earth's state in real-time, right? As wishes are being granted?"
"Excellent point," Victor said. "We haven't actually checked what's happening down there." He addressed the screen directly. "Can you show us Earth's current state, reflecting all wishes that have been made so far?"
The entity offered no verbal response. Instead, the void around them shimmered, replaced by a vast, three-dimensional projection of Earth that hung before them.
The planet was recognisable, but only just.
Massive landmasses had shifted, tectonic plates rearranged like pieces of a child's puzzle. Entire coastlines had vanished while new ones carved brutal scars across what had once been stable continents. Some regions pulsed with unnatural light—sickly greens and violent purples that had no place in nature's palette.
Storms raged where there should have been calm weather. In other places, the land itself seemed alive, writhing and shifting as if the earth was trying to shake off some terrible infection.
"Bloody hell," Ethan breathed.
Towering crystalline spires pierced the sky in scattered locations, their surfaces catching and reflecting light in ways that hurt to look at directly. In the oceans, massive forms moved through the depths—creatures with bioluminescent bodies that cast eerie glows through the water, their scale dwarfing anything that had ever existed.
The view shifted, focusing on what had once been the Amazon. Colossal trees now stretched impossibly high, their metallic bark gleaming like armour. Their canopy blocked out the sun, creating a perpetual twilight beneath their branches.
"The mountains are glowing," Maria whispered, pointing to a jagged range that pulsed with veins of glowing mineral.
"This is what humanities wishes have accomplished, so far," Samuel said, his academic excitement warring with obvious horror. "The alterations are far more extensive than I anticipated."
Lily hugged herself tighter. "It's worse than I thought. How are we supposed to survive in that?"
Walter's face was grim. "The question isn't just survival. It's whether civilisation can exist at all in conditions like these."
Atlas felt a chill that had nothing to do with the void's temperature. "If people can alter the planet this drastically, what can they do to their bodies?"
He turned back to the floating screen. "To what degree can people increase their physical strength?"
"The human body cannot handle large, unexpected gains in strength without self-destructing. Any wish that drastically exceeds what a person can naturally withstand will result in death or severe physiological consequences."
"Thank god for small mercies," Ethan muttered. "At least we won't be dealing with people who can punch through mountains."
"But gradual enhancement would be possible?" Maria pressed.
"Incremental improvements are certainly achievable."
Victor leaned forward, his mind clearly working through implications. "What about control over others?"
"Direct control over others is not permitted. The removal of free will is forbidden. Influence, persuasion, and manipulation through indirect means remain possible however."
"Meaning people will have to rely on traditional power structures," Walter observed. "Fear, resources, charisma. No instant world emperors."
"Which means they'll fight for dominance the old-fashioned way," Atlas added grimly. "Through force, intimidation, and alliance-building."
Samuel scribbled notes rapidly. "It confirms our approach is sound. Enhanced capabilities without exceeding our limits, knowledge to navigate the new landscape, environmental protection to ensure there's something left to survive in."
"Let's delay our wishes," Victor decided. "The longer we wait, the more wishes will be made. If something unexpected develops, we can still adapt our strategy."
The others nodded in agreement, the weight of watching their world transform in real-time pressed against them like physical force.
---
What felt like days passed in the void, though time held little meaning in their strange prison. The initial adrenaline of decision-making faded, replaced by the slower burn of anxiety and homesickness. Without the immediate pressure of choosing wishes, their thoughts inevitably turned to the people they'd left behind.
The group had drawn closer during their confinement, sharing stories and fears in the way that strangers do when circumstances strip away normal social barriers.
Ethan's frustration spilled out first. He'd been stuck serving coffee for minimum wage, barely scraping by each month while his flatmate made his life miserable. "Every day was the same," he'd said, staring at his work-stained hands. "Get up, make other people's drinks, go home to someone who treated me like furniture. Sometimes I wondered if this was all there was."
Lily's revelation came quietly, almost whispered. High school had been a minefield of social anxiety, where she existed in that uncomfortable space between invisible and awkward. "I kept thinking if I could just figure out how to fit in, everything would be easier. Now I'm not even sure there'll be a world to fit into anymore."
Victor's story emerged in carefully controlled fragments. His work had consumed him, demanding everything until there was nothing left. "She started preparing for divorce," he'd admitted, his usual sharp edges softened by exhaustion. "Said I'd chosen my career over our marriage. She wasn't wrong."
Maria spoke little of her struggles, but her worry for her children radiated from her like heat from a forge. When she did share, it was always about them—their dreams, their fears, their potential wishes. The responsibility she carried was visible in every line of her face.
Walter offered wisdom and listened more than he spoke, but loneliness leaked through his measured words. "Retirement wasn't what I expected," he'd said once. "You spend decades surrounded by young minds, shaping the future. Then suddenly you're home alone, wondering if any of it mattered."
Atlas's story came in pieces, reluctantly shared. Both parents gone—father who'd walked away, mother claimed by illness while he was still young. "Had to grow up fast," he'd said simply. "Learn to survive on my own. Never really broke the habit of staying quiet, keeping my head down."
In the quiet moments between planning, small intimacies emerged. Samuel mentioned that he preferred to called Sam. Atlas, after a moment's hesitation, admitted that the few people who'd been close to him called him AJ.
They'd spent hours refining their wishes, crafting precise language to ensure they got the outcomes they needed rather than twisted interpretations. The projection of Earth continued to evolve before them, but the changes had slowed. Whatever initial chaos the first wave of wishes had created seemed to be stabilising into a new, alien equilibrium.
"It's time," Sam said finally, breaking a long silence. "The planetary changes have plateaued."
AJ studied the transformed Earth one final time. Terrifying as it was, it looked... stable. Dangerous, certainly. Unrecognisable, absolutely. But not actively collapsing.
"Ok," he said. "Let's save what's left of the world."
They stood in their circle, no longer strangers—seven people bound together by necessity and the terrible responsibility of their choices. The void around them pulsed with anticipation, as if reality itself was waiting for their final decision.
One by one, they approached the blue screens that materialised before each of them, ready to speak the words that would reshape not just their own lives, but the future of everything they'd ever known.