Marked From Birth
For the first time in the history of the Union, a child was being born who had never known the metallic tang of recycled bunker air or the crushing weight of the home world's gravity.
Audrey stood outside the heavy brass doors, her hands clasped tightly behind her back. Beside her, Lucas paced—a habit from his days in the Northern trenches. His iron-and-silver arm made a faint whirr-click with every step, a mechanical heartbeat that seemed out of place in this room of biological miracles.
"The resonance in the room is shifting," Mara whispered, leaning against the wall with her monitors. "It’s not just a birth, Mother. The Atmosphere-Forge at the pole is reacting to the infant’s first breath