Eris worked the graveyard shift for the National Digital Preservation Institute, sifting through automated satellite dumps from decommissioned Korean communication relays. Most of it was static, ghost signals from dead satellites, or corrupted fragments of old K-pop broadcasts. But this one was different.

And in the underground lab beneath the old Baeyeonseo Temple ruins, a bell began to ring.

Future Eris glanced over her shoulder. Someone was knocking. Three slow knocks. Then two fast ones.

She looked back at the screen. The video player had changed. A new line of text glowed faintly beneath the frozen final frame:

“I have to go,” she whispered. “Remember: May 28th is the day we built it. August 6th is the day we use it. Don’t let them wipe the log.”

The Penbang Broadcast

“This file is not a recording,” the future Eris said. “It’s a key . On August 6th, the sky over the Yellow Sea will turn purple. Not sunset. Not aurora. A resonance cascade from the quantum relay we’re building here in Penbang. You’ll hear a sound like a bell struck underwater. When that happens, play this file on the main terminal at the Institute. Not your laptop. Not your phone. The main terminal.”

“Today is May 28th,” the woman continued. “I’m in Penbang—that’s what we started calling it. The underground lab beneath the old Baeyeonseo Temple ruins. Three months from now, on August 6th, you’re going to receive a request to delete a certain file from the satellite archive. Do not delete it.”

A man’s voice, calm and terribly familiar though she’d never heard it before, said: “You just played file KA24080630. Did you finish the video?”

“Archival Division, this is Eris.”

Outside her window, the eastern sky flickered once—a pale, impossible purple.

Eris leaned closer. Her coffee went cold.