On the bridge of the Valiant Starlight, the abyss shattered. A violent burst of azure brilliance tore through the suffocating void, its radiance swallowing the asteroid field in a fleeting but all-consuming blaze. The battlefield held its breath—eyes locked, minds frozen, drawn inexorably toward the unfolding cataclysm. Then, as suddenly as it had ignited, the light vanished, plunging the cosmos back into shadow, leaving behind a drifting graveyard—ashen remnants suspended in the cold vacuum of space. A dense cloud of fractured steel and pulverized rock spread outward, blooming like the slow exhale of destruction. The scorched wreckage of once-mighty war machines clashed against jagged asteroid husks, their dying echoes sending splintered shards ricocheting into the void.
Skeletal wires coiled and twisted, their exposed filaments flickering weakly, tangled amid shattered hull plating—a ghostly reminder of what had stood only moments before. Yet, despite the shifting tide, the Roth’arian’s charge remained unbroken. The battlefield may have changed, but their relentless advance would not.
Though the Roth’arian carrier had been obliterated, its legacy of destruction endured. The battlefield remained a roiling tempest of chaos, where swarms of Roth’arian fighters and bombers wove through the carnage, carving fiery streaks into the void as they unleashed relentless volleys against the staggering Ba’urgeon fleet. Desperation fueled their final assault—interceptors plunging toward the Starlight in reckless bids to breach its defenses. But the colossal supercarrier was an executioner without mercy, its towering cannons striking with surgical precision, vaporizing the oncoming threats in bursts of fragmented hull and molten debris. It swatted them from existence as if they were insignificant insects lost in the abyss.
From the bridge, the unfolding massacre etched a grim portrait against the stars—a silent necropolis expanding outward with every dying breath of war machines and warriors alike. The drifting wreckage formed solemn monuments to the fallen, skeletal remnants of vessels that had once surged through the void with purpose. A perpetual silence loomed beneath the chaotic exchanges of fire, an eerie contrast to the violence still raging between the fractured factions. Despite the carrier’s demise, the Roth’arian remnants refused to surrender to inevitability. The battle was far from over.
Ta’raa’s gaze remained tethered to the abyss beyond the viewport, her mind drowning beneath the tide of war. The wail of klaxons and the frantic chatter of status alerts faded into insignificance—a distant hum swallowed by the silence of space. She was lost within herself, adrift in the void as surely as the wreckage outside.
War had been an abstract concept once, something spoken of in hushed tones, studied in tactical briefings, dissected in simulations. But now, it was real. And so was death.
She had never imagined herself in this chair, never envisioned the crushing weight of command pressing down upon her like an unbearable force. When she’d first stepped aboard, she was merely a communications officer—an intermediary, a voice relaying orders between captains and their crews. But now, she was the captain. She was the one issuing commands, watching ships crumble under enemy fire, hearing the desperate reports of failing defenses.
She hadn’t been prepared for this, not truly. And it showed. Fear and anguish clung to her like a second skin, etched into every tense muscle, every fleeting breath. Her hands gripped the armrests like they might tether her to sanity, but she could not sever herself from the storm that had just torn through her fleet.
The battle raged, its chaos unfolding in shattered hulls and violent bursts of light—but within, Ta’raa remained still, staring into the abyss, waiting for it to stare back.
**Why had Commodore Lil’lah Mu-yah chosen her? With seasoned officers aboard the Starlight, why wasn’t the first officer leading? That was his right, his duty. Vosvin flew the ship—why had command not fallen to him? How could the Commodore expect hardened, battle-tested Sentries to follow someone so unproven?
Doubt coiled around Ta’raa’s thoughts, constricting, relentless. She felt its weight in her chest, the rigid tension in her jaw as uncertainty calcified into something dangerously close to fear. The questions circled in her mind like vultures, pulling her deeper into their spiral. Then—
“Commander!” Captain Ka’eel’s presence shattered the suffocating tide of her thoughts. He was close now, looming before her, his voice cutting through the haze of doubt. He had been trying to reach her—words ignored, warnings lost to the battlefield’s deafening chaos. Now, he resorted to proximity, to forceful interruption. “Commander, the attack was a success. What are your orders?” His eyes held no accusation, only a weighted concern—an expectation she could not avoid, nor deny.
The moment had come. She had no choice but to step into it. Ta’raa met Ka’eel’s gaze, but the weight of his stare only deepened the fracture in her composure. Her breath hitched—words tangled, hesitant, tripping over themselves before they could form anything resembling command. Commander. The title felt foreign, ill-fitting, like an identity thrust upon her that she had yet to claim.
“Uh… we need a full status report. Have all wings check in and—” Her voice was faint,, drifting into the silence between blaring klaxons and distant explosions. She wasn’t here. Not fully. Her focus flickered, pulled toward the battlefield, then across the bridge, scanning faces wrought with tension. The void beyond loomed—its vastness swallowing the chaos in eerie contrast. When her attention snapped back to Ka’eel, clarity wrestled its way forward.
“Sorry, Captain. Have all wings check in and order them to run defensive maneuvers.” The words came stronger now, though her body betrayed the turmoil still thrumming beneath them. She shifted abruptly, brushing past Ka’eel as she rose, stepping toward the viewport. The tactical urgency faded, replaced by something heavier—something personal. Jo’rah. His mission had succeeded. The mission she had devised.
She exhaled slowly, the weight of consequence settling over her shoulders like a leaden shroud. “I don’t know if I can send anyone else to their death,” she whispered, her voice barely more than breath, a confession surrendered to the void.
“Ta’raa.” Xania’s voice cut through the static hum of the bridge, firm yet not unkind, carrying over the pulsing alerts and flickering screens. From the navigation desk, she looked toward her—waiting for her to listen, to truly hear. “You can’t blame yourself for Jo’rah. Or for anyone else who’s died here.” The words weren’t meant to be soft. They were a warning—a tether to reality before guilt consumed her entirely. The weight pressing down on Ta’raa’s shoulders was visible in the tension of her posture, the way her fingers curled into fists at her sides. “If you do, you’ll only cripple yourself.” The battlefield outside raged on, indifferent to sorrow. Wreckage drifted like the remnants of forgotten worlds, the void swallowing everything without remorse. And yet, within the chaos, command still belonged to her.
Xania’s tone edged toward urgency, not accusation. “For now, we have to prioritize the situation at hand.” It wasn’t heartless—it was necessity.
“Xania is right,” Roel interjected, his voice steady but edged with urgency. “You’ve been entrusted with the Valiant Starlight—”
He stepped toward Ta’raa, reaching to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder, but she was already retreating, her breath tight, her movements sharp. With a curt wave, she brushed him aside, rejecting comfort just as fiercely as the storm raging inside her.
“Don’t you think I know that?” The words lashed out—raw, unfiltered. The flickering battle reports, the silent wreckage beyond the viewport, the distant hum of klaxons—it all blurred beneath the relentless surge of doubt clawing at her. “I’ve been standing here, trying to figure out why me—why was I the one left in command?” She barely heard herself now, words tumbling forward like unraveling thread, tangled in frustration. “All because of one good idea?”
She threw an arm toward the remains of the Roth carrier, its fractured hull drifting in the abyss, hollowed out, defeated—yet a monument to the lives lost, to the weight of a decision she had made. “And it wasn’t even that good, because it—” The sentence wafted, hanging there, unfinished, burdened by the implications she couldn’t yet voice.
“Commander!” Ka’eel’s voice cracked through the bridge like a thunderclap, raw with urgency, demanding her attention. It wasn’t just loud—it carried force, conviction, an undeniable presence that echoed against the metal walls and rattled through the tense air. “Jo’rah was a warrior! And so were those Sentries who followed him. They knew what they were fighting for, and they died so we could have this opportunity!” The bridge held its breath, the tension coiling around them, thick and suffocating. The distant battlefield burned in chaotic streaks of fire and wreckage, shadows stretching across the void. But Ka’eel wasn’t speaking of the battle—not entirely. His words dug deeper, striking at something beyond war, beyond loss. “You forget yourself, Commander.” The title was sharp, deliberate. “You are not the reason we are out here! There is more at stake than just this battle!”
Then—his voice softened, the edge retreating, replaced by something quieter. Something deeply personal. “Jo’rah was my friend.” A pause. A flicker of vulnerability slipping past his otherwise hardened expression. “He and I have fought together many times. I am saddened. But he would not want us standing here, drowning in grief. He would want us pressing forward. Carrying out the mission.” His gaze locked onto hers, steady, unwavering. “You are not alone in this, Ta’raa.”
Roel stepped in once more, his voice carrying an edge of reassurance. “Right! Lil’lah put you in command because she wanted to see if you could lead—and what better way to prove her right?” He paused, his expression shifting into something lighter, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “We’ve all held commands we weren’t ready for. Though, I have to admit… I don’t recall any Junior Grade Officer ever being handed the keys to an entire Supercarrier.”
The words were heavy in the air, only for a moment—then came the laughter, rippling through the bridge. Sentries chuckled, shaking their heads, the tension that had suffocated the room easing just slightly.
The suffocating weight pressing down on Ta’raa’s chest loosened, if only for a breath. She exhaled slowly, letting the moment settle, before scanning the faces around her. “Okay…” She sighed, rolling her shoulders back, forcing herself to acknowledge the shift in energy. “Alright. I needed that.” Her gaze moved from Roel to Xania, to Ka’eel, to the others who had been standing beside her through all of this.
“I appreciate all of you.” Movement caught her eye. A pulsing light on the captain’s console, blinking in rhythmic succession, urgent yet silent. She frowned slightly, stepping toward it. “Huh… someone’s sent us something.” Her fingers hovered over the interface.
Ka’eel, still positioned near the captain’s chair, reached for the console, his fingers moving with calculated precision as he activated the incoming notification. A pulse of energy rippled through the bridge as the holodeck flared to life, bathing the command deck in a spectral glow. Lines of illuminated data streamed into the air, cascading into intricate patterns of translated script—a silent transmission unfolding like the whispered remnants of something lost.
“These appear to be log files—records and manifests,” Ka’eel murmured, his voice edged with intrigue. The projections shifted, symbols restructuring into comprehensible language, their eerie fluorescence flickering in rhythmic intervals as the system unraveled the Roth’ari tongue. He studied the data for a brief moment, eyes narrowing. “Suppose it came from the Roth’arian carrier?”
The words consumed the space between them, implication looming. If this was salvaged from the wreckage, then someone—something—had sent it.
Ta’raa’s expression ignited—a burst of sudden realization gleaming in her eyes. “Jo’rah! It had to be Jo’rah! No one else could have sent this!” Her voice surged with urgency, her gaze snapping between the flickering holographic display and the battle-scarred void beyond the bridge. “Where did that message originate!?”
Xania was already moving, fingers dancing across the holodeck’s controls, pulling up the transmission’s metadata. The illuminated scripts shifted, lines of code unraveling beneath her command. “This came from Cly’yn’s fighter,” she confirmed, her tone edged with intrigue. “Just moments before the impact.”
Ta’raa inhaled sharply, a spark of exhilaration striking through the exhaustion settling in her limbs. “At least one of them made it back to their starship!” Her exclamation rang through the bridge, carrying with it an energy that refused to be suppressed. Hope—fragile but undeniable—now surged at the edges of uncertainty. “Xania, scan for all of our fighters in the area. Find Cly’yn’s transponder—get me a direct line of communication!”
She pivoted sharply, making her way back to the captain’s chair, her fingers tracing across the console, eyes narrowing on the encrypted log files. Their contents pulsed softly, waiting to be unraveled. Ta’raa murmured, almost to herself—almost to him.
“Why’d he send us these? There has to be something here...”
“There.” Ka’eel leaned over the holodeck, his brow furrowing as glowing data streams shifted, unraveling their buried history in spectral waves of light. The records stretched back millennia, their sheer breadth staggering. “The Roth have been very active in this quadrant… moving immense amounts of resources. And they all seem to be coming from one place.” He turned toward Ta’raa, ready to continue—but Roel’s voice cut through the tense silence first, urgent and sharp. “Earth!”
The single word seemed to slam through the bridge, carrying the weight of a realization that reshaped everything. “These manifests—they’re records of how the Roth have been siphoning resources from Earth!”
Roel’s fingers danced through the holographic projections, enlarging a stream of translated data, shifting layers of cryptic log entries into clearer meaning. Then—he stopped, eyes widening. “And look here.” The flickering script pulsed under his touch, revealing coordinates, timelines—unshakable proof. “They’ve maintained some kind of port there… longer than Earth has even been civilized.”
The air in the bridge seemed to thicken, the weight of centuries pressing down on them all. Roel’s gaze snapped toward Ka’eel, his voice quieter now—no less intense. “Do you think Lil’lah knows about this?”
“This explains what happened to the ‘Ru.’” The implications coiled tightly around them, stretching far beyond this battle, this fleet. Roel voice was full of concern. “Do you think the Supreme are aware of this?”
Before Ka’eel could respond, Vosvin’s voice cut through the charged silence, sharp and deliberate. “I think that may be why these starships are still so hostile.” He hadn’t wavered from his focus, maneuvering the Starlight through the treacherous labyrinth of wreckage and chaos, threading the massive vessel between drifting debris and the dying embers of battle. “You would have thought they’d broken off engagement by now…” His hands tightened over the navigation controls, guiding the ship through the scattered remnants of war, his attention shifting momentarily to the pulsing data streams still suspended over the holodeck. “But if we’re to believe these records…” “…they could be waiting on reinforcements.”
Vosvin glanced toward the others now, expression taut, jaw clenched. “Wasn’t that a Dreadnought that took out the Ru?”
As the youngest Sentry on the bridge, Ta’raa had spent the least time in war—but her academy lessons had branded certain truths into her memory, ones that refused to fade. Two details stood out with relentless clarity: Lil’lah was the only survivor. And it had been a dreadnought that obliterated the Ru.
The official records told only fragments of the story—distress calls, brief and frantic, cut off almost as soon as they began. And Lil’lah’s own account? Incomplete. She had jettisoned from the carrier mere moments before its destruction, escaping into the void while everything behind her was swallowed whole. The rest had been lost, drowned in silence. “Yes,” she murmured, voice threaded with certainty. “It was a dreadnought. No doubt about it.” Her fingers curled against the armrest of the captain’s chair, knuckles whitening as she forced herself to recall everything she knew.
“And if I remember anything else… that battle lasted only moments.” Ta’raa’s gaze flickered toward the viewport, beyond the scattered debris and ruined husks of war machines, searching for signs—any sign—of what might be coming next. “That vessel was prepared for battle.” She inhaled sharply, forcing air into her lungs, though her body had already betrayed her—the tightening of her jaw, the way her shoulders stiffened. “We’re not ready for another skirmish.”
Roel exhaled sharply, tension coiled in his frame as he turned away from the glowing holodeck, pacing toward the viewport. His footsteps were deliberate, each step carving frustration into the silence, his mind already racing ahead of the moment. “We’ve got to go get Lil’lah.” His voice carried a restless energy, charged with unshakable determination. Outside, the shattered remnants of battle drifted in silent echoes, a graveyard suspended in the void—proof that time was running out. “She’s flying straight into a trap.” His gaze locked onto the endless abyss beyond the viewport, searching for something unseen yet undeniable. “She’s going to be all alone on that world—and the Roth know we’re here by now.”
Then, Roel turned sharply, his eyes landing on Ta’raa, no hesitation, no uncertainty “Commander,” The title was firm, weighted, anchoring her to the moment. “We need to take the Valiant Starlight to Earth and retrieve the Commodore.”
“Don’t be a fool, Roel!” Ka’eel stepped forward, closing the distance in a heartbeat, his frame rigid with frustration as he squared up with Roel. The dim bridge lighting sharpened the angles of his face, casting deep shadows beneath his eyes, his presence carrying the unspoken intensity of someone barely restraining urgency beneath command. “I know she’s your kin, but look at the fleet!”
Beyond the viewport, the battlefield remained—a graveyard of shattered hulls and drifting wreckage, yet amidst the ruin, the Roth’arian forces had not relented. Their movements carried a deliberate rhythm now, their persistence less about survival and more about calculated control.
“If the Roth know we’re here, then Earth is already on alert—waiting for us.” Ka’eel’s voice tightened, his gaze unwavering, eyes dark with the weight of foresight. “Who knows what will be in store?” He exhaled sharply, shifting his stance slightly, the weight of strategy clawing at the edges of his thoughts. “But if I had to guess… They’d send that Dreadnought to intercept us—long before we ever set foot near Earth.”
Ta’raa pushed herself upright, her voice sharp with conviction. “Ka’eel is right! Lil’lah gave us orders—if the threat wasn’t neutralized, we were to leave the system! She said nothing about reckless rescue missions!” Her words cut through the bridge, strong, decisive—yet beneath them, uncertainty coiled, the weight of responsibility pressing down with suffocating force. “We already have enough information to know this battle isn’t over.”
The bridge fell into a charged silence.
Xania cleared her throat, a measured lull disrupting the spiral of frustration without force, her nature one of steadying rather than overpowering. “Well…” Her tone was calm. “She hasn’t reached Earth yet. There still may be time to get her back.” Flickers of movement on her console, fingers gliding over shifting streams of data. “I’ve also located Cly’yn’s fighter.” A fact nestled within the chaos. “He made it out of the Roth hangar—but he’s unreachable.”
Xania’s brow furrowed, her gaze flickering between layers of tactical readouts, tracking faint echoes of movement. “I’ve been monitoring his location… but he’s not engaging in combat. He seems to be following the Commodore.” Her voice lowered slightly. “I can’t reach her either.”
Ka’eel paced the perimeter of the holodeck, each deliberate step echoing against the silent tension that clung to the bridge. The flickering projections cast ghostly reflections across his face, illuminating the weight of the decision looming before them. “We’ve got two Sentries out there, flying straight into a trap.” His voice was low, edged with certainty—the kind born from instinct rather than strategy. “I feel it.” The battlefield may have quieted, but the danger had not passed. “Cly’yn’s no warrior. He’s a pilot. He’s good for aerial support, but he’s no good on the ground. Not alone.”
Ka’eel’s gaze lifted from the holodeck, locking onto the viewport. The stars beyond felt colder now, distant spectators to a war still unraveling. “I’m taking a drop-ship to Earth. A couple of Stai’tic raider units.” Firm resolve settled into his stance. “I’m bringing her back.”
Roel stepped forward without hesitation, his expression unwavering. “I’m going with you.”
Ta’raa exhaled, sinking back into the captain’s chair, the weight of command pressing against her spine. Her fingers grazed the console as she opened a fleet-wide transmission, her voice steadier now—sharp, resolute. “Attention, crew of the Valiant Starlight. This is Commander Ta’raa.” The hum of warships vibrated beneath her words, the bridge alive with the movements of officers preparing for the inevitable. “All wings—disengage. Recall all battleships—we need tuggers for the disabled ones. We have confirmation of incoming reinforcements.” She straightened, her gaze moving across the crew, pulling strength from their presence. “Engineering Corps—return to the Starlight. Prepare to warp. All hands, prepare to warp.”
Ta’raa’s focus shifted, sharpening, locking onto Roel and Ka’eel. “Take twenty-four Stai’tic raiders. Complete this mission.” Her grip tightened on the armrest. “Bring the Commodore back.”
Roel’s gaze swept across the bridge, searching for an answer that wasn’t readily apparent, his expression taut with unease. His eyes finally settled on Ka’eel, the unspoken question weighing heavily between them. “Who knows the way to Earth?”
Ka’eel hesitated only briefly before glancing toward Xania.
“I’m on it!” Xania’s fingers moved swiftly across her terminal, holographic interfaces flickering in rhythmic pulses as she navigated through layers of star charts and encrypted flight paths. “Once you reach your drop-ship, let me know. I’ll set you up to tail Cly’yn.” The projections shimmered, recalibrating, adjusting tactical markers in real time. “You won’t catch up with him.” Her voice was firm, matter-of-fact. “Both he and Lil’lah are piloting much faster starcraft—but with any luck…” “You’ll be there in time to save them—if it comes to that.”
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Ka’eel and Roel vanished into the corridors, leaving Ta’raa standing in their absence, flanked only by Vosvin and Xania. The bridge felt larger now, heavier, as though the weight of command had settled into the very air around her. She understood now—truly understood—why Lil’lah had left her in charge, despite her inexperience. It was never about skill alone. It was about presence, about choice. Xania and Vosvin could run this bridge without her if they had to. They had before. That realization carved into her chest like something sharp and hollow.
In times of crisis, Ta’raa had always found solace in action, in the ability to fix things—to wield her hands and make the chaos manageable. But now? Now she was tethered to this chair, to this battlefield, to the weight of choices she could neither undo nor evade. She was bound to command. And there was no running from it now.
The three Sentries sat in silence, listening as status updates rolled across the bridge, each clipped report weaving into the quiet hum of preparation. The Valiant Starlight trembled beneath them, shuddering as warships latched onto its docks, their massive frames settling into place like fragments of an impending storm. It was time.
With the drop-ship long gone and her crew braced for the unknown, the Starlight’s engines roared to life, a deep, resonant tremor that pulsed through its colossal structure. Electric currents of sapphire energy surged across the length of its hull, spilling in volatile arcs, shimmering like captured lightning—contained fury harnessed within the bones of a titan. Then, space itself splintered. The void twisted, light contorting in spirals of shimmering distortion, a whirlpool of color swallowing the leviathan whole. A rupture—brief yet all-encompassing—pulled the massive warship beyond the known, severing its presence from the battlefield in an instant. Silence. Only the ghostly shimmer of displaced reality remained, the lingering aftershock of a vessel too vast, too powerful, to be bound by time and distance.
#
Lil’lah sifted through the fragmented echoes of Earth, the security feeds flickering like specters in her mind. She needed a vantage point beyond Nolan’s building, a broader sweep of the terrain, and the image of the man in the parking structure surfaced—an anchor, a portal.
The moment she fixated on it, the shift began. A phantom force coiled around her essence, stretching, warping, pulling her through the abyss. The plunge was neither gentle nor merciful—she felt her soul unravel and reconstitute in the ether, flung like a thread through the void’s unseen hands.
Then, the sensation snapped. The world around her solidified in a breathless instant—the sharp scent of oil and asphalt, the metallic tang of exhaust lingering in the air. A gust whipped across the rooftop, chilling her skin as she steadied herself. The vast sprawl of the city pulsed beneath her, each distant light a beacon in the night’s throat, yet the silence up here was suffocating.
The city sprawled beneath the crescent moon, silent and motionless, a vast expanse of shadows stitched together by cold steel and concrete. Not a wisp of cloud marred the sky—just an endless stretch of darkness that pressed down like an omen. Lil’lah narrowed her gaze, fixating on the ramp descending to the lower level. “This was where Nolan and that other fellow landed. Let’s see how many we’re up against.”
Reality buckled. Time folded in on itself, warping her senses—one moment she was poised at the edge of the ramp, the next she was staring back at where she had just been, as though she had splintered from herself. A wave of vertigo threatened to topple her, but she steadied, her breathing controlled. From here, she had a flawless view of the entire floor.
She repeated the maneuver, each displacement bringing her closer to the front of the building. The streets yawned empty before her—hollow, bereft of movement. She scanned the scene, calculating. “Hmm. Empty.” Her voice barely disturbed the stillness. “They must have all gone out on patrol.” A mistake. A fatal one. She exhaled slowly, gaze sweeping the distance. “Bad practice to not leave anyone to watch your back. Let’s see where everyone’s run off to.”
Lil’lah slipped through the quantum veil in flashes of fractured existence—blinks of essence, ephemeral and restless, weaving through the city’s empty corridors. Each teleportation carried the sharp scent of ozone, fleeting glimpses of deserted streets and hollow alleyways, but every landing left her hands empty. “They must be inside, somewhere.” Her voice was barely more than a murmur against the hush of midnight steel and concrete. She turned, scanning the labyrinth of structures around her. Towers loomed in jagged silhouettes, their shadows clutching at the pavement like spectral fingers. The possibilities were endless, but instinct carved the options down.
“They could be anywhere," she muttered, calculating. "But odds are they’re close to the complex.” Wind surged past her—a sudden, biting current, carrying the scent of damp rot and rust. She closed her eyes. The sensation of displacement coiled through her bones, pulling her across the void.
When she opened them again, she was no longer in the open streets. The air was heavier here. Stagnant. The towering ruin before her loomed with fractured windows and peeling metal siding, hollowed out like the skeleton of something long abandoned. A large, decrepit dwelling.
Lil’lah’s gaze swept across the looming structures, hunting for weaknesses among the layers of steel and shadow. Darkened windows peppered the buildings—silent, empty vantage points—but then, a glint. The sway of movement caught her attention, and there was a bead of light. She stilled, breath shallow. There. A single illuminated window, barely perceptible through the void. “Found you.” The words barely formed before she moved—essence unraveling, distorting the air, folding space around her. Time fractured, and in an instant, she was inside, the world snapping into focus beneath her feet. Below, where she had stood moments ago, the scene shifted. Two soldiers—one crouched at a distance, the other poised near the window, his gaze locked on the complex’s entrance. A spotter. Watching. Waiting. Sloppy. A seasoned hand would see them immediately. She saw them immediately. Her voice slipped into the shadows, carried only to those who walked their depths. “So sloppy. A trained eye would spot you in an instant.”
Across the way, in the skeletal remains of a neighboring building, the shadows twisted and shifted, figures slipping in and out of view like specters haunting the rafters. Their movements were deliberate—watchful. Lil’lah exhaled slowly. So the front door was out of the question. Fine. There were other ways. She stilled, recalling the first floor of the complex, summoning the exact moment she had locked eyes with Nolan for the first time—the raw panic that had tightened his throat, the way he had backed against the wall as if it could swallow him whole.
She closed her eyes. Time stopped. Space folded. When she opened them again, her gaze landed on the very same wall. The place where fear had once rooted him. Stillness pressed against the air. The room was unchanged, a hollow skeleton of what it had once been—a gymnasium or a recreational space, though its purpose had long since been erased. Now, all that remained was ruin.
Equipment lay discarded, sprawled haphazardly across the floor like broken limbs, swallowed by the dim glow of encroaching shadows. Nothing moved before her
Lil’lah turned her back to the room—and froze. The air was thick with the scent of blood and burnt residue, a suffocating cocktail of gunpowder and suffering. Bodies littered the floor, soldiers writhing, their moans threading through the silence like dying embers struggling against the void.
Shell casings gleamed dully in the faint light, scattered across the blood-slicked ground like fallen stars. Bullet holes pockmarked the walls, jagged wounds in the architecture, silent testimonies to a battle that had burned through this space like wildfire. She froze, scanning the carnage. “Oh. A battle took place here.”
The rebels lay motionless, their forms unnervingly still amidst the writhing soldiers. A strange development. She stepped forward, counting. “One, two, three…” Her voice barely rose above the breath of the wounded. “Six, seven.” Her stride slowed. “That makes eleven, at least, but…” She studied their faces as she passed, searching. Empty eyes stared back, devoid of answers. “None of them are who I’m looking for.”
She hesitated at the stairwell, casting a lingering glance over the ruin behind her. Something about the scene gnawed at her—the unnatural stillness of the rebels, the weight of unanswered questions pressing against the air. “I wonder what’s wrong with them.” Her voice barely broke above a whisper. Unease churned under her skin. “I didn’t think Noel had this kind of capability.”
A fiery tingling crawled across Lil’lah’s fingertips as she ascended, each step feeding the slow ignition rippling through her body. It was familiar—the same strange energy she’d felt when she first encountered Nolan—but now it burned fiercer, more insistent, threading through her veins like wildfire. “Twelve, thirteen.” At the top of the stairs, two soldiers lay twisted in agony, their bodies doubled over, convulsing in weak, shuddering gasps. Their breath rattled, their fingers clawing at the ground as if trying to tether themselves to the living world.
Lil’lah barely hesitated. She phased through the second floor, slipping through the structure’s bones like a whisper, only solidifying once she reached the next staircase. “Sixteen.” Her pulse quickened. By the time she reached the third floor, the burning was no longer a mere sensation—it was a rage, a force roaring beneath her skin, consuming her every nerve. Something was happening. “Seventeen, eighteen, nineteen.” She stopped. Soldier nineteen wasn’t like the rest.
Lil’lah’s buzzed—there he was. The soldier from the recording, crumpled and barely clinging to consciousness. But more importantly, he had one of the sparks. Her gaze shimmered, excitement coiling through her like static in the air. “Well, well.” She crouched slightly, tilting her head as she studied him. “You’re incapacitated. Two down, one to go.”
She eyed his slackened posture, the lingering trace of command in his frame—he had the air of someone who led from the front, someone who didn’t wait for orders because he gave them. That meant there was no one ahead of him. No barrier left in her path.
Her attention flashed toward the dim corridor, its length swallowing the distant hum of conflict. She straightened, stepping forward, her suspicions threading into certainty.
“I guess it’s on to Nolan now.”
#
Lil’lah summoned the image—the room where his body lay in state, where the air had felt thick with the weight of memory. She closed her eyes, letting the vision consume her, letting it pull her forward, stretching reality around her as she stepped across dimensions. When she opened them again—something was wrong. Nolan’s body should have been here. But it wasn’t. The atmosphere felt different, charged with something unsettling, something unresolved.
Noel sat motionless on the floor, cradling the machine as if it were something fragile, something sacred. The dim lighting cast uneven shadows across her face, distorting the quiet tension in her expression. By her side, a rifle gleamed in the half-light, cold and ready. A stack of magazines lay beside it—a preparation, a promise of something yet to come. Lil’lah held her breath, the silence pressing in. The room was not what she expected.
Jax hunched over his terminal, its lifeless screen casting a dull reflection across his face. A handgun rested within easy reach on the desk, its presence weighty, deliberate. The hum of machinery should have been constant, the rhythmic pulse of a system alive—but instead, silence. “I’m not able to connect to any feeds from here.” His voice was taut, frustration threading through the edges. The words barely settled before he tried again, fingers skimming over controls, but the result was the same—nothing. “It’s probably going to be the same upstairs.” He exhaled, jaw tightening. “I can’t even pull up the radar. Everything’s been jammed.” Urgency sharpened his posture. He straightened slightly, turning toward the dim stairwell. “We have a radio upstairs—an old one, analog. Not digital.” That might be their only way out. “If we can get to it, we might be able to call for an airlift.”
His gaze drifted past his terminal, searching for some confirmation, some reaction. But Noel sat rigid, unmoving. She did not acknowledge him. And that, somehow, unsettled him more than the static-wrapped silence of his dead systems.
Behind Jax, Nolan materialized in restless motion—pacing, his breaths uneven, his movements erratic. His face was tight with dread, eyes flitting between terminal screens as if willing them to awaken, to work, to give him something useful. But each screen remained lifeless, stubborn in its silence, and the frustration carved deeper into his features with every passing second. Lil’lah watched him—watched the way his gaze flicked toward Noel every few moments, fleeting glances edged with something unspoken. Concern. Hesitation. Doubt.
The tension in the room thickened. Then—a sudden, sharp impact. Jax’s fist collided with the desk, rattling the scattered objects upon it, sending a pulse of anger through the stale air. “Damn it, Noel! Get your head in the game!” His voice sliced through the silence, raw with urgency. “He’s going to be fine, but we need to think of some way out of here!” The words echoed, demanding something—anything—from Noel. But she remained still. And that, somehow, was more unsettling than the storm brewing in Nolan’s eyes.
“I am not leaving my son!” Noel’s voice cracked—raw, resolute, teetering on the edge of something irreparable. A tremor of anguish surged beneath her words, the weight of everything pressing down, crushing, suffocating. “Otherwise, what was all of this for? Why did we do all of this?!” She lowered Nolan gently, her touch reverent, as if holding onto what little she could. His head rested against the cold floor, a stark contrast to the warmth in her shaking hands. Then she rose—steadily, purposefully—to face Jax.
Jax had already stepped around the desk, closing the distance, his movements deliberate, charged. His presence filled the space, bringing with it the snap of simmering frustration. “You mean, why did you do all this?” His voice was sharp, cutting through the charged air. “We did this for our nation, for our families, for our friends—”
“So, what do I call him?!” The words tore from her, raw and desperate, cracking beneath the force of something uncontainable. “I want to save my family, too! You heard him—he’s in there!” Her voice was a tremor in her throat refusing to steady. “He’s not some senseless machine!” Images of the day flashed through her mind, refracting across the weight of her conviction—he saw me, and I saw him. For the first time, we saw each other. The realization lodged itself deeper, an unshakable truth pressing against everything she had been told, everything she had been made to believe. “There is someone in there,” she whispered, the certainty settling like iron. “He’s not just some thing we can hand back to them. Not anymore.”
Nolan hovered over his own body, the sight unsettling, as if the separation between the two forms had splintered something fundamental. For several moments, he twisted himself into a series of strained, hesitant positions—reaching, adjusting, attempting—but whatever force he sought to reconnect with remained just out of reach. His movements faltered, shifting from intent to frustration, until finally, he stopped. Now, he simply stood. Fist clenched. Eyes locked. Staring.
Lil’lah’s breath hitched. Something about his stillness pulled at her, a silent weight pressing against the air between them. She approached on instinct—compulsively, drawn forward before her mind could catch up with her body. What could she possibly say? Noel’s outburst still echoed in her mind, reminding her of an undeniable truth: Nolan had spent most of his life as a machine. Emotion was foreign to him. This depth—this overwhelming flood of something—was new, unfamiliar, uncharted. Yet still, her steps carried her forward, slow, deliberate, until she stood behind him. Close enough to witness the moment. Close enough to feel the silence shift.
Noel’s voice cracked, raw and trembling, each syllable weighted with exhaustion, with surrender, with something achingly final. “If this is the end,” she sobbed, breath hitching between words, “then this is how I want it!” Desperation curled at the edges of her voice, but beneath it—resolve. A battered truth, worn and undeniable. “This is the closest thing I have to my family. If this is how we have to go, then—” she motioned toward Nolan’s body, her hands steady despite the quake in her frame, “then this is the best-case scenario for me!” Jax watched her, his stance rigid, his own breath held beneath the weight of the moment.
Noel’s eyes glossed—stare hollow.“Never did I imagine, after everything I’ve been through, after all these years, that I could meet my end at my son’s side.” Her voice softened, but the words struck harder. She was ready. Her fingers curled into trembling fists. “Jax—I’m old. I’m tired.” Her breath, shuddering and frail. “I’ve been running for years. Can’t I have a break?”
“No! You’re only saying that because you’re emotional!” Jax’s voice cut through the charged air, trembling at the edges, fueled by frustration—and something deeper. Desperation.
“You’ve had a family this whole time! We’ve been a family, and we need you!” The words rang heavy, demanding something—some shift, some acknowledgment, some fight. “You feel this way because you’ve given up hope!” He stepped forward, his breath sharp, his movements tight. “We need to soldier through this—”
Noel lurched, gripping the edge of her terminal as if to steady something crumbling inside her. Her voice broke. “I am no soldier, Jax!” It was both an admission and a rebuke. A declaration and a wound. “That was Tyson! Tyson was the soldier—I’m the scientist!” The words crashed between them, the weight of long-buried grief threading through the air.Noel’s fingers curled tighter against the terminal’s surface, her body trembling, held up only by sheer will. And Jax—silent, shoulders squared, fists tight—could do nothing but listen.
Nolan reached for his mother, desperation threading through his movements—only for his hands to slip through her like mist, vanishing into the empty space where his touch should have landed. The failure struck something deep. His frustration twisted into something volatile, something reckless. His body trembled with the weight of it, and without thought, he lashed out—slamming, swiping, sending equipment scattering beneath the force of his futile assault.
Lil’lah’s voice cut through the charged air, light but firm. “Careful—you don’t want to end up back on the first floor like before.” But he didn’t hear her. His anger swelled, spiraling past reason. He struck the terminals with wild, erratic force, his movements edged in desperation. His breaths came sharp and ragged, his cries clawing at the walls like the wounded howl of a beast cornered in its final stand. Lil’lah tensed, then stepped forward. “Nolan!”
Lil’lah reached out, closing the space between them with a single, deliberate motion. Her fingers wrapped around Nolan’s hand. The moment shifted. The storm inside him stilled, the feral chaos unraveling in an instant. His body slackened, his breath slowed, and his burning gaze softened as he turned to face her—his pacifier, his anchor.
For the third time, they stood abreast, the weight of the connection pressing between them like a force neither could fully understand. “The Shadows is no place for an emotional outburst,” Lil’lah murmured, her voice steady but firm, carrying through the charged air like a tether. “It can have many unintended outcomes. It’s always best to maintain an even keel.” She tightened her grip, both hands enveloping his now, holding him with an unfamiliar certainty.
This time—this moment—was different. He was primal. She could feel it—the raw energy thrumming beneath his skin, pulsing through her own veins, threading through her senses. Emotion. Power. Unrestrained force. It built inside him, alive, electric. Unfiltered. Lil’lah inhaled, steadying herself against the flood. “Tell me…” Her voice softened, the weight of his presence settling into her own. “What troubles you?”
Nolan’s grip loosened, his fingers slipping from hers as he stepped away, drawn toward the still form of his body and the woman who had claimed him as her son.
For the first time, he truly looked at himself—not just at the lifeless frame lying beneath Noel, but at the construct of his existence, the hollow space where his humanity should have been. “I never even knew I had a void that needed to be filled,” he muttered, voice tight, raw. “Never even suspected there was anything wrong with my life. I’ve never contemplated my memories, my past, my childhood—yet here I am, finding that my entire life is a lie.” His breath hitched, the realization pressing deeper, heavier. “My being is a fabrication of machinery. My mind, a computer.” The words tasted foreign, bitter. “And I might have had a chance to save her—to save them. We could have escaped. But I am here, trapped—unable to even control my own body. My own emotions.” His fists clenched, frustration boiling beneath his skin. “What am I?” His voice barely broke above a whisper. “Am I just some instrument of war?”
Lil’lah watched, unmoving, but the response came from another. “I told you who and what you are!” The words rang out, firm, resolute. “You are the chosen one. This world’s savior.”
Nolan let out a sharp, bitter laugh, shaking his head. “Well, who selected me? And why?”
“Fate.” The answer was immediate, unwavering. “You were chosen by fate. One Mind set in motion the events that led us here, to this moment. To this place. This is no coincidence, no dream, Nolan.”
Nolan’s gaze darkened, flickering between the speaker and his own motionless form. “Well, it’s certainly not reality!” His voice cracked, frustration spilling over. “You expect me to stand here and believe this is really happening?” His eyes narrowed, scrutinizing Lil’lah, searching for something—anything—that made sense. “You’re an alien, or something, aren’t you?” His breath was uneven, his words edged in disbelief. “You have to be some figment of my imagination.”
Lil’lah huffed.. “I’m Ba’urg,” she said, unflinching. “Of the Ba’urgeon Society, from the planet Ba’maub—head house of the Rhab Alliance.” Her voice carried certainty, refusing doubt. “We were on my home world just a little while ago, Nolan. It is very much real.”
Nolan barked out another laugh, sharp, fractured. Desperate. “Those are just words.” He gestured broadly, shaking his head. “I’ve read that when people die, there’s this massive surge of chemicals to the brain—a last, great hallucination.” His gaze dropped, locking onto his own form—the body that no longer belonged to him. “This is that.” His voice softened, distant. “One moment, I was spasming, losing control, and the next—” He swallowed hard. “Here I am. Staring at myself.”
Lil’lah’s gasped—the bodies. Her mind snapped back to the carnage below, the scattered limbs, the blood-slicked floor, the sea of writhing, incapacitated soldiers littering the lower levels. She had seen them—passed them, counted them—but in the chaos, she hadn’t stopped to understand. “What happened to all of them?” The words left her mouth in a rush, sharp and urgent, cutting through the tense air.
Nolan turned slowly, his brow furrowing, his expression shifting between confusion and unease. “All of them?” His gaze locked onto hers, the weight of the question hanging between them. “All of who?”
Lil’lah starred, steadying herself. Did he truly not know? “Your unit,” she pressed, scanning his face for recognition—for anything that confirmed he understood the magnitude of what had unfolded. “They were storming the building when—” she hesitated, piecing it together as she spoke, “I guess they were all stricken with whatever afflicted you.” Her voice dipped lower, the realization settling deeper. “They’re mostly incapacitated downstairs. What caused this?”
Nolan’s gaze locked onto Jax, his expression unreadable—an unsettling mix of comprehension and doubt. Still, unwavering, but the tension in his frame betrayed him.
“The virus was a success!” Jax’s voice rang out, charged with triumph, urgency threading through every syllable. “We’ve crippled the HIVE mainframe—look at Nolan! The rest of the COA must be in the same state, or worse.”
He turned toward the security feeds, their screens pulsing with scrambled static, white noise swallowing any shred of clarity. His back was to the room now—focused on the remnants of disrupted systems, blind to the silent storm brewing behind him.
Lil’lah exhaled, slow and measured, her head tilting in quiet contemplation. “I see.” The words were barely more than a murmur, yet carried weight. Her gaze settled on Jax, unreadable, watching him closely. “Humanity has come a long way since I was last here.” A statement—but not necessarily praise. Nolan’s voice cut through the haze, tinged with something fragile beneath its question. “I don’t suppose you’re going to put me back in my body?”
Lil’lah turned, her attention shifting back to Noel. “No, I’m not.” Her voice held no hesitation. “I couldn’t if I wanted to.” The air thickened, charged with something unseen. With deliberate grace, Lil’lah extended her arm, gliding toward him as if carried by unseen currents. Her fingers ghosted over Nolan’s forehead, gentle but resolute. “Someone wants to speak to you.” The moment changed. The light in Nolan’s eyes shifted—a glow sparking to life, unnatural, unrestrained.
“You are scared,” Lil’lah murmured, her voice threading through the silence like a tether. “And what’s worse—you have never needed to learn how to control your emotions. The machine in you did that. But now you are free.” The glow pulsed. “Your mind has been opened to infinity. You must not dwell on these worldly attachments—there is an entire universe to understand.” Her fingers pressed slightly, her presence anchoring him to something beyond the fractured world around them. “You’ve been selected to discover its secrets.”
“But selected by who?” Nolan barely completed the thought before the answer began to take shape—not in words, but in vision. The entity surfaced in his mind, its presence undeniable, the revelation settling into his consciousness like an ancient truth resurfaced. His eyes flickered, their glow receding, returning to normal—yet something had shifted.
Behind Lil’lah, the air rippled. A spiraling mauve vortex tore itself into existence, its maw yawning open beside Jax, oblivious to the silent menace raging at his flank. Tendrils of golden light cracked through its depths, snapping like arcs of celestial energy, illuminating the churning core as its spirals accelerated.
The force breathed, not in sound but in motion—gusting wind curling through the room, sweeping through Nolan and Lil’lah, threading through their senses. They felt it. The pull. The weight. The invitation. Nolan took a step forward. Then another. His gaze locked onto the vortex, drawn by its unseen gravity, entranced by the swirling unknown beyond its threshold.
Lil’lah watched him, then stepped alongside him, her voice steady, grounding. “Had you been born a Ba’urgeon, on Ba’maub,” she murmured, “you would have been selected by One Mind to be a Sentry.” Her presence guided him toward the portal, the space between them narrowing as the vortex pulsed. “When we are born, all Sentries experience ‘the Sight’—a trance in which we are shown our entire history. ‘The Knowledge,’ so that we may gain ‘One Understanding.’” The gravity of the words settled.
“It would be inappropriate for me to answer any more questions. Because your understanding…” She turned slightly, eyes locked onto the spiraling force before them. “May be different than my own. I know the Ba’urg share One Understanding,” she whispered, voice carrying the weight of a universal truth. “But I have never known other life forms to experience the connection.”
“But where will it take me?”
“To twilight.”
The words barely formed before the vortex answered—whipping violently, its spirals accelerating, tendrils of mauve churning in endless motion. Sparks cracked, threads of gold searing through the storm, illuminating the maw’s shifting depths.
It beckoned. Not in mere presence, but in force—pulling him forward, calling him, demanding his approach with an unseen gravity that pressed against his skin, threaded through his mind. He wanted it. The yearning swelled, overtaking reason, overtaking thought. His arms extended instinctively, fingers splayed, as if grasping for something unseen yet essential. His pulse thundered. The pull was inescapable now. The vortex consumed him, swallowing him whole.
