I open my eyes, bewildered, and look closely at the person on top of me. Blond hair tangled and full of dust from the fight. Fair skin, though dirty; large blue eyes, like two polished gems. His suit, which I initially thought was brown, is actually yellow, just covered in dirt. On his chest, an emblem shaped like a lynx… and the number 16.

  “Alex?”

  I can’t believe what I’m seeing. There he is, the rookie pilot from the Lynx squad… in the middle of an alien planet. But most importantly—

  “You’re not dead?” I ask, still dazed.

  “Well, it almost happened several times… But Rob, you have no idea how happy I am to see a friend,” he says as he helps me up, hugging me tightly and giving me a few pats on the back.

  I’m still in shock. I just stand there, barely registering what Alex is saying. So many emotions swirl inside me. I remember watching him depart from the Seeker, how I learned of his disappearance, the wreck… the battle with the armor, the figure crumbling in my hands…

  My eyes grow wet. I raise my hands toward him.

  “Alex, you… you…! You’re not dead, you damn liar! Give me back the tears I cried over you!” I jump at him, grabbing him by the neck.

  “Rob, calm down! Let go a bit and I’ll explain!” he says, trying to wriggle free.

  “No waiting! I’m going to kill you myself!” I keep squeezing until I feel a sharp blow to my head that knocks me back to the ground.

  “Stop it, Mir! He’s a friend! A friend!” I hear Alex shout.

  “Who… hit me?” I mutter as I get back up, aching all over.

  My attacker turns out to be… a girl. Maybe ten years old?

  Though she’s nothing like the children I know. Her skin has a gray tone—not sickly, but vibrant. Her hair, somewhere between silver and white, is braided in a strange way. Her eyes… are they closed? She’s wearing what looks like handwoven clothing, in shades of brown and dark red. In her hands she’s holding a stick. Aha, the weapon!

  I see Alex calm her down and take the stick away from her.

  “And who is she?” I ask, rubbing my head.

  “This is Mir. For now, I’m taking care of her. All right, stop it, Mir, he’s not a demon,” Alex says, trying to soothe her.

  “You’re taking care of her? Alex, you’ve got a lot to explain.”

  At last, he manages to calm her and sits her down on the rock.

  “Yeah, well… it’s a long story,” he says, looking at me seriously, and begins to tell it.

  ***

  “Gentlemen, you already know your mission. Proceed with caution and don’t get distracted. Report any anomalies and avoid conflict. Focus on gathering information. May the Radiance guide your safe return home. Begin launch.”

  Captain Mason’s voice is the last thing we hear before being fired through the ethereal tunnel.

  None of the five members speaks during the trip. There’s no need to. We remain silent inside our cockpits, motionless, each of us preparing mentally as our deployment craft crosses space. Time passes slowly; every minute seems to stretch on until, breaking the tension, an alarm sounds in our armor.

  “All right, team, we’re about to reach the quadrant. Stay sharp. We’ll deploy around the ship according to plan as soon as the immaterial field deactivates,” the team leader, Reiner, tells us.

  I grip the controls, a little nervous. I feel the ship come to a stop, and very soon the greenish layer covering us dissolves.

  “Now everyone, take your positions,” the leader orders.

  Quickly, the five of us exit the ship and take up our assigned positions, rifles ready, aiming in all directions.

  “Lynx 12, clear.”

  “Lynx 13, clear.”

  “Lynx 22, clear.”

  “Lynx 16, clear,”

  We report to the leader that there’s nothing out of the ordinary.

  “Lynx 26, clear. I don’t see anything either,” the leader responds. “Okay, let’s begin this reconnaissance.”

  I look around at my teammates; tension leaving their stances.

  “13, I want you at my nine; 22, at my six, covering our rear; 12, above us, you’ll also handle the ship remotely. Finally, 16, you’re the least experienced member; I want you at my three. Don’t stray or disappear from my sight. Everyone understand?”

  “Yes, team leader!”

  Obviously, by “the newest member” he means me. As usual, we use our call signs during missions.

  We begin scanning Quadrant 87 for any anomalies. The atmosphere is tense, the silence almost sacred. 13 hasn’t cracked a single joke, nor has 22 complained about anything. We move slowly but surely. Everything seems calm, which isn’t surprising, since this quadrant had already been scanned by drones.

  After several hours, we reach the boundaries of Quadrant 88, the sector where we lost contact with two reconnaissance drones.

  “This is Team Leader Reiner. The team has reached the limits of Quadrant 87. No anomalies detected. Requesting permission to enter Quadrant 88.”

  “Team Lynx, you have the green light to proceed. Move slowly and stay alert. If you sense danger, retreat to the ship and initiate an emergency stellar jump,” Captain Mason’s voice replies.

  “Roger, command. Beginning entry,” the leader announces, signaling us to advance.

  We cautiously enter the new sector. There’s no visible boundary between quadrants, just an imaginary line marked by Central to organize space.

  Everyone stays alert, checking scanners, watching every angle. Weapons ready, fingers on triggers. Time passes, and even though we don’t find anything unusual, fatigue begins to weigh on us. Maintaining constant vigilance wears down even the most disciplined.

  “Lynx team, on alert,” Captain Mason’s voice suddenly warns us over the radio, urgent.

  “Team ready to open fire,” Reiner says as he signals us with his unit’s arm.

  I immediately raise my weapon, scanning my sector for threats, but I detect nothing. I lower my guard for a moment… and then I notice it.

  My vision begins to ripple, slowly turning reddish. I rub my eyes, thinking it’s exhaustion. But no, my hand looks normal… outside the cockpit, everything starts to blur.

  “Is it space…?” I murmur, confused.

  “Reiner, get your men out of there!” Captain Mason’s voice comes through, distorted.

  “Quick, get into the ship!!” Reiner shouts, grabbing my shoulder and dragging me along.

  Communications cut out. The space around us is dyed crimson, flowing like a living river that pulses in every direction.

  “Leader, what’s happening?!” 13 asks, alarmed.

  “Our damn luck, that’s what. We flew straight into the Red Storm,” Reiner growls.

  The Red Storm. My heart turns to ice. Now I understand what kind of mess we’ve stumbled into.

  I see the ship not far away. 12 is already inside, since they were piloting remotely from the outside.

  “Watch out, 12!” the leader shouts as a crimson wave surges toward the ship.

  12 barely manages to jump away before the wave splits it in two. The explosion engulfs the wreckage as tendrils of red energy burst forth.

  “The ship!” 22 shouts.

  “Damn it, that was our only way out,” the captain’s voice echoes.

  Are we trapped?

  I remain there, floating, watching as the flames devour our last hope.

  “No… remember what Clifford used to say,” I force myself to think. “‘There’s always a way out. You just have to look for it.’”

  I scan the surroundings. Amid all that red, a dark spot stands out.

  “Leader, it hasn’t closed completely yet! At twelve o’clock, there’s an opening!” I shout at the top of my lungs.

  “Twelve o’clock…? Of course there is! Everyone, full speed toward the opening!” Reiner orders.

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  “Roger!”

  The engines roar. The five armors leave blue trails behind them.

  The rift narrows with every passing second. The storm chases us with its carmine tentacles.

  “It’s surrounding us!” shouts 22.

  “Speed up! Or we’ll be swallowed!” the captain yells, pushing his engine to maximum power.

  I do the same, ignoring all protocols. Every machine is pushed past its limits.

  “12 is falling behind!” I shout to the leader as I see him lagging.

  “Leader… my engine was damaged in the explosion. I’m losing power,” 12’s voice trembles over the channel.

  “12, try to—” the leader doesn’t get to finish.

  12’s damaged engine, unable to withstand the strain any longer, collapses. In an instant, it explodes into a thousand pieces, taking the armor and its pilot with it. The burning debris is swallowed by the Storm’s tendrils.

  I can’t believe it. Right before my eyes… a human being, a comrade, a friend, has vanished.

  “Lynx 12!!! Damn it! Don’t stop, we have to warn the Seeker!” the leader roars, barely containing his rage.

  “Yes… we have to warn them of the danger. They must flee before it’s too late,” says 26, his voice breaking, without looking back.

  The four of us accelerate. The rift is about to close, but we still have a chance.

  Or so we thought.

  Suddenly, a golden comet bursts out of the Storm and hurtles toward us at absurd speed.

  “Something’s coming! It’s going to hit us! Get ready!” I shout over the channel.

  We barely have time to react. The leader, 13, and I raise our shields and deploy our energy barriers.

  The impact is devastating. The object’s kinetic energy far exceeds our expectations. Our shields shudder and give way, the barrier shatters into a thousand pieces, and we’re flung aside like mere toys.

  Everyone except 26, who doesn’t stop… nor raise his defenses.

  All I can do is watch in horror as the comet strikes him head-on. Even though our block reduced some of its energy, the force is still enough to pierce 26’s unit, blasting it into pieces.

  “Lynx 26!” we shout in unison, helpless.

  “Damn you…!” 13 snarls and opens fire in fury.

  Driven by his action and our rage, the leader and I fire as well. Beams of light crisscross the void, striking the attacker, which—to our surprise—lets out a howl and recoils.

  Unfortunately, it’s already too late.

  The rift closes before our eyes.

  The Storm has trapped us.

  But there’s no time to mourn; from the smoke of our gunfire, a grotesque figure emerges.

  Its golden plates, though gleaming, appear smeared with soot and traces of battle. Even so, it carries an imposing presence; the golden glow amid the crimson waves makes it impossible to ignore.

  It doesn’t look damaged. Just annoyed. As if a swarm of insects had merely gotten in its way.

  “Leader…?” I ask, waiting for instructions.

  “I have no idea what that thing is… but I doubt we can escape. And it doesn’t seem inclined to let us go. Our only option is to fight,” Reiner replies, already gripping his spear. “Looks like the bullets didn’t do much. Let’s see if we have better luck with spears.”

  At once, I let go of my rifle and draw my own spear.

  “Fight that thing?? Did you see what it did to 26? Our shields didn’t hold at all. We’d need at least a Sovereignty to face it. Captain… do you have one?” 13 asks nervously.

  “At the moment I’m at the human limit. I haven’t reached Sovereignty… yet. So we’ll have to improvise.”

  Whoa… the captain has already reached the human limit. That means his technique is already perfect, with no room left to improve. He’s one step away from becoming a legend, but that step is so vast that most people never manage it.

  “So what do you suggest?” I ask, never taking my eyes off the creature watching us.

  “What was your calisthenics score at the academy?”

  “93,” I answer, not understanding where this is going.

  “…91,” 13 replies after a pause, surely already guessing his intent.

  “Perfect. Both above 90. I think we can attempt a joint sovereignty formation.”

  As is well known, achieving individual Sovereignty is reserved for the very best men and women: exceptional pilots, almost always blessed with extraordinary talent… or unbelievable luck. The vast majority never reach that far.

  Or at least, that was the case until a famous pair of pilots changed the rules of the game. They developed a method by which a group of combatants, working in perfect synchrony, could attain a kind of pseudo-Sovereignty. It wasn’t an individual skill, but a collective feat, where talent was replaced by precision, strategy, and absolute coordination.

  From then on, every nation began creating its own formations, training new generations of pilots not only to shine individually, but to become living weapons when acting as one. Thus were born the joint sovereignty formations, designed to change the course of great wars.

  “…And which one are you proposing?” 13 asks, still wary.

  “Ocean of Blades,” the leader answers, blunt as stone.

  “Ocean of Blades? You’re insane! We don’t even have close to enough people!” 13 shouts over the comms.

  Ocean of Blades is the standard formation of the kingdom’s navy—and also one of the most colossal: designed to envelop the enemy in a sea of weapons, assaulting it from every angle, giving it not a single moment’s respite until it is finally swallowed by the tide.

  What is the leader thinking?

  “Of course, not the standard version. I mean its tactical variant: River of Blades,” Reiner clarifies in a calmer tone.

  That sounds a bit more reasonable. Much less powerful than the original, yes… but also designed to operate with small squads. Even so…

  “We need five people,” 13 finishes, voicing my exact thoughts.

  Correct. If the team were complete, we could try it without hesitation… but in this state…

  “I think I can cover the missing position. I’ve been experimenting with a few things to break the human limit,” the leader says as he spins his spear. To my surprise, a blade deploys from the opposite end, transforming it into a double-edged halberd.

  Wow. Captain Reiner never ceases to amaze me.

  “But we’re still short one person,” I say, unable to hide my doubt.

  “I know. But we’ll have to make it work somehow. Maybe we can only form an incomplete stream, but it’ll be better than nothing,” he tells us firmly.

  13 and I exchange a quick glance. We’re not convinced. But there’s no time to think. The enemy is waiting.

  We sigh, nod, and take formation: the leader at the front as the central channel; 13 to his right, the eastern bank; me to the left, the western bank.

  “Forget the self. Now there is only the we. Do not hesitate, not even for a second. Even if the enemy’s claws are right before your eyes, trust: a comrade’s blade will rise to protect you,” the leader recites, quoting the principles of sovereignty formations.

  The enemy watches us… and smiles. Then it lunges at us.

  “Team Lynx, let’s drown that bastard in our river!”

  With that shout, three beams of blue light shoot toward the threat.

  The leader is the first to make contact. As the central channel, his lance aims straight for the enemy’s head. The strike is clean, but the creature doesn’t dodge; it takes it head-on, as if it doesn’t care. At the same time, its two claws lash out to the sides of the captain’s Leonidas, seeking to split it in two.

  But the leader does not stop. He doesn’t even flinch. He trusts.

  And that trust is answered: two lances intercept the claws just in time. Ours.

  The captain’s attack lands squarely on the creature’s head, but it doesn’t slow down. Instead, it throws a kick straight at me.

  I don’t have time. My lance is still out of position from the previous deflection. Every instinct screams at me to flee… but I don’t move. I trust.

  And once again, trust is rewarded: the leader’s halberd spins through the air, and with its second blade it strikes the attacking leg, tearing off several talons with the impact.

  I don’t thank him, there’s no need and no time. Instead, I drive my lance hard into the enemy’s shoulder, and 13 pierces its other leg.

  We don’t stop for even a second. Like an overflowing current, we unleash a rain of cuts upon the monster, overwhelming it from every side, allowing it no chance to respond.

  This is it! I can feel it.

  An invisible field seems to envelop us. I know exactly how to act within it. I understand the reach of my comrades’ blades, their speed, their rhythm. I know when and where they will strike. I can see the river of lances swallowing it whole.

  It’s an intoxicating sensation.

  The armor begins to be shredded by a current of blades descending like a river, each thrust leaving a deep mark, while its own attacks are deflected, reduced to pathetic attempts to resist a flow that’s dragging it away.

  But even so, it doesn’t fall.

  By now, any ordinary unit would have collapsed under so much damage. But this creature doesn’t, it just keeps standing… many of the cuts we inflicted at the start have already vanished. It’s regenerating. And its strength, its rhythm, haven’t diminished.

  We have.

  Fatigue begins to take its toll. Our armors are nearing their limits, and our focus wavers. Maintaining a sovereignty formation is already an overwhelming burden on body and mind… and even more so a joint one, which demands perfect synchronization.

  “We can’t keep this up. Our minor attacks won’t bring it down. We need to deal devastating damage in a single blow. Can you hold it for a couple of seconds while I prepare?” the captain’s voice sounds over the communicator, grave and hurried.

  “Is that a joke? The three of us are barely holding on… and you’re doing half the work!” 13 replies, exhausted.

  I don’t say anything, but my thoughts aren’t much different.

  “I know I’m asking the impossible of you… but if we keep this up, we’re going to lose. This isn’t about whether you can or can’t, soldiers. You have to.”

  And he’s right.

  “So? What’s your answer?”

  “Yes. We’ll do it,” we answer in unison.

  With our confirmation, the leader retreats, pulling back a few meters, and begins to charge his spear. The remaining energy of his unit concentrates at the tip, which starts to glow with an intense, blinding blue radiance.

  Meanwhile, 13 and I push ourselves to the limit. Every second feels like an eternity. The pressure mounts, the enemy regains ground with relentless fury, and our shields can barely keep up. Damage alarms won’t stop blaring inside the cockpit. We are slowly being overwhelmed.

  Until, at last, the leader’s voice breaks in again:

  “Sorry for the wait. On my signal, both of you pull back your arms.”

  “About damn time,” we reply, synchronized as if we were one.

  In that instant, without even coordinating, our spears trace two perfect arcs, striking the enemy’s claws at the same time. The blows deflect them to the sides, opening a crack in its defenses for a fraction of a second.

  And the leader does not waste it. Like a lightning bolt, he charges straight at the monster’s chest.

  The spear, loaded with all the remaining energy of his unit, pierces it right at the cockpit. At the very moment of impact, it unleashes its full power in a bluish, blinding explosion that engulfs us and briefly robs us of sight.

  In that fleeting moment, just before the thunderous roar, I swear I hear something…

  …something breaking.

  As the light begins to fade, our systems recover the image. And then I see it.

  My eyes go wide. I can’t stop myself from letting out a strangled cry.

  In front of me is the captain’s unit, still holding his spear, which has pierced straight through the chest of the golden armor, leaving a terrifying crater where the enemy’s cockpit should be… but my relief vanishes instantly when, in horror, I notice how the monster’s left arm has done the same to Leader Reiner’s Leonidas, piercing it with brutal precision.

  “Leader…?”

  We call out to him desperately, but receive no response.

  How could this have happened? I look at my spear: the blade is shattered. Everything suggests it couldn’t withstand the pressure of the battle and broke at the most crucial moment.

  Was it my fault? Was I the one who failed the captain?

  I remain floating there, paralyzed, unable to move.

  I watch as the enemy begins to slowly disintegrate into a swirl of golden particles. The captain’s armor remains suspended in the air. 13 rushes toward it, takes it in his mechanical arms, and shouts his name over and over.

  When he gets no response, he changes targets:

  “Alex! Damn it, snap out of it and come help me!”

  My name, his voice… finally pull me out of the shock. I start moving closer.

  And then it happens.

  A golden spear pierces 13, impaling him without warning. He turns his head, stunned, searching for the source of the attack. He doesn’t understand… until he looks down.

  The spear comes from the very unit he is holding in his arms.

  He clutches the shaft in disbelief, trying to pull it out… but his arms end up falling limp, drained of strength. His energy abandons him.

  Before me, the leader’s armor—or what once was—stands up. It is covered in a mantle of golden particles. There is no trace of the wound in its chest. It rips its spear from 13’s lifeless body and then looks at me.

  What is happening…? Leader…?

  My horror multiplies when 13’s armor also begins to be covered in gold… and rises.

  The two look at each other for a moment, as if recognizing one another. Then, as though nothing else matters, they turn their gaze toward me and raise their spears.

  There’s no way out of this. We barely survived against one of them… and that was with the whole team.

  Now I’m alone. And outmatched.

  My hands won’t stop shaking. I try to grip the controls, but I have no strength left. I watch them approaching, unable to resist. I close my eyes, not wanting to see what comes next.

  But fate still had one last word.

  Without warning, an immense surge of energy tears through the Storm, splitting it apart like a blade slicing a curtain. The intensity of its radiance floods everything in white, and the shockwave carries me away like a leaf in the wind.