The soft hum of the Verdalian flagship's command deck echoed with the rhythm of blinking consoles and distant communication pings. The atmosphere was focused but calm. Outside the reinforced windows, the Heaven Bridge stretched like a glowing vein through the heart of the Dead Zone—a corridor of relative safety in a sea of cosmic ruin.
Jason Amberdunk stood with quiet authority, his gaze on the panoramic display of the surrounding fleet. The bridge’s walls projected subtle, ever-shifting star maps, and the ship’s systems buzzed softly beneath his boots.
Suddenly, the serenity broke.
“Captain,” a junior officer at the far end of the deck called out urgently, “incoming transmission on encrypted channel. Priority one.”
Captain Mirana Velstrine, a woman with silver-threaded hair tied in a sleek braid, turned from her station and approached the communication terminal. Her brows furrowed as she scanned the lines of scrolling data. Her eyes narrowed slightly.
She tapped her earpiece and turned toward Jason.
“Commander Amberdunk,” she said, voice calm but edged with tension, “I’m getting something unusual. Multiple pings from Vir Empire vessels. At least seven ships—possibly more—lurking near Sector 5, just outside the Heaven Bridge route.”
Jason stepped forward immediately, his face stern but unreadable.
“Are they moving toward us?” he asked.
“Negative,” Mirana replied. “Holding position. But the signal pattern suggests they're scanning our formation. Could be a surveillance fleet… or a warning.”
Jason looked at the holographic map projected at the center of the bridge. Tiny red dots marked the presence of the Vir Empire ships, resting like vultures on the outskirts of their path.
“Not now…” he muttered under his breath.
Then, turning to the entire room, he spoke with clarity and strength.
“Listen up, crew. No matter what happens—we do not engage. Our mission is to provide aid and reinforcement to the Lilliput Star System. We are not here to provoke or challenge the Vir Empire.”
The bridge quieted. Officers looked to one another, uncertain but trusting.
“If they attempt contact?” asked Mirana.
“Then we listen,” Jason said. “But we hold our position and avoid escalation. We’ve already seen what one misstep in this quadrant can cost.”
A young strategist at the console frowned. “But if they fire—”
Jason interrupted gently, but firmly. “Only if they fire first. And even then, we don’t fire to win. We fire to survive.”
Mirana gave a slow nod. “Understood, sir.”
Jason stared again at the map, the Vir ships pulsing ominously.
“We’ve come too far to start a fire in the void,” he thought.
“Let’s not repeat the sins of the past.”
Outside, the dark remnants of fallen stars lit the silent corridor ahead. The Heaven Bridge remained their only hope—and the galaxy watched, breath held
The outskirts of Alag were no longer quiet.
Hovercraft engines purred as the fleet of Verdalian police vehicles formed a perimeter around the scorched field. Beneath the twin moons, a strange tension clung to the air like static. The ground, once covered in lush grass and blue-rooted wildflowers, now bore circular scars—evidence of a sudden and violent impact. Something—or someone—had unleashed power beyond ordinary comprehension.
Inspector Jern stood at the heart of it all.
Clad in a long crimson coat that rippled with faint shielding tech, his silver-trimmed boots clicked against the earth as he moved with precise steps. His enhanced ocular implants scanned the terrain, occasionally flickering with light. Around him, twenty-five constables, five assistant inspectors, and twenty sub-constables moved methodically, combing the area for clues. Drones buzzed overhead, pulling live energy readings.
Jern brought his wrist console close and tapped into a secure channel.
"This is Inspector Jern reporting from Sector 7-A, three kilometers east of the Great Tree," he said, his voice clipped but steady.
"We’ve confirmed it. There are two distinct energy signatures here—one gold, one silver. High density. Unstable. It appears two powerful forces clashed at this very spot."
"No civilians injured. But this... this was no random burst. It felt intentional. Like a duel between legends."
He paused, eyes narrowing at the scanner as a strange pulse flickered across the screen.
"Further analysis underway. Will notify once we extract more data. Jern out."
He closed the channel and looked once more at the broken ground.
Something was returning. Or waking up.
Meanwhile, back at the Amberdunk residence, Max sat quietly on the living room bench, his fingers fidgeting in his lap.
Warren leaned against the wall, arms crossed, eyes locked on his younger brother. Tina, standing near the central table with a cup of warm root-tea in hand, glanced between the two, concern shadowing her face.
Max finally spoke.
“I saw them .”
Tina blinked. “Who?”
“I don’t know exactly… but there were two lights. One gold. One silver. Right before the shockwave hit.” He looked up at them, his voice low and steady. “It felt like they were alive. Fighting each other. Or... warning us.”
Warren stepped closer. “You mean like what happened during your training?”
Max shook his head. “No. This was different. This wasn’t inside me. It was real. And then, I heard a voice.”
Tina’s brows furrowed. “A voice?”
“In Sanskrit,” Max whispered. “I also heard something saying said something… like a riddle. I couldn’t understand most of it. But I felt it. The message.” He closed his eyes, recalling the words etched into his mind.
"??? ?????? ?????????? ????? ??????? ????????
????????????? ?????? ???????????
??? ??????? ????????????????? ??????,
???????? ????????? ????????? ?????????"
Warren raised an eyebrow. “Translation?”
Max looked to his brother, voice heavy. “Not a direct one. But the sense of it... something about the world breaking apart. A reflection cracking. Two entities rising. And if light sides with justice in disguise... then the new era will be drowned in darkness.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
A long silence followed.
Tina set the cup down and sat beside Max. “Are you sure, Max? You weren’t just imagining it after the vision during chakra training?”
Max shook his head again. “It was no dream, Mom. I know what I felt. And Rure was there, right beside me when the shockwave hit. He didn’t hear the voice, but he saw the lights too.”
The room fell quiet again, the hum of the home’s energy stabilizer the only sound.
Finally, Tina exhaled softly. “Then this means something deeper is going on. And with your father away… we’ll need to be extra careful.”
Outside the home, the patrols of Verdalian officers continued through the streets of Alag. The twin moons cast long shadows, while far away near the Great Tree, the ground still pulsed faintly—like a memory refusing to be buried.
The next day dawned over Alag in hues of amber and pale blue. The academy halls were alive with energy—not just from the usual buzz of morning students, but from the excitement surrounding the upcoming expedition to Verdalia. Young scholars hurried between counters and classrooms, chatter rippling through the corridors like a soft tide.
Inside Class 2-A, the walls flickered with translucent info-panels and softly glowing star charts. Students lined up to submit their trip consent forms, dropping the signed datasheets into a hovering registrar bot.
Max Amberdunk, still distracted by the events of the previous night, walked forward with his form in hand. He passed it to the bot, but his mind wasn’t in the room—it was still floating somewhere between the ancient tree and the mysterious voice that had spoken in a tongue older than time.
As he walked back to his seat beside Rure, he leaned in and whispered, “Rure… can I tell you something strange?”
“Stranger than what happened yesterday?” Rure whispered back.
“I still remember those words… the ones in Sanskrit.” Max glanced around, then softly recited:
“??? ?????? ?????????? ????? ??????? ????????
????????????? ?????? ???????????
??? ??????? ????????????????? ??????,
???????? ????????? ????????? ?????????”
Rure sat up straighter. “You remembered all of it?”
Max nodded. “I don’t even know how. It’s not like I studied it. It just… stayed. Like a memory that was never mine.”
Their teacher, Professor Meldan, a senior Verdalian historian with decades of study under his belt, overheard just enough to pause and step closer.
“Max,” he said slowly, “was that… Sanskrit?”
“Yes, sir,” Max replied. “Do you know what it means?”
Meldan raised an eyebrow. “Roughly. That language, young man, belongs to a time before most civilizations even learned to look at the stars. Sanskrit and Tamil—those two are considered among the oldest known tongues. They predate many of our earliest records by tens of thousands of years.”
Rure joined in. “Sir, after Max told me about the voice last night, I looked into it. Both Sanskrit and Tamil were once spoken by seers, philosophers, and starborn mystics. Some of the first Verdalians are said to have used Sanskrit in rituals, while Tamil, too, held deep spiritual weight. But both languages faded from use long ago.”
Meldan nodded solemnly. “To speak either without study is rare. To recall them… instinctively? That’s almost unheard of.”
Max looked down at his hands. “I’m not trying to be special. But it felt… like something or someone wanted me to remember it.”
Rure leaned closer. “Maybe it’s a message. Maybe that voice was trying to warn you.”
Max sighed. “Maybe. Either way, we need answers. I think we should talk to Master Joe.”
“Master Joe?” Rure blinked. “You think he knows something?”
Max looked out the academy window toward the far hills where the Great Tree stood. “I know he does. He’s not just a warrior, Rure. He’s a living legend. The way he trains us, protects us, teaches us… he’s guided by something more. And last night, when those two lights clashed, I felt something deep inside—like the very ground remembered.”
Rure nodded slowly. “You think he might’ve been part of it?”
“I’m not accusing him,” Max said firmly, “but I do believe Master Joe may know what we’re not ready to understand yet. He’s earned our respect—and our trust. But maybe now it’s time we also ask him the questions no one dares to ask.”
Outside, the wind rustled the canopy of the Great Tree. Though calm now, the memory of the golden and silver lights still lingered over Alag like a veil over the sky.
Max stood up. “Come on. Let’s find him
The head office of Alag stood quiet under the early dawn haze. Its structure—an elegant blend of ancient Verdalian stonework and modern architecture—was always the center of crucial decisions. Inside the war room, where polished wooden beams stretched across a domed ceiling, Old Tom sat at the far end of a long table, his hands folded in deep contemplation. Around him were various high-ranking officers: Inspector Jern, now slightly bruised from lack of sleep, and three commanders of the Central Verdalian Force.
Holographic projections of the two energies flickered mid-air: one golden, the other silver. The lights swirled with a palpable energy, their intensity unwavering as they flashed in vivid contrast against the dark backdrop of the projection chamber. The officers stared at them, grim-faced.
“These aren’t ordinary power signatures,” Jern said, zooming into the data. “The frequency is off the charts. And the impact zone suggests both forces clashed—right above the field near the Great Tree.”
Tom’s piercing gaze remained fixed on the hologram, his thoughts distant. He wasn’t just studying the lights—he was searching for something deeper, a connection he couldn't yet place.
“These are not things children should have witnessed,” Tom muttered softly, almost to himself.
“What do we know about them?” asked one of the commanders, his tone tense, his voice trembling ever so slightly from uncertainty.
Tom’s voice dropped to a reverent hush as he leaned forward, his weathered fingers tapping gently on the table. “These are advanced Fantom Arts. Not the kind you see in academies. These are arts only S+ rank or Upper S-Class warriors could access—warriors of legend. Warriors… like Helius or Domain.”
The room went silent. Even the air felt heavier, as if the very essence of the building could sense the gravity of Tom's words.
“Fantom Arts,” one officer whispered, as if tasting the forbidden power of the term.
“Yes,” Tom confirmed, his voice somber. “And those two warriors were not the only ones who could wield them. They were both legendary in their own right—each capable of shaping the course of history with their power. Helius, the merciful, the one who never killed in battle… and Domain, the relentless, who rose from nothing to challenge the very forces of fate.”
The officers exchanged uneasy glances, the weight of history sitting uncomfortably in their minds.
“But here’s the twist,” Jern interjected. His voice was edged with urgency. “Two kids were at the impact zone—Max and Rure. One is Verdalian, and the other… human.”
“Max Amberdunk,” Tom said softly, his tone barely audible. The name hung in the air like a ghost. “Jason’s son.”
The room fell into an eerie silence at the mention of Jason, a name revered across Alag, a name tied to countless battles fought and wars won. His son was now tangled in something far beyond their comprehension.
“Do we suspect them?” one of the officers asked cautiously, his brow furrowed with suspicion.
Tom slowly shook his head. “No. Not yet. But they were there—right at the heart of it all. And there’s something else—” He tapped the console in front of him, bringing up a new screen. His expression grew even more somber. “Old Man Joe… their master and mentor… has gone missing. He hasn’t returned since the moment of the incident. His home, the ancient temple, all of it… abandoned.”
A stunned silence filled the room. Old Man Joe—the stalwart teacher, the guiding force for so many young Verdalians—was gone.
“Joe?” Jern’s voice cracked slightly in disbelief. “He’s been a pillar in Alag for years. If he’s gone, that’s... that’s a catastrophe.”
Tom’s eyes darkened, the corners of his mouth turning downward in a grim frown. “Joe knows more than anyone. If those lights were Fantom Arts, and Joe is gone… then perhaps he was a part of it. Or worse…”
The unspoken threat loomed in the air.
“Something’s coming,” Tom finally said, his voice heavy with finality. “I don’t know what, but I feel it. The balance is shifting. And with Joe gone, we’re left without our most seasoned expert on these matters.”
The officers sat back in their chairs, exchanging uneasy glances. The atmosphere in the room grew heavier by the second, the sense of impending dread palpable. They were about to face something they were unprepared for—something that transcended their understanding.
“We keep this from the public for now,” Tom ordered, his voice steady but filled with a quiet authority. “This is no longer just an investigation. This is something far bigger, and we can’t afford to panic the masses. It will only lead to chaos. Assign a discreet team to search the temple ruins and track any anomalies near the Great Tree. We need to find out exactly what happened before more people get involved.”
A new officer stepped forward. “What about the Amberdunk family? Do we inform them?”
Tom’s jaw tightened. “Max and Rure are already involved, and we owe Jason our respect. But keep an eye on them—quietly. They may be the key to understanding what’s going on. But make no mistake, the moment anyone from the public or another faction catches wind of this... we could lose control. So, watch them. Watch everything, but do it with respect. Jason trusted us with his family. We owe him that much.”
The officers nodded in unison, and Tom stood, signaling the meeting's end. He turned to face the holographic display of the Great Tree, its ancient form towering over the fields of Alag. His mind raced with possibilities. The strange lights, the missing teacher, Max and Rure’s involvement—all of it led back to something greater. Something none of them could yet comprehend.
As the officers dispersed, Tom stood still for a moment longer, lost in thought. If the prophecy was true—and if this power was awakening—then there was only one certainty: they were no longer the hunters in this game. They were the hunt