The cockpit rattled like a dying animal.

  Lieutenant Kael Varn clenched his jaw as another asteroid the size of a freighter screamed past his canopy, missing his GH-68 by barely ten meters. Warning lights pulsed across his dashboard, red and furious. His stabilizers were fighting back against the gravitational chaos of Yelkar-6’s fractured moons—but it felt like flying through a storm of blades.

  “Come on, Liberty Five,” he muttered through gritted teeth, guiding his fighter around a shattered rock that had once been part of a moon. Now it was a tumbling tombstone in space, coated in the frozen wreckage of someone less lucky.

  “Liberty Wing, sound off. All units, respond,” came Commodore Rhys’s voice over the comms—gravelly, unshaken, commanding.

  “Liberty One, standing by.”

  “Liberty Two, online and ready.”

  Liberty Three barked, “Liberty Three, locked in and ready to cook these ugly pigs, sir.”

  “Liberty Four, all systems green.”

  Then—silence.

  Rhys waited. One second. Two. The absence of Liberty Five’s voice stretched into an awkward void.

  He leaned forward, tone sharp now.

  “Liberty Five, respond. This isn’t a damn pleasure cruise!”

  A moment of static. Then finally, a groggy voice crackled through:

  “Uh—Five here… sorry, sir. I’m... I’m good now.”

  Liberty Three scowled. “Stay conscious, Five. This isn’t your bunk back on Polaris Cadets Station. One more nap like that, and I’ll personally eject you into the next asteroid.”

  No time for babysitting. Another explosion rippled across the asteroid belt as one of the distant Krog’thar’s lumbering warships fired a barrage in their direction—its shots mostly hitting rocks, but forcing the Liberty Wing into a hard roll left.

  Rhys came back on. “Eleven, take Five through Ten. Swing wide around that big bastard. I want the destroyer boxed in from both sides. Fast and clean.”

  “Copy that, sir,” Liberty Eleven confirmed, already veering his squadron into position.

  The formation shifted. The operation was in motion—silent, swift, and unyielding, executed in the name of peace and, as always, a little bit of good old democracy.

  Kael exhaled, feeling the sweat behind his helmet seal. He tapped a photo stuck to the dash—faded, scratched, of his brother back home on Echelon Prime. “For peace,” he whispered. Then he pushed the thrusters forward, diving back into the chaos.

  Beyond the field of tumbling stone and molten metal, the galaxy was burning. Again.

  The year was 7700, and though humanity had long since stretched past the warm cradle of Sol, reaching the stars and founding the Galactic Democratic Union, peace was dying. The GDU, forged in the fires of unity between species, stood as the galaxy’s most diverse and advanced civilization—one that believed in cooperation, in shared futures.

  But not all believed the same.

  The Kravanos Dominion, a cold-blooded empire of towering reptilian warlords, had declared holy war on the GDU for trespassing. And the Krog’thar Warlords, pig-faced beasts wrapped in iron and tradition, had never hidden their hunger for conquest. Both had turned their fangs toward the Orkhari Reign, a small and pacifist nation of gas-mining Whobets—militarily insignificant, but economically crucial to the GDU.

  Yelkar-6, a rogue planet drifting near Orkhari’s border, had become a battlefield. A graveyard of moons. And now, a proving ground.

  For pilots like Kael Varn, the war wasn’t fought in political chambers or grand strategy halls. It was fought in places like this—frozen debris belts, where every second was survival. Every move, a gamble.

  And the odds were getting worse.

  The Liberty Wing dove deeper into the debris field, weaving through the narrowing labyrinth of shattered moonrock and ancient wreckage. Kael’s hands trembled slightly on the control sticks as proximity alarms wailed—shrill, constant, maddening.

  “Keep it tight,” Commodore Rhys barked. “Watch your spacing. These rocks don’t care about your medals.”

  Liberty Eight shot forward, breaking formation slightly.

  “Eight, pull back! You’re flying hot—dammit—!”

  A jagged asteroid the size of a dropship clipped Eight’s left wing. The jet spun violently, sparks and smoke trailing behind before it slammed into a larger rock, vanishing in a brilliant orange bloom.

  “Eight’s gone!” Liberty Nine shouted, his voice high with alarm.

  Then, the Krog’thar destroyer opened fire.

  A blast of crimson laser slammed into Liberty Six, cleaving through the hull. For a half-second, Kael could see the outline of the fighter's skeleton—and then it vanished in a violent flash.

  “Six is down!” someone screamed.

  Rhys didn’t waste a second.

  “Focus! I’m hitting that gun!”

  The commodore’s fighter arced upward and fired two precise bolts into the destroyer’s starboard turret. The weapon burst in a thunderous explosion, debris peeling off the hull like burning scales.

  Kael’s breathing came fast now. Sweat dripped down the back of his neck. His vision blurred slightly.

  Panic.

  He hated it. He knew it.

  “Don’t you dare freeze up on us, Five,” Liberty Three snapped over comms. “You want to be a hero or a mashed potato?”

  Kael gritted his teeth. His mind swirled—not with fear, but memory.

  Three years of flight school. Pulling 8 Gs in spin drills. Getting blacked out in a simulator while his instructor screamed at him to stabilize. His moments with his brother before saying goodbye back on Echelon Prime, swearing he'd make it back as a real pilot.

  No way I die in a damn rock field.

  Kael snapped the thrusters wide, flipped beneath a tumbling plate of shattered armor, and rolled hard left. His crosshairs aligned with one of the destroyer’s lateral guns.

  “For Peace!” he shouted.

  The laser went straight into the weapon housing. The explosion was clean, precise. The gun burst outward like a punctured lung.

  “Nice flying, Five,” Rhys grunted, shifting formation.

  But it wasn’t over.

  Liberty Four was hit next—his fighter torn apart by flak from the destroyer’s rear cannons. Kael didn’t even see it coming. Just a scream. A flicker of light. Gone.

  Liberty Nine tried to dodge—but clipped another rock. The wing snapped. He spiraled out of control, slamming into the side of an enemy fighter.

  Liberty Ten was right behind.

  “Help! I—God—” his voice cracked in panic.

  Then the screaming cut off as Ten collided head-on with another fighter. A twin explosion lit up the darkness, scattering flame and bone into the void.

  Rhys snarled. “Hold your damn lines! Eleven, now!”

  Liberty Eleven soared ahead, ducking under an enemy barrage. His laser bolts streaked straight into the destroyer’s bridge. The cockpit erupted in molten light.

  “Destroyer’s dead,” Eleven said, breathless.

  But the price was steep.

  A sharp thud cracked against Kael’s canopy.

  He flinched, looked up—and froze.

  A hand.

  Just a severed, gloved hand, pressed against the glass, fingers curled in death.

  He followed the trajectory back… and saw Liberty Two’s fighter spinning silently, impaled by a glancing asteroid. It had punched clean through.

  “Two’s gone,” Liberty Three whispered, voice low.

  Kael swallowed hard. He blinked the sting from his eyes, pressed harder on the stick.

  No one spoke. No cheers, no celebrations. Just the hollow sound of breathing and the whisper of metal cooling in vacuum.

  The silence after Liberty Two's death was a vacuum of its own—heavy, suffocating, and cold. Kael’s hands hovered over the controls, waiting for the next scream.

  Then Commodore Rhys's voice cut through the void—low, steady, and rising like a battle hymn.

  “Listen to me, Liberty Wing. We didn’t come out here to die in a rock field. We came out here because freedom needs fighters. Because the Krog’thar want to drown this galaxy in blood and darkness—and we’re the light they didn’t see coming.”

  His voice sharpened, each word hitting like a drumbeat.

  “You’re more than pilots. You’re brothers. Sisters. Family. And today—this exact moment—is the kind of thing they’ll write songs about if we live. Or carve into stone if we don’t.”

  A beat of static, then:

  “The Krog’thar think they can win because they’ve got size, teeth, and chains. But we’ve got fire. And we’ve got each other. Now tighten formation, and let’s show these iron-plated bastards what democracy feels like!”

  Cheers erupted across the comms.

  “Damn right!”

  “Let’s give ‘em hell!”

  “For peace!”

  And then—

  A blinding shaft of blue energy tore through the field.

  It hit Rhys’s fighter dead center.

  CRACK.

  The cockpit disintegrated mid-sentence. Chunks of molten metal, blood, and something unidentifiable slammed into nearby canopies. A boot bounced off Kael’s dash. A chunk of torso hit Liberty Three’s wing.

  “Oh no,” Liberty Three muttered, voice hollow. “I was just starting to feel like we could make it out of here alive. Damn it!”

  Just as Kael was about to burst into total panic, the comms crackled again. A new voice surged through—calm, urgent, commanding.

  “This is Liberty Eleven. I’m taking command. All fighters, tighten the line. That carrier—yellow hull, twelve clicks above us—is launching another Krog’thar fighters swarm. We need to intercept before they flank the Orkhari Cruiser.”

  Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

  Everyone, even Kael, managed to remain calm, with fear and doubts but calm.

  The battered wing followed his lead, engines flaring as Eleven pulled them toward the rising leviathan of yellow-plated death.

  “Seven, on me,” Eleven called. “We’re taking the right flank. Clear those leeches.”

  Liberty Seven, a cool-voiced ace with nerves of ice, confirmed. “Copy. Eyes on three hostiles.”

  They peeled off together, slicing through the void like twin razors.

  Kael, Liberty Three, and Liberty One surged forward to intercept the enemy wave. The first fighters off the carrier were slow to spread—ripe targets.

  Liberty Three whooped as he barrel-rolled through fire. “Watch this, Kael!”

  He spun like a cyclone, lasers painting the stars, cutting down two enemy craft as they fanned out.

  Liberty One soared through the crossfire with a trail of crimson on his tail. “Taking heavy flak—dodging—one, two, three—damn, that was close!”

  Kael juked left and right, feeling heat across his hull as bolts grazed his shields. Then he noticed two fighters closing on his six.

  “I’ve got two on me!”

  “Try not to die like a rookie!” Liberty Three barked. Then, with a brutal slash of red light, one enemy fighter exploded.

  Kael swung around just in time to see the other crash into a rock.

  “Saved your ass. Again, remember that time when you almost crashed into the captain’s fighter,” Three crowed. “I’m starting to think you owe me drinks and a statue.”

  Then Liberty One’s voice cut through, strained. “Taking the carrier gun… now!”

  He nailed a turret dead center—but just as the flames ignited, a blast speared into his nozzle.

  His ship sputtered, alarms screaming.

  He didn’t flinch.

  “FOR DEMOCRACY!” he roared, slamming his fighter into another gun turret. The resulting explosion ripped open part of the carrier’s belly.

  Kael screamed, his grip tightening. “No! No no no—dammit!”

  His vision blurred. Static buzzed in his ears. Rage rising.

  “I’m gonna kill them all,” he muttered. “These fat pieces of shit!”

  “Five, breathe,” came Liberty Seven’s calm voice.

  “We need you focused, Five,” Eleven added. “We’re not done yet.”

  Their voices steadied him—barely. Kael gritted his teeth and re-joined the formation.

  Eleven then broke away again, diving through a storm of lasers. He juked right, then spun under a flaming hull, soaring straight toward the main laser turret on the carrier.

  Inside the rotating gun dome, a Krog’thar soldier screeched in panic, pounding at controls.

  “Thok’zul mak garrak!” it cursed in Thar'grok as Eleven’s bolt smashed through the viewport.

  The gun exploded in a tower of flame, sending the Krog’thar’s charred body flying into space.

  Then—hope.

  A new voice crackled across the comms.

  “This is Echo Alpha, Captain of the Echo Squadron. Who’s in command of Liberty Wing?”

  Eleven answered. “Liberty Eleven. We’ve taken heavy casualties. Support welcome.”

  “You’ve got it. Reinforcements inbound. Let’s clean these shit-eaters up.”

  Kael exhaled—just in time to get clipped hard. A bolt shredded part of his nozzle. His ship spiraled.

  “I’m hit! Can’t stabilize—I need to land—”

  He saw an opening in the side of the carrier.

  No choice.

  He guided the damaged fighter in, the hull screaming from the strain. The controls were unresponsive, the cockpit shaking like a dying engine.

  He punched every emergency stabilizer he had.

  “Come on, hold together—”

  With a sickening crunch, his fighter smashed into the carrier’s inner hangar wall.

  Everything went black.

  Then—

  Breathing.

  His.

  He opened his eyes, groaning, sparks flying around him. The world returned in pieces—smoke, fire, pain.

  He was alive.

  But deep in enemy territory.

  And the war wasn’t over yet.

  Not even a second had passed before Kael spotted movement through the cracked glass of his canopy—a Krog’thar soldier, approaching fast in this empty hangar. The look on its face reminded him of a hungry farm-pig, one so ravenous it would eat the very farmer who feeds it.

  “Oh fuck,” Kael whispered in despair.

  He scrambled, punching buttons of every color, trying to bring his fighter back to life. Sparks flew from a panel. He slammed his fist against the console.

  “Liberty Five here, I-I landed. I’m slightly injured—I request support!”

  But the comms were dead. No response. Just static.

  He knew what that meant. He had to get out—now.

  His eyes darted to the emergency compartment. The pistol.

  I never thought I’d actually use this thing.

  He yanked open the box and grabbed the compact laser pistol, then unlatched his safety harness. Just as he was about to push the hatch open, he remembered something.

  The photo.

  He reached back and snatched the small image of his brother. He didn’t even look at it—just clutched it tightly as he jumped out of the wreck.

  Ten meters ahead, the Krog’thar soldier was already closing in.

  It looked like it had crawled out of some ancient battlefield—thick, rusted armor plates fused to its swollen frame, like some nightmarish knight. In its massive hands, it gripped a Tharkettle-695 scattergun—devastating up close, but inaccurate at range.

  Worst of all was its sheer size. Even by Krog’thar standards—already grizzly-bear-shaped pigs at 220 cm (7'2")—this one was a giant. Easily taller. Bulkier.

  “Tuk gata gotok mak,” it growled, voice like grinding metal.

  Kael didn’t hesitate.

  He raised the pistol and fired—straight into its knee.

  The creature roared, stumbling back. Its reflexes were as sluggish as Kael remembered from briefings. It fired wildly, bolts tearing up the hangar, ripping through Kael’s already-destroyed fighter—but none hit him.

  The Krog’thar lunged, swinging the scattergun like a club.

  Kael dropped to his knees and slid underneath it. Sparks flew as his boots scraped the metal floor. As he passed behind the beast, he fired again—straight into its back.

  The Krog’thar howled in fury and pain. Kael’s eyes darted upward.

  The roof—

  A piece of heavy piping was dangling, barely attached. With no time to think, he aimed and fired.

  The metal bar broke loose with a creak and a snap.

  The Krog’thar looked up just in time to see its death.

  The pipe came down like a guillotine, smashing into its skull with a sickening crunch. It dropped to the ground like cattle with its throat slit—probably lifeless.

  Only now did Kael stop to assess the hangar.

  He scanned quickly—finding a door at the far end. Likely an access tunnel leading to other hangars or, with luck, the control center.

  I need to find another ship.

  He moved quickly but cautiously, pistol ready, ears straining for movement. He marveled briefly at the lack of security systems. These bastards didn’t even lock their doors.

  Kael crept down the wide corridors, his footsteps echoing. He felt like a lost kid looking for his mother in a shopping mall full of monsters.

  Minutes passed.

  Finally—another hangar.

  He peeked in.

  Outside the battle still raged—starships twisting through the blackness like fireflies in hell.

  In the hangar: a sleek, unfamiliar ship.

  Roughly 15 meters (49 feet) long, its hull gleamed with newer alloys. Lightly armed but well-built—likely a high-speed transport, maybe for admirals or command staff. A perfect escape craft.

  Kael darted across the floor toward it, checking for cameras or guards.

  None.

  He reached the control panel and pulled out his multi-tool knife. Kneeling, he carved through the panel, sparks flicking against his face as he cut wires and crossed lines.

  Nearly a minute passed before—hisssss—the door opened.

  Kael grinned like a toddler getting handed chocolate.

  “Yes!” he whispered, eyes wide.

  But just as he stepped forward—

  A sound.

  Behind him.

  He turned.

  A small, puffy purple bird stood there, head twitching like a chicken—but its walk resembled something between a drunk penguin and a dodo.

  Kael blinked, thinking about what such a strange creature was doing here.

  “Hey little friend, what are you doing in such a dange—”

  Before he could finish, the bird let out a blaring screech—like a full-scale alarm.

  “AAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!”

  Kael dropped to his knees, clutching his ears.

  “YOU MOTHERFUCKING BIRD!”

  He jumped up and kicked the bird square in its beak.

  It tumbled backward, squawking indignantly, then scrambled off into the dark corridors.

  Kael stood panting.

  They definitely heard that.

  Even fighters outside probably heard that.

  He rushed into the ship and ducked behind a wall near the cockpit—eyes on the corridor, pistol raised.

  Then—he felt it.

  Warmth on the side of his head.

  He touched it.

  Blood.

  He was bleeding. He hadn’t noticed it until now. The adrenaline had numbed everything.

  But the pain was coming back.

  And so were the enemies.

  He started searching the cockpit for a bigger weapon, also in attempt to distract himself from the pain, but the alerted Krog’thar were already closing in.

  Kael peeked out from behind the wall, gripping his pistol tightly. Three of them were outside—two in standard soldier armor, and one clad in something far more polished and imposing. The third one had to be someone important—maybe even the owner of the ship.

  “Katak grak shkip,” barked the armored one in a commanding tone, followed by guttural, pig-like noises.

  The two regular soldiers stormed into the ship, aggressively tossing objects aside as they pushed through the narrow passages, barely fitting through.

  Kael’s palms were soaked in sweat. He could feel his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

  I could’ve been a common merchant back home… but I have a promise to fulfill.

  He steadied himself, holding his pistol at chest height, ready to shoot anything that came too close. The soldiers were inching nearer—each second, more aggressive, more determined.

  Just as Kael prepared to ambush them with a surprise attack, a deep rumble echoed through the corridor. Something exploded nearby.

  All three Krog’thar turned, startled, and rushed toward the sound.

  Kael didn’t hesitate. He sprinted to the controls and tried to start the engine—but as expected, it was locked by identification.

  He immediately got to work on the system. Krog’thar tech was notoriously crude. Within 30 seconds, he bypassed their weak encryption, overrode the access code, and powered up the ship.

  The engines roared to life.

  Outside, the three Krog’thar turned back, panic on their faces. They sprinted toward the ship, realizing someone had hijacked it.

  Kael slammed the door control, locking them out.

  Without a second thought, he hit the throttle.

  “Hell yeah, baby!!!” he shouted, lifting off into the hangar’s void, bursting through the opening and into the chaos outside.

  Fragments of shattered moons and wrecked fighters surrounded him. Kael tried to contact Liberty Wing and the Orkhari Cruiser still visible in the distance. But interference from asteroid debris scrambled his signal.

  Then—because today hadn’t been cruel enough—a Krog’thar corvette locked onto him. The nearby ships must’ve been alerted of the stolen vessel.

  Kael kicked in the thrusters and began dodging through the mess of floating rocks and metal, weaving like a ghost through destruction. Bolts from the corvette blazed past him.

  But it didn’t end there.

  A squadron of enemy fighters peeled off from the chaos and began pursuit.

  “One, two, three…” Kael counted, “...seven, eight! I think I’m done. I just wanna go home.”

  But Kael was in Liberty Wing for a reason.

  He’d passed the spacefighter test with top marks—one of the best in his year. The problem had always been what came after. In simulations, he was a star. But in real battles, with death close enough to taste, panic used to take over.

  He could feel it creeping in again.

  The weight of all those lost around him. All the chaos. All the death. For him it felt like the hands of his own comrades were strangling him, for something he wasn’t even guilty with.

  No, he told himself. Not now. Lock in.

  This wasn’t Kael anymore.

  This was Liberty Five.

  He pushed the ship into maneuvers it wasn’t designed for. The bulky transport twisted and turned, barrel-rolled through rock formations and burst through debris fields. Enemy fighters slammed into asteroids and each other in the chaos and confusion he left behind.

  He was losing them—not just because of his skill, but because this ship was faster than theirs.

  He glanced back—just a few left now.

  Relief washed over him.

  And then—without warning—a massive tentacle shot out from behind an asteroid.

  Kael barely yanked the controls in time.

  The tentacle scraped the ship but missed. He caught a glimpse of the monster—some ancient space squid living inside the asteroid. The enemy fighters weren’t so lucky. The tentacle wrapped around them, dragging them into the gaping cavern of the terrifying beast.

  Kael shuddered. Dinner’s served.

  Only the corvette remained now, stubbornly chasing him like a predator that couldn’t admit defeat.

  It was time.

  Kael initiated hypertravel prep.

  Coordinates locked. Power rerouted.

  With a flash, the ship surged forward—like a bolt of lightning disappearing into the void of uncharted space.

  But the celebration didn’t last long.

  The ship shuddered. Warning lights blinked red. He’d taken a hit before the jump.

  “Oh, come on. Are you serious right now?!” Kael shouted in frustration.

  He had no choice. He had to land—wherever he could.

  Scanners picked up a nearby planet. Small. Tundra-covered. Mostly cold and frozen, but with a temperate equator.

  Kael angled the ship toward it. The controls were barely responding.

  It was coming in too fast—meteor-fast. He’d never survive the impact unless he activated emergency landing protocols.

  He leapt from the pilot’s seat, sprinted to the far panel, and yanked the emergency lever with all his strength. The ship groaned as the system kicked in, slowing descent.

  But not by much.

  Survival was still uncertain.

  Kael strapped himself back into the pilot’s seat, chest heaving. He closed his eyes.

  Please, someone... anyone...

  Sweat trickled from his forehead and vanished into his straight, light brown eyebrows, praying for Gods he never acknowledged.

  The ship entered the cold atmosphere.

  In seconds, it slammed into the snow covered surface.

  Trees snapped and exploded around him. A trail of white destruction stretched behind the crashing ship, carving through the snow like a comet.

  Then—silence and darkness.

  Only one question remained:

  Did Kael survive this?