Year: AP 925

  Planet: Atlana

  An ember, a solitary speck of light, danced amidst the blackness of space. In the infinite expanse of darkness, it was a beacon of warmth and life, however fleeting. Much like that ember’s journey from a raging inferno to the cold embrace of the night, Sir Kenley Mason found himself encased within a metallic cocoon, descending from the heavens.

  The drop pod, his temporary sanctuary, was a stark contrast to the void outside. Inside, the hum of machinery and the soft glow of the viewscreen that filled his vision offered a semblance of peace, a gentle lullaby before the chaos of war. Mason, nestled within the cockpit of his NOVA, felt an odd sense of tranquility as he hurtled through the void of space, the stars streaking past him like the trails of fallen angels.

  As the pod pierced the atmosphere, the ember that was Mason began to blaze anew. The friction set him aflame, a meteoric fireball heralding his arrival. Below, the planet awaited, scarred by the ravages of conflict, its surface marred by the relentless dance between destruction and creation.

  Mason knew that the serenity of his descent was but the eye of the storm. With each passing moment, the battlefield drew closer, an altar awaiting its sacrificial lamb. Yet, in this fleeting solitude, he found clarity. The ember, though destined to fade, burned brightest in its final descent.

  As the ground rushed up to meet him, Mason braced for impact, ready to emerge from the ashes and forge his path through the tempest of war.

  BOOM!

  The impact was softened by a network of inertial dampeners and shock absorbers, mitigating the immense force of the two-hundred-ton steel behemoth’s sudden halt. Deceleration thrusters eased the final descent, ensuring survival. Even so, the drop pod’s crash fractured the planet’s crust, hurling massive clods of earth in all directions.

  As the dust settled, the fourteen-meter armored titan stood unfazed amid a hail of tracer fire and rockets. Its reactive armor dismissed the onslaught with ease, akin to raindrops sliding off a windowpane. The silent monolith seemed to wait patiently as the soldiers’ futile attempts to disable it continued—a task they were glaringly unprepared for. The orbiting battleship had ensured this, bombarding the landing site with a barrage intended to neutralize any significant resistance. Whatever survived the onslaught was unlikely to pose a threat to the war machine nestled within the scorched vessel.

  “Kat, status?” Mason asked softly into the darkness of the cockpit, though darkness was something he never actually perceived. His vision was entirely consumed by the NOVA’s Optical Sensory Interface—the OSI. Instead of seeing the protective blackness provided by several feet of reinforced armor plating, Mason saw everything. Dozens of sensors and cameras, strategically embedded across the surface of his NOVA and drop pod, continuously fed terabytes of data into the NOVA’s central core, creating an immersive 380-degree view of the world beyond. Yet, a single glance at the apocalyptic scene awaiting him outside made Mason briefly wish for the comforting ignorance of total darkness.

  “Planetary drop successful,” came the calm, familiar voice of the woman he loved. “No damage detected. Shade Drive is fully charged. Weapons online. Life support and neuro suite fully operational. All systems nominal.”

  “Good,” Mason responded, a sense of relief underlying his tone. “What’s the threat assessment?”

  “Current threat minimal. Approximately three hundred infantry detected with small arms and limited anti-armor capability. Mid-range sensors tracking incoming heavy artillery and aerial units. ETA: four minutes. No Shadian threats identified.”

  “Even better,” Mason remarked dryly. “Maybe we can keep it that way.”

  “Improbable.”

  “That was sarcasm, Kat,” Mason said with a smirk.

  “I am not programmed for sarcasm. My directive is to ensure your survival.”

  “A job you do exceptionally well. But if you’re going to sound like my wife, you might as well inherit her sense of humor.” Mason paused, reflecting briefly on his choice of Kat’s voice modulation. Most knights chose familiar voices for their NOVA’s AI—after all, whose voice would one prefer to hear in their last moments before possible death? Mason chose his wife, Katrina, yet sometimes her voice, stripped of personality, made him miss her all the more.

  “Noted. Future objective: learn sarcasm.”

  Mason chuckled softly. “Wait, Kat, was that sarcasm?”

  “Unclear, sir. But perhaps your focus should shift from my personality programing to your survival.”

  “Ah, now you sound exactly like my wife.”

  “Compliment accepted,” Kat said, without skipping a beat. “Heavy artillery two minutes from effective combat range. Immediate response recommended.”

  “Two minutes?” Mason echoed calmly, his voice steadying into sober contemplation. “Then we have plenty of time.” Shielded by layers of armor and Shade-infused technology, he felt a pang of sympathy for the enemy conscripts desperately peppering his NOVA with futile firepower. Most were ordinary citizens, unwillingly drafted into a war waged by their conquerors. Mason closed his eyes momentarily, feeling their fear and desperation seep into his awareness.

  “One minute and thirty seconds,” Kat warned.

  With a resigned sigh, Mason reopened his eyes. “Deploy NOVA.”

  “Affirmative. Deployment sequence initiated.”

  ******

  Crosby had barely turned sixteen when the Malus invaded Atlana. Before then, he’d heard countless stories of the brutality and cruelty that the Malus hordes inflicted on world after world over centuries—but no tale, however grim, could have prepared him for the visceral, relentless horror he’d witnessed over the last two years. Crosby had long lost count of the friends and family he’d watched suffer death, torture, or abduction.

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  But he would always remember his father—the first casualty in his personal nightmare. The Malus had stormed their neighborhood without warning or mercy. They dragged every husband and father from their homes, ripping them violently from their screaming families. Then, as the horrified community was forced to watch, the Malus systematically slaughtered each man. Crosby couldn’t erase from his mind the image of the cloaked figure—death incarnate—who split his father in two from head to toe, as if the man who’d raised him were nothing more than firewood. The agonized wails of women and children echoed for days, underscored by the stench of decay as the corpses lay untouched in the streets. Those few brave souls who attempted to reclaim their loved ones’ bodies were struck down without hesitation, their courage rewarded only with death.

  After that day, no one dared resist—not even when the trucks rolled in to steal away every young woman of childbearing age. Crosby’s older sister, Mira, had been among them. He had wanted so desperately to fight, to protect her, but he’d stood frozen by fear and impotence, helpless in the shattered remains of their home. He’d watched, trembling and crying, as Mira was dragged away, chained to the truck bed like livestock. Crosby knew then, as the trucks vanished into the smoke-choked distance, he’d never see her again.

  Now, two horrific years later, Crosby was just as terrified—but driven by an even stronger force. Automatic gunfire and rockets ricocheted harmlessly from the towering fourteen-meter colossus that loomed above him. He felt battered, filthy, and utterly spent. Crosby couldn’t remember the last decent meal he’d eaten, nor the last time he’d bathed. Such luxuries belonged to a lifelong past—an existence that now felt as unreal as any dream.

  In Crosby’s new reality, only one command mattered: Obey.

  Clutching the satchel tightly against his pounding chest, Crosby flinched as a nearby rocket missed its target, detonating prematurely and showering him with shrapnel. He stumbled, diving for cover behind the smoldering remains of an armored personnel carrier. A wave of nausea rose as the burned flesh of the vehicle’s former occupants permeated his senses. Crosby pressed himself tight against the charred wreckage, his heart hammering violently against his ribs.

  For one fleeting second, his determination wavered. The whisper of defiance crept into his mind—a whisper that brought swift punishment. A piercing, searing agony jolted through him as the sinister black collar around his neck reacted to the forbidden thought.

  “NO!” Crosby screamed, clawing desperately at the collar with his free hand. “I’M DOING IT! I’M DOING IT!”

  Tears blurred his vision, trickling through dirt-streaked cheeks. As quickly as his resolve strengthened, the punishing pain ebbed away. Crosby collapsed against the scorched metal, panting and shivering from the lingering aftershock. He allowed himself only a brief respite before forcing his gaze upward toward the drop pod.

  His orders weren’t to destroy it—that would be impossible. Instead, the satchel contained a dark-matter detonator capable of warping the pod’s deployment doors and trapping the enormous NOVA temporarily. It wouldn’t last forever, Crosby knew, but it would be enough time for the approaching detachment of Malus Annihilators to arrive and engage the defenseless war machine.

  BOOM!

  Another rocket glanced harmlessly off the drop pod’s reactive armor, exploding amidst Crosby’s own ranks and eliciting fresh screams of pain and terror. Refusing to let hesitation grip him again, Crosby leaped from his hiding place and raced across open ground toward the looming monolith. His lungs burned, starved for oxygen, as his legs propelled him forward with a desperation born of compulsion and dread.

  As Crosby drew closer, he could make out the crest emblazoned on the drop pod’s surface, glowing faintly beneath the scorch marks left by its fiery descent through the planet’s atmosphere. Despite the layers of soot, the unmistakable golden outline of the House of Zander’s Royal Knights shone through defiantly.

  The Royal Knights. Crosby felt a conflicted awe, immediately wary that his admiration for these legendary warriors might trigger the punishing agony of his collar. His entire life, he’d idolized the Knights of the Homeworlds—heroes of honor and courage, defenders of the weak and oppressed. But they hadn’t come when the Malus invaded Atlana. No one had. On that dreadful day, Atlana had been abandoned to its fate. For two agonizing years, no help arrived—until now.

  And now, Crosby had been ordered to destroy them—to kill his own saviors.

  Crosby reached the pod, grasping for handholds among metal bolts and sharp seams with torn, trembling fingers. Pain shot through his emaciated body as he pulled himself upward, driven only by fear and the collar’s relentless command. Every muscle screamed in protest, starved and weakened by deprivation, yet he climbed higher still.

  Just a few more feet.

  His grip slipped, slick with sweat and blood, but desperation lent him strength. With one final surge, Crosby hauled himself onto a narrow ledge just above the pod’s deployment doors. Gasping for breath, dizzy from exertion and terror, he hastily retrieved the detonator from the satchel. Its obsidian surface pulsed malevolently, radiating a dark energy that sent a chill through Crosby’s bones.

  Forgive me, he pleaded silently, placing the detonator against the armor plating.

  The device instantly adhered with a magnetic hum, its coils glowing and pulsing faster as it armed itself. Crosby knew he needed to descend rapidly if he was to survive the impending blast—but a small, tormented part of him longed to remain, to welcome death’s merciful embrace.

  One thought alone stopped him.

  “Mother,” he whispered desperately, newfound determination spurring his retreat.

  The battered youth began descending frantically, sliding down scarred metal and gripping ledges with feverish urgency. Yet fate betrayed him—before Crosby reached safety, a deafening mechanical roar split the air.

  PHISSSSSS!

  The massive deployment doors abruptly hissed open, throwing Crosby violently from his perch. He crashed hard to the ground below, agony searing through his arm as bone cracked upon impact. Through blurred vision, his terror surged anew—above him, the colossal NOVA stepped forward, a titan’s foot raised ominously overhead.

  Resigned, Crosby closed his eyes, welcoming death with a bitter, sorrowful smile.

  *******

  Within the sealed confines of the cockpit, Mason steadied his breathing, calming the rapid thrum of his heart to match the steady pulse of the NOVA’s intricate systems. The OSI filled his vision with the raw chaos outside, yet Mason held firm, anchored by the sacred code he’d sworn to uphold.

  “These are not my enemies,” he whispered quietly, before reciting the words ingrained within his spirit since childhood. “Show mercy to the weak and compassion to enemies who yield. Avoid cruelty and needless bloodshed.”

  Drawing strength from those words, Mason initiated the NOVA’s forward stride. The massive deployment doors hissed open swiftly, flooding his senses with the harsh reality of battle. Immediately, Kat’s urgent voice shattered his reflective calm.

  “Warning! Dark Matter Detonator detected on the deployment door!”

  At the very same moment, Mason’s Shade-enhanced vision zeroed in on the broken, crumpled figure sprawled helplessly in the mud directly beneath the colossal foot of his NOVA. Adrenaline surged through Mason, sharpening his instincts, igniting his reflexes into flawless clarity.

  Vigor pulled.

  Thousands of unseen threads, glowing with invisible hues, surged inward and filled Mason’s body with power. Linked intimately with two-hundred tons of Shade-infused technology, it was the NOVA itself that reacted instantly to his will. Guided by years of rigorous training, Mason commanded the towering machine into a fluid sidestep, narrowly sparing the boy beneath.

  With speed and elegance that belied its massive form, the NOVA pivoted gracefully. Its enormous mechanical hand swiped the pulsating detonator from the pod’s surface and hurled the device skyward. Moments later, it erupted in a flash of dark energy, tearing violently through the night sky.

  In the aftermath, Mason’s gaze fell back to the trembling form of the injured boy, now curled tightly beneath him. Relief and compassion filled Mason’s heart as he saw the fear etched plainly upon the youth’s anguished face.

  “Enemy reinforcements within combat range,” Kat reported with calm urgency. “Combat mode strongly recommended.”

  Mason nodded, shifting his massive frame carefully away from Crosby’s fragile body. “Stay alive,” he whispered gently, his voice filled with quiet resolve and compassion. Then, heeding Kat’s warnings, Mason turned his gaze in the direction of his true adversaries.

  The ember of hope ignited once more, blazing fiercely, illuminating the darkness.