Chapter 15: Veridion-6

  Eli and I didn’t say much as we de-kitted back on the Resolute.

  There wasn’t much to say.

  We were both half-undressed, sitting in silence on the bench in the Suiting Bay, staring at the racks where our EVA suits should have hung. Lost in thought, and very still.

  Even through the glare of Earth cast across her visor, the expression on Zeth’s face as she turned to me side-on was unmistakable—she was mourning. And it wasn’t just the loss of a friend.

  The tears that had pooled along her jawline in the zero gravity—only parting at the bridge of her mouth—were still burned into the back of my mind. Almost as haunting as the view itself. Her face had glinted like blue lakes across forested skin, illuminated by the reflected glow of Earth.

  And her expression… it was hauntingly human.

  The pain shimmered from her skin like starlight bleeding through atmosphere. Her eyes remained dark and sunken. She looked exhausted. But somewhere behind the fatigue, embers of inferno had returned—a glimmer of those solar flames. Something more than just this mornings absence or disassociation.

  I don’t know how long she had been out there—but something in her had started to heal. But I also knew it would take more time. A lot more time.

  Seeing her like that—floating in silence—it was too much. I had to look away.

  So I stared at the bow of the Resolute instead, waiting for her to say something. Anything.

  But even without words, I understood. What she had with K’arreth wasn’t just camaraderie. It had been so much more. I just didn’t know…

  And what I said that morning—Gods, it tore me open seeing her like that.

  That image of her as we drifted towards her: laying on her back, staring down at the Earth, very still. It was like catching someone mid-prayer. I just hope she can forgive me.

  But… why hadn’t Eli told me? I turned to him, frowning slightly—about to ask him. He was still staring at the racks ahead, absently scratching his jaw—vacant, quiet.

  But another question burned in the back of my mind. Something that hadn’t stopped gnawing at me.

  When Ensign Torev found us in that shaft—red faced, half out of breath—he said the Captain had been looking for Zeth for hours…

  So why was this the first place we looked? Why didn’t we waste time searching? Why didn’t Eli hesitate? He just told me to follow him, and I did. And that bothered me. Not because I didn’t trust him—but because he hadn’t questioned it either. Like part of him already knew exactly where she’d be, and why.

  “How did you know she’d be out there?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

  He blinked twice, slowly turning to face me. The sadness in my eyes was reflected in his own.

  “I… I knew she and K’arreth had gone out there together a few times,” he said. “But honestly, Varr… I never questioned it. It was just a feeling I had.”

  He shook his head, ears flat—a desperate expression, pleading at my own.

  “Did you see the look in her eyes? I’ve never seen Zeth like that. I didn’t even know she could look like that.”

  I nodded slowly but looked away.

  Because, in all honesty, I knew that expression. Sometimes I saw it in my own reflection. In the mirror. In still water. And that kind of wound… it takes a lifetime to heal.

  I turned back to Eli before the weight pulled me under again—into the quiet, familiar dark.

  “Eli…” I asked softly. “Did you know? About Commander Zeth and K’arreth?”

  He glanced at me—and for a moment, it was like I’d caught him in something terrible. He knew exactly what I meant. His ears twitched. His eyes flicked toward the airlock, as if expecting her to be standing there. A grimace tugged at his jackaled jaw.

  He sighed. Deeply.

  “Not exactly,” he said. “I only suspected it. I think it was secret.”

  His amber eyes locked with mine—sincere, wide, unblinking. And in that moment, I believed him.

  “I didn’t know, Varr. And if I did… I would’ve told you. I’m sorry.”

  I nodded gently, glancing again toward the airlock. Also half-expecting her shadow there. But the truth was, he wasn’t the one who owed anyone an apology. I was.

  Eli hadn’t been there when I shouted at her—when I let my anger speak louder than reason. When I threw my pain into her face like it was hers to carry.

  “Do you think she’ll be okay?” I asked looking at the airlock. The words came out before I could stop them. I knew what loss felt like. And I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. Not even my worst enemy. Not even her.

  Eli turned looked down at the gloves held in his long thin fingers, eyes narrowed.

  “We’ll see,” he said darkly.

  I looked down at the EVA helmet in my lap—its visor reflecting my own face back at me. I didn’t recognize it.

  I was just glad, somehow, that she'd survived worse than me.

  “We should go, Captain’s waiting.” Eli said, more focused now.

  I nodded in agreement. After what Eli started telling me in the maintenance shaft about swords…

  I needed to know more.

  It was only a five-minute walk and elevator ride to Deck 1. The main Ready Room was just across the corridor from the Bridge.

  As the elevator doors hissed open, Rhai was already there—standing on the other side. Her expression was taut with concern beneath the tangle of her unkempt white hair.

  “Did you find her?” she asked, arms uncrossing stiffly, rolled sleeves revealing clenched forearms.

  We both nodded. “Yes. She was on spacewalk,” Eli said, his voice low. “Below the ship.”

  Rhai’s expression shifted. “And… is she okay?” Her eyes narrowed slightly—mirroring the same quiet hurt I’d seen in Eli’s just minutes ago.

  Eli gave a small nod. But I shook my head—my expression severe.

  Her gaze landed on me—sharp, blue, unreadable. But after a beat, I saw it. She understood. She exhaled hard and nodded once.

  “Well—we should move,” she said finally, voice a little tighter now. “Ensign Torev’s been tearing my bloody ear off asking where you two disappeared to.”

  Her tone darkened as she glanced up the corridor.

  There was the Rhai I knew—ferocity just beneath the surface.

  My fists clenched slightly at the mention of Torev.

  In that moment, that smug little jobsworth had better thank the gods I didn’t run into him first.

  But as the three of us approached the Ready Room doors, he was standing there—waiting to give us a very warm welcome.

  Torev stood rigid, fists tight at his sides, jaw locked in that pristine uniform like it had never seen action.

  “And just where in the blazing hells have you two been?” he snapped, eyes locked on Eli and me chin slightly raised. His clipped tone was sharper than usual—this time, laced with real anger.

  “The Captain has been waiting patiently for your arrival. Senior Chief Kess. Ensign Varr.” He glanced me over, slow and deliberate—like I was some stain on the floor. “I didn’t think you two could be so disrespectful.”

  His eyes narrowed behind his glasses.

  I saw red.

  My body moved before I could think—stepping forward, fists clenched. That bastard knew exactly where we’d been. Knew what we were doing. And he still ran his mouth!

  Eli’s hand clamped down on my shoulder like a vice.

  I turned—rage already rising in my throat. But he just shook his head slowly, ears forward, gaze steady. Not now, his eyes said—pleading me to not do something rash.

  I turned back to Torev—catching the smug curve of his mouth—and stepped in, my voice dropping to a quiet, deliberate growl.

  “Torev… if you know anything about me by now, you know how dangerous I can be. And if you don’t get out of our way right this second, the next thing you’ll be seeing is the inside of Medbay. Do you understand me?”

  Eli winced beside me—yellowed teeth showing. Rhai snorted a short, delighted laugh—relishing the spectacle.

  Torev paled—visibly. His eyes locked with mine for a fraction too long before he shifted his stance, swallowed hard, and stepped aside.

  I leaned in just a little more. “And if you’re still here when the Commander arrives,” I said, voice lower still, “I doubt she’ll be as polite. Are we clear?”

  He nodded so fast it looked like his neck was spring-loaded, a sheen of sweat already building on his brow. His glasses hopped, sliding down his crooked nose.

  I let him go. Only then did I realise—I’d been holding him by the collar.

  I turned on my heel. And walked straight into the Ready Room. The doors parted with a hiss.

  Eli followed, muttering under his breath, rubbing the back of his head with an awkward grimacing grin.

  Rhai clapped Torev’s shoulder on her way past—hard, and grinning wildly. “Run along,” she smirked.

  And behind us, he did. Quite quickly.

  The Ready Room was long and well-lit, a single conference table stretching down the centre, flanked by chairs. A large Holoscreen dominated the far wall. But what surprised me was the wide panoramic window to the left—a clear view of the stars. They caught my gaze for a moment, still and distant, before I looked ahead into the room.

  At the head of the table sat Captain McCarthy, a fresh cup of coffee in hand, speaking quietly to First Officer Avari. They both turned as we entered, the others now right beside me.

  Commander Avari looked sharp and rigid, her hair pinned into a tight, flawless bun. No expression on her face. Just carved discipline. But the Captain—he stood and offered us a kind smile beneath his trimmed white beard.

  So much for the frothing fury Torev had promised. That lying bastard.

  “Welcome, you three,” he said warmly. “Please, take a seat. We have much to discuss. Did you find Commander Zeth? I hope she’s doing alright.”

  All three of us nodded at once. “Yes, sir,” Rhai added—surprisingly convincingly.

  He let out a long breath. “I suppose you’ve heard the news by now. Nothing stays quiet for long on this ship.”

  He gave a short chuckle, but it faltered when he saw our faces. His laugh trailed off awkwardly—looking out the window. He then looked down at the table, fingers tightening slightly around his mug.

  When he straightened, his voice had softened—calmer now, more grounded. “I just hope she’s holding together. She and Commander K’arreth were… close. That kind of loss doesn’t just hurt—it lingers.”

  Beside me, Eli tried to meet my eye. Rhai folded her arms, jaw tightening. But I stepped forward.

  “She’s doing well,” I said. “She won’t be much longer. She was just leaving her quarters as we passed.”

  The white-lie passed between us like a shared breath. Thankfully, the Captain didn’t press it.

  “Alright then,” he said with a slow nod, adjusting his white-trimmed jacket. “Regardless, we’ll talk more about that later. Please, take a seat.”

  Rhai’s eyes caught mine with a quiet flicker of thanks as we sat—three across on the right side of the long table, the stars outside spilling silver light through the wide observation window in front of us. Entire galaxies shimmered beyond the glass, distant and indifferent.

  The Captain sank back into his chair with a deep breath, fingers loosely curled around his cup. He swirled it once. Then again. And when he finally looked up, his face had changed.

  Gone was the smile.

  What remained was something harder. Older. A slow quiet fell across the room—only the steady vibration of the Fold Arrays beneath my feet.

  And then he asked a question I didn’t expect:

  “What do you three know about the Viren War?” He took a sip just as he finished the sentence—like the words tasted more bitter than his drink. “I mean really know.”

  The three of us exchanged uncertain glances—me and Eli thinking back to the conversation we had that very morning. But I was the one who spoke first.

  Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  “It was the greatest threat the Commonwealth ever faced,” I said quietly. “Billions died during the conflict.” And then, after a pause, I added—locking eyes with him—“And for many… the horror never left them.”

  Captain McCarthy didn’t blink. He just nodded. Slowly.

  The look in his eyes told me he remembered. All too well.

  Beside me, Rhai folded her arms and gave a sharp nod. Eli mirrored her—somber, steady.

  “Correct, Ensign,” the Captain said, nodding slowly. “And for their sins, we annihilated them. Completely. Or at least, almost.”

  His face darkened. His tone hardened—gone was the diplomatic veneer. What remained was raw steel and fervour.

  “If I’d had my way at the time, none of them would’ve walked away. Not one.” The words came out low. Almost a growl.

  I felt the breath catch in my throat. But I didn’t look away. Beside me, Eli shifted in his seat—visibly uncomfortable. Rhai leaned forward, a slow frown pulling at her lips.

  But the First Officer gave a single, measured nod. Her mouth was set tight. I caught her gaze—there was no hesitation in it. Only cold resolve.

  I was stunned. I’d heard that kind of language before—grizzled veterans, fringe radicals, broken survivors—but never from someone like him. Not from a Commonwealth Captain.

  Words like that belonged in the back of a hopeless bar on Earth—spoken by a man gripping his drink with the only arm he had left, eyes fixed somewhere light-years away. Just like Zeth’s were this morning.

  This wasn’t just bitterness. This was something deeper. A wound left to fester for decades. And I could barely imagine what he’d seen to feel this way. In a society built to move beyond racial and religious hatred… it felt wrong to hear it spoken aloud.

  But I held his gaze. Frowning.

  What did the Viren have to do with this?

  There were barely a few million of them left now—scattered, quiet, contained. Most had been confined to a terraformed planet near the galactic core. Not imprisoned, not enslaved—just… watched. A compromise. A gesture. A second chance at virtue.

  The Commonwealth had allowed them to rebuild. To trade. To travel. In time, most civil rights had been returned. But not military. Never again.

  No Viren could ever serve in the Vanguard. And weapons were tightly restricted on their new world. Even after decades, the trust had not returned.

  That would take another generation—or more—to begin healing.

  The Captain continued, drawing in a breath—measured and deep.

  “And what do you know of the name Reiger Credasian?”

  The name struck something cold in me. I blinked, startled—but answered carefully.

  “He was the Viren Admiral of the 10th Garrels,” I said carefully. “One of the imperial officers who pushed hardest for the annexation of Gjallarhull.”

  At those words, I tried not to look at Eli—didn’t want to see the history in his eyes.

  I paused, frowning. “But… I thought he was executed during the post-war trials. At the Helion Tribunal, in New Athenata.”

  Rhai and Eli turned to me with wide eyes—half impressed. But the Captain just smiled and nodded. “You know your history, Ensign Varr.” His smile lingered for a second more.

  Then it faded.

  “But unfortunately, you’re only half right,” the Captain said, his jaw tight.

  “It is true that most of the Viren higher-ups were executed after the trials. But not Admiral Credasian. That bastard escaped. Slipped through the cracks while the dust was still settling. And wouldn’t you know it—he crawled back out after the Pardon. Right when we thought the last of them had faded into history.”

  I blinked again. Rhai gasped quietly. Eli looked at the table.

  The Captain's voice had taken on a rasp—haunted and dark. Not the tone of a leader giving a briefing, but of a man reliving his ghosts. The hatred in his words wasn't just anger. It was personal.

  And I found myself both unnerved—and strangely drawn in.

  His honesty was bracing. And strangely, I was starting to like him for it.

  The Captain nodded knowingly, his narrow eyes flicking toward the door—making sure it was still sealed. Without prying ears.

  Then he leaned in over the table.

  “What I’m about to reveal to you is classified. Is that clear?” His voice was low, controlled. “Commander Zeth and Avari here are already briefed. So, I will begin without her.”

  His eyes moved between us.

  I clenched my hand against my leg. I could feel sweat forming down my back.

  “If this leaves this room,” he said slowly, “a tribunal will be the least of your worries. You’ll be dealing with myself and Zeth directly. Is that clear Vanguard?”

  And in that moment, I saw it—the same haunted fury that lived in Zeth burned quietly behind his eyes. I gulped. We all answered at once.

  “Yes Captain, sir.”

  He held our gaze for a long moment. Then nodded, satisfied.

  The weight of this room—of this moment—wasn’t lost on any of us. Even the First Officer looked uncomfortable. Her jaw clenched tight, eyes moving between us, something fearful flickering just beneath her composure.

  “Alright then.”

  He reached forward and tapped the touchscreen in front of him. The holoscreen behind him shimmered to life. What appeared wasn’t what I expected.

  It was a planet.

  Dark green, streaked with blue and white. Light from the planet’s atmosphere spilled ghostlike across the polished table from the holoscreen as the room dimmed. Beyond the panoramic glass, the stars came into sharp relief—cold, distant, and watching us.

  My breath caught.

  That quiet dread I’d been holding at bay—the one buried beneath thoughts of Zeth—began to rise again. A black tide in my chest. And even subconsciously, I knew why.

  The planet looked familiar at first. Almost Earth-like. But the ocean-blues were smaller, the white-poles larger, probably crowned in vast ice. And what I imagined must be forest—dark green—was more numerous. But it wasn’t just the colours that disturbed me. It was the image itself. Grainy, warped and blurry. Like it had been captured from an immense distance—or through something ancient and broken.

  The Captain turned back to us. And in the silence that followed, I felt it.

  Whatever he was about to say next—would change the course of my life forever.

  “This is Veridion-6,” he said, gesturing toward the planet. “A terrestrial body in Sector 17. Ever heard of it?”

  We all shook our heads. My eyes narrowed.

  I knew Commonwealth cartography and classification systems well. I was quite knowledgeable in their planetary catalogues and deep-field discoveries—it was fascinating to me. But I had never heard of it or seen this one before.

  “Good. I’d be alarmed if you had,” the Captain said, taking a long swig from his now-empty cup. He glanced down at it, almost disappointed—then continued setting it back to the table.

  “By all accounts—according to every planetary systems model we’ve ever designed—it shouldn’t exist. And yet, here it stands.”

  “And this is why.” He tapped the console again, shifting to the next slide—looking back at the screen.

  And I almost gasped.

  It was one of the most beautiful celestial images I had ever seen—casting the entire room in a wash of white and amber light.

  The image was unmistakable, though likely false-colour enhanced: a regular star, not unlike the Earth’s Sun, burned at its core—a molten-orange furnace flaring with sunspots and plasma arcs. But orbiting it was something far more extraordinary.

  A pulsar.

  A neutron star, collapsed into impossibility. From its poles burst two colossal jets of electromagnetic radiation—coherent beams spiralling like twin searchlights across the void. But these weren’t narrow pulses—they formed vast cones, sweeping millions of kilometres across space like a pair of divine beacons. A lighthouse of annihilation. But this one orbited another star—a binary system.

  The Captain, he continued.

  “EM-882’s one of the nastiest quasars we’ve ever recorded,” he rasped. “Throws out arcs of radiation like solar flares—but cranked up a thousand times. Every few seconds, it sweeps again, blasting half the system with enough energy to strip the paint off a starship—hell, even molecules off the hull.”

  We were all leaning in toward the table now, captivated. The image on the holoscreen glowed white and gold, painting our faces with cold cosmic starlight.

  “And because of it,” the Captain said, his voice lowering, “by every astrophysical model we have… Veridion-6 shouldn’t exist. Let alone be inhabited. Statistically, scientifically—it’s a true anomaly.”

  A chill spread through the room. My chest tightened. I glanced at Eli—his expression dark, grave. Rhai’s brow was furrowed, her jaw clenched.

  “The planet was logged six-years-ago during a standard wormhole reconnaissance mission. In fact,…” He tapped the polished metal table, his expression briefly warming with pride. “It was this very vessel—the HCS Resolute—that recorded it.”

  He paused, letting that sink in, before continuing.

  “But we could never get close. The radiation from the pulsar was so intense, we had to observe from nearly a lightyear out. Over nine trillion kilometres, taking these very images.” Now gesturing toward the screen.

  “And not for a second did we expect life. Certainly not civilization. And absolutely not… what they were capable of…”

  He drew in a breath, and the pride drained from his face like colour from a wound.

  “Then, just over six months ago… we found out the Viren made first contact.”

  The air went out of the room.

  What? How was that possible?

  The shock hit me like a physical blow. The same confusion twisted across Eli’s face. Rhai stared forward in stunned disbelief.

  I raised my hand, voice shaky. “But… Captain—how? That kind of radiation—ionising, electromagnetic—it should have sterilised the planet. It should have scorched it clean. Plus, even if the Viren had interstellar ships, how could they get near?”

  The Captain turned toward me—very slowly. His fingers clenched the edge of the table.

  I glanced at Commander Avari. Her expression was bone-white—jaw tight, eyes fixed on me like I’d just stepped into something radioactive myself.

  “Because, Varr,” the Captain said quietly, “the planet’s magnetic field shields most of the worst of it—at least the ionizing radiation. But you’re right. Under normal conditions, getting close is a death sentence. Anything electrical, anything even remotely conductive—gets cooked by EM-882’s surges. Fried. Peeled down to bare metal.”

  He paused. His next words dropped heavier than the last.

  “However… a wormhole—small, but stable—recently opened on the surface of Veridion-6.”

  He leaned in, voice low. “And the other end leads directly into newly claimed Viren territory.”

  All three of us gasped. The tension snapped tight. My pulse hammered in my ears. I could barely breathe.

  Because we knew, just from elementary Helion schooling: A new wormhole—stable—on a planet? That wasn’t just unlikely. It was impossible. It should’ve torn the planet to pieces.

  “And what’s worse,” he went on, his voice like gravel, “when the Commonwealth sent a probe to trace it… the wormhole moved.”

  I stared—jaw slowly falling, like my mind couldn’t keep up with what I’d just heard.

  And I wasn’t alone:

  “It moved?” Eli breathed. “But wormholes don’t move like that. They can’t.”

  “We don’t know where it is now,” the Captain said. “But someone does.”

  He stood, jaw flexing hard. His fist struck the table with a sharp, resounding crack—resonating across the room that silenced us all.

  “Reiger Credasian,” he growled. “That bastard. The Viren commander who—no matter how many stars we buried him beneath—just couldn’t let the war go.”

  It was like the floor shifted beneath me. None of this made sense.

  As far as I knew, no one had ever built a wormhole. We didn’t have that kind of power. They just… existed.

  Most believed they were relics of the Architects—whoever, or whatever they were—because every wormhole ever discovered ended in the same place on one end: the origin point at the heart of the Helion Commonwealth. A center with no known maker. No blueprint. Just silence.

  So the next question came naturally.

  “But sir… how is that even possible? Nobody has that kind of power.”

  The Captain turned to me, nodding once. “You’re quite right, Varr. And that’s exactly why some at Command believe it was created by the Architects themselves.”

  He held my gaze. “And when I show you what we’ve learned—you’ll understand why.”

  A cold weight settled in my chest. Because he wasn’t just speculating. He was confirming the one conclusion I didn’t want to believe was possible.

  He leaned back slightly, exhaling through his nose.

  “And if they do exist... it’s like they’re playing a sick game.” His voice grew darker. “Like dropping a hornet into a wasp nest—just to see what happens. Maybe to test us. Maybe just to watch us squirm. Maybe... just for fun.” He shook his head.

  What he was saying was genuinely starting to scare me.

  But to my left, Rhai exhaled—sharp and furious.

  Then, before she could stop herself, she snapped: “Oh, get fucked, McCarthy. The Architects? They don’t exist. If they did, we’d have heard from them—something. Anything.”

  I’d never heard Rhai lash out like that. Not at an officer. Not in front of the Captain. And yet… I understood. Because in that moment, she wasn’t just angry. Like me, she was terrified. And part of me agreed with her. Because it was absolutely crazy.

  Nevertheless, both Eli and I turned to her—stunned.

  McCarthy said nothing. But Commander Avari was already on her feet—furious.

  “Senior Chief Torren, you will hold your tongue in the Captain’s presence! What is wrong with you, girl?” My head snapped toward her, mouth open in surprise.

  But the Captain raised a hand calmly, eyes still on Rhai.

  “Commander Avari,” he said, gently but firmly, “I do appreciate the support—but I think the reaction is quite justified given the circumstances, don’t you?”

  She hesitated—visibly tense—then lowered herself back into her seat, stiff, silent and glaring.

  “Apologies, Captain,” Rhai muttered. But she wasn’t looking at him. She was staring daggers at Avari—eyes burning with quiet fury.

  Eli and I exchanged a glance, both of us flicking our gaze between them, unsure who would snap first.

  “That’s quite alright, Torren. No harm, no foul,” the Captain said gently waving a hand, offering her a small smile.

  But then he stood.

  He moved slowly toward the window, hands clasped behind his back. We watched him go, tension thickening like mist. Outside, the stars burned steady. Indifferent.

  Inside, my chest tightened. My heart hammered against my ribs.

  The Viren. Especially Reiger Credasian. If they were involved… this was already bad. But nothing prepared me for what he said next…

  “The problem,” he said, still facing the stars, “isn’t that the Viren made first contact. Technically, as citizens of the Commonwealth, they’re allowed to.” He waved a hand—more dismissive than explanatory.

  Then he turned back toward us, and I felt myself sink lower in my seat.

  The look in his eyes—dark, hollow—wasn’t anger. It was something worse. Like a man who’d already seen the end and come back with nothing left to save.

  “It’s who they made contact with,” he said. “A people who call themselves The Galen.”

  He looked straight at me now—I don’t know why, but I wish he never did.

  And I’ll never forget his voice when he said it:

  “They can foresee death. Instinctively. Before it happens. And it makes them almost impossible to kill.”

  My jaw dropped. Beside me, Rhai and Eli looked just as stunned.

  What the hell did he just say?

  He stepped closer to the table, and with each word, it felt like the floor was crumbling beneath me.

  “And guess who’s trying to use that as a weapon? Who’s been smuggling these creatures through the wormhole—trying to arm them with more than swords, training them, preparing them for something bigger?”

  A pause. Then the name that dropped like a knife:

  “Reiger. Fucking. Credasian. The traitor of Gjallarhull.”

  The Captain’s voice dropped—each word like a stone dropped in silence.

  “By all accounts, he wants to use them—these Galen—as retribution for the Viren War.”

  He paused, jaw tight. “They’re contained for now. Still on his planet. Under heavy embargo.” A breath. “But we don’t know for how much longer.”

  The silence that followed was like a vacuum. Cold. Crushing.

  My thoughts fractured—splintering like glass. Images slammed through my mind.

  A wormhole. On a planet that shouldn’t exist.

  A people who couldn’t die.

  A war we couldn’t survive.

  Is this what we were being trained for?

  My gaze snapped to Rhai. She was already looking at me.

  And in her eyes, I saw it—terror. Raw. Unfiltered. She didn’t know any of this either.

  I blinked, gripping the edge of the table as the floor beneath me seemed to vanish.

  And then—

  The door hissed open.

  We all turned in one fluid motion.

  And she stood in the entrance like a shadow torn from flame.

  Commander Ka’Rina Zeth.

  The war-born. The monster.

  Her eyes, no longer empty, burned once again. That old fire lit behind her gaze.

  She scanned the room, glanced once at the holoscreen once—And smiled.

  But it wasn’t kindness. It was a predator’s grin. Lips curled, teeth glinting in the pale white-yellow wash of the holoscreen. Manic and terrifying.

  “By the looks on your faces,” she rasped, stepping forward, “you’ve just got to one of the good parts.”

  Then, sharper—low and lethal: “Don’t mind me.”

  She took her place at the far end of the table—towering over us.

  — Failure, a 21st Century band.