The station groaned—a deep, metallic wail that reverberated through its bones like a dying beast. Nestled in orbit above the mineral-rich asteroid Alura-7, the station’s labyrinthine halls had always been a hive of industry. But now, they echoed with the sounds of collapse. Calden sat cross-legged on the workshop floor, tracing aimless patterns in the grease-stained tiles. The faint hum of machinery masked the distant tremors, but each vibration rippled through his small frame, making him shudder. Nearby, his father, Eryk, knelt over the exposed inside of an exo-suit, his broad shoulders hunched with intensity. The suit’s surface was scarred and pitted, coolant dripping steadily to form a shimmering pool beneath it.

  “Hold this,” Eryk muttered, thrusting a wrench into Calden’s hands without looking up.

  Calden obeyed, fumbling with the cold, heavy tool. Sparks flared as Eryk struck the suit’s frame with practiced precision. His hands moved with the urgency of a man who had done this countless times before—yet never with stakes this high.

  “Dad?” Calden asked, his voice barely audible over the hiss of escaping steam.

  Eryk didn’t answer. His jaw clenched, and a sharp clang rang out as his hand slipped. He cursed softly. Outside the viewport, streaks of light flared against the black void—brief, blinding bursts that illuminated darting shadows. The imperium had come, and the station’s was failing.

  Then the alarms screamed.

  Eryk froze, his eyes snapping to the doorway. Calden dropped the wrench, the clang echoing like a shot. For a moment, father and son stared at each other. Then Eryk moved, gripping Calden’s arm and pulling him to his feet.

  “We need to go,” he said sharply, his voice cutting through the din. He wiped his hands on a rag, the fabric coming away smeared with black and red.

  The corridor outside was chaos—smoke curling through flickering lights, shadows weaving through the haze. The acrid stench of burning oil mingled with the sharp tang of ozone. Workers sprinted past, their shouts a chaotic symphony of panic. One carried a child slung over his shoulder, the boy’s face buried against his rescuer’s neck. Another stumbled, their tools clattering across the floor before they were hauled upright by someone in an emergency suit.

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  Calden clung to Eryk as they navigated the chaos. Over the crackle of comms, words like “breach” and “retreat” broke through the static. Ahead, the logistics hub loomed, its massive doors groaning as they fought to stay operational.

  Inside, Lira, Calden’s mother, was a blur of movement at the central console. Her hair clung to her sweat-drenched face as her fingers flew across flickering screens filled with schematics and error codes. She looked up as they entered, her sharp gaze narrowing before softening.

  “Took you long enough,” she said, her voice flat but tinged with relief. She left the console, striding toward them. Without a word, she knelt in front of Calden and gripped his face with both hands.

  “Stay close. Don’t stop, no matter what. Do you understand?” Her tone was steady, but her trembling fingers betrayed her.

  Another shudder rocked the station. Lights flickered, dimmed. A faint whine filled the air, swelling into a deafening crash. Behind them, the bulkhead ruptured, a jagged fragment of metal punching through the wall. It hissed, cooling quickly in the frigid air.

  Lira’s body jerked. Blood sprayed across Calden’s face as the fragment embedded itself in her chest cutting into two. Her lips parted as if to speak, but no words came. She crumpled, her eyes losing their light as Calden stood paralyzed.

  The coppery tang of blood filled his nostrils. The world narrowed to the pool of red spreading beneath his mother. A high-pitched whine filled his ears, drowning out Eryk’s roar.

  “Calden! Move!”

  Eryk yanked Calden away, shielding him as debris began to rain from above. The floor cracked, the air growing thin. Eryk’s breath came in ragged gasps as he shoved Calden toward the maintenance hatch.

  “Inside!” he barked. When Calden hesitated, Eryk pushed him through with desperate force.

  Calden turned just as the ceiling collapsed. A massive beam hurtled down. Eryk threw himself over the hatch, his body a shield. The impact roared through the crawlspace, dust and debris cascading in its wake.

  Silence fell.

  Calden coughed, his lungs burning. Eryk’s weight pinned him, shielding him from the worst of the collapse. But his father’s chest no longer rose and fell. Blood dripped from his temple, pooling below.

  “Dad?” Calden whispered, his voice fragile. He reached out, his hands trembling. Eryk didn’t stir.

  Clawing his way free, Calden pulled himself from beneath the wreckage. His fingers bled as he crawled into the corridor beyond. The air was cold, the silence oppressive. Only the faint hum of failing systems reminded him the station still clung to life—barely.

  He looked back once. Eryk’s body lay buried in the rubble, unmoving. Then, with shaking legs, Calden turned away. The emptiness stretched before him, vast and uncaring.