Lil’lah surged forward, navigating the labyrinthine corridors of the Valiant Starlight with unnerving precision, her strides sharp and unrelenting. Ta’raa struggled to match the pace, each breath shallow, her pulse hammering against her ribs as she tried to piece together an explanation. But all the junior-grade officer heard in response was Lil’lah’s clipped declaration—unshaken, absolute. “We’re not going back to Ba’maub, Sentry. We still have things to do on Earth.”
The words landed with the weight of defiance, drowning in the discordant wail of klaxons slicing through the ship’s metallic halls. The Valiant Starlight was a fortress of steel and motion—pulsing red warning strobes igniting its surfaces, casting jagged shadows that stretched and twisted as Ta’raa’s unease mounted. She wasn’t an expert in the ship’s schematics like Lil’lah, but even she knew this route veered from the bridge’s direct path. Dread coiled in her gut.
The Commodore’s voice thundered over the orchestra of war, edged with authority and urgency, reverberating off the alloy walls in perfect sync with Lil’lah’s swift, unyielding advance. “I need to prepare my fighter—Get Jo’rah to assemble a small—” The message cut off.
“Ma’am, with all due respect—That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Ta’raa’s grip tightened around Lil’lah’s arm, boots locked to the trembling deck as if sheer force of will could ground her in the chaos. Alarm klaxons screamed through the corridors, the rhythmic pulse of emergency strobes carving the walls into fractured beams of red and shadow.
“The fleet is in utter disarray, Commodore!” Her voice tore through the din, raw with urgency, shaking with the weight of impending collapse. “I pulled you from the shadow walk because we’re losing ground! Our defenses won’t hold much longer!”
Lil’lah turned, and in that instant, the world narrowed. The two locked eyes—Ta’raa’s desperation laid bare in the set of her jaw, in the wildfire intensity behind her gaze. She didn’t need more words. Everything Lil’lah needed to know was etched onto her lieutenant’s face, stark as the chaos beyond them. “Okay, you’re right.” Lil’lah stepped past her, fluid and decisive, veering down the correct corridor—toward the bridge, toward whatever storm awaited them.
Lil’lah’s presence rippled through the bridge, stoking the embers of waning morale. Ta’raa called out, voice cutting through the dull hum of strained machinery and flickering emergency strobes.
“Status report!”
The crew turned, exhaustion etched into their features, yet still clinging to the ember of resolve—the remnants of shared spirit holding them steady on the edge of retreat. Captain Vo’svin exhaled, chuckling softly despite the tension, rising to his feet in salute as he relinquished the helm. “Commodore! Glad to see you. How was your walk?”
Lil’lah didn’t answer.
Vo’svin’s expression sobered as he continued, his voice layered with the weight of their dire situation. “We’ve redirected power from the forward batteries to the aft shields and life support—along with a few other critical systems. Three of our Frigate battleships have been disabled. The last two...” He hesitated, his gaze darkening. “Badly damaged. Their power cycles are intermittent, but they’re all we have left. Since we’re redirecting from the batteries, they’re the only weapons we’ve got.” His words settled over the bridge like a thin veil of resignation. He eased into the navigation console beside Commander Xania, who had spent the last tense moments calculating escape routes—searching for a thread of hope within the asteroid belt’s treacherous corridors.
Lil’lah stood unmoving, gaze flicking across her crew, assessing the fractures beneath their determination. There wasn’t much left to hold them together. But they had enough to survive.
Ta’raa’s fingers flicked through the holo-log displays with practiced precision, each interface pulsing with data—battleship diagnostics, computational overrides, dwindling power reserves. The glow of the consoles bathed her face in fractured light, the rhythmic flicker of alert signals painting a grim portrait of their deteriorating odds. “I’ve issued orders—transport all available engineering personnel from the disabled battleships to the two remaining.” Her tone was clipped, tight with urgency, yet edged with the weight of inevitability. “But we cannot leave any vessels behind. If they fall into enemy hands, we risk more than our losses—we hand over our firepower.” Her eyes flitted over the status readouts, scanning for any margins of hope. “I dispatched two engineering corps from the Valiant to each battleship, but they’re barely keeping the lights on.”
Static flickered over one of the status indicators. The battleships, once fierce sentinels of battle, had been reduced to fragile remnants—shields paper-thin, hull integrity balancing on the edge of collapse. The ship’s main cannons were still functional, but each shot came with a price.
Her voice lowered, a somber edge threading through the controlled urgency. “The main cannons on the battleships are powerful enough to shift the tide—but in this state, every blast forces a full system reset. One shot, and we’re blind until we can reboot.” The tension hung in the air like the charged silence before a detonation. Every decision from here forward would dictate whether they clung to survival—or watched the last embers of resistance flicker out.
A sharp, gravel-rough voice cut through the bridge’s tense air, jagged as shrapnel.“Let’s not ignore the fact that we’re losing fighters and bombers left and right!”
Lil’lah flinched, her pulse hitching as Jo’rah stormed in, his presence a force of barely contained fury. His boots struck the deck with purpose—heavy, unrelenting.
“We need to leave, Commander! We need distance between us and the Roth’ari! We can’t make repairs—this is their space! The Armada can’t send—”
The sentence snapped in two, cut off in the charged silence of realization. Lil’lah turned, her voice striking through the tension like tempered steel. “The Armada WON’T be sending aid at all, Jo’rah!” The weight of those words settled over them, pressing against every strained breath, every fractured hope. The truth was unrelenting. Cold. “If we fail here, we may all face tribunals when—if—we return home. Retreat is not an option. Neither is surrender.”
She lowered herself into her seat, gaze locked ahead, unwavering. “Even if we survive this battle, Earth will fall if we don’t reach it in time to secure the sparks. They will try us for wasted resources and the loss of an entire system.” The bridge thrummed with a heavy stillness, the unspoken weight of consequences looming over them all.
Jo’rah stood beside Lil’lah, his gaze locked on the abyss beyond the viewport. The void stretched endlessly, its vastness punctuated only by the smoldering wreckage of fractured warships—silent testaments to the battle that had raged mere hours ago. The bridge, with its controlled hum of systems and filtered atmosphere, felt worlds apart from the brutal chaos he had just left behind. The transition was jarring. Comfort, if it could be called that, was fleeting here.
He exhaled sharply, the weight of the fight still pressing against his bones. He needed answers—how much longer this would drag on, whether the tides of war would shift before their fleet crumbled entirely. His thoughts coiled into tense anticipation, but nothing prepared him for the sight awaiting him at the helm. The Senior Fleet Commander.
Ka’eel’s presence should not have unsettled him, yet it did. The man who had once voiced the strongest doubts about this mission now stood at the bridge with an expression bordering on something dangerously close to optimism. The skepticism that had defined him was cracking, shifting.
Peering over Jo’rah’s shoulder, Ka’eel’s voice was quieter than expected, tinged with awe. “…So you found them?” The words lingered, trailing through the space between them like an open-ended question that carried far more weight than mere curiosity.
Lil’lah exhaled, the breath weighted with hesitation. “One, maybe all three… but it’s hard to tell.” The words were thin, stretched between uncertainty and urgency. “I need to go back. We need to take a squadron back… I don’t have time to explain now.” The Valiant Starlight groaned, her battered hull trembling beneath the relentless assault, steel bones shuddering as she twisted into position—maneuvering, shielding, enduring.
Lil’lah’s gaze locked onto the battlefield, the cold reaches beyond the bridge stretching vast and unforgiving. The Roth’arian starship loomed in the distance—scarred, battered, bruised, yet still standing. Still fighting. Her fingers curled against the armrest of her chair, knuckles white with pressure. “How much damage has their fleet taken…?” She straightened, turning sharply. “Ta’raa, pull battle logs from all Ba’urgeon vessels—calculate damage.” The request wasn’t a question. It was preparation.
“Yes, Commander.” Ta’raa’s fingers moved in swift, precise strokes over her terminal, the interface flickering to life beneath her touch. Within seconds, the bridge’s central holo-terminal surged with data, casting shifting blue projections across the surrounding consoles—each Roth’arian vessel mapped in ruthless detail, every engagement chronicled, each wound inflicted etched into the luminous battlefield before them. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned the assessments, her voice measured yet grim.
“There doesn’t appear to be any extensive hull damage—just surface abrasions. That’s their shield at work.” Realization flickered. Ta’raa isolated a segment of the holo-deck, zooming in with deliberate precision. The image sharpened—the aft hangar of a Roth’arian carrier, its defenses outlined in a pulsing red grid. “But here.” The atmosphere thickened as she rotated the display, the damaged sector taking shape in sharp relief. “We’ve compromised this Blast Shield Relay—for their aft hangar. It leads directly into the interior.”
Silence hung, taut as a drawn wire. The implication was unmistakable. “A small contingent of raiders might be able to infiltrate… get inside, disable their main shield generators.” She hesitated, then delivered the truth with the weight it deserved. “It’s a suicide mission.” The holo-terminal continued to pulse, projections flickering as if acknowledging the gravity of the moment. The battlefield had shifted—and now, a dangerous opportunity lay at its heart.
Lil’lah clasped her hands in her lap, fingers threading together in measured restraint, though the weight of the moment pressed against her shoulders like a vice. Her gaze flickered toward the tactical displays, their dim glow casting fractured reflections against the bridge’s steel frame. “And the batteries—on the battleships?” Her voice was steady, but beneath the surface, an edge of urgency sharpened each syllable. “Tell me. The other three battleships are lost, disabled—but can their main weapons still fire?”
Ta’raa’s movements were quick, methodical. She swiped through holo-terminals, thumbing through engineering logs at a breakneck pace, her eyes flicking over fragmented diagnostics, parsing raw data faster than her mind could process the implications. She sucked in a breath. Finally, she looked up—her expression a collision of unease and determination. “Of the five, four can still fire—with manual targeting. But it’ll take preparation. After that…” Her throat tightened. She glanced back at Lil’lah, the weight of her words threatening to crush the air between them. “Each battleship will be spent—completely offline.” Her grip tightened around the edge of her console, knuckles paling. “If this doesn’t destroy that carrier…” The thought twisted, raw and unrelenting. “We’ll have no way to defend ourselves. No offensive capabilities. Nothing. Maybe indefinitely.” The quiet that followed was deafening—a reckoning before a storm. What choice did they have? The decision was made—now, Lil’lah only had to give the orders.
“Rael, redirect all power from the aft shields to the aft cannons—target their fighters. Charge the main batteries, keep them on standby.” The bridge dimmed, overhead lights flickering as power rerouted. The holo-deck faded with several sharp swipes from Rael at his console, its blue glow receding like a dying ember. Lil’lah straightened, voice cutting through the hum of tension.
“We need to draw the Rath’ari fire—give our fighters room. Vo’svin, bring the Starlight about in full retreat. Half speed.” A deliberate lure. The Roth’ari wouldn’t refuse pursuit. The gravity shifted violently—Ta’raa gripped the edges of her seat, struggling against the lurching momentum as the star carrier swung into position. Across from her, Jo’rah stood firm, unwavering.
Lil’lah’s gaze snapped to Xania. “Keep us just outside their main gun range. Plot a warp out—we shouldn’t need it, but we need to make this look real.” A slow grin ghosted her lips—half triumph, half controlled fury. “On my word, we bring this ship around and face them. Head on.”
Her focus locked onto Ta’raa, waiting for her to meet her gaze. “Have each battleship primed to fire in unison—target the Roth’arian starship. Fire when I give the word. We’ll be stepping into their effective range the moment we turn.”
She shifted her attention to Jo’rah, tone sharpened with urgency. “Your fighters need to be onboard before that happens. Get them every schematic we have on that carrier. Now.” A pause. The weight of the next words settled between them. “Once they breach, they may not make it out. They need to know that ship before they step inside.”
Jo’rah didn’t argue—just pivoted with purpose, performing an about-face before vanishing through the bridge’s exit.
The bridge pulsed in an eerie crimson, warning strobes carving jagged shadows through the war-torn expanse. The Valiant Starlight trembled, shuddering beneath the relentless onslaught—its hull hammered by photon torpedoes, each impact reverberating through the steel bones of the ship like a dying heartbeat. Klaxons howled, their piercing cries intertwining with the chaos, a metallic symphony of impending catastrophe.
Ta’raa swiped across the holo-deck, projecting the damage report in flickering fragments of blue light. “Aft hull integrity at twenty-five percent! Breach imminent!” The words like an executioner’s verdict.
Lil’lah didn’t flinch. She didn’t turn. Acknowledging the looming disaster wouldn’t change the reality—it would only waste time. Her voice cut through the discord, unyielding. “Steady! Keep drawing their fire—target those fighters!” Orders given. No hesitation. No room for doubt.
The Starlight groaned, its structure straining against the assault, the battlefield ahead a seething maw of destruction. Lil’lah sat rigid, eyes locked forward. The moment was slipping, tightening around them like a vice. If they fell here, there would be no second chance.
Ta’raa gritted her teeth, her pulse hammering in her throat. She couldn’t assume the aft guns would hold—not against the relentless barrage threatening to peel the Starlight apart. “All available engineers, report to the Starlight’s aft! Repeat, all hands on deck!” Her voice carried across the bridge like a desperate beacon. She swiveled in her chair, rising—ready to act—but a voice, cold and commanding, sliced through the air.
“I didn’t give that order.” Lil’lah’s tone was sharp, a blade honed for authority. Ta’raa turned, fire flashing in her eyes.
“It doesn’t mean they won’t need me down there, Commodore.”
A pause—weighted, crackling between them like the charged silence before impact. Lil’lah’s gaze never wavered. “They’ll figure it out. Besides, this is your plan, Sentry. I need you here to execute it.” The weight of command settled over Ta’raa’s shoulders like iron, but there was no time to resist. No time for debate.
Lil’lah leaned forward, hands clenching the armrests of her chair, scanning holo-overlay projections flickering above her—searching for something. Her eyes sharpened.
“I found it.” The bridge seemed to hold its breath. “It’s the squadron Jo’rah assembled—they’re en route to the carrier. I have a live feed from the cockpit. Transferring now.”
The Roth’arian damage report shrank into a glowing orbit, dissolving into the periphery as three video feeds emerged—a window into the storm.
Lil’lah’s voice clipped with expectation. “Two fighters. One bomber. They’re preparing to engage.” The battle was about to turn—and every decision from here would dictate whether they held the line… or shattered beneath the storm.
Ta’raa’s chest rose and fell in uneven bursts, the pressure thrumming in her veins, her pulse hammering beneath the surface of control she was fighting to maintain. Her fingers swept against her face—a fleeting, frustrated motion—brushing away something inconsequential, something irrelevant, yet still insistent.
A dozen biting retorts clawed at the edges of her mind, sharp and eager to escape. But none of them mattered. None of them would change the reality bearing down on her. So she swallowed them, pressing the fire back into silence. Instead, she simply nodded—small, restrained, a gesture heavy with resignation. As she turned back to her console, something unsettled the air around her—like a missing presence, a fracture in the space that should have been filled. And then she realized. Jo’rah was gone.
#
It wasn’t in Jo’rah’s nature to give orders from the flight deck—to command from a place where he couldn’t feel the pulse of battle thrumming beneath his feet. And even if he could, who was there left to order? Redirecting wings now would be meaningless. The fleet was already committed, the pieces locked into motion. And there was only one pilot in the entire armada who understood the interior layout of the Roth’ari carrier.
There was no time to scour schematics, no space to brief another soldier—no matter their skill, no matter their experience. The window for preparation had closed. The mission was clear. And it couldn’t be entrusted to just anyone. More than the fleet’s survival rested in the balance now. This was a moment where victory hinged on the hands of the few—where every choice carried the weight of consequence. Jo’rah exhaled, steadying himself. There was no room for hesitation.
The hangar was chaos—fractured remnants of past sorties strewn across the deck, the acrid scent of scorched alloy hanging in the air. It was just as Jo’rah had left it. Just as he’d remembered. He moved with deliberate precision, slipping into the cockpit as the ship came alive around him—its systems blinking, its engine roaring in defiance against the suffocating silence of inevitability.
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“Mission Command, Wing Command—requesting clearance. And if you can, have the Commodore’s interceptor prepped.” The words carried weight. Not expectation—just necessity. There were no doubts left in Jo’rah’s mind. No illusions about his fate, or whether he would ever see Ba’maub again. He wasn’t a man who believed in miracles. Ba’urg pilots lived in the moment, threading their existence between the fire and the void with reckless precision. And Jo’rah had always been one of them—bold, unshaken. But today was different. Today was heavy. Today was grief, woven into the cold expanse before him. He had lost too many friends to this war. To this silence. And as the engine hummed beneath his hands, he quietly prepared himself to join them.
Jo’rah’s radio sputtered, breaking through the static with fractured urgency. “Wing Commander, this is Gold-Four—over.”
He didn’t respond. His focus remained locked on his preflight checks, fingers moving with precise efficiency over the controls. Distraction was a luxury he couldn’t afford.
The radio flared again, sharper this time. “Wing Commander! Over!” The transmission fizzled into silence—but before the quiet could settle, another voice cut through. This time, it wasn’t coming from the radio.
“Since when do we ignore our wingmates?”
Jo’rah’s gaze flickered up, narrowing as he caught sight of Cly’yn standing before his craft—their stance rigid, their blue skin illuminated beneath the flickering hangar lights. Tall, lean, unwavering. He exhaled, slow, measured. “You can’t come with me, Cly’yn.” His voice was steady, but there was an edge to it—a weight that wasn’t usually there. A quiet finality. He looked down his nose at the Ba’urgeon before him, willing them to understand. “I can’t bring you along this time. Wingmate or not.” A pause. “I’m sorry.” The words were simple, yet layered with something heavier. A truth that neither of them wanted to name. “It’s too dangerous.”
Silence lingered between them, stretching thin beneath the hum of his craft’s roaring engine.
Cly’yn let out a sharp laugh, though it carried no real humor—just incredulity edged with defiance. “None of us are here for our safety, ‘Commander.’ I mean, look around!” His words rang through the chaos, cutting through the volatile hum of machinery, the frantic shouts of engineers and medics weaving between the wreckage. The hangar was a graveyard of battered steel and smoldering ruin—twisted heaps of discarded tech and scorched equipment strewn across the floor like remnants of a battle that had never truly ended.
Emergency lights flickered in erratic pulses, casting long shadows against the makeshift infirmaries dotting the space. The wounded lay in scattered clusters while technicians fought against time, desperate to patch up fighters and bombers, sending them clawing back into the void for one last stand. Cly’yn stepped forward, gaze burning with conviction. “This is war! It’s what you trained most of us for! You can’t go getting sentimental on us now.”
A brief, deliberate dance between them. “We were chosen by One Mind.”
There was no arguing with that. Jo’rah knew the truth as deeply as he knew the weight of his own decisions. They weren’t here because they volunteered. They were here because One Mind deemed them worthy. And that alone meant their fates were already sealed.
“This is not an admirable cause.” The words barely escaped Jo’rah’s lips, just above a whisper, yet heavy enough to linger between them like an unspoken truth. Had this been a battle for Ba’maub, or for the Rhub Alliance, it would have been different. Justified. Worthy. But this war was something else—a fractured ambition disguised as necessity.
It was hard for Jo’rah to rationalize this as part of One Mind’s plan for the universe. The thought gnawed at the back of his mind, pressing against the instincts he had once trusted without question. Still, doubts held no weight in the face of reality. He needed support. He needed fighters. And here was Cly’yn. “Who else is available?”
Cly’yn’s gaze swept across the chaos of the hangar, scanning familiar faces amid the disorder—smoke curling in lazy tendrils from wrecked machinery, sparks flickering from half-repaired vessels as engineers scrambled, their movements sharp, desperate.
“Well—” Cly’yn hesitated, then pointed. “Jok’ti. Over there. He came back just behind you. Looks like he’s waiting for a mission.”
Jo’rah wasted no time. “Go get him. Hurry. We don’t have much time.” Cly’yn didn’t argue. He pivoted, feet pounding against the deck as he shouted out Jok’ti’s name.
Across the hangar, Jok’ti turned at the call, eyes flashing with readiness. Without hesitation, he sprinted toward them, stopping only long enough to snap into a crisp salute.
“Sir!” The voice, sharp with expectation.
Jo’rah’s gaze swept over the Ba’urgeons standing before him, their eyes bright with readiness, their stances firm, awaiting orders. But he hesitated. He didn’t want to give them this mission. He didn’t want to take anyone with him. Because the truth was undeniable—there was more than likely no coming back. And yet, that didn’t change the path that had already been laid before them.
Jo’rah exhaled, slow and measured, the weight of inevitability pressing against his ribs. He had to get inside the Roth’ari carrier. That was non-negotiable. And no matter his personal reservations, he needed an escort to do it. There was no turning back now.
Jo’rah’s voice was firm, stripped of anything resembling hesitation. “I need an escort. Two fighters.” His words—blunt, absolute. “I need to get inside that carrier and destroy their fleet’s shield generator. And I can’t do it alone.” “I may not be able to do it at all.” The truth settled between them, heavy. His gaze flicked across the pilots standing before him, each one a fragment of the fleet’s last hope. If they failed, if they didn’t breach that carrier— “If we can’t get inside, we lose the fleet.” No embellishment. No way around it. He exhaled, before sinking back into his seat. “If you’re coming, mount up.” No speeches. No reassurances. Just action.
Jok’ti turned to Cly’yn, searching for some silent confirmation—but Cly’yn was already moving, his decision made, strides purposeful as he headed toward his fighter. “Guess that’s that.”
The dome of Jo’rah’s craft hissed shut, sealing him in with a metallic finality. The clamps locked with a resounding thud.
“Gold-Four, standing by.”
Jo’rah glanced left, past the thick canopy of his cockpit, scanning the hangar for his wingmates. Two fighters stood ready—engines thrumming, waiting for his call.
“Red-Nine, standing by.”
That had to be Jok’ti. Jo’rah processed the thought in the back of his mind, barely allowing himself the moment before shifting focus. Fingers flew over his controls, final payload checks ticking down—one last assurance before the mission began.
His voice carried across the comms, steady, absolute. “Wing Commander, online. Prepped and ready. Taking wing with Gold-Four and Red-Nine. Mission brief: All wings on notice. From the bridge—The Roth’arian Star Carrier is blocking our success on Earth. Senior Fleet Commander Lil’lah needs that ship gone, but we can’t hit it from the outside.” He exhaled sharply, bracing for what came next. “I will lead a small contingent into the aft hangar. From there, we locate and destroy the fleet’s primary shield generator. Escape may not be possible. We need a hole.” The transmission cut into static for half a breath before the response snapped through the frequency like a shot.
“All wings, standing by. Wing Commander and escort need a clear path to the Roth’arian carrier’s aft hangar. Let’s make them a hole.” Another hiss. Then the familiar words—both a blessing and a warning. “You are a ‘go,’ Commander. One Mind, guide you.”
Jo’rah tightened his grip on the controls. There was no turning back now.
The spacecraft’s thrusters flared, deep blue halos pulsing against the metallic bones of the hangar, their engines a soft, reverberating whine beneath the frantic symphony of distant orders and clanging machinery. Jo’rah felt himself pulled backward, gravity pressing him into his seat as the sterile white glow of the Starlight dissolved into the vast and endless dark. The transition was total. Absolute. For a fleeting second, there was no war. No Roth’ari. No Ba’urgeons. Only the void. And Jo’rah loved the void.
Here, in the reach, everything existed as one—good and evil, peace and chaos, past and present, all suspended in the weightless eternity of space. It was a place where things were and weren’t, a contradiction so seamless that it felt like truth itself. For a moment, he drifted in that solace, almost forgetting the mission—almost surrendering to the quiet temptation of oblivion. Until the reminder came.
Four red triangles burned onto his cockpit dome, sharp and unforgiving. The heads-up display shrieked to life, a frantic, rhythmic beeping—an omen. Targeted. A voice crackled through his comms, cutting through the fragile silence. “I’m on them, Commander! I’m going to draw their fire—” The war had found him again.
The radio spat static before a familiar voice cut through, sharp and commanding. “No, stand fast!” Lil’lah seized control, issuing orders with the precision of a seasoned strategist, her presence weaving seamlessly into the chaos. She had no hesitation—no faltering in the rhythm of war. “If you disengage now, the Wing Commander may never make it there! We will continue to draw their fire.”
The heads-up display flickered—the three blips pulsing erratically before vanishing into cold, unforgiving X’s. She didn’t waver. “Use your onboard targeting systems—mark every hostile. We’ll track and eliminate as many as possible.” A pause, sharp as the war-torn silence pressing against them. “Gold-Four. Red-Nine. Don’t leave his side for a second! That’s an order!” The airwaves cut to dead silence, leaving only the shrill hum of engines—an eerie void before the next storm.
The asteroid belt unfurled before them, a vast graveyard of drifting rock and silent ruin. Navigation was left to the onboard computer, its calculations meticulously coordinated by Xania from the bridge of the Starlight. The envoy intercepted approaching starships before they could threaten the mission—midrange blasters from the Starlight and the battleships punching through their formation while Jo’rah’s own repeaters handled last-minute bogies, slicing through rogue comets and straggling fighters alike.
And yet, in the quiet between each engagement, there was only Jo’rah and his thoughts. They were on the mission. Soon, he and his escort would pass beyond the Starlight’s effective range. The battleships would lag behind, and in mere moments, they would find themselves between the Roth’ari fleet and the Ba’urg—exposed, unprotected. No more shields. No more buffers. Just the void.
A voice cut through the radio, sharp, precise. “You’re approaching the hot zone, Commander. T-minus fifteen.”
Jo’rah tightened his grip on the flight controls, his gaze steady. “Gold-Four, check in.”
“Gold-Four. Ready to engage.” From the right corner of his cockpit dome, a green square flickered into existence—its glow solid, then pulsing steadily, indicating weapons were primed.
“Red-Nine, check in.” Another square illuminated the HUD, this time from the left—flashing green.
“Red-Nine, ready to engage.”
The radio crackled with static before the Senior Fleet Commander’s voice cut through—steady, measured, unwavering. “All wings, Wing Commander Jo’rah is in the hot zone. Continue to draw enemy fire.”
Jo’rah cleared his throat, the tightness in his chest ignored as he barked out the next order. “Wing, dip. Gold-Four, formation two. Red-Nine, take point, then—” The words never finished.
Jok’ti’s fighter surged forward, peeling ahead in perfect alignment with the formation—an instinctual move, a pilot’s reflex. But before Jo’rah could react, before he could warn or redirect, he saw it. A sudden barrage—raw, vicious, a brutal cascade of firepower erupting from the enemy vessel. Time splintered. Jo’rah could do nothing.
Jok’ti’s craft detonated in a violent burst—blue and crimson flames swallowing the remains of his ship in a single, merciless instant.
The shockwave tore through the battlefield, but the storm wasn’t over. Jo’rah’s cockpit rattled as the space around him convulsed—asteroids, monstrous and jagged, erupting into chaos, chunks of fractured rock spiraling into the abyss, the void alive with destruction. There was no time to mourn. No time to flinch.
“Disperse!” Jo’rah snapped off the navigation system with a sharp flick of his wrist, fear slicing through him as the craft’s weight returned fully to his grip. The computer was too rigid, too slow—if he left his fate to calculated algorithms, he’d be dead within minutes. Approaching the carrier as a single unit was suicide. “We can’t go together—”
“I’m on it!”
Cly’yn’s fighter dipped low, pitching hard to the right. He had seen it too—the way the battlefield twisted, the shifting tide of debris. His vessel wove a confusing, erratic path between asteroids, a perfect dance of calculated chaos. Fighters had the advantage here—fast, agile, designed for maneuverability. But bombers? Bombers were lumbering brutes by comparison.
Jo’rah gritted his teeth. “I need coverage—something!” His voice edged on a choke, rare uncertainty threading through the command. His fingers tightened around the flight stick, pulling hard against the inertia. “What’s the targeting looking like on that battleship?”
The radio sputtered, a voice filtering through the static, tinged with grim defeat. “We’re down to manual targeting, Commander. We can’t guarantee acc—” The transmission broke—fractured by explosions, by destruction barreling toward him faster than his mind could react.
“Well, give me something!”
Asteroids shattered around him in violent detonations, cascading in a storm of fractured rock and debris. He twisted into reckless maneuvers, jackknifing between the chaos with the kind of desperation that came second nature to Ba’urg pilots. The radio crackled again, barely audible over the roaring destruction. “You aren’t using your onboard naviga—” A fresh wave of detonations drowned out the rest.
But Jo’rah understood the warning. He wasn’t switching back. The onboard computer could calculate projected attacks, triangulate possible outcomes—but it couldn’t predict the chaos unfolding in real time. And right now, chaos was the only constant.
Jo’rah leveled his craft, the belly of the Roth’arian carrier looming into view—a vast, war-forged expanse of steel and energy shielding, cold and impenetrable. Just ahead, the unmistakable blue glow of Cly’yn’s fighter sliced through the void like a streak of lightning.
A burst of static crackled through the comms. “We are approaching the carrier. My system’s picking up multiple turret signatures on the hull. Engaging!”
Cly’yn opened fire—quick, calculated bursts of laser fire streaking toward the carrier’s defenses. The response was immediate. A torrent of hellfire erupted from the ship’s surface, crisscrossing through the battlefield like veins of molten rage.
Cly’yn’s craft twisted violently, spiraling out before snapping into a wide arc, cutting hard right in a strafing maneuver that danced dangerously between precision and recklessness. “There! Commander! Through the middle—I’ll draw their fire!”
Even as he pushed toward the carrier’s belly, Cly’yn fired again—laser bursts peppering the shields in blistering succession, a dazzling storm of energy and destruction.
Weapons erupted from the hull, turret mounts hissing smoke as fragments of metal tore away, bright against the black abyss. Jo’rah barely had a second to register the spectacle before snapping back to focus. He wasn’t here to admire the chaos. He was here to end it.
Jo’rah tore through the battlefield, his craft a streak of fire and steel, engines screaming against the crushing expanse. Enemy fighters peeled into his sights—brief, fleeting silhouettes before his weapons ripped them apart, their wreckage vanishing into the void.
Ahead, the aft hangar loomed—his entry point, the threshold between survival and sacrifice. A mission update was due. “All wings,” Jo’rah’s voice remained calm, unwavering. “Approaching the hangar. Gold-Four, on me. Check in.”
Silence. Jo’rah tightened his grip on the controls, tried again. “Gold-Four, check in!” A burst of static. Then nothing. Then—finally—the voice.
A green square blinked to life on his HUD, appearing from behind, settling on his right side. “Gold-Four, checking in!” Relief was fleeting.
“Alright, Sentry—on me! Hit anything that moves!” The two crafts plunged into the Roth’arian carrier’s hangar like thunder splitting the void, the enemy unprepared for the storm crashing into their defenses.
Within seconds, the stillness fractured, replaced with chaos—explosions ripping through personnel carriers, laser fire punching through turret emplacements. Jo’rah and Cly’yn carved destruction into the heart of the hangar, dismantling everything in their wake before their boots hit the deck.
Klaxons shrieked through the space, warning calls flooding the comms, but they had already moved—shadows cutting through the carnage, slipping deeper into the heart of the stronghold. Saboteurs. On what was almost certainly a suicide mission.
#
“They’re in! They lost one, but they’re in!” Ta’raa’s voice broke through the tension of the bridge, disbelief threading through her tone, the weight of anticipation crashing into the sudden wave of relief.
For everyone but Lil’lah, this was a rare moment of fortune—a turn of luck in a battle rife with uncertainty. Lil’lah’s breath tightened in her chest. “Who did we lose?”
She had understood why Jo’rah had gone. Understood that he would never hesitate, never let fear dictate his choices. But understanding didn’t make this easier. This wasn’t just another Ba’urgeon Stai’tic or Sentry. This was Jo’rah the Bold—a warrior revered across generations, a legend etched into their history. How could she face her people—stand as a leader among leaders—if she had lost someone like him? Someone not just vital to the war effort but to her? Jo’rah was more than a soldier, more than an esteemed Sentry. He was her friend. He had trusted her—to guide him, to keep him safe. To make sure he lived.
A hesitation laced with unspoken weight. Xania’s voice was quiet, brittle. “…Lieutenant Jok’ti, Commodore.” The answer hit harder than expected. Jok’ti wasn’t just a casualty. He was Ghu lineage—a descendant of a family rooted in the Counsel itself. His bloodline carried prestige, weight, power. And now, it carried loss.
Lil’lah swallowed, the bridge pressing in around her. “I think... maybe we should wait before informing Commodore Zydan.” The war had claimed another.
Her mind drifted, carried into the vast graveyard of wreckage that stretched beyond the stars—a cosmic cemetery where the fallen were swallowed by the abyss. How many Ba’urgeons had been lost in the defense of Earth? Between this battle, between the Ru, between the endless sacrifices demanded by a war that seemed to devour everything in its path—how many had vanished into the void, their names reduced to echoes? It wasn’t like her to question One Mind’s plan. But now… she wondered. Was this truly part of it?
It had to be. If it wasn’t, why had he interjected when the Counsel sought to deny her passage for this mission? Why had he woven his will so clearly into events that refused to unravel any other way? And yet, Ka’eel’s question lingered, persistent, gnawing at the edges of her resolve. “Was Earth worth it?” Was it?
Had all these lives been lost for something greater? Something meaningful? She thought of the Earthlings—their fractured existence, their recklessness, their wars fought among themselves even before the cosmos set its gaze upon them. She thought of their apparent disregard for their own survival. She wondered. Would they ever truly understand the price that had been paid for them? Would they even care?
First Officer Vo’svin had been trying to get Lil’lah’s attention for some time, his presence steady, patient, yet insistent. When she finally noticed him standing before her, his voice cut through the charged silence—low, expectant. “Commodore?”
She didn’t answer. Her gaze, unfocused yet burning with something unspoken, passed straight through him, as though he wasn’t truly there. Without a word, she pushed past, stepping forward, her movements stiff with tension, crossing the bridge to the vast windows of the flight deck. She stared beyond them—beyond the chaos, beyond the wreckage, beyond the war.
“…Commodore?” The word was softer this time, laced with uncertainty. Still, she didn’t turn.
“All they need is a few moments…” The words weren’t meant for him. They weren’t meant for anyone. But in that moment, Lil’lah knew where her duty lay. Her expression hardened, resolve tightening like steel around her spine. “Ta’raa.” She didn’t hesitate. “Run analytics on the Roth’arian carrier. I want to know the precise moment those shields go down.”
Ta’raa moved without question, fingers flying across her terminal as fresh data poured in. The central holo-deck flickered, updating in real-time—the battle narrowing to a single moment, a single opportunity. Lil’lah held her breath. Waiting. Watching.
“First Officer, bring us around to face them.” Lil’lah’s voice was firm, edged with steel. The Starlight lurched slightly, the floor tipping beneath their feet as the vessel swung into position, bow cutting through the darkness like a drawn blade.
“Xania, maintain speed. Plot new warp coordinates—far beyond this system. We may need them this time.” Silence settled across the bridge, thick with expectation.
Lil’lah turned, striding past the captain’s console, making her way toward the back of the bridge. Each step carried purpose—an unspoken weight threading through the war-torn space around her. She stopped at the door, eyes narrowing.
“Rael.” The name was a command in itself. He didn’t turn as she spoke, voice low, decisive. “When Ta’raa gives the order, have all Ba’urgeon vessels fire. If the enemy remains standing when the smoke clears, on Ta’raa’s command, recall the fighters and leave this system.” Her tone shifted—controlled, deliberate. “Ta’raa, you have the helm.”
The words barely settled before Ta’raa shot up from her console, a surge of protest spilling into the space between them. “Commodore? What are you doing? You’re leaving us again?”
The question hung in the charged air, demanding an answer that Lil’lah wasn’t ready to give. The battle was at its breaking point. And the decisions made here would determine who lived— and who was left behind.
“Nobody here has a stronger understanding of what’s going on than you, Sentry. I think you will do well. Keep my crew safe.” Lil’lah’s words carried finality—a quiet trust weighted with expectation. The flight deck doors slid shut behind her with a mechanical hiss, sealing her off from the bridge, from her crew, from everything but the war unfolding beyond. She was alone.
Lights flickered in erratic pulses, casting fractured shadows across the corridor. Sirens wailed through the steel confines of the Starlight, their urgent cries weaving between the strained hum of the vessel—its voice now ragged, burdened by the battle pressing against it. Anxiety gripped tight in Lil’lah’s chest, a dull ache she refused to acknowledge.
All she wanted was to return to the silence of Twilight—the weightless expanse where time blurred into nothingness, where war, duty, and sacrifice faded into the void. But a shadow walk wouldn’t save Nolan. It wouldn’t save Noel. She knew her objective. She knew where to find it. This wasn’t a moment for observation. This wasn’t a time for hesitation. This was the time for action.