In a distant, remote system, a lone planet orbits a dim red dwarf — its light weak, flickering like a dying ember in the void. From afar, the planet resembles a molten orange orb streaked with jagged black scars, as if clawed by ancient forces. Its atmosphere is tenuous, a fragile veil of elemental gases barely clinging to the crust, shielding it from the frigid silence of space.

  The surface is a realm of extremes — a wasteland sculpted by time and violence. Endless deserts stretch like rust-colored oceans, their dunes shifting with every gust. Petrified forests, twisted and fossilized, rise like skeletal remains of a forgotten age. Jagged mountain ridges loom at the horizon, their shadows slicing through the sand like blades. No endemic life stirs. No trace of breath or movement has graced this world in millennia.

  Now, only a small expedition force dares to tread its desolation, chasing whispers of an anomaly buried beneath the sand.

  Another storm had begun to howl — a shriek across the barren landscape. It hadn’t even been hours since the last tempest died down. The wind returned with vengeance, thick with razor-like particles that scraped against shielding and skin alike. Visibility collapsed into a swirling blur of orange and black. The camp’s shielding groaned, its outer layers flexing under the abrasive assault. The planet offered no shelter. No mercy.

  This storm will hinder our progress. We’re running out of time.

  “Commander Adom,” a voice crackled through the comms, distorted by static. “Group Three has submitted their report. Sector C-55 has been completely swept. No findings.”

  “Understood, Captain. Reassign them to the next sector.”

  “Sir… they haven’t rested since yesterday.”

  “They’ll rest when we’re done. Reassign them immediately.”

  “…Right away, sir.”

  We’ve swept nearly every sector. No spikes in Source density. No structures. But the anomaly persists. It’s diffuse… yet deliberate.

  Adom stepped out of the Operations Control tent. His suit sealed with a hiss, pressure equalizing as reinforced plating adjusted to the storm’s fury. Sand lashed against his visor like static noise, each grain a needle. The camp’s modular structures trembled, their anchors buried deep into the crust, resisting the storm’s pull. Soldiers moved like shadows — hunched, deliberate, burdened by gear and exhaustion.

  Most of them were Star Force—conventional troops. Only Adom was a Star Knight, Key-bound and leagues above them.

  He paused, scanning the horizon through his helmet’s tactical overlay. No movement. No heat. Just the storm — a living wall of chaos.

  “Anat, are you there?” Adom’s voice was clipped, precise.

  “I’m here, Adom. How’s the situation on the ground?” Anat’s voice was calm, like a distant tide.

  “Storm’s intensifying. Any orbital readings?”

  “No. The anomaly is disrupting long-range scans. Probes are ineffective.”

  “Ground sensors?”

  “Limited. Manual sweep is the only option.”

  “Fine. I’ll handle it myself.”

  Adom moved through the camp, heading toward a narrow pass carved by erosion and time. The corridor offered minimal shelter — jagged rocks shielding him just enough to stabilize his footing. Beyond lay a vast, flat expanse: a lifeless desert, fractured and dry, its surface like shattered glass under a blood-orange sky.

  -Activating Spectrum Visor-

  His visor flickered, shifting into tactical overlay. Terrain elevation, object outlines, and thermal inconsistencies painted his vision in ghostly hues. The data fed into his suit’s systems, optimizing movement and hazard detection.

  Adom advanced, each step deliberate. Hours passed. The storm persisted, but his suit held. He reached the nearest outpost — a modular station half-swallowed by sand, its beacon flickering.

  “Commander Adom…” a young Star Force soldier greeted him, voice uncertain, posture rigid.

  Adom ignored the greeting, eyes locked on the console. The deployment map glowed faintly. Few sectors remained. Progress was acceptable — but not enough.

  “Sir, we’re nearly done sweeping. The storm’s intensity is slowing us down, but we’re still within the expected timeframe,” the soldier offered.

  Adom closed the console and turned to leave.

  “Commander! Only short-range comms seem to be working because of the increased interference. You should take a Signal Booster module with you!” the soldier called out, his voice swallowed by the wind as Adom vanished into the sand.

  They call themselves the most elite force in the galaxy, yet they’re paralyzed by a sandstorm. Pathetic.

  Adom headed toward an unswept sector he had marked earlier. The storm thickened, but his suit adapted. He moved with precision, scanning the terrain.

  Anat suspects the anomaly is causing the storm — and the interference. If there’s an Ancient structure here—one of the Ancients’ quasi-eternal facilities—it might be tied to a depleted Source Fountain, where the Source pools like fluid.

  Suddenly, a garbled transmission pierced the static:

  “An…t…stru…r…und…tor B-…4…”

  Ancient… structure… found?

  “This is Commander Adom. Repeat — where was the structure located?”

  “St..re…fo…in…74…”

  Sector… B-74. Close enough.

  -Initiating Aerial Mobility Protocol-

  -Gliders: DEPLOYED-

  -Auxiliary Thrusters: DEPLOYED-

  -Evaluating Environment-

  -SOURCE ANOMALY DETECTED-

  -Active Source Compass: COMPROMISED-

  -Main Navigation System: COMPROMISED-

  -Auxiliary Navigation System: COMPROMISED-

  -Aerial Mobility Protocol Completed-

  Wing-like structures unfolded from Adom’s armor, sleek and angular. Energy thrusters ignited along his limbs, humming with restrained power. He adjusted the thrust manually, keeping low to the ground.

  With a burst of energy, he launched forward — first upward, then slicing through the storm like a blade, leaving a shockwave in his wake.

  Five minutes later, Adom landed in Sector B-74, his boots striking the rocky surface with a resonant thud. The terrain groaned beneath him, fractured stone shifting slightly under his weight. Sand clung to his armor in thick, abrasive layers, grinding against the joints with every movement. He deactivated the mobility protocol — thrusters folding back into his suit with a hiss of pressure release, like a beast exhaling.

  The terrain was uneven — jagged stone ridges, shallow dunes, and scattered debris. The storm still raged, a wall of sound and motion. Visibility remained low, but his visor adjusted, filtering out particulate interference and enhancing thermal contrast.

  “This is Adom. I’ve arrived at Sector B-74. Report the structure’s location.”

  Silence.

  “Any personnel in Sector B-74, respond immediately.”

  Still nothing.

  Adom advanced cautiously. His boots left shallow impressions in the sand, only to be erased instantly by the wind — as if the planet refused to acknowledge his presence. Then he saw it: a half-buried object, irregular in shape, partially exposed by the shifting dunes.

  He knelt, brushing away the sand with practiced efficiency.

  A body.

  Star Force armor. No movement. No life.

  His visor scanned the corpse:

  -SFS-05746: DECEASED

  -Cause of Death: Blunt trauma, crushed organs, multiple fractures, internal hemorrhage-

  Adom adjusted his visor’s parameters. More bodies appeared in his field of view — scattered like discarded relics, broken and silent. All showed similar fatal injuries.

  No signs of resistance. No defensive postures. They were caught off guard.

  The storm briefly calmed, forming a pocket of eerie stillness. The sudden quiet felt unnatural — like the planet itself was holding its breath.

  “Ad…you…re…t…lone!” Anat’s voice broke through the comms, distorted and fragmented.

  “Anat, repeat.”

  No reply.

  “Anat?”

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  Then, a voice — not through the comms, but inside his mind.

  “Get out of there!”

  Source Voice.

  She’s using Source Voice—the Key-to-Key mind-channel. That’s reckless. Especially near an uncategorized Ancient structure.

  Adom’s instincts flared. He pivoted sharply — just in time to avoid a massive boulder that tore through the air where he’d stood moments before.

  The sand settled.

  A cloaked figure hovered above a black pyramid rising from the dunes — its surface jagged, ancient, and pulsing faintly with residual energy. The structure radiated a low hum, like a heartbeat buried beneath stone.

  “Finally.”

  The voice was distorted, invasive — not spoken, but projected directly into his mind, bypassing thought and language.

  “Who are you?” Adom replied, using his own Source Voice.

  “You can call me Maroon.”

  “You killed them.”

  “Yes. So fragile they were.”

  Who is this creature? Smart enough to talk, but I can tell it’s no human. It can project its voice through the Source like us Star Knights, but I can’t sense any Key signal.

  “Why?”

  “They found it before I was finished, so I had to do something.”

  The Ancient Structure? Is this thing an Ancient Construct?

  “You don’t realize who you’ve messed with.”

  “I think I do.” A pause. “You must be a Star Knight.”

  It knows about us. How?

  “Yes. I’m Adom — The Mountain Knight.”

  “I’ve longed to meet a Star Knight.”

  “I guess it’s your lucky day.”

  “Let me witness the strength of those who claim to conquer the stars — all while harboring that repulsive blue spirit.”

  Blue. The realm of will every Star Knight drew from.

  Around Maroon, boulders began to rise, levitating in a slow orbit — a silent prelude to chaos.

  Adom summoned his gear. A compact kite shield unfolded from metallic plates on his left forearm, glowing with latent energy. In his right hand, a massive war hammer materialized — nearly the size of his body. Its design matched his armor, with a vivid orange glow pulsing between its components, like molten veins.

  Maroon hurled three boulders in rapid succession.

  Adom charged.

  The first boulder missed, crashing into the sand behind him with a thunderous impact.

  The second was shattered mid-air by a single swing of Adom’s hammer, scattering shards like burning embers.

  The third he blocked — raising his shield as a semi-translucent energy wall expanded outward in the shape of a flattened pyramid. The boulder struck the barrier and disintegrated, causing the wall to flicker with emerald light.

  Maroon raised more boulders — smaller, faster.

  Adom pressed forward.

  The projectiles accelerated, slicing through the air like sonic blades. They struck his armor in rapid succession.

  -Mountain Armor: ACTIVATED-

  A wave of faint green light rippled across Adom’s suit, component by component. The impacts exploded or deflected harmlessly, the armor absorbing kinetic force and dispersing it like ripples in a pond.

  He’s testing me. Measuring response time, shield integrity, movement patterns.

  “I suppose it won’t be that easy,” Maroon muttered, before conjuring thousands of stone stakes around him.

  Adom leapt into the air, hammer raised, aiming a crushing blow at Maroon’s cloaked head.

  With a flick of his arm, Maroon unleashed the stakes in a relentless stream.

  Adom was struck mid-air, sent flying into a distant dune. The sand erupted around him, obscuring the impact in a cloud of dust and debris.

  From the swirling mess, green lights shimmered — the glow of Adom’s shield.

  His silhouette emerged slowly as the sand settled. The energy wall reappeared, now larger than his body, disintegrating every incoming projectile.

  “You chose the wrong element to challenge,” Adom said, regaining his stance.

  He launched forward again, shield raised, charging straight at Maroon.

  For a moment, it seemed he’d landed a direct hit — but Maroon vanished in a burst of red sand.

  Can he become intangible?

  “You possess great strength, Knight… but it’s not enough.”

  The ground trembled beneath Adom’s feet.

  “Adom! Hold on — I’m coming!” Anat’s voice rang through the comms.

  From the depths of the desert, the ground began to tremble.

  The storm — once a raging wall of sand and wind — suddenly halted.

  The air stilled.

  The silence was unnatural. Oppressive.

  Then, the sand erupted.

  A colossal serpent of sand burst forth, diving and twisting through the air like a living cyclone. Its body shimmered with embedded minerals and energy; its movements fluid yet monstrous. At its center, within the creature’s gaping jaws, stood Maroon — cloaked, levitating, and eerily calm.

  A thunderous roar echoed across the dunes, followed by a Source Voice that reverberated inside Adom’s skull:

  “Give your final breath, defender of the blue!”

  The beast lunged.

  Adom raised his shield, bracing for impact — but the sand beneath him gave way, collapsing like a trap. He dropped into the shifting terrain, recalibrating mid-fall.

  The serpent twisted above, its body a cyclone of abrasive mineral. Then — a blast from below. Charred and molten sand shot skyward like meteorites.

  A shadow burst from the explosion — Adom, executing the Aerial Mobility Protocol.

  His wings expanded; thrusters surged. He hovered in the night sky, framed by three moons of different hues as twilight broke.

  -Aerial Combat Mode: ENABLED-

  The sand creature regenerated instantly, its body reforming with unnatural precision. It gave chase.

  How is he controlling such a great amount of matter?

  Adom swung his hammer, launching plasma projectiles with each strike. Superheated fluid detonated on impact, crystallizing sand and tearing through the creature’s mass.

  He dodged every lunge with calculated precision, his suit adjusting trajectory in real time.

  “Flying won’t help you,” Maroon declared, shifting tactics.

  The dragon’s head split into multiple serpents, each moving independently.

  Adom launched guided mini-missiles, disrupting several lunges — but one serpent struck like a drill, grinding into his armor.

  Others followed, striking from multiple vectors.

  The final blow was a whip-like strike that slammed him into the ground, sending shockwaves through the terrain.

  The serpents merged again, reforming the dragon’s head.

  Adom lay wounded. His armor began regenerating, but slowly. Internal systems flagged damage. Blood seeped through exposed tissue.

  Damn it, the attacks ground through my armor. It would be wise to retreat.

  Maroon hovered above.

  “Is it over already? How unfortunate.”

  “So full of yourself…,” Adom barked as he tried to recover. “I’m not sure how you’re controlling that massive thing, but I’ll take you down eventually.”

  “This thing? It is nothing, really. Controlling the storm, on the other hand…”

  Can’t be, the storm extends for thousands of kilometers…

  The dragon’s head morphed into a massive sand drill.

  “This is farewell, Mountain Knight. You did well.”

  Adom raised his shield, half-standing, bracing for the final strike.

  Just before impact, a jet-like fighter descended through the still, dust-laden sky, its engines roaring as it cut through the lingering haze. It dove in low, launching three precision missiles directly into the serpent’s drilling head.

  The explosions struck true — the sand creature flinched, its form rippling and distorting like a mirage under pressure. It halted mid-lunge, reforming into a hardened shell of compressed sand and stone, its surface now dark and crystalline.

  Anat dove in, her fighter weaving through the open air with practiced precision. She unleashed a barrage of explosive strikes — plasma bursts and kinetic rounds hammering the serpent’s flanks. The creature twisted, now on the defensive, launching boulders at high velocity. Anat dodged with expert timing, landing several critical hits.

  “Adom, are you alright?” Anat’s voice crackled through the comms.

  “Thanks for the assist,” Adom replied, voice strained, breath ragged.

  “I don’t think it’s over.”

  The ground trembled again — deeper this time, like the planet itself was groaning.

  “He’s manipulating the terrain at great scale. The storm was his doing. We need to retreat,” Adom said, hopping across broken ridges for stable footing.

  “I have an Atmospheric Atomic Rupture Charge ready in orbit. We can end this now.”

  “You might be right.”

  Adom opened a general channel:

  “All personnel, evacuate immediately. Get inside a Bastion or leave the atmosphere. Everything within a 2500-kilometer radius will be obliterated.”

  Across the comms, chaos erupted. Soldiers scrambled. Dropships lifted off. Bastion bunkers sealed shut. Anat continued her assault, buying time, dodging boulders and landing critical hits.

  “The payload is ready and on its way. We need to go,” Anat said, pulling back. “Target will be hit in 30 seconds.”

  Adom sprinted, wings damaged, thrusters offline. Anat swooped low, and he leapt onto one of the fighter’s wings, gripping the stabilizer as the craft ascended.

  Above them, the orbital base released the Atmospheric Atomic Rupture Charge.

  The bomb pierced the upper atmosphere like a falling star, trailing a glowing tail of condensed energy. The air shimmered, warping from the pressure.

  Then — impact.

  A blinding white flash erupted across the desert. For a moment, there was only silence.

  Then came the roar.

  A colossal explosion bloomed outward in concentric rings of orange, yellow, and deep crimson. The shockwave tore through the landscape, vaporizing sand, rock, and air. The ground cracked and lifted, forming serrated ridges that collapsed under the force.

  The sky darkened. Clouds of scorched matter rose, swirling with violent winds and streaked with orange lightning. The blast’s core pulsed with raw energy, disintegrating everything within a 1500-kilometer radius. Beyond that, residual heat engulfed the remaining 1000 kilometers in a firestorm of plasma and kinetic force.

  The desert was no longer a desert — it was a cratered wasteland of molten glass and fragmented crust.

  “That will definitely leave a mark.” Anat added as she looked at the aftermath.

  “I’m just glad even that can’t dent Ancient structures.” Adom expressed. “Any chance you let me in?”

  “No way—this is a single-seat craft.” Anat chuckled. “Besides, your armor is even tougher than mine. You could be swimming in those lava rivers and live to tell.”

  “Don’t you remember I was badly hurt back there?”

  “Can’t see any visible injury on you…”

  “Well, I’m still processing the trauma.”

  “Of course, the Mountain Knight needs some time to recover from a superficial wound.”

  “Enough, haha. Circle back when it’s safe. I want to see if anything remains of that creature. It fought like one of us.”

  “Understood.”

  Anat flew over the aftermath once conditions allowed. Her fighter’s sensors scanned the scorched expanse.

  Adom’s armor held. He jumped down, landing near the original battlefield.

  Rivers of molten lava ran through the crater, glowing like veins of fire. The heat shimmered, distorting the horizon. His visor picked up something unusual — the Ancient structure, partially unearthed.

  “Impressive. That is a gigantic Ancient structure. I’m guessing, by its exposed components, it was a research facility. I’ve seen a few of those on other barren planets. Maybe they exploited the natural environment to conduct experiments without major repercussions.”

  The black pyramid remained intact. Scorched, but unbroken. It stood exposed at the crater’s center, revealed as the topmost section of a far larger Ancient complex. Angular monoliths and charred remnants of unknown purpose surrounded it, encircled by lava flows and splintered rock formations.

  “Let’s bail. We need to restructure the operation and report what happened.” Anat recommended as she watched Adom from above.

  “You’re right. Let’s go,” Adom replied, scanning the landscape one last time.

  “Wait… the anomaly,” Anat added. “It’s messing with my instruments.”

  Adom’s visor flickered. The anomaly was growing — its influence spreading like a pulse of dread. His suit systems glitched. A suffocating sensation crept over him, like standing before a beast ready to devour him whole.

  “Did you feel that?” Anat asked.

  “Yes. Something’s wrong with this place.”

  “The anomaly nearly brought me down.”

  “Come get me. We should get as far as possible from the Ancient—”

  Before Adom could finish, he felt a familiar presence behind him.

  “It’s not over, dear Knight. After all, I am a Red Apostle. I cannot be defeated by simple means.”

  A title, not a name. And the confidence behind it didn’t sound human.

  Maroon’s voice echoed inside Adom’s mind — cold, invasive.

  Adom spun and swung his hammer — but Maroon vanished in a cloud of red dust.

  “Adom?!” Anat called out.

  “I apologize for toying with you. I was trained to deter your leader, Fenrir.”

  Adom turned again. Maroon stood closer now, his cloak fluttering unnaturally in the still air.

  “So improper of me to play with my prey.”

  Adom felt a sudden warmth beneath his armor. He looked down.

  Three crescent-shaped blades hovered beside Maroon, glowing faintly.

  “It is time to sleep for eternity, valorous Knight.”

  Adom tried to move — but his body refused. His thoughts slowed. His senses dulled.

  Despair gripped him — then faded into a strange, peaceful stillness.

  A final surrender.

  — ? —

  From the cockpit, Anat watched in horror as Adom’s body disassembled into pieces — blood splattering across the scorched earth.

  She froze.

  Her mind refused to process what her eyes confirmed.

  Then the scream tore through her — raw, primal.

  “ADOM!” she cried, her voice cracking.

  “I’LL KILL YOU!” she roared, fury overtaking grief.

  She accelerated toward Maroon, firing with precision to avoid Adom’s remains.

  Maroon dissolved into red dust and reformed a few meters away, untouched.

  “I am sorry for your loss. But you couldn’t do anything about it.”

  His voice echoed in her mind — cold and clinical.

  His right arm trembled, transforming into a long, twisted, thin spear. In a blink, it pierced Anat’s fighter, sending it spiraling in flames.

  “Until next time, woman Knight. Tell Fenrir we came to end his pact with the blue.”

  Anat heard his twisted voice one last time before the fighter crashed.

  It didn’t explode — it broke into three pieces. The cockpit’s integrity held, sparing her from fatal injury.

  She crawled out, slightly limping toward Adom’s remains, nearly 100 meters away.

  Her suit began healing her minor injuries as she pushed forward, refusing to slow down.

  She sent a signal to the orbital base: Medical Pod requested. Emergency.

  She saw the flatline on Adom’s signal — but refused to accept it.

  The Med Pod arrived just as she reached him.

  Her eyes met the horror again. Tears welled up.

  Adom’s legs were severed cleanly. His chest split at the sternum. His head, still encased in his helmet, lay beside the body — a grim testament to the safety protocol that sometimes preserved neural integrity.

  She hurried to place the pieces inside the Med Pod, hoping against hope.

  The pod initiated reconstruction — then halted.

  ERROR: ORGANISM DAMAGE BEYOND RECOVERY. RECONSTRUCTION ABORTED.

  Anat tried again. And again. Her hands trembled. Her voice cracked.

  She knew the protocol. She knew the limits.

  But she still tried — because there was nothing left to do.

  She cried silently, until the pod’s final alert confirmed the truth.

  She gave up.

  Ignoring her deep grief, she took the Med Pod back to the orbital base as protocol ordered.

  Anat stood inside the observation deck, her eyes fixed on the planet below.

  The once-storm-ridden desert was now a scorched wasteland. From orbit, the crater left by the Atmospheric Atomic Rupture Charge glowed faintly — rivers of molten lava traced serrated paths across the surface, like veins of fire bleeding from the wound of battle.

  The black pyramid stood defiantly at the center, partially unearthed, its obsidian surface reflecting the light of destruction. It was only the tip of a far larger Ancient structure, now exposed.

  She established a Source Link to Aegis Prime—an encrypted Key conduit that held even when comms collapsed—requesting an emergency meeting with Fenrir, the Star Knight leader.

  -Source Link Connection Established-

  “…Adom’s dead,” Anat said, her voice hollow.

  “I know,” replied Fenrir, his voice proud but subdued.

  “You know? How—?”

  “I felt it. His Key is connected to mine.”

  Anat paused. She wanted to ask why he hadn’t intervened — but she already knew.

  “He was killed by a powerful being. He called himself Maroon. A Red Apostle. Adom’s system log recorded the transcripts of a Source Voice conversation. Maroon said he was trained to deter you. To end your pact with the blue…”

  “Source Voice? Only Star Knights can do that.”

  “You aren’t listening. He was expecting you! The strongest of us…” Anat said, trying to suppress her broken voice. “But it met Adom, and cut him like he was made of the softest material…”

  “…”

  “How are we supposed to face something like that? How can you tell us we are the strongest beings in the universe? Did you know something about this?”

  “…”

  “Answer me!” she demanded, enraged.

  “No, I did not know anything about that thing.” Fenrir answered with a plain tone.

  “Tell me he can be saved…” Anat broke into tears, crying. No restraint left.

  “I’m sorry…” he tried to console her.

  “There must be something you can do, right?” Anat let out a macabre laugh. “After all, you are the grandiose Fenrir. The founder of the Star Knights. Nothing is impossible to you.”

  “I can’t do anything. His body is severely damaged, beyond repair.”

  “You bastard…” Anat stopped herself, her expression shifting to fear after realizing what she’d said.

  “I’m terminating the mission. Return immediately, Anat.” Fenrir replied, without any change in his voice.

  “Roger…” Anat replied, ending the connection.

  She informed the remaining forces of Fenrir’s decision and prepared for departure.

  As she watched the planet from orbit, her thoughts burned with grief and fury.

  Adom was gone.

  But his legacy wasn’t.

  “You will pay for this, Maroon.” Anat said openly, her eyes fixed into the void, enraged and grieving.

  She turned away from the viewport, her reflection fading into the shadows of the command deck.

  The war had begun.