Ieya was not just a planet. It was a living cosmic anomaly, a permanent tear in the fabric of time.
This world followed laws that no rational being could comprehend.
Here, time flowed in chaotic currents, constantly reshaping the planet’s surface and very essence.
Some regions remained frozen in time for millennia, while others suffered accelerated loops, violently projecting the future or resurrecting the past.
A rocky desert stretched for thousands of kilometers, swept by abrasive winds for countless ages.
But sometimes, without warning, rains of condensed eons fell in an instant: millions of years of erosion and precipitation collapsing in mere seconds.
The desert transformed into an inland sea, its cliffs dissolving under the sheer pressure of time.
Within the span of a few heartbeats, the geography reshaped itself. Rocky islands, remnants of a frozen past, emerged to the surface, serving as precarious refuges for the rare life forms capable of surviving this brutality.
Once, a towering mountain range stood proud.
Yet, at unpredictable intervals, its peaks became ghostly mirages.
Through temporal inversion, the mountains collapsed, not from natural disasters but from the crushing weight of their own past.
Entire geological layers vanished, erased as if they had never existed.
At other times, the mountains reappeared, taller, reshaped by an uncertain future where nonexistent glaciers had carved their peaks.
These manifestations were accompanied by temporal vibrations so powerful that they distorted reality itself, warping space for those daring enough to approach.
A vast forest once filled a deep valley.
It was a forest aware of its own time cycles.
At times, the trees blossomed in bursts of vitality, only to wither within minutes, then return to youthful sprouts.
Ancient plants, long dead, would suddenly reappear, their essence renewed by a loop in time.
The creatures that tried to survive there had to adapt: evolving at accelerated rates, their species living through entire generations in mere days to sustain themselves against the planet’s distortions.
Even the oceans were victims of this instability.
Temporal rifts opened above the waves.
In these abysses, time flowed backward, swallowing everything that drifted too close. Fish, entire waves, even portions of the sky, consumed by the reverse current and sent back into nonexistence.
These stellar fractures appeared as crystalline storms, illuminating Ieya’s nights with surreal hues, ranging from icy blue to burning crimson.
Only a few beings survived these relentless anomalies.
The Time Wanderers were semi-material entities, their forms shifting and indistinct, lingering on the edge between physical existence and pure temporal flux.
They were visible only in the rare stable zones, where time flowed normally.
Yet, they seemed aware of the changes to come, gliding between layers of reality, never fully present.
On Ieya, nothing was stable.
Every step was a prayer to the currents of time.
The landscapes, as breathtaking as they were treacherous, bore silent witness to an endless struggle between natural order and temporal chaos.
This world defied all logic.
Each shift, each alteration was both the beginning and the end of an era.
Ieya, the planet of infinite possibilities, remained the ultimate enigma. A place where the future could be born from a forgotten past… or vanish forever in the blink of an eye.
Ieya, 10,000 Years Ago
On the ever-unstable planet of Ieya, the Time Wanderers had once drifted like silent shadows through the chaotic currents of time.
Their semi-material existence, suspended between being and non-being, had long been dictated by the anomaly that tore this world apart.
But over time, they learned to listen, to perceive the patterns in the temporal waves, to sense the irregular beats and endless resonances.
Then, they did far more than survive.
They learned to manipulate time itself.
By harnessing the nodes of balance (the rare points of temporal stability) they began constructing sanctuaries of pure energy.
This marked the birth of the Precursors: a civilization of unimaginable sophistication, existing outside of time itself, shaping their society through mastery of temporal cycles.
The cities of the Precursors were like nothing else in the universe.
Their structures rose as translucent spires of crystallized matter, capturing the light from temporal anomalies like living prisms.
The towers pierced the clouds, their peaks sometimes merging with temporal storms drifting through Ieya’s unstable atmosphere.
Each city was a node of balance, where time flowed at a constant rate, forming islands of stability in a sea of chaos.
Surrounding these bastions, massive energy-extraction fields were constructed. Technologies that drew power from temporal distortions themselves.
This power became the lifeblood of the Precursors, fueling their growth and prosperity.
The Precursors had discovered how to drain energy from anomalies without disturbing the planet’s delicate balance.
They siphoned excess temporal surges to stabilize the nodes. A source of limitless power that secured their dominance.
It was an era of unprecedented expansion and innovation.
They even began experimenting with Ieya’s natural time loops, seeking ways to alter causality itself.
But their arrogance sealed their fate.
Drunk on their own mastery, the Precursors attempted to unify all stable nodes, weaving them into a grand temporal network.
Their goal?
To erase the chaos of Ieya forever. To turn it into a perfect world of order.
They failed.
The energy drawn by the network surpassed the planet’s critical threshold.
One by one, the nodes collapsed, triggering a devastating chain reaction.
What was meant to stabilize Ieya instead unleashed a cataclysmic temporal storm.
A wave of destruction swept across the world, erasing cities, mountains, oceans and even fragments of history.
Entire events vanished, wiped from the fabric of time as if they had never existed.
When the storm finally subsided, Ieya was left as a barren husk, locked in a distant future where time itself seemed frozen.
The oceans had evaporated.
The mountains lay shattered.
The great cities of the Precursors were erased, as if they had never been.
Over time, these survivors split into three distinct groups, each following a different path, driven by their ambitions, their regrets, or their thirst for power.
The first group, preserving their former name of Precursors, remained loyal to the legacy of their destroyed civilization.
They were obsessed with the idea of restoring their past glory and correcting the fatal mistake that had annihilated Ieya.
Refusing to abandon their semi-material nature, they continued searching for ways to utilize the residual temporal nodes still present on the planet.
Their goal was clear: to rebuild what had been lost, to restore the splendor of their once-great cities, but without repeating the mistakes of the past.
However, their power had diminished, and without a stable source of temporal energy, their efforts remained futile, confined to isolated experiments and the fading echoes of their former greatness.
The second group, which became known as the Thinkers, took an entirely different path.
Traumatized by the destruction of Ieya and fully aware of their role in the catastrophe, they rejected all notions of domination or excessive ambition.
The Thinkers chose to transcend their physical form, becoming pure observers, detaching themselves from the limitations of linear time.
They dedicated themselves to studying the temporal currents, seeking to understand the endless complexities of the multiverse, yet vowing never to interfere directly.
Their role became that of silent witnesses, watchers of infinite possibilities, always hesitant to influence the course of events.
Their presence on Ieya became a mystery, a whisper in the desert winds, listening to the echoes of lost eras.
The third group, however, chose a darker path.
Consumed by a hunger for power and the desire to reclaim some form of lost supremacy, these survivors abandoned their energy-based existence and chose to fully materialize.
They became the first of the Gulls. A new entity, shaped to dominate the material world.
In exchange for their pure energy, they gained terrifying, powerful bodies, constructed from dense matter and perfected biological structures.
But this transformation came at a price:
Their ability to manipulate time was lost.
What they lost in subtlety, they compensated for with sheer brutality and an advanced mastery of technology.
The dream of the Gulls was simple but terrifying:
To conquer the material world and establish themselves as the undisputed masters of a universe they could no longer shape through time, but one they could enslave by force.
The Gulls left Ieya, viewing the planet as nothing more than a useless remnant of their failed past.
They turned their ambition toward the stars, seeking to conquer other worlds, beginning with those whose civilizations had yet to learn the lessons of time.
Thus, the planet Ieya remained a silent graveyard of what it once had been.
While the Precursors struggled to preserve what remained of their glorious past, and the Thinkers isolated themselves in timeless observation, the Gulls set out to sow chaos and enslavement across the galaxy.
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Yet, the temporal currents of Ieya had not entirely vanished.
Some whisper that the shadow of the Precursors still lingers, and that the Thinkers, despite their oath of non-intervention, continue to subtly influence the fate of those who dare to defy the natural flow of time.
Deep within Ieya’s temporal depths, residual echoes persist: phantom loops, reflections of vanished cities, visible only to those capable of seeing beyond the present.
Alan’s atmospheric micro-shuttle waited in a clearing, bathed in the golden light of the setting sun.
Twisted olive trees, their gnarled trunks grown from bioengineering centers, dotted the landscape, their elegant branches reaching skyward.
The ground was covered in a blanket of wildflowers, white and yellow, standing in stark contrast to the gray-green foliage of the trees.
The stillness of this place soothed the mind.
With a soft hum, the shuttle lifted off, skimming the treetops before following the gentle slopes of a hill, covered in orderly rows of olive trees planted in tight, rhythmic alignment.
Each tree, almost identical to its neighbor, seemed to follow the heartbeat of a collective rhythm.
On the opposite side, vast stretches of barren land extended as far as the eye could see, a reminder of how much the planet had suffered.
But the transition between the reborn nature and the still-sterile lands carried a message of hope:
Reconstruction was underway.
Alan landed near a large red seed-sower, stationed in a freshly plowed field.
The massive, sophisticated machine stood as a sculpted monument, designed to transform barren land into a cradle of life.
Each carefully traced row in the soil represented a future promise of renewed biodiversity.
Deciding to continue on foot, Alan ventured forward, his boots sinking into the deep furrows, forming a hypnotic pattern in the rich brown soil.
The air was fresh, carrying the earthy scent of freshly turned ground.
On the horizon, a solitary tree stood, silhouetted against the deep blue sky, a symbol of resilience and renewal.
With each step, Alan felt himself drawn closer, not just to Jennel, but to the dream they shared:
To see Earth rise again from its ashes.
In the distance, Alan spotted Jennel walking slowly among the carefully laid furrows in the dark soil.
Two small figures trotted joyfully at her side, each holding one of their mother’s hands.
A smile formed on Alan’s lips.
The smallest, barely three years old, was Michel: a reflection of Alan, with his mischievous eyes, his messy dark hair, and the curious grin that never left his face.
Beside him, walking with more confidence, was Jade, five years old, inheriting her mother’s grace, with a gentle intelligence shining in her gaze.
Alan raised his arm in a broad welcoming gesture, a silent call filled with love and pride.
The two children exchanged a quick glance with Jennel, seeking silent approval.
With a simple nod, she gave them the permission they had been eagerly waiting for.
They dashed forward, racing across the furrows, their laughter echoing in the clear evening air.
The earth itself seemed to vibrate beneath their feet, as if each step was giving the planet back a piece of the life it had lost.
"Daddy!"
Michel’s clear voice pierced the silence of the countryside.
Alan knelt down, arms wide open. Just as the two children crashed into him, wrapping him in pure, unrestrained warmth.
At that moment, the whole world faded away, leaving only this perfect instant.
And then, he understood.
In a sudden moment of clarity, he realized what had just happened:
The last dream of Jennel: the one she had often spoken of in half-whispers, never daring to fully believe in it.
The dream of a family, united, free, on a reborn Earth.
Up on the ridge, Jennel had stopped.
She watched the scene, hands crossed over her chest, a breath caught between disbelief and fulfillment.
Her eyes shone with emotion, and Alan saw it clearly: she understood too.
They had finally achieved everything.
Under a blazing sun, the small cove below the villa offered a spectacle of pure serenity.
The fine, golden sand shimmered under the sunlight, while gentle waves lapped at the shore in a soothing murmur.
The water was crystal-clear, revealing smooth pebbles beneath the surface.
A light breeze rustled the branches of the bushes lining the beach, carrying with it a salty scent and refreshing gusts of air.
Alan and Jennel lay on sun loungers, enjoying this rare day of relaxation.
Nearby, Michel and his younger sister, Ambre, laughed as they splashed around in the water, their joyful shrieks filling the air.
Even in this peaceful setting, Alan's protective instincts never fully faded.
Each time Ambre splashed a little too far from the shore, a small flicker of concern crossed his face. Something that always amused Jennel, who was endlessly touched by her husband’s near-obsessive tenderness toward their children.
Much like his father, Michel showed a natural vigilance, always making sure his little sister didn’t stray too far.
His watchful affection was already a reflection of Alan’s constant attention, a mirror image of the instincts that had kept Alan alive through countless battles.
Meanwhile, back at the villa, their eldest daughter, Jade, remained focused on her studies.
Although hypno-learning allowed her to assimilate knowledge rapidly, practical exercises were still essential.
Concepts only truly made sense when applied to the real world.
Suddenly, the calm was shattered by Jade’s excited footsteps rushing onto the terrace.
Her eyes sparkled with urgency as she called out:
“Papa! You have an urgent call from Aunt Xi!”
Jennel’s smile widened.
Since President Xi Mano's visit the year before, Jade had taken to calling her "Aunt Xi". A title that would likely have raised an eyebrow among the strict Xi ranks.
But this familiarity had never been corrected.
On the contrary, it seemed to amuse the Commandant.
In an instant, Alan was on his feet.
He ascended the stairs swiftly, his footsteps purposeful as he made his way to the communications terminal.
With a quick command, he activated the holographic projector, and Xi Mano’s image materialized.
Alan immediately noticed her uncharacteristic tension.
Though her Xi physiology made physical expressions difficult to read, Alan could perceive her Specter with ease.
“Greetings, Alan de Sol. An event requires your attention.”
A direct approach, as expected from the Xi.
She wasted no time explaining:
The Arwians had just issued an unprecedented distress signal across the Imperium, which was immediately relayed to the Confederation under the terms of the mutual defense pact.
This alert was unlike any before: it automatically engaged all allied forces, a mechanism only activated in response to an existential galactic threat.
“A massive object has been detected emerging from hyper-quantum transfer in the Outer Marches of the Imperium.”
“Enormous size. No outgoing communications.”
The sheer scale of its stasis field was staggering, surpassing even the known capabilities of the Gulls.
Tension escalated further when scout ships sent to investigate never returned.
The few blurred images captured from a distance revealed an ominous, colossal structure, its architecture disturbingly familiar.
The intricate, geometric patterns unmistakably resembled Gull warships.
A chilling possibility arose:
Could this be the return of the Gulls, a force that should have disappeared forever?
“Awaiting further intelligence on its trajectory and potential objective.”
Xi Mano then asked Alan:
“Should we mobilize the Confederation’s forces?”
Alan took a breath.
His response was measured, but firm:
“You are the President of the Confederation. Your judgment takes precedence.”
Xi Mano’s spectral gaze held his.
“And you, Grand Admiral?”
Her voice carried a subtle nuance of respect, a rare shift in Xi diplomacy.
Alan’s lips curled slightly.
“That rank doesn’t officially exist.”
Xi Mano’s response was immediate:
“It is not a rank. It is a fact.”
Alan attempted to deflect:
“There are admirals and vice-admirals within the fleet. What do they think?”
Xi Mano remained unfazed:
“I want the opinion of my Grand Admiral.”
Alan closed his eyes briefly, his mind processing the logistical nightmare ahead.
Then, his decision fell like a blade:
“Declare full-scale alert.”
A brief silence.
Then, a solemn nod from Xi Mano.
“It will be done within the next fifteen minutes.”
Mobilizing the Confederation’s fleet was no simple matter.
Its cruisers were scattered across 21 planetary systems.
To make things worse, nearly all of them were without crew, their personnel focused on rebuilding their homeworlds.
On Earth, for example, urgent transport had to be arranged to reactivate the fleet.
With 100 warships stationed in orbit, they needed an immediate mass deployment of military and civilian transports to retrieve their scattered crews.
Only one fully operational cruiser remained in orbit.
The rest had to be manned as quickly as possible.
At least, one small advantage remained:
All ships in orbit were fully armed.
Yet another challenge loomed:
The 7,500 children of the first new generation.
Their safety was now a critical priority.
They were swiftly organized into age-based groups and transported to pre-established security sites, each already equipped with assigned personnel.
These fortified shelters, enhanced with state-of-the-art protection systems, were activated in major planetary complexes, ensuring their survival in case of prolonged crisis.
Jennel’s heart clenched at the thought of leaving her children behind.
As did every other parent.
But she knew—they all knew—that they had to be ready.
And she was.
Yet, for the first time in years, she felt that familiar, long-forgotten sensation: a looming threat, a dark shadow approaching.
And now, as a mother, it was infinitely worse.
Jennel donned her uniform: that of a Confederation Fleet Commander.
Alan fastened his own, the insignia of Admiral gleaming on his chest.
Jade, ever the stoic, tried to hide her emotions, especially in front of her younger siblings.
Her eyes widened as she took in their imposing presence, clad in the uniforms of legends.
“Wow! You look amazing!”
It was the first time she had ever seen them like this.
For her, they were not just her parents anymore.
They were myths brought to life.
Their official assignments arrived:
-
Alan de Sol, Grand Admiral, Supreme Commander of the Confederation Armed Forces.
-
Jennel de Sol, Fleet Commander, Aide-de-camp to the Grand Admiral.
Xi Mano had not held back.
Mehmet greeted Alan and Jennel as they stepped onto the command deck of the flagship.
As soon as they entered, he gave a slight bow and announced in a grave tone:
“A message from Admiral Arin Tar has arrived.”
Alan nodded, taking his place before the tactical hologram.
“Summarize.”
Mehmet brought up the data on the main screen, detailing the trajectory of the mysterious unknown vessel.
“The object has executed a hyper-quantum transfer.”
“Its emergence point is deep within the Imperium, but in a sparsely populated sector.”
“It appears to be moving slowly, and its direct trajectory does not indicate either the Confederation Complex or a strategic Arwian system as a target.”
“Currently, it seems to require significant time to reactivate its stasis field.”
Alan already had the apparition points mapped on his tactical interface, analyzing the possible movement patterns.
He frowned, studying the trajectory models.
Jennel stepped closer, her gaze locked onto the data stream.
“It could be trying to deceive us,” she mused.
Alan scrolled through the possible routes.
Nothing seemed logical.
There was no obvious target along this path.
Jennel placed a hand on the command panel and addressed the AI:
“Zoom out.”
The hologram expanded, revealing a much larger region, extending the vessel’s trajectory beyond Imperium borders.
A heavy silence fell over the bridge as new projections refined the calculations.
Jennel traced a virtual line and pointed to a registered location—but one outside known territories.
“Ieya.”
Alan’s eyes fixed on the blinking marker on the map.
His expression hardened.
He turned slightly toward Jennel, a subtle smile of approval touching his lips.
“Good call, Commander.”
For a long moment, he remained silent, his fingers lightly tapping the edge of the terminal.
The atmosphere on the bridge grew heavier.
Then, after careful thought, he straightened and ordered:
“Open a connection with all admirals of the Confederation fleet.”
One by one, the icons of senior officers materialized in the hologram grid.
Alan crossed his arms and met their gazes with unwavering determination.
“Here are my orders.”
“You will all immediately regroup at the Complex and await further instructions.”
“I want the fleet reorganized with all operational components at full readiness.”
He paused.
Then, his voice deepened.
“Under no circumstances are you to approach that foreign vessel, regardless of its trajectory.”
A murmur of concern and questioning rippled through the tactical comm-line.
One of the admirals dared to ask:
“Why, Admiral?”
Jennel watched Alan intently, sensing that his reasoning extended beyond simple strategic caution.
Alan’s response was slow, deliberate, each word carrying weight:
“Because I do not rule out the possibility that this vessel, if it is Gull, possesses a short-range nanite deactivator.”
“If it gets close, it could neutralize our biological defenses in an instant.”
A heavy silence followed his words.
Then, turning to Mehmet, he issued the final order in a firm, unwavering voice:
“Set course for Ieya.”