Chapter 24, Part 1

  They walked the final hundred meters in silence, skirting the ravine until the squad descended into a clearing protected by rock formations. Dossian walked at the front. The air was denser down there, charged with a barely perceptible electricity, as if the earth itself were holding its breath. In the distance, the roar of battle vibrated like a remote echo. But in that clearing, everything was still.

  They had arrived.

  Dossian raised a hand. Three soldiers advanced with portable scanners. One of them murmured confirmation. The coordinates matched.

  Reis stepped forward, eyes wide open. His chest felt tight, his mouth dry. In front of him, barely protruding from the ground, was a structure made of rusted metal and artificial ceramic plates. Nothing in its appearance seemed important. But the longer he looked at it, the more he understood.

  It was the heart of a technological device.

  The sensors vibrated with a faint, unstable frequency. One of the soldiers instinctively stepped back, as if the structure repelled him.

  “This… this is real,” Reis muttered, removing his helmet with trembling hands. “What is this?”

  Dossian remained motionless, his eyes fixed on the structure.

  “How is there architecture like this here?” Reis added, looking at Dossian. “What is our mission really?”

  Without taking his eyes off it, Dossian answered:

  “It’s an Omnis module. Its range only covers part of this planet. Our order was to reach this point and activate it.”

  Reis’s eyes widened in disbelief.

  Omnis? The artificial intelligence? Why would they want to activate Omnis if it couldn’t provide any military benefit? Unless…

  “We’re doing something illegal,” Reis said. “We’re going to activate Omnis’ military function.”

  The comment fell like a stone in the middle of the group. Jevin let out an incredulous laugh.

  “Reis, what are you talking about?”

  “Don’t mess around, Reis,” Alis snapped. “This isn’t the time to imagine things.”

  “He’s not imagining anything,” Dossian interrupted. “It’s the truth. The war has been turning against us, but today we can win because of this. We have air forces ready to be piloted by Omnis. It will only be for a few minutes, so no one suspects, and then real soldiers will attack. Everything we kill with Omnis will be pure gain. It’s the way to make sure we can win the war.”

  The group fell silent. Reis looked at each of them, but none returned his gaze. Didn’t anyone see it? It was madness.

  “General Glass,” Reis said, bringing his hand toward his weapon, “given your criminal activity, I am obligated to relieve you of your command. You can—”

  Dossian cut him off, his voice like a dry blow:

  “Shut your mouth.”

  Reis turned toward him. The entire squad went silent.

  “You have an order,” Dossian continued. “And you’re going to carry it out.”

  Reis aimed directly at Dossian.

  “I can’t.”

  “I don’t care what you can or can’t do. We’re not lone heroes. You’re part of a team. And you’re going to do what you’re told.”

  Reis looked at Alis.

  “Alis, disarm the general, please.”

  She looked at him in silence, without moving. The rest of the group remained the same.

  Now Dossian addressed the girl.

  “Alis, disarm Lieutenant Zimmerman immediately and make sure he cannot obstruct the path.”

  One second was enough.

  Alis moved forward.

  Reis barely managed to turn the weapon toward her when he felt the sharp impact on his wrist. The shot never fired. The pistol fell to the ground with a metallic sound that seemed too loud for the place.

  “Alis, listen to me,” Reis said, stepping back. “You don’t understand what we’re doing. This isn’t—”

  She did not answer. She pivoted, grabbed his arm with technical precision and twisted it behind his back until the joint cracked. Reis fell to his knees.

  “Alis, please,” he insisted, his voice breaking. “This isn’t how we win. Not like this.”

  She tore the magazine from his vest, took his secondary weapon, shoved him against the rock and forced him face down.

  Reis lifted his head just enough to look at the others.

  “This is madness! We’ll be judged for this!”

  No one answered.

  Only the wind, barely perceptible.

  Dossian passed by him without looking at him.

  He knelt in front of the structure.

  He removed an access module and fitted it into a slot that had seemed invisible until that moment. The metal responded with a deep internal click, as if something very ancient had been awakened.

  He entered the coordinates manually. His fingers did not tremble.

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then a soft metallic sound began to expand from the core, a low, sustained hum, like the heartbeat of a machine buried underground.

  The plates vibrated. The ground beneath their boots trembled.

  And then the surge came.

  An invisible wave struck them violently and threw them backward. The air compressed all at once, ripping screams and dust from the clearing. Reis rolled over the gravel, feeling the pressure empty his lungs.

  The hum transformed into a pulse. A single one. Clear. Perfect.

  Silence.

  Reis opened his eyes.

  He saw Jevin pushing himself up slowly. Alis on her knees, stunned. The others rising one by one.

  Dossian was already on his feet.

  He was looking toward the horizon.

  Reis felt it too. Not in his ears. Not on his skin. In something deeper.

  A cold, definitive certainty.

  Omnis had been activated.

  The murmur of the pit grew thicker as the first light of day descended through the upper opening. It was not direct sunlight, only a pale reflection, distorted by the moisture of the rocks and the smoke of the torches still burning. The air was dense, as if it knew what was coming. Harlan stood, keeping distance from Nolan, Karr, and Mikael, all silent, aligned like soldiers about to enter combat. No one had said it, but they felt it: this was the moment.

  Rodrick Viulk approached Nolan slowly, emerging from the shadows with the same unsettling calm that characterized him. His face was relaxed, as if he had slept well, as if he knew with absolute certainty that the future held no secrets for him. He stopped a few steps from the group and, in a low voice loaded with innate authority, spoke the two words that sealed everyone’s fate:

  “It’s time.”

  No one answered at first. They only looked at one another, as if searching for a way to deny the inevitable without opening their mouths. Harlan did not need confirmation: that was the signal.

  And then they felt it.

  The dry footsteps of the High Priest descending into the pit. The metallic clinking of the rings on his fingers, the robe dragging with a grave whisper over the damp stone. He was not alone: four Balmoreans accompanied him, armed, their faces expressionless. There was no room for doubt, no room for escape.

  Nolan swallowed, keeping his body upright. The priest studied him carefully. He did not speak at first. He simply raised a skeletal hand and pointed firmly at him.

  “You.”

  The word fell like a stone into a pond, breaking the tension into a thousand fragments.

  Nolan stepped forward immediately, as if reflex were faster than thought. Karr moved between Nolan and the guards without hesitation, while Mikael shook his head in contained fury.

  Maybe it was right. Maybe the Orphean Order truly was madness. Maybe Harlan, once far from Nolan’s presence, could be saved.

  “No,” Nolan said firmly. “Let it happen.”

  “We won’t allow it,” Karr snapped. “They’re not taking you. Not today.”

  The Balmoreans stopped, tense, as if evaluating whether there would be physical resistance. The priest did not even blink. Nolan observed them all with a mixture of tenderness and resolve. Then, in a calm voice, worn by the sleepless night but firmer than ever, he spoke:

  “Enough.”

  Both turned toward him. Karr looked ready to die fighting. Mikael, speechless, kept shaking his head, unable to accept it.

  “You stay alive. For me.”

  He paused for a second, holding back the knot in his throat, turning his gaze toward Harlan.

  “I hope this clears everything up…”

  Harlan looked at him, bewildered, but said nothing.

  Karr lowered his shoulders in impotence. Mikael covered his face with one hand.

  Nolan turned to the priest and walked of his own will. Each step hurt, but it did not alter his decision. At least the torture would end.

  But he kept walking.

  When he passed Rodrick Viulk, he looked him straight in the eyes. Viulk said nothing. He only nodded once, with an indecipherable expression.

  He climbed the last steps without looking back. He did not want dramatic farewells. He did not want his friends to remember him with a hunched back or a distorted face. He wanted them to remember him as what he was in that moment: someone who, for once, chose.

  And he did it for them.

  Nolan walked between the guards, flanked by two armed figures and preceded by the High Priest, who advanced with the solemnity of someone who believed himself master of time. The camp was in a state of dense, expectant calm. No one spoke. No one breathed more than necessary. Only the crackling of torches and the acrid smell of incense rose above the silence. It was the prelude to sacrifice.

  But Nolan was not afraid.

  There was nothing left to fear.

  When they turned toward the central square, something shone on the horizon.

  A flash.

  Then another.

  Nolan narrowed his eyes.

  And then he understood.

  Silent and fast, the projectiles began to cut across the sky with chilling precision. They were not random fires, nor a blind rain of destruction. They were tactical shots, directed at key points.

  The first impact shook the ground, a controlled explosion that made the camp walls tremble. Then came another. And another. Chaos erupted with brutal efficiency.

  “We’re under attack!” one of the guards shouted, bringing his communicator to his mouth. “Zone three and four under fire! Repeat, we are under attack!”

  The High Priest looked toward the sky as if someone had interrupted a sacred ritual, his frown turning into a mask of frustration.

  Nolan could barely process what he felt. It was more than surprise. More than fear.

  It was hope.

  For the first time in days, real hope. The kind that does not come in words but in fire, in hurried footsteps, in the dry sound of weapons carving through screams.

  The separatists began running in all directions. Some toward the trenches, others toward the weapon depots. Alarms rang, mixed with Balmorean chants that rose like aborted prayers.

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  The priest tried to regain control.

  “Maintain formation! The sacrifice continues!”

  But no one was listening.

  One of the guards, without even looking at him, grabbed Nolan by the arm.

  “Take him back to the prisoners. This is on hold.”

  It was the first time Nolan heard genuine fear in a Balmorean’s voice.

  The priest glared at him, but did not protest. Not while the sky was collapsing on them.

  They dragged Nolan through explosions and screams. In the background, a shot crossed the air, grazing one of the ritual banners, which fell wrapped in flames. Harlan turned his head: the shadows of the attackers slid along the flanks of the camp like a trained tide. They were soldiers, but not separatists.

  Whoever they were, they knew exactly what they were doing.

  When the guards threw him back into the prisoners’ pit, the gate slammed shut behind him. Karr and Mikael turned immediately.

  “What happened?” Karr asked, breathless.

  Nolan did not answer at first. He looked around, at his friends’ faces, at the other captives. Something burst in his chest, not from pain but from conviction.

  “THERE’S WAR!” he shouted with all the strength in his lungs. “WE HAVE TO ESCAPE! NOW!!”

  The silence lasted a fraction of a second.

  Then it shattered.

  The roar of the prisoners was like the cry of an animal trapped too long.

  Rodrick Viulk appeared at the cell entrance, calm as always, but with a short steel knife in his hand. He did not say a word. He only nodded.

  Chaos erupted.

  Nolan helped Harlan to his feet, gripping his arm.

  “Let’s go! We won’t get another chance!”

  He grabbed a rifle from the ground without hesitation and fired at a Balmorean trying to seal the exit. Harlan ran behind him, feeling the tremor of the walls, the screams, the bodies colliding.

  Karr and Mikael went ahead, pushing the others, shouting names, keeping the group together. Harlan followed, still staggering, still incredulous.

  It was not just an escape.

  It was an exodus.

  And even though the camp burned behind them, in that moment only one thing mattered.

  They were alive.

  And they were running toward freedom.

  The sky above the Undulating Valley was a mosaic of fire and shadow, an abyss torn apart by the roar of engines and the glow of explosions. Warships carved through the atmosphere with imposing silhouettes, spewing columns of plasma that descended like spears of fire onto the devastated ground. The air vibrated with every impact, a cacophony of destruction that made the crystalline earth of Tau Ceti IV tremble.

  Kael Durnan stopped for a moment, his gaze caught by the infernal spectacle surrounding him. The night lit up in orange and red flashes, flames reflecting off the metallic surfaces of destroyed armored vehicles. Through the dense smoke, columns of dust rose, trapping debris, bodies, and fragments of collapsed structures in their dance. Tracer rounds streaked through the air like erratic lightning, white, green, and red lines colliding in lethal frenzy, flashing against armor, vehicles, and human flesh.

  Farther ahead, a separatist artillery turret exploded in a flare of electric blue when a projectile from the Government Universal fleet struck it directly. The shockwave hurled debris in all directions, ripping tents from the ground and throwing soldiers like broken dolls. Cries of agony blended with the crackling of fires and the thunder of war.

  Kael saw the glow of a descending projectile and barely had time to take cover before it struck a nearby barricade. The explosion turned wood and metal into shrapnel, sending burning embers through the air. The ground cracked beneath his feet as a separatist tank, engulfed in flames, toppled over a group of retreating soldiers, crushing them without mercy.

  The vision grew more chaotic by the second: bodies illuminated by the orange glare of the fires, shadows running in every direction, gunfire flashing through the smoke. Kael felt the heat of war on his skin, sweat and ash sticking to his face as he moved through the chaos.

  And then he saw something that made him stop.

  A group of Balmoreans emerging from the haze of fire, their bodies covered in ritual paint, some holding glowing spears, others bone blades stained with blood. Their eyes burned with unbreakable fanaticism, their mouths shouted in an incomprehensible tongue, a litany of war and death.

  One of them, bare-chested and scarred like a map of suffering, raised his arms toward the sky as if welcoming the apocalypse. At his signal, the horde hurled itself into combat, crashing against the soldiers of the Government Universal with primitive violence.

  Kael felt his heart pound with fury as he tightened his grip on his rifle.

  The day had turned into hell.

  Kael clenched his teeth and acted on instinct.

  “Positions!” he shouted without thinking, his voice barely audible beneath the roar of battle.

  But no one heard him.

  Panic had infiltrated the separatist ranks. Some ran in erratic directions, unarmed, without clear orders. Others fired blindly into the sky, trying to reach the descending ships like beasts of metal.

  The shadows of Government Universal soldiers fell over the camp like specters of death.

  Kael felt his mouth go dry, his pulse pounding in his ears. It was now or never.

  He ran toward where the separatists were trying to regroup, dodging bodies and burning wreckage. He had to take control.

  “Raise your weapons, hold formation!” his voice cut through the air like a whip. “If we scatter, we’re dead!”

  He saw some faces turn toward him. Some listened. Others remained trapped in chaos.

  Through the movement, he spotted Rudolph Tant leading a small squad.

  “Rud, get your boys to the ships, trigger the alert, we need air support!”

  A shot sliced through the air inches from his head. Kael ducked instinctively and looked up in time to see a group of Balmorean soldiers in complete disorder.

  One of them was firing at the ground while dragging a still-living enemy, laughing like a savage animal.

  “Damn idiots!” Kael growled, running toward them. “If you don’t stop playing around, we’re going to get slaughtered!”

  One of the Balmoreans, his skin painted with ritual ash, turned slowly, a crooked smile on his face.

  “We don’t play, Durnan. We hunt.”

  Kael felt a stab of disgust, but there was no time to argue with fanatics. They needed coordination.

  And they needed it fast.

  The ground shook with a deafening roar. A nearby explosion sent fragments of rock and metal flying in all directions. Kael raised his arms to shield himself and felt the heat of the flames bite his skin.

  Government Universal ships descended like predators.

  Searchlights illuminated the camp, casting irregular shadows over torn tents and shattered shelters. The thunder of heavy machine guns ripped through the air.

  Kael ran through the wreckage, feeling shrapnel strike the ground around him. They had to move. Now.

  And then he saw him.

  Jackie.

  He stood among a group of separatists, staring up at the fire consuming the sky. He did not seem afraid.

  Jackie was never afraid.

  Kael reached him, lungs burning, grabbing him by the arm.

  “Jackie, get out of here!”

  Jackie looked at him with an arched eyebrow, almost amused.

  “And miss the fun? Not in a million years, Kael.”

  Kael clenched his jaw. He knew he wouldn’t convince him.

  “You can’t die here, Jackie.”

  Jackie smiled, calmly freeing his arm.

  “I’m not planning on dying. But I’m not planning on running either.”

  Kael felt a mixture of frustration and pride. That was Jackie.

  A projectile struck nearby, throwing them both to the ground. Dust and smoke swallowed everything.

  Kael coughed, trying to see through the cloud of ash. The sound of gunfire, explosions, and screams blended into a deafening whirl.

  He forced himself to his feet and saw Government Universal soldiers already descending the valley slopes.

  Ground combat had begun.

  “Move, you sons of bitches!” a voice roared.

  Kael turned and saw Nuka emerging from the chaos. His face was covered in war paint, his teeth exposed in a predatory grin. In his hand, a blood-soaked machete.

  “Durnan, your people don’t know how to fight.”

  Kael spat blood and returned his stare with contempt.

  “And what are you going to do about it?”

  Nuka grinned wider, raising his arms. Dozens of Balmoreans emerged from the shadows, armed with knives, spears, and modified assault rifles.

  “We’re going to show them how real fighting is done.”

  And then the Balmoreans charged.

  With savage cries, they hurled themselves at the Government Universal soldiers. Some fired outdated weapons, but most rushed forward with blades and improvised arms, tearing through the enemy line like uncontrolled beasts.

  The ground became a swamp of blood.

  Kael watched as one Balmorean leapt onto an enemy soldier and sank his teeth into his throat. Another drove a spear through an officer’s chest before wrenching it free in a brutal motion.

  The chaos was total.

  And Kael chose to use it.

  “All with me! Let’s give them a fight!”

  He raised his rifle and ran into the battle.

  The time for talking was over.

  It was time to fight.

  The road back was a long gray line between stone formations that looked like the remains of ancient architecture. The sky to the east was no longer sky but a crust of smoke rising from the front. In the distance, the horizon flickered with intermittent flashes. Not lightning. Impacts.

  The conflict was there. Alive. Growing.

  But they were too far away.

  “We’re not going to make it,” Garran murmured without slowing.

  “Not in two days,” Volosko replied without turning.

  Constantina walked at the head of the squad, just a few meters behind Volosko and the Blue Stars. Her stride was firm, mechanical. Beside her walked Chuet, quieter than usual, weapon hanging low, gaze fixed on the ground.

  “When we get back,” he said softly, “do you think they’ll send us straight to the front?”

  Constantina did not answer immediately. She was watching the smoke.

  “Probably,” she said at last.

  Chuet nodded, as if confirming something he already knew. He adjusted his vest. There was a dried stain on his shoulder that was not his. No one had had time to clean anything since the night before.

  “Still…” he added. “If this ends today, better, right?”

  Constantina glanced at him. He was young. Too young to sound that resigned.

  “Things don’t end like that,” she said. “They transform.”

  Chuet tried to smile, but it did not fully form.

  Div Kut was the first to look up.

  He said nothing. He simply stopped for a second, as if something in the air had changed.

  The sound came after.

  A low hum at first. Then clearer. A high-speed engine tearing through the atmosphere.

  Constantina looked up.

  A ship cut against the smoky horizon, descending in a wide arc. It was not flying toward the front.

  It was flying toward them.

  “Did it see us?” Hishio asked.

  The ship adjusted its trajectory.

  Constantina felt the exact cold of certainty.

  “Cover!” she shouted. “Now!”

  There was no confusion. They scattered toward the nearest rocks, throwing themselves to the ground, crawling into cracks and natural depressions. Constantina shoved Chuet behind a low formation and threw herself over him as the first shot ripped through the air.

  The impact was not an explosion.

  It was a line of fire slicing the earth in a brilliant streak. Stones flew. Dust. A second shot detonated a few meters from Volosko.

  The ship passed over them, too low, too fast.

  It fired again.

  The air vibrated.

  Then it climbed sharply and headed back toward the front, as if its task there had only been secondary.

  Silence returned just as abruptly as it had vanished.

  Only dust remained.

  “Report!” Constantina shouted, rising to her knees.

  One by one they answered.

  “Fine.”

  “No damage.”

  “All clear.”

  One of the Blue Stars soldiers did not respond.

  Volosko ran toward him. He lay face down, unmoving. There was no drama. No words. Just a quick confirmation.

  “He’s dead,” Volosko said flatly.

  Constantina nodded once, without looking too closely.

  “The rest?”

  “We’re—”

  Diemano’s voice cut him off.

  “Constantina!”

  The tone was not operational. It was human.

  She turned.

  Div Kut was kneeling a few meters away, leaning over someone. One hand pressed against a blood-soaked chest. He was not shouting. Not crying. Just looking.

  Constantina ran.

  Chuet lay against a rock, vest perforated in several places. Blood spread in a dark red that did not seem real. He was breathing with difficulty, each inhale a small battle.

  “No,” she murmured, kneeling. “No, no.”

  She pressed both hands over the wounds, trying to contain something that could no longer be contained. Her fingers filled with hot blood.

  Chuet barely opened his eyes.

  He looked at her.

  “It’s done…” he said in a voice that did not sound like his own. “Let me.”

  “Shut up,” she ordered, almost furious. “Shut up and breathe.”

  Diemano knelt on the other side. His hands stained as well.

  Div Kut remained bent over, same empty expression. His fingers touched the soaked fabric as if trying to understand the color.

  In the distance, Volosko shouted:

  “Move! They could come back! Take cover!”

  Constantina lifted her head.

  She nodded.

  “I’ll carry him,” she said.

  She slid an arm beneath Chuet’s body and lifted him with effort. He was light.

  Too light.

  Chuet rested his forehead against her shoulder.

  “It’s okay,” he whispered.

  She did not answer.

  They moved quickly toward a low cave among the rocks. The group pulled back behind them, eyes on the sky.

  Inside, the light was scarce. The air colder.

  Constantina lowered him carefully against the stone wall.

  “Hold on,” she said. “Hold on.”

  But Chuet was no longer breathing.

  She knew it before checking. She knew it by the absolute stillness that settled over his face. By the way his chest stopped moving without transition.

  Diemano slowly withdrew his hands.

  No one spoke for several seconds.

  Garran was the first to curse under his breath. Hishio slid down the wall, closing his eyes tightly. Yolanda covered her mouth with both hands.

  Div Kut remained kneeling. He looked at the body as if it were another piece of the landscape.

  Constantina stayed still.

  She looked at her hands.

  Chuet’s blood ran down her fingers, soaked into her uniform. She smelled the metallic scent mixing with dust.

  The front still roared in the distance.

  She clenched her teeth.

  The pressure behind her eyes was unbearable. The urge to collapse, to cry, to scream, to break something.

  She did not.

  She breathed. Once. Twice. She wiped her hands on her pants, though it did nothing.

  “We move after the next flyover,” she said flatly.

  No one answered.

  Outside, the war kept growing.

  Inside, the squad had grown smaller.