Mercury. Orbit. Combat Drills.

  In the void of space, above Mercury’s black-and-golden surface, dozens of battle platforms hover. Their outlines are sharply defined in the silent cosmos, like steel giants ready to act. The platforms are aligned in a straight, nearly perfect line, reflecting discipline and precision.

  On the observation deck of the main command ship stands Captain Ragnar, his gaze fixed on the screens flickering with data about the platform movements. One hand rests on the control panel; his face is calm, but there is tension within him.

  His voice cuts through the silence of the command center via the built-in intercom:

  — “Align into a single plane. One layer. Execute.”

  As if on cue, the captains of the battle platforms respond in perfect sync. Hundreds of maneuvering thrusters ignite with blue flames, and the platforms instantly shift into a thin horizontal formation. It’s done with such precision, one might think they are parts of a single, advanced mechanical organism.

  — “Good. Formation complete on schedule,” Ragnar observes with satisfaction.

  — “Now — reformation. Increase distance between platforms by three hull lengths!”

  The platforms begin to spread out slowly, each movement executed with mathematical precision. They take up new positions like chess pieces preparing for the next phase with maximum efficiency. After a minute, the formation is complete. Ragnar nods calmly, confirming the flawless execution.

  — “Excellent. Congratulations. Your unit is ready for combat. Dismissed. Stand down.”

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  He switches off the mic and makes a few adjustments on the panel. At that moment, Veronica enters the cabin, her steps light but confident. She embraces him from behind, a smile on her face, her head resting on his shoulder.

  — “They’re learning fast,” she says softly, sensing the tension in him.

  Ragnar smirks, shaking his head slightly:

  — “Yes. So fast it’s almost frightening. As if the god Hanaris has upgraded our very consciousness. Faith purifies us from the unnecessary. It makes us more adaptable, more open to new knowledge. I see how they absorb tactics and strategy… as if they were born warriors.”

  Veronica leans into him gently, her voice warm and steady:

  — “I’m proud of you. And of all our people.”

  For a moment, Ragnar grows serious, his gaze piercing into space.

  — “But our world is in danger. We must be ready.”

  He picks up the tactical microphone, attaches it to his ear, his face becoming resolute.

  — “Next group — move to training positions! Begin boarding drills, assault team procedures. Time starts now!”

  But at that moment, a tactical alert flashes in his ear. He responds instantly, without pause:

  — “Hold on. All units stand by. Await further instructions.”

  He switches to an encrypted channel. The voice on the other end sounds tense, as if already sensing a threat.

  — “Emergency, captain. A group of inquisitors has arrived at the spaceport. Atheists. They’ve brought trophies. And… possibly new problems.”

  Ragnar frowns, a shadow of concern crossing his face, but he remains composed:

  — “Understood.”

  He ends the call and glances out the viewport. The perfectly aligned battle platforms now seem less certain, less immovable. Inhale — exhale. Strategy, preparation, faith — all of it loses clarity when faced with an unpredictable threat.

  — “Dismissed. That’s all for today.”

  He steps away from the panel, his eyes fixed on the void of space. Below, Mercury glows in black and gold. And in that endless expanse, Ragnar knows: war is not only about battles — but about the unexpected challenges they are yet to face.