Joy’s boots felt cemented to the rooftop doorway, his body unwilling to move as his mind scrambled to make sense of what had just unfolded. His thoughts were jagged, fragmented like shards of broken glass, pieces that refused to fit together. Shadows flickered at the edges of his memory, distorted glimpses of movement, chaos—but none of it formed a coherent picture.
He strained to recall the moments leading up to this. The hallway—the freight elevator—his fists pounding against the cold steel, his breath ragged with frustration. How had he ended up there? He had no memory of the journey, only the instinct that had propelled him forward. The sound of gunfire had been his compass, driving him through a sea of panicked insurgents, bodies scrambling past him in blind retreat. But none of that mattered. There had been only one focus, one singular fixation at the edge of his vision—Michaels. Now, standing in the open air, his gaze locked onto something beyond comprehension.
Creatures. Entities moving with impossible grace. They cut through space with an elegance that mocked physics, their weightless forms bending reality itself. They did not walk. They glided. As if gravity was merely a suggestion, an optional force to be acknowledged at leisure. Joy’s mind rebelled against the logic of what he was seeing. He had no name for them, no reference point, no understanding. Only the stark and unavoidable truth— He was witnessing something beyond the realm of Earth.
The rooftop was a graveyard, bodies strewn like discarded remnants of war, a grotesque display of carnage. The COA soldiers had never stood a chance. Those who had hesitated, even for a breath, had been torn apart—limbs tossed haphazardly, their remains scattered like a child’s forgotten toys. Joy barely had time to register the devastation before the strange craft slipped away, vanishing into the void with a quiet, unnatural hum. Its departure was seamless, as if it had never truly belonged to this world.
He stepped forward, his boots crunching against debris, his gaze tracking the fading outline of the angular vessel as it melted into the night sky. There was something haunting about its exit—no trails of propulsion, no visible force—just a silent retreat into the abyss above. A voice cut through his reverie.
“Sorry I’m late, Captain. I won’t make a habit of it.” The casual tone jolted him back to reality. Major Belle emerged from the doorway, his stride easy, composed—too composed. Joy blinked, his mind racing. Had he seen what had just happened? Had he witnessed the unnatural display of power that had unfolded before them?
Belle’s presence forced him into protocol. His body moved on instinct, his posture stiffening into a salute. “At ease, Captain.” Belle came to stand beside him, his sharp eyes lifting toward the sky, searching. “It really is a beautiful night, isn’t it?” His voice was steady, absent of urgency, as if the chaos they had just witnessed meant nothing at all. He rubbed his chin, pensive, his expression unreadable. Joy remained still, watching him, unease creeping up his spine. Either Belle was oblivious. Or he knew far more than he let on.
A distant tremor rippled through the night, low and rhythmic—the unmistakable churn of rotor blades. Instinct seized Joy before thought could intervene. He pivoted sharply, eyes scanning the skyline, searching for the source.
A tilt-prop aircraft loomed over the rooftop, descending in controlled elegance despite its enormous mass. Its arrival was deceptive, a creature too large to move with such grace. Bullet casings scattered in the gust, fabric whipped violently in the wind. Belle’s voice cut through the chaos with unsettling cheer.
“Off, shall we?”
Joy’s breath hitched. No, no. He couldn’t have seen it. If Major Belle had witnessed the impossible—those beings, the annihilation, the unnatural craft tearing through Earth’s defenses—he wouldn’t be speaking this way. Wouldn’t be so composed. But he had to ask.
Joy stood rigid, barring Belle’s path. “Sir.” His voice was firm, demanding, though his pulse betrayed uncertainty. “Sir, you saw it, right? Did you see them? What happened? There’s—” The words disintegrated in his throat. How did one describe the indescribable? How could he put into language what should not exist?
Belle didn’t waver. Didn’t hesitate. “Captain, I wish you would come along.” His tone was still steady, still maddeningly undisturbed. “We really should take our seats.” Then, without waiting, he turned and disappeared into the Osprey, leaving Joy standing alone—rooted, unnerved, the weight of unspoken truths pressing against his ribs. Something was deeply, deeply wrong. And now, he was running out of time to understand it.
Captain Joy’s gaze lingered on the sky, unease gnawing at the edges of his thoughts. He had seen them. He had watched their impossible movements, their sheer, effortless dominance over the battlefield. And now, the Major expected them to ascend into that same airspace—among them. But orders were orders.
He pulled himself forward, boots dragging against metal as he climbed the steps to the aircraft. The Osprey idled, its rotors humming softly, suspended in patient anticipation. Joy slid into his seat without ceremony, ignoring the restraints. What was the point?
Belle, ever composed, settled beside him at the window, his voice shifting as he spoke. “You know, it really is a shame we couldn’t recover Michaels.” The tone was different now—measured, reflective, something just shy of regret. “He’s really quite valuable… er, to the operation, I mean. Both of you, really.” His gaze drifted past the glass, fixated on the doorway. His words were slow, deliberate. “Today, we made some… rather stunning revelations.”
Joy’s pulse quickened. Stunning revelations—was that how this would be framed? Was that how Belle chose to interpret what had happened? The words unsettled him. He had spent months demanding clarity, rejecting the veil of secrecy, pushing for transparency. He thought Belle had understood.
Joy clenched his jaw. No more need-to-know. He turned toward the doorway. Shadows moved. Figures shifted just beyond the threshold. Something was coming. And Belle already knew what it was.
From the doorway, two COA operatives emerged, dragging a limp figure between them. His feet trailed behind, lifeless, dragging across the floor like the weighted hem of a wedding gown soaked in ruin. The fluorescent overheads cast elongated shadows, distorting his form, making him seem less a man and more an object—a package, a possession. Belle’s voice cut through the tension, disturbingly light, laced with amusement that felt out of place.
“Ah yes. Our guest of honor. Hehehehe. Good! So glad you could make it!” The operatives placed the man into the seat across the aisle from Joy. His head lolled slightly, still obscured by a heavy black hood. But even beneath the fabric, tufts of graying, unkempt hair peeked out—a relic of age, of exhaustion, of history unknown. Belle’s tone sharpened. “This is the man right here! He’s going to make all of this worthwhile! We are ready, pilot!”
The Osprey jolted as it lifted into the sky, the city falling away beneath them. Joy barely noticed the shift. His focus remained locked on the prisoner—on the weight of his presence, the unspoken implications rippling outward.
His breath was uneven. His hands curled into fists against his thighs. He needed to tell Belle what else lurked in the skies above D.C. But the moment slipped. Belle moved with unwavering confidence, fingers grazing his chest as he activated his radio. His voice dropped into a controlled rhythm, precise, commanding.
He requested a call sign Joy didn’t recognize.
A voice replied.
Then, without pause, Belle began rattling off sequences—phonetic codes that meant nothing to Joy, but carried meaning. A private language. More secrets. The air inside the cabin felt heavier. The city burned below, unseen from their altitude. And Joy realized, too late, that he was caught in something far bigger than himself.
The voice responded in a precise rhythm, exchanging a sequence of coded transmissions with Belle—each one methodical, deliberate. Three times they repeated this cryptic dialogue, words stripped of emotion but laden with meaning. Then, the final message came.
"We are standing by for your words. Launch codes. The launch sequence.” The weight of the words settled into the cabin like a dense fog. Belle said nothing, but his gaze shifted, drawn to the vast stretch of city below—the glittering skyline, pristine beneath the quiet of night, unaware of the storm brewing above it.
Joy felt the pressure coil in his chest. Now. This was his moment. “Maj—”
Belle cut him off before he could fully speak. "Tell me, Captain, do you believe in aliens?"
The question landed like a blow—unexpected, disarming. It wasn’t casual. It wasn’t philosophical. It was something else entirely. Joy swallowed, pulse quickening. There was no escape from the truth. Belle knew. And he was testing him.
#
Lil’lah’s starship descended onto the parking structure with measured precision, settling far from the two idling Chinooks. The echoes of destruction lingered in the air, but the immediate violence had passed. Still, fury simmered beneath her skin. Their intervention had erased the enemy, but would it matter? Would these humans see them as allies—or as another menace? With no concern for composure, Lil’lah disengaged the engines and practically tore herself free from the cockpit, her movements reckless, driven by a volatile mix of frustration and urgency. Her gaze darted across the rooftop, searching.
Another Ba’urg craft cut through the night, its sleek form gliding toward the structure. It touched down beside her, its thrusters pulsing with subdued energy. The hatch slid open, and Roel stepped out—his posture easy, his expression alight with relief at seeing his kin.
Whatever joy he felt was immediately crushed beneath the weight of Lil’lah’s wrath. She advanced without hesitation, voice ripping through the hum of cooling engines.
"What are you doing here?!” Her words burned, hoarse with anger, carried on the remnants of battle still clinging to the air. Roel barely had time to react. Lil’lah’s fury was undeniable, and it demanded an answer. Now.
Roel stepped forward, his expression measured, hands raised in a placating gesture. “Lil’lah—” His voice carried an edge of caution, but before he could shape his words into anything soothing, Lil’lah cut through him like a blade.
“Render unto appropriate rank! How about that, Captain?!”
Her command snapped through the air like a gunshot, sharp enough to force Roel into immediate obedience. His posture stiffened, eyes locked forward, every muscle trained into rigid compliance. “Yes, Commodore!”
Lil’lah took a step closer, her presence electric with fury. “You deliberately disobeyed me! I gave you direct orders! Both of you!” Her hand shot out, fingers slicing through the air, fixing on Ka’eel as he descended from the drop-ship. “And who was that?!” She gestured sharply behind her, to the sky thick with remnants of battle, the last echoes of destruction still burning in her veins.
Almost on cue, a third vessel peeled into view, emerging from behind the garage in an uneven descent, wobbling slightly as it sought a landing among the Ba’urg crafts. Its presence disrupted the layout, cutting off the human aircraft from easy retreat.
Lil’lah’s breath hitched. She recognized it instantly. Cly’yn’s fighter.
Her eyes traced the carved inscription along its hull—the bold, reckless mark of ownership that had earned its pilot both punishment and permanent assignment. She exhaled, slow, uncertain. This savior, this undisciplined warrior who had altered the course of battle in a single stroke, carried weight beyond the immediate chaos. He was the sole survivor of the Roth’arian Carrier. And depending on how events unfolded, he might also be the first spark of an intergalactic war.
The shift in Lil’lah’s demeanor was as immediate as it was profound. The anger, the exhaustion—both melted into something deeper, something reverent. She understood him. She carried the same burden, the weight of survival, the quiet ache of being the last remnant of a shattered past.
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With measured steps, she approached the vessel, her posture composed but unmistakably respectful. This was not the hurried greeting she had given Roel and Ka’eel—this was something else entirely.
The cockpit exhaled, a slow, deliberate hiss breaking the silence. The dim morning light stretched shadows across the craft, obscuring its occupant, reducing him to a silhouette—a mere shape against the metallic frame. Then he spoke. A voice, deep, commanding, carved from the very marrow of war. "Greetings, Commodore."
Lil’lah inhaled sharply. “Jo’rah!" The name burst from her lips, carried on waves of joy, disbelief, and unfiltered admiration. Jo’rah the Bold. A warrior immortalized in history, champion of Rhab, forged in battle. He had not merely survived—he had endured.
Lil’lah lowered herself onto one knee, the weight of the moment pressing into her like gravity. Roel and Ka’eel followed without hesitation, their movements precise, instinctual. This was no ordinary reunion. This was the return of something unbreakable. When she rose, her voice was steady, laced with finality. "I now greet you anew—formerly Jo’rah the Bold. I bestow upon you the title of Jo’rah the Undying, a testament to your will and resolve in carrying out our objective.” Roel and Ka’eel straightened, their salutes sharp, their expressions unwavering. Jo’rah stood before them, a ghost reborn. And on this battlefield of ruin, he would never fade again.
Lil’lah exhaled, the fire in her veins cooling as the weight of her anger lifted. The storm had passed, leaving only the remnants of battle and the quiet hum of decisions made in urgency. She turned back to Roel and Ka’eel, studying them with the measured gaze of someone reassessing a fractured moment. From behind, movement caught her eye. Noel.
She emerged like a specter of desperation, eyes locked on the distant aircraft, her body vibrating with urgency. She wasn’t watching the Ba’urgeons, wasn’t dwelling on their presence or the implications of their arrival. Her focus burned toward the people across the parking lot—the ones she needed to reach. Then she ran. A full sprint, unhesitating, her strides slicing through the rubble-strewn rooftop with a force that defied exhaustion. Roel watched her go, his smirk curving in quiet satisfaction.
"That was a good call, Roel.”
His response was effortless, words laced with certainty. "Had you heard what I heard, you'd know it was the only call to make."
Lil’lah barely registered their exchange before her attention snagged on the smoke curling behind them—an ominous whisper rising from her own craft. Her Warp drive. The fault warning she had dismissed in the chaos. The problem she had ignored. She inhaled sharply, clicking her tongue in frustration. "I guess now is a suitable time to make repairs."
Jo’rah stepped up beside her, his presence grounding, his words weighted with curiosity. "That would be wise, Commodore. Did those other vessels do this to you?”
Lil’lah shifted her gaze, exhaling again—this time with quiet acceptance. Of all the battles waged tonight, this might be the simplest one to fix. But far greater storms loomed ahead. And there would be no repairing what was to come.
Lil’lah’s expression hardened, the rush of familiarity fading as duty clawed its way back to the forefront of her mind. "Other vessels?” The ones he had shot down. In the whirlwind of reunion, she had momentarily lost sight of his reckless act—but now, the weight of it pressed against her thoughts like a vice. “Jo’rah!" Her voice snapped through the air, sharp with authority. "Did your system not remind you of Ba’urgeon regulations regarding passage through hostile space?” The warning surged back into her memory, vivid and condemning.
Jo’rah exhaled, motioning toward Cly’yn’s fighter with an air of quiet resignation. "About that.” His gaze lingered on the hull, studying the scars left from battle before meeting Lil’lah’s stare. "I think my transmitter was damaged in the chaos of the carrier. I haven’t been able to send or receive any transmissions, but—“ A pause. His expression clouded. "Did you get mine?"
Ka’eel, ever perceptive, cut in before Lil’lah could respond. "We did! Great work! Although—“ A pointed motion toward Lil’lah, a glance exchanged with Roel, a knowing smirk. "Ask your Commodore if she’s seen it?"
Lil’lah stiffened. Another oversight. Another failure of focus. Bad practice, bad leadership. She had let herself drift—her mind entangled elsewhere, yearning for something she could barely put into words.
She forced herself to compose, to return to the now. "I guess there’s no better time than now.” Her voice steadied, though her thoughts remained tangled. "Might as well have the ship orate it while I repair the warp drive.” Her gaze flicked back to Jo’rah, the weight of her authority settling once more. "You know, you really shouldn’t have done that—with the human vessels."
Jo’rah studied her, unreadable. She had wrestled with how to address him, how to reconcile the warrior who had saved them with the soldier who had ignored protocol.
Jo’rah’s gaze sharpened, dissecting Lil’lah with a quiet, penetrating intensity. His expression carried weight, the kind that spoke more in silence than words ever could. Something unspoken lingered between them, an understanding just beyond articulation.
Lil’lah held firm, waiting. Expecting the inevitable response. She had battled with how to reconcile this moment—how to address the warrior who had saved her life, yet may have set a chain reaction in motion that none of them could control. The cost of his actions remained uncertain, but the gratitude, the conflict, was undeniable. Yet the exchange never came. Instead, Jo’rah’s features softened, the quiet calculation in his eyes settling into something measured, assured. "Understood, Commodore. I will practice more discernment in the future."
The words were simple. Their meaning, far more complex. Lil’lah barely had time to process the statement before the air behind Cly’yn’s fighter ruptured.
A sound tore through the rooftop. Not just a scream—something deeper, rawer. A cry that carried the weight of collapsing worlds, of destruction unfathomable. A wail of obliteration, carving through the morning sky, announcing catastrophe before it had even arrived. And in that instant, all prior conflicts became irrelevant.
#
Joy stiffened, caught off guard by the question, the word itself hanging in the air like an exposed nerve.
"Aliens, sir.” He didn’t know why the word unsettled him. Perhaps it was too simple, too human, to encapsulate what they had seen. And yet, here it was—spoken without hesitation, casual, as though it were a foregone conclusion. There was a connection between them—something deeper, something ingrained in the systems that linked their minds across the network. A circuitry of thought. A means of remote communication that should have made surveillance impossible. If Belle had been watching him, Joy would have known.
"Yes, aliens.” Belle’s voice carried no weight, no reverence. He nudged Joy lightly, his tone bordering on conversational. "What do you make of those?” The Osprey skimmed low over the city, gliding toward familiar ground. The parking garage loomed ahead, its silhouette etched against the burning remnants of civilization.
Below them, hulking aircraft sat in uneasy silence. Among them, three stood apart—their forms alien, angular, grotesquely distinct from anything of Earth. Joy’s stomach tightened.
Belle knew. He had seen them. Their display in the skies had not gone unnoticed. But had it unsettled him the way it unsettled Joy? A scoff broke the tension. “Ba’urg-tech." Belle let out a quiet chuckle, as if the revelation had been waiting for him all along. "I should have known. Why wouldn’t it be them?"
And just like that, Joy knew—Belle had understood far longer than he had ever let on. This was not discovery. It was confirmation. A truth he had already accepted.
Joy’s pulse slammed against his ribs, his breath catching in his throat. Belle had known. Not just recognized, not just suspected—he had known. Ba’urg-tech. The Major had given it a name without hesitation, without uncertainty, as if it had long been categorized within his understanding of the world.
Joy leaned back in his seat, mind racing, his gaze fixed on the cockpit door. The weight of unseen truths pressed against him, demanding answers. He searched his internal systems, filtering through stored data, fingers twitching as he keyed in Ba’urg-tech. The query would register in HIVE’s archives, logged, traced—seen by Belle himself—but none of that mattered now. Transparency. That was the promise. No more shadows. No more obfuscation. If they were truly a team, Joy needed full clarity.
Before he could speak, Belle’s voice cut through the cabin, unnervingly buoyant. "We can really spin this!"
Joy stiffened.
"People’s hearts are going to melt when we tell them all this calamity was orchestrated by terrorists—the same ones from the hospital bombing years ago. But now?” Belle paused, savoring the moment, then leaned in slightly, his grin curving into something colder. ”Now, we have a real ‘existential threat.’"
His laugh slithered through the air—low, sinister, laced with something far more dangerous than amusement. "Aliens, Captain. That’s what the world’s going to call them. The real threat to humanity. The reason for all this conflict! Ha! The headlines practically write themselves!"
Joy’s blood ran cold.
Belle’s voice shifted back to composure, the excitement simmering down into ruthless calculation. "Certainly makes more sense to nuke a city—the nation’s capitol—under these pretenses.” Slowly, Belle turned to face him, his gaze expectant, probing.
"Don’t you agree?"
Joy swallowed. Every instinct screamed that this was the moment—the irreversible turn, the precipice of something monstrous. And somehow, he knew—whatever answer he gave, it wouldn’t matter. Belle had already decided.
#
A shift rippled through the air, subtle yet undeniable. The battlefield had momentarily stilled, replaced by an uneasy gathering—a hesitant congregation of armed figures standing at the precipice of an invisible boundary. They studied the beings before them, their faces etched with disbelief, rifles slung but idle. Curiosity outweighed hostility, but the tension remained palpable.
They had followed Noel, tracking her cautious path, drawn by something unspoken. Yet when she crossed an unseen threshold, they faltered, unwilling to follow her further.
From behind Cly’yn’s starship, Noel emerged—her movements slow, her expression hollowed by sorrow. Lil’lah knew, with certainty, it had been her screams that had carried through the chaos moments before, their echoes lingering even now.
The human staggered forward, steps weighted, grief radiating from her in waves. Her gaze, rimmed in red, carried the depth of loss so profound that Lil’lah recognized it instantly.
It was the same look she had worn herself, long ago.
The same look of despair she had carried at her father’s funeral. A gaze that spoke of wounds far deeper than the present battle. Of grief that could never truly heal.
The frail human parted her lips to speak, but what emerged was unintelligible—distorted fragments of sound, garbled and meaningless in Lil’lah’s ears. She frowned, her mind straining against the disconnect. The Ba’urg had not prepared for this. As a Junior Technical Officer, ensuring proper equipment for excursions was her responsibility, yet amid the chaos of war, so many crucial details had been overlooked.
She exhaled sharply. "I don’t have the means of understanding you, little one.” The admission felt heavier than it should.
From the dropship, Roel’s head emerged, his voice carrying amusement despite the tension. "You gotta touch her!” His chuckle threaded through the constant whir of distant propellers, barely audible above the deep churn of idling aircraft.
Lil’lah turned slightly, scanning the rooftop. From the corner of her eye, the human vessels lifted into the sky, their ascent smooth yet unsettling. The shift in mood was immediate—something had changed. Then, a sharp chime from her starship’s onboard system. Urgent.
Lil’lah jerked her head, instinct overriding thought, eyes darting toward the console. Before she could process the flashing warnings, a surge of cosmic energy ignited along her left leg. It wasn’t a warning. It was something else. Something primal. Something commanding. And it demanded her attention now.
A voice thundered through the chaos, vibrating through Lil’lah’s core with primal urgency. "We need to go—NOW!” The words carried weight, shaking her from the haze of battle. Every instinct in her body screamed agreement.
"Commodore, we have—uh—a lot of incoming! We need to go!” Jo’rah’s voice resonated between the starships, urgency laced with restrained panic. Lil’lah sprang to her feet, her breath shallow, gaze snapping toward her vessel. This. This was what Noel had been trying to tell her—what her desperate cries had attempted to convey.
Noel flinched, startled by Lil’lah’s sudden motion, but something passed between them—a fleeting connection, a shared understanding. Her wide, reddened eyes lingered on Lil’lah’s glowing form before she tore herself away, sprinting toward the dropship. The Ba’urgeons moved with synchronized precision, scrambling for departure as Lil’lah swept into her cockpit. She flicked through her preflight checks at breakneck speed. Everything was functional.
"Wing Commander to Fleet Leader—check."
"This is Wing Leader—your comms are a go.” Lil’lah exhaled sharply, affirming the message.
"Wing Leader, this is Dropship—uhh, where exactly are we going?” Roel’s voice carried a mix of thrill and uncertainty, but Lil’lah barely had time to respond before Jo’rah’s voice broke through, steady and firm.
"It would be advisable to stay low. To avoid any further attention."
A calculated response. A newly sharpened discernment. Lil’lah tightened her grip on the controls. They would fly low. They would disappear into the city’s veins. And they would outrun whatever was coming. Or die trying. Lil’lah’s voice rang through the comms, sharp and decisive. "Affirmative. Stay low until we clear the city.” The command was barely spoken before the starships leapt into motion, their sleek forms slicing through the night, gliding over the ruins with eerie precision. Speed was their ally, but uncertainty loomed.
Her console blinked erratically—warnings flaring in bursts of crimson light. Something was coming, something relentless. What kind of enemy forces could create this level of chaos? The radar pulsed. A fast-moving blip appeared, cutting across their trajectory like a phantom.
Before Lil’lah could give the order to brace, the unidentified object had already passed overhead—disappearing beyond the scope of their instruments, as if it had never truly been there. Then her ship lurched.
A violent tremor rippled through the hull, forcing her grip tighter around the controls. A new alert shrieked across the interface—an unfamiliar alarm, one she had never encountered before.
"Warning: Radiation detected! Exercise extreme caution!” Lil’lah barely had time to process the significance before the shock wave struck. It crashed through the city like a god’s wrath, buildings toppling, crumbling into dust before the squadron.
The low flight was no longer viable. "We need to pull up—now!”Survival demanded altitude. And they were running out of time to find it. Jo’rah’s voice erupted through the transmitter, urgent, commanding, cutting through the chaos like a blade. "We need to pull up—NOW!”Without hesitation, his fighter pitched skyward, carving a sharp, impossible arc against the burning skyline.
Lil’lah reacted instinctively, gripping the controls with white-knuckled precision as she yanked her starship into a full vertical ascent. The dropship followed, engines shrieking as the squadron tore toward the heavens. Gravity fought against them, crushing and relentless.
Lil’lah’s body was sucked deep into her seat, the force pressing into her chest, restricting her breath. She closed her eyes, muscles taut, willing the vessel to break free from Earth’s grasp. Higher. Faster. But it wasn’t enough. The darkness swallowed them whole.
A monstrous cloud of ash and debris surged upward, consuming the squadron in its suffocating embrace. The sky—once their escape—had become another battlefield. And survival had never felt more uncertain.
