Joy’s gaze was distant, unfocused, swallowed by the shifting currents of memory. The world outside the aircraft blurred into insignificance—his mind was trapped elsewhere, replaying the fractured images that refused to fade. None of it had been a dream. Not even for a second.

  The darkness of the complex. The suffocating corridors stretching endlessly, like veins pulsing beneath some dead, mechanical beast. Shadows moving where they shouldn’t. Figures lurking just beyond sight—grotesque, twisted remnants of humanity. His unit, lost in the chaos, their faces distorted, mangled into something unrecognizable. And then—them. Not human. Not comprehensible. Things that didn’t belong in any sane reality. But one face stood apart, emerging from the wreckage of memory—a woman. Faintly familiar. She had been near an elevator, the moment Joy had come to. Had she spoken?

  He fought to recall, pushing against the static in his mind, trying to reconstruct her lips forming words. But the memory flickered, distorted, drowned in a haze of garbled noise. His eyes flickered to Belle.

  The Major sat between him and the window, utterly composed. Unbothered. The same smugness, the same effortless control. He hadn’t wavered once—not when ordering the strike, not even when discussing aliens, as though the existence of an entire unknown force was just another bureaucratic detail.

  Joy felt the tightness coil in his chest. What was really going on here? And why was Belle treating it all like just another day? Belle sat with unwavering composure, his presence an immovable pillar of control. Smug, effortlessly detached—he had maintained the same cool, calculated demeanor since the moment he authorized the strike. Even when discussing aliens, the topic carried no gravity in his tone. It had been floated casually, dismissed like a parent humoring a child's fascination with ghosts. Joy wasn’t fooled. Something was wrong. "Uh, sir."

  Belle barely turned his head, his response measured, effortless. "Yes, Captain?” Across the aisle, movement stirred—an uncomfortable groan from the restrained passenger.

  Belle smirked, tilting his chin slightly. "Ah, good. Our guest is alive. Would’ve been a shame to toss you over the Atlantic. You’re something of a rock star around here."

  His tone carried amusement, but Joy knew better. Every word, every inflection, was calculated. Belle’s gaze drifted back to Joy, his smirk unwavering.

  "Something you wanted, Captain?”

  Joy inhaled, tempering the frustration brewing beneath his skin. "What is Ba’urg-tech, sir?"

  Belle exhaled through his nose, sitting straighter, his gaze settling beyond the aircraft’s window, toward the endless stretch of ocean. "It’s classified."

  Joy felt his patience snap like a taut wire. "That’s bullshit, Major!” The words shot out, unchecked, raw. "We had a deal. An understanding. Transparency, Alex, remember?"

  Belle finally turned, his expression unreadable, but his amusement never wavered. And Joy knew—he was about to be fed another half-truth. Another carefully placed deception. And it was already too late to stop it.

  Belle’s voice was firm, unyielding, layered with authority that left little room for argument. "That doesn’t trump duty, Captain. I suggest you remember that. Our agreement was between us—interoperability, trust. But Caliber? Caliber has its own agenda."

  A chill threaded through Joy’s spine. The air inside the aircraft felt heavier now, thick with unspoken truths. Beyond the window, a titan of steel emerged on the horizon—a structure so massive, so monolithic in its presence, that it could be seen from fifty miles away.

  Caliber Headquarters. Its silhouette stretched into the sky, a fortress built on secrecy and power, standing as an unspoken warning.

  Joy’s voice cut through the hum of the aircraft. "So, you’re telling me this Ba’urg-tech is Caliber technology?"

  Belle turned, his expression as unreadable as ever, wearing that same infuriating, coy half-smile—the kind that promised only half-truths. "Caliber is aware of it.” The words sat there, deliberate, leaving Joy to wrestle with their implications. Belle exhaled, clearing his throat as his gaze momentarily flickered downward. A rare glimpse of hesitation. "Look, Captain. Tyler. Try to understand—things are unfolding moment by moment.” His eyes locked with Joy’s, steady, unwavering. "What would I look like, just telling you about something as speculative as aliens? Imagine it—the headlines, the whispers. A Major of my stature, walking around, spreading lies? My words are taken seriously, Captain.” And just like that, Belle dismissed the weight of the conversation. His gaze drifted back to the window, to the fortress in the distance, leaving Joy trapped in the suffocating reality of yet another deflection. More secrets. More control. And still, no real answers. Only more questions. Questions Joy was no closer to solving.

  Joy’s jaw tightened, his muscles locking beneath the weight of frustration. Lies. More lies. Belle had been feeding him half-truths from the moment they boarded this aircraft, and now, the deception ran deeper than ever. "So how do you know it’s called Ba’urg-tech?"

  His voice carried an edge—demanding, sharp—but Belle remained impassive, his smirk unshaken. A strained sound broke through the tension. Across the aisle, the captive shifted, his movements stiff with resistance. His wrists remained flexi-cuffed in his lap, the restraints biting into his skin as he fought against them. Belle barely acknowledged him. "Remove that, won’t you?” A casual flick of his fingers, a command laced with practiced ease.

  Joy inhaled sharply and reached over, fingers digging into the coarse fabric of the bag before yanking it free. A sharp gasp followed—air flooding into the captive’s lungs as he sucked in breath, his chest rising in a shuddering heave. His mouth remained bound, the tape pressing against his skin like a cruel reminder of his silence.

  Belle observed with detached amusement. "Cut that off of him. I’m sure he’s been listening—I want to talk to my friend here.” The statement sat heavy between them, laced with something Joy couldn’t place—mockery? Warning?

  Joy unfastened his seatbelt, pulling his pocket knife with steady fingers. He worked quickly, slicing the tape away before settling back into his chair, his movements deliberate.

  The captive yelped, his jaw snapping open as he shook his head, trying to clear the dizziness from prolonged restraint. His eyes darted between Joy and Belle, adjusting to the dim cabin light, to the suffocating reality of his situation.

  Belle simply smiled. "Good. Now, let’s have a chat.” The roar of the blades cut through the cabin, but Belle’s voice carried effortlessly over the noise, crisp and unwavering. "You know, it’s really good we snagged you when we did.”

  He spoke over Joy, not to him—his words aimed at the restrained man across the aisle, yet meant to be heard. "You’ve really let yourself go.” A smirk tugged at the corner of Belle’s mouth, his tone laced with mock amusement. ”You look nothing like you did when I hired you, all those years ago. Of course, I don’t look the same either, do I? Time makes fools of us all, doesn’t it, Mr. Jackson?” Joy shifted, his attention locking onto their captive. Grey-streaked, unkempt brown hair. A thick, dingy mustache trailing down to his chest. His face bore the fresh wounds of struggle, cuts and bruises darkening beneath the cabin light.

  "Do you know who this is, Captain?” Belle’s tone carried something sharper now, amusement dipped in steel. "This man tried to bring down HIVE—well, almost did. Ain’t that right, Jax?” The captive squirmed, eyes narrowing as he strained against his restraints. His gaze darted between Belle and Joy, searching for something—an opportunity, an escape, an ounce of control in a situation spiraling beyond his grasp.

  His breath hitched, words forced through clenched teeth. "I—I don’t know you, and I’m never talking!"

  Belle exhaled softly, shaking his head. "Now, now.” A tisk, patronizing. "Never say never."

  The aircraft shifted, gravity pressing against them as they began their descent, the steel fortress of Caliber Headquarters growing ever closer. Landing gear deployed. The hover stabilized. Jax was the first to be yanked from his seat, dragged off by operatives who had been waiting for the moment. His resistance was futile—his fate had already been decided long before this flight.

  The cockpit doors swung open, revealing the pilot. Belle didn’t hesitate.

  "Leave us. Both of you.” No argument. No hesitation. The men filed out, leaving Joy alone with his commanding officer.

  Belle unfastened his seatbelt, exhaling as he leaned back slightly, his gaze distant, thoughtful. "You’re right, Tyler. You reminded me of that quite aptly.” He let the words settle, then turned his attention to the cockpit door. "Do you remember Bolivia? When I came to bring you in? You’d been out there—three months? Six?"

  Joy swallowed, pulse kicking up. "Yeah… I guess so.” But they both knew he remembered exactly how that encounter had gone.

  Joy cleared his throat, the sound rough against the weight pressing into his chest. "Yeah, I—I guess so?” But the truth was, he remembered exactly.

  Bolivia. The bar. The way Belle had cornered him, halfway across the globe, with the precision of a predator closing in on its prey. An impressive feat—not just tracking him down, but ensuring there was nowhere left to run.

  Belle leaned back, exhaling slowly. "I wasn’t entirely truthful in that encounter."

  Joy narrowed his gaze. "What do you mean? You’re talking about Operation Henchmen?"

  Belle’s eyes flickered toward the window, toward the distant horizon where the sky divided into two distinct realms—the east, burning gold beneath the sunrise; the west, dark and heavy with storm-laden clouds. "I’m talking about a lot of things.” The words carried an eerie weight.

  Joy held his breath, studying the Major’s face. Belle was different now—no longer the smirking, cavalier officer basking in the glow of control. He was grounded, his demeanor stripped of its usual arrogance. Somber. Sober in a way Joy had never seen Then came the confession. "I—I didn’t tell you the truth about Operation Maracas."

  Joy stiffened. ”Sir?” Maracas? Why that? What could it possibly have to do with this? Joy’s thoughts twisted into knots.

  Belle sighed, but his gaze never wavered. "I told you I was sent to kill my friend. To take his sons.” He hesitated. Just for a fraction of a second. And then—he met Joy’s stare. Dark hazel eyes—Joy recognized them, the shape, the depth, the history buried within them. "On that day, it was my friend who was sent to kill me.” Belle inhaled sharply, his voice steadier now. "And take my sons.” The world didn’t just shift—it collapsed. Joy felt his pulse slow, then thunder all at once. Because deep down, his mind was already piecing together the truth.

  Joy’s mind scrambled to piece it together, but the realization wasn’t just logical—it was felt. Bolivia. The bar. The conversation about memory—about its inconsistencies, its distortions. That moment had been more than idle talk. It had been the first time they had truly connected, the first time they had acknowledged something deeper than rank, deeper than duty. Something beyond human.

  Belle inhaled sharply, his breath uneven, unsteady. "I’ve wanted to tell you for so long.” It wasn’t like him to falter. Not the calculating, composed Major. But now—now he was stripped raw, his shoulders rising, falling in a near trembling motion as he forced himself to say what had been buried inside him for years. "You were one of those boys, Tyler.” Silence collapsed over them.

  The rhythmic lapping of the ocean against the steel platform became the only sound, the steady pulse of existence filling the void that words could not.

  Joy barely breathed. His mind, his body, his very soul rejected hesitation. There was no other truth. No alternate reality he was willing to accept. No fact that could bend the weight of this revelation. It was true. It had always been true. And for the first time, Joy knew who he was. And he knew—so did Belle.

  #

  The tremors rattling the dropship had faded by the time they breached the atmosphere, the violent ascent giving way to the eerie weightlessness of space. Noel sat rigid in her jump seat, her gaze locked on Nolan. He remained unresponsive, his system still caught in its update—silent, unmoving. She didn’t understand why it was taking so long. The delay gnawed at her, twisting unease into her chest. But she had no way to verify, no tools to diagnose him. Her terminal had been left behind. And that roof—that world—was gone. The Stai’tic murmured in their strange tongue, their voices threading through the cabin like whispers of something ancient.

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  Roel moved toward her, his steps measured, deliberate. He reached out. A quiet gesture, simple yet heavy with intention.

  Noel hesitated, her gaze flickering between his hand and his face, searching for meaning. Then, slowly, she grasped it. And the universe around them shifted. Noel’s fingers hovered over Roel’s outstretched hand, hesitation tightening in her chest. A quiet pulse of instinct warned against the unknown—but curiosity overruled.

  She grasped it.

  Reality collapsed inward, swallowing them whole, and suddenly—there was nothing. A void. Infinite. Noel’s body drifted, weightless, suspended in the thick emptiness between dimensions. Around her, there was no light, no air, just a silent abyss stretching into eternity.

  "Where are we?” Her voice reverberated strangely, carrying through the space like an echo lost in time.

  Roel’s response was steady, solemn. "This is the Shadows. I’m sorry about before. I should have been more—"

  "What do you want with me?” Noel cut him off, crossing her arms, unimpressed with whatever form of telepathic diplomacy he was attempting. Her patience was thin.

  Roel exhaled, his expression unreadable. "It’s not you we want. And it’s not him either. It’s something inside of him we are after."

  Noel’s breath hitched, but she masked it, her stare unwavering. "The spark."

  Roel stiffened, the reaction instant—shock flickering across his face, betraying his control. "How did you know?"

  Noel’s grip tightened, as if reinforcing her own certainty. "I stumbled across a recording in Nolan’s memory. The other being—the one lying aboard that other ship. I thought it was some kind of glitch. But when I saw you all in real life, I knew he had to have you somewhere. Does he know?"

  Roel hesitated. "It’s hard to say what he knows. But he is aware."

  Noel inhaled sharply, her thoughts racing. "Where are we going?"

  "We’re looking for a safe place off-world. Trying to reach the fleet."

  Noel’s expression darkened. "I—I can’t go with you. Neither can he.” Her voice was firm, final. "We need him. He’s supposed to help us regain control.” Noel recoiled, ripping her hand free, severing the connection between them. The abyss trembled, pulling them back into the waking world. Without hesitation, she reached for Nolan instead, gripping his hand tightly, her voice lowering into something raw, urgent—words spoken in a language Roel couldn’t understand. But the meaning was clear. She was choosing him. And whatever war was brewing, she wasn’t handing him over. Not now. Not ever.

  Roel moved quickly, his steps carrying a tension he couldn’t shake. As he reached Ka’eel, his voice was low, measured, but carrying the weight of frustration beneath it.

  "I don’t think she’s going to give him to us."

  Ka’eel barely glanced up from the controls, his fingers adjusting the flight path with precise, effortless movements.

  "Are you able to reach the fleet?"

  "No answer," Ka’eel finally said. His tone was clipped, restrained. "The Commodore can’t reach them either. I wonder how far they went?"

  Roel exhaled sharply, his gaze flickering toward the navigation screen—empty. Silent. "Who knows. But it’s time for us to leave."

  He leaned forward slightly, his voice carrying more command than uncertainty now. "Have you found a place for us to regroup?"

  Ka’eel nodded once, adjusting the sequence before answering. "Yeah. We’re charting a course to a small dormant satellite, just over the horizon.” A slight tremor ran through his fingers as he secured the coordinates. "The mission isn’t over yet. We still have to complete the job."

  Roel studied him for a long second, a flicker of amusement breaking through the tension. "You, of all people—the biggest skeptic of the bunch?”

  Ka’eel let out a dry chuckle, shaking his head. "Yeah, well, you got me. Here I am. And we’re going to do it right.” He paused, his gaze lingering on the vast, empty stretch of space before them. "That world, spinning out there. Hurdling toward this place, ripping its way through the void—it haunts my dreams.” His voice dipped, a rare note of vulnerability threading through his words. "I envision a terrifying dread for anything sentient. I’ve always valued our promise. It’s the thing—maybe the only thing—that makes us superior.” Roel shifted, about to respond when— The alarms detonated through the cabin. Klaxons screeched, red flashing across the monitors.

  Jo’rah’s voice erupted over the comms. "Do you see it? Look alive—!"

  “Hey!?—evasive maneuvers!"

  Before them, the void twisted, shifting to reveal a monstrous presence—a Dreadnought, its massive form emerging like a specter from behind the satellite. It hadn’t just found them. It had been waiting. Its loom was menacing, an omen of destruction wrapped in metal and shadow.

  Roel inhaled sharply, his voice barely above a whisper.

  "Do you think it knows we’re here?” The question lingered, fragile, useless.

  Ka’eel didn’t hesitate. His voice hit the transmitter with force. "We need to get back to Earth—we’re not slipping past that thing.* They were waiting for us!” There was something different in his tone—not just urgency, but inevitability. "They’re ALWAYS waiting for us!"

  Lil’lah’s voice cut through the mounting panic. "I can’t reach the fleet! There are no resources on that satellite. We need another plan!” No more hesitation. No more time for debate. The starships dove, breaking hard into descent, punching through the atmosphere in a violent retreat. The surface stretched beneath them—far from their original landing zone, a low-lying plain spreading in muted shades of earth and dust.

  #

  As the hatch hissed open, Noel staggered forward, her knees buckling beneath the weight of exhaustion. The moment her feet touched solid ground, she collapsed, trembling hands pressing into the dirt. She sucked in air. She was grateful: grateful to feel something real beneath her. Her gaze swept the horizon, searching for familiarity, for anything to anchor herself in this chaos.

  The Ba’urgeons disembarked, moving in silence, their eyes locked skyward. Waiting. Watching. Because they all knew—whatever was up there wasn’t done with them yet. And sooner or later, it was going to come back.

  Roel’s voice carried a quiet dread, barely more than a whisper. "Do you think they noticed us?"

  Jo’rah, ever composed, didn’t hesitate. His tone was steady, unwavering, a stark contrast to the unease gripping the others. "No. I think we masked ourselves as planetary traffic. Besides, I don’t think they want to blow their cover."

  Lil’lah frowned, puzzled. "Blow their cover?"

  Jo’rah exhaled, his gaze lingering on the horizon, as if weighing how much she needed to know. "That’s right. You haven’t seen it.” Without another word, he led the Ba’urg into the dropship. The air inside the common area was thick with unspoken tension as they settled into their seats. Then, as the briefing unfolded, Lil’lah’s understanding sharpened. She exhaled, composing herself before speaking.

  "We need to hide the ships."

  #

  Noel sat motionless, her body slumped, exhaustion pressing against her like an invisible weight. She had stopped trying to figure out where she was. What did it matter anymore? The sky stretched overhead—a vast, overcast expanse that swallowed the sun’s glow in muted gray. The air carried the quiet hum of life: birds in silent arcs, insects weaving through the shrubs that dotted the barren plain. No trees. No markers of familiarity. Just distance.

  Lil’lah approached with careful steps, lowering herself beside Noel. They sat in silence. For a long moment, neither spoke—just two figures staring into the unknown, watching the horizon shift with the fading light. Then, without thinking, Noel reached out. Her fingers wrapped around Lil’lah’s hand. Time stopped.

  Noel turned slowly, her breath hitching. Lil’lah’s form—her presence—was unmistakable. The being from the recording. Nolan’s memory. The realization hit like a silent explosion, rippling through her mind in waves.

  Lil’lah spoke first. "I know. This is a lot to process."

  Noel barely nodded, her gaze drifting back to the sky. The birds were frozen mid-flight, their wings locked in the golden haze of the sunset. Leaves hovered, paused mid-drop, suspended in something beyond time. She exhaled softly. "Yeah. But I’m not scared anymore."

  The weight in her chest loosened—just slightly. Lil’lah’s voice was steady, carrying a quiet reverence. "My name is Lil’lah Mu-Vah, Senior Fleet Commodore of the Ba’urgeon society, from a world farther than you’d ever imagine.” Her grip on Noel’s hand tightened, just enough to steady them both. "You are Noel Stowers. Daughter to Joseph Stowers. Unlocker of the Spark.” The words settled deep, threading through Noel’s senses like an undeniable truth. She was no longer just Noel.

  Noel’s grip loosened, her fingers slipping from Lil’lah’s grasp as she muttered something in English—words weighted with hesitation.

  Lil’lah didn’t need a translation. She understood. Without hesitation, she reclaimed Noel’s hand, her touch deliberate, steady. "I was a friend of your father’s. We met briefly, many moments ago.” The words carried history, something deeper than mere acknowledgment.

  Then, with practiced ease, Lil’lah reached for the neck guard of her uniform, pressing a concealed button. Reality blurred. Her form shimmered—flickering in a cascade of shifting molecules—until the alien Commodore was no longer there.

  A young, dark-skinned woman took her place. Noel’s breath caught in her throat. She knew this woman. The image flashed through her mind—the photograph hanging in the hallway, worn edges curling slightly from time. A party. Her parents. The mystery woman they never named. "I remember that picture.” Noel’s voice trembled, her hands shooting forward, gripping both of Lil’lah’s in silent disbelief. "This pers—you. That was you?!"

  Lil’lah nodded once, her expression solemn. "Yes. He was a good man. My condolences for your loss.” Her head tilted slightly, studying Noel’s reaction—searching for something unspoken. "Did he ever tell you… anything?"

  Noel frowned, confusion etching into her features. "Anything like what?"

  Lil’lah inhaled, steadying herself. "He and I met, and I gave him the Sparks—"

  “No!" The word came out sharp, jarring—an instinctive recoil. Memories twisted, fragmented pieces snapping into place. "He died not telling me a word.” Her voice softened, but the emotion still clung to it, raw and unresolved. "He gave me no guidance—about what they were, what they might have been for— he never spoke of their existence. Certainly didn’t tell me about—“ Her gaze drifted to Lil’lah, realization tightening in her chest. "Well… you know what you are."

  Lil’lah’s expression shifted. Concern deepened. "He really didn’t tell you anything...? No notes? Ramblings, maybe?"

  Noel exhaled, shaking her head slightly. This being—this alien—had to be mad. Her father? A Black man, in that time, that world? Walking around, openly admitting that he had been working with aliens? Impossible. "Daddy was a man of science.” Her voice was quieter now, measured. "I’m not surprised if he wasn’t quick to tell people about meeting an alien—“

  Lil’lah’s gaze hardened, a quiet intensity settling into her posture. "No, that’s not what I’m talking about.” Her voice was sharper now, carrying an urgency Noel hadn’t heard before. "Obviously, he wasn’t supposed to tell you about me—not entirely. But he was supposed to tell you about my purpose here."

  Noel frowned. "It was to bring the Sparks, right?"

  Lil’lah inhaled slowly, but her expression didn’t ease. "Yeah, but—why?” The air between them thickened, charged with an unspoken weight. The casual, measured tone of their conversation had vanished—replaced with something rigid, something fragile on the edge of breaking. "Do you know how many Ba—“ Lil’lah’s voice faltered. A rare moment of restraint. She exhaled, pulling the tension back into herself, forcing composure where anger had threatened to spill over. "I apologize."

  Noel adjusted uncomfortably in her seat, the change in Lil’lah’s demeanor setting off quiet alarms in her mind. "Well, if it’s not about you being an alien, then what is it?"

  Lil’lah held her stare, her dark eyes steady, unwavering. "I think it’s something I should show you instead.” She stood fluidly, pulling Noel to her feet with practiced ease, gripping her hand with quiet firmness. "You can’t let go."

  Noel barely had time to process the warning before it hit. A cold sensation, sharp and foreign, washed over her—seeping into her skin, wrapping itself around her body from head to toe. It wasn’t just cold. It was something deeper, something unnatural. Something beyond anything she had ever felt before. Noel had no time to process the shift—one moment, she was grounded, tethered to the reality she knew. The next, she was not. The world blurred beneath her, the surface shrinking as she drifted upward, detached from her physical form. She floated.

  Her body remained seated below, untouched, staring blankly at the sky. But this version of her—weightless, unbound—was suspended between dimensions, watching the planet dissolve into the vast reaches of space.

  Lil’lah’s voice surrounded her, not spoken, but felt. "Many years ago, in the infancy of the cosmos, my people were there.” The words ignited something unseen, something vast.

  History unfolded in flashes—fractured glimpses threading past her like whispers of time. The Ba’urgeons, evolving, adapting, stretching across the expanse of existence like rivers weaving through galaxies.

  "We were chosen by One Mind, the creator of this.” The name echoed, vibrating through her very being. "He charged the Ba’urgeons with going forward, spreading unity and peace in his name. Spreading our understanding. The One Knowledge leads to the One Understanding.” The universe responded to the telling, images rippling through the void like memories awakening for the first time. "And so, we went forth, spreading One Mind’s Truths."

  Bright constructs bloomed into existence, forming and dissolving in rapid succession. "He bestowed upon us gifts—not just understanding, but tools. Technology.” The word technology carried weight here, laced with something beyond the mechanical, beyond the artificial.

  "All of our technology is derived from One Mind’s Manifestations. Our world is rich in the essence of his sparks, and so he can create things almost from thin air."

  Noel’s gasped. She wasn’t just witnessing history. She was inside it.

  Noel fought against the torrent of images flashing past her, their movement feverish, relentless—dancing in chaotic, hypnotic reels. They were alive, weaving through her consciousness like threads spun from memory itself. It felt like sorcery, something ancient and unnatural, a force beyond comprehension. Yet here she was. Was this what her father had been tangled in? Some cult? Some cosmic madness masquerading as destiny? The thought clawed at her mind, but she forced herself to turn, desperate to find Earth—to anchor herself in something familiar. But the attempt was futile.

  Lil’lah’s grip tightened. Noel was sinking, swallowed whole by the tide of her memories, drowned beneath the weight of an existence far older than her own. Then—Lil’lah spoke. “Here." The universe obeyed. Everything halted.

  Noel and Lil’lah hung suspended above a vacant world, its surface teeming with life—lush, vibrant, breathing in the silent hum of the void. From this distance, Noel could see it resembled Earth—almost. "Watch."

  The command barely reached her ears before movement stirred in the darkness. A light appeared in the vastness beyond—a distant flicker, slow, serene, almost beautiful.Like a shooting star. But that was not what it was. The object loomed, growing impossibly fast, stretching across the fabric of space with a terrible inevitability. And then—impact. Fire erupted in biblical proportions, swallowing the world whole in a hellish inferno. Life—every pulse, every breath—was gone within seconds. Noel watched, frozen in terror, unable to speak, unable to move.

  Lil’lah’s voice slipped through the silence, quiet, mournful. "This is the fate I want to prevent for your world."

  Noel barely blinked. Because suddenly, she realized—this wasn’t just a warning. It was a promise. And time was running out.