Somewhere near the edge of the Lumaether Fields

They never tell you how quiet it gets after the war.

Not the peaceful kind of quiet. Not the kind that means it’s over. Just… the kind that feels like something’s missing.

Like the screaming stopped too fast. Like your heart’s still trying to catch up. Like the universe forgot you were still here.

Sereia Riven Vexen stared up at a cracked sky that didn’t quite look real anymore—like it had been stitched together with smoke and stars. Her body ached in places she couldn’t name. Her side was bleeding, slow and steady, but she wasn’t panicking. Not yet. Not even angry.

She was just… tired.

And maybe a little annoyed at herself for surviving.

The mission had gone sideways. That much was obvious. She couldn’t remember exactly when it started falling apart—maybe it was when the comms went dark. Or when the ground split open. Or maybe it was when he looked her in the eyes, said “You trust me, right?”, and disappeared into the fire.

Caius Kieran Thorne. The golden boy. The perfect soldier. The one the system paraded around as proof that heroes still existed.

He was also the one who left her behind.

Maybe he had a reason. Maybe there was a call she didn’t hear, a sacrifice she didn’t see. Maybe she was being dramatic.

But then she saw him.

Standing on the ridge above her. Alive. Untouched.

Carrying someone else.

Sereia didn’t cry. Didn’t scream. Didn’t move.

She just memorized the way his arms held that girl like she meant something.

Like she was the one he fought to save.

Like the rest of them were already ghosts.

And here’s the thing:

Sereia wasn’t mad because he chose someone else. She was mad because he looked at her like she was easy to leave.

Zayen Severing Voss.

The name they whispered like a curse. The face they plastered on war boards across the systems with words like terrorist, traitor, rebel king.

He stepped into view, not with a weapon, but with something stranger—stillness. Like he wasn’t surprised to see her breathing. Like he knew she would be.

He looked at her for a long time. Not with pity. Not even curiosity. Just… clarity.

“You thought he’d come back for you,” he said, voice low, almost conversational. It wasn’t a question.

Sereia didn’t answer.

Zayen didn’t touch her. Didn’t help her. Didn’t hurt her either. He just nodded once, as if confirming something only he understood, then turned and walked away.

And somehow, that scared her more than dying.

Because he didn’t need to win. Not with weapons. Not with fire. He just needed her to see the truth.

And now—she had.

Maybe this wasn’t a story about heroes.

Maybe it never was.

Let them have their war stories. Their polished medals. She had something else.

A memory. A name. And a reason to live.

And she wouldn’t forget who gave her each one.

After the medals. After the lies.

When the only thing you have left is your name, your blood, and the promise you whispered to yourself in the dirt:

Survive. And make it count.

...Sereia's POV...

“Stay down, Sereia. Stay alive.”

Fire. Again.

It always starts with fire.

I was seven the first time. Metal screamed. Glass shattered. The sky outside the shelter door was painted orange and wrong. My mother’s voice was the last soft thing I heard before the sirens swallowed it whole.

She shut the door. My father locked it from the other side. I pressed my palms against it until the vibrations stopped.

Since then, silence has never felt safe.

“Vexen.”

My head snaps up. The war table flickers in front of me, a map glowing across steel and shadows. Commander Lorenzo Venn stares like he’s been watching me drift for the last ten seconds. Maybe he has.

“You with us?” he says, voice rough around the edges, like always.

“Yes, sir.” I sit straighter.

He doesn’t comment. Just turns back to the map. He’s not the yelling type. He’s the you-should-know-better type.

I force the memory down, back into the place I keep it. There’s no room for ghosts right now.

“We lost Relay Station 09 last night,” he says, gesturing to a flickering zone on the outskirts of the Core Worlds. “Gone without warning. All signals severed. No survivors recovered.”

“Zayen?” Liri asks. Calm, steady. She always sounds like that, even when the world tilts sideways.

Venn doesn’t answer, which is answer enough.

A quiet pulse goes through our squad. We’re used to loss. Just not this clean.

“We’re deploying within the hour,” he continues. “Recon only. No heroics. If the Obsidian Veil left breadcrumbs, you bring them back. If they didn’t, you come back with your own blood still inside you.”

I nod automatically, my hand resting on the hilt of my emitter blade. Liri glances at me. So does Nael, who’s already muttering code into his wristpad. Tov mutters something to Elira, who rolls her eyes without looking up. The usual.

“We believe the Veil took something,” Venn adds. “Or someone. I want names.”

The meeting wraps up fast. No time for questions when the answers are classified. Just before I step out with the team, Venn calls out again.

“Vexen.”

I pause, hand on the door.

“You think too much,” he says. “That’s not always a weakness. But it can be a death sentence.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, sir.”

He nods, just barely, and I step out.

As the meeting breaks, the squad filters into the corridor like a well-oiled machine with emotional damage.

The hallway’s quieter than usual. We walk in a loose line—Lirae beside me, Nael half-bouncing behind us, Elira moving like a shadow. Tov yawns like we didn’t just get assigned a mission that could kill us.

“Well, that wasn’t ominous at all,” Tov says, fake cheerful. “Just our standard ‘don’t die’ pep talk.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Elira mutters. “He could’ve smiled.”

“Oh god, don’t say that,” Nael shudders. “If Drax ever smiles, it means one of us just got vaporized.”

Liri falls in step beside me, hands tucked behind her back like always. “You sure you’re okay?” she asks under her breath.

“Yeah,” I lie.

She doesn’t push. She just nudges me with her elbow. “You’re terrible at lying, by the way.”

“And you’re terrible at letting me wallow in peace.”

“Exactly why I’m your best friend.”

Behind us, Tov is still complaining. “You know, I miss when our missions didn’t involve potential death by collapsing satellites or creepy assassin cults.”

Nael raises a hand. “Petition to rename the Obsidian Veil to Creepy Assassin Cult. Seconded?”

“Thirded,” Tov says. “All in favor?”

“Denied,” Elira cuts in. “I’m not risking Zayen hacking into my sleep mod and making me dream about snakes again.”

“Wait, he can do that?” Nael looks genuinely concerned.

“No, but you're dumb enough to believe it,” Elira deadpans.

I grin, listening to them bicker, and for a moment—just a sliver of time—it almost feels normal. Almost.

“Why does it feel like we’re always the cleanup crew for Zayen’s mess?” Tov mutters.

“Because we are,” Elira replies. “And because no one else can handle it.”

“Wow. That almost sounded like pride,” Nael grins.

Tov’s still ranting. “One of these days, I wanna meet this Zayen guy and just… talk.”

“Talk?” Nael asks.

“Yeah. Like, ‘Hey, man. Why all the drama? Therapy exists.’”

“Pretty sure Zayen’s the type to burn the therapist’s office down,” Elira mutters.

I laugh before I can stop myself. It slips out—quiet and real. And it lingers, even as the weight settles back in.

Because in this war, sometimes a laugh is the only proof you’re still human.

The laughter dies the second the lift doors hiss open.

Boots echo.

Sleek uniforms. Precision posture. A different kind of quiet follows them—the kind that carries weight, calculation, and unspoken authority.

Caius Kieran Thorne steps in like a walking storm. Sharp, unreadable, every movement refined like he was engineered for war. Which, according to the whispers, he was.

His squad fans out behind him:

— Thalen Vox, cold stare already locked on our group, hands clasped like he’s restraining judgment.

— Keira Noelle Strade, quiet, porcelain-soft, eyes downcast but... watching everything.

The rest trail silently, all edge, all discipline.

Of course it’s them.

“Wonderful,” Tov mutters under his breath. “The golden boys are here.”

“Correction,” Elira adds, not bothering to hide her disdain. “Golden weapons.”

“Don’t start,” I whisper, though I’m already gripping the data slate a little tighter.

Caius’ gaze brushes over us like a scan, lingering only slightly when it lands on me.

My breath holds. Just for a second.

He nods once, silent.

And keeps walking.

Commander Drax’s voice booms behind us. “Joint recon teams will be deployed. Coordination is key.”

Joint? Oh, stars.

The moment we’re dismissed again, Liri grabs my arm. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Joint with them?” Nael gapes. “I thought Drax hated us.”

“He does,” I sigh. “Apparently not enough.”

Tov glances over his shoulder. “I swear Thalen just scanned me like a threat. Should I be flattered or terrified?”

“Yes,” Elira answers.

Caius and his squad pause a few paces away, checking gear.

I feel his presence before he speaks. A low voice, meant only for me.

“Sereia.”

I turn.

“Watch your flank when we breach that sector. They target healers first.”

It’s not a warning.

It’s not kindness either.

It’s... something else.

I narrow my eyes. “Why do you care?”

He holds my gaze. “I don’t. I care about mission efficiency.”

Lirae snorts. “Wow. That’s the nicest almost-concern I’ve heard all day.”

Caius doesn’t react. He’s already walking away.

But Thalen throws me a side glance as he passes. “Try not to get in his way.”

Elira rolls her eyes. “Try not to step on your own ego, chrome skull.”

Nael stifles a laugh.

Tension hangs heavy in the air, unspoken but sharp. Oil and fire in the same room, pretending they won’t ignite.

And still... somewhere deep inside, a flicker.

This war is changing. And we’re walking straight into the storm—side by side with people who may yet become our greatest allies...

...or our downfall.

...----------------...

...END OF CHAPTER 1...

Emitter Blade – A plasma-meets-steel weapon used by elite units like Sereia’s.

Relay Station 09 – A communications hub that mysteriously went dark.

Core Worlds – Central, well-protected planets under Vanguard control.

Obsidian Veil – Rebel group led by Zayen; seen as terrorists by the Vanguard.

Vanguard Unit – Military force protecting the Core; includes Sereia and Caius.

Joint Recon – Missions combining squads from different branches. Usually tense.

Chrome Skull – Slang for emotionless, high-efficiency soldiers like Thalen.

Lumaether – A rare energy source powering weapons and tech.

...Sereia's POV...

...----------------...

There are worse things than being assigned to a death mission.

Like being assigned to a death mission... with Caius Kieran Thorne.

We’re all crammed into the docking bay now, waiting for final clearance. Caius stands across the room, running through data files like the war effort depends on his concentration alone. His entire squad mirrors him—stoic, still, unnervingly synchronized. I hate how efficient they look.

"Should we salute them or throw a wrench and see who flinches first?" Tov mutters beside me, balancing a canister of compressed med-gel on one shoulder.

"I vote wrench," Elira deadpans.

"You're all children," Liri sighs, but she’s smiling as she tightens the strap on my gear. “Sereia, you good?”

I nod, distracted—because Caius is walking over. Great.

“Need something, Thorne?” I ask as calmly as possible.

He holds out a holo-slate. “You missed a line on your inventory check.”

I scowl. “I didn’t.”

“You did.”

I snatch the slate, double-check—damn it, he’s right.

Liri leans in, stage-whispering, “Ooh. Flirting via logistical corrections. Bold move.”

Caius doesn’t even blink. “If I flirted, you’d know.”

My mouth opens. Nothing comes out. Tov chokes on his water. Elira flat-out laughs.

“That’s illegal,” Nael coughs.

Even Thalen raises an eyebrow.

Keira glances up, brushing hair from her face. “He means he doesn’t flirt.”

Caius ignores them all. “Briefing starts in five. Don’t be late.”

He turns and walks off again.

“Are you okay?” Liri asks, eyes wide.

“No,” I mutter. “I think I just got mansplained and emotionally threatened in one sentence.”

“Hot,” Elira says.

We gather near the holo-map where Commander Drax and Lorenzo Venn are already projecting the recon routes.

Drax gestures at the display. “You’ll be split in mixed pairs. The Veil’s trail is cold, but traces of their tech were detected in these three quadrants.”

Of course.

Caius and I are paired. Again.

“You’ve gotta be kidding,” I whisper to no one.

“Plot twist: it’s fate,” Tov grins.

“Plot twist: it’s punishment,” I reply.

Meanwhile, I catch Trav—yes, our chaos-brained mech pilot—sneaking glances at Keira.

He elbows Nael. “Bro. Do you think she likes quantum engines?”

“She probably likes functioning sentences first,” Nael mutters.

Trav straightens. “I can do that. I can be normal.”

He promptly trips over a cable.

Keira looks up, concerned. “Are you—?”

“I’m good!” Trav calls too loudly. “That was just… gravity. Classic gravity.”

Keira offers a small smile. Elira whispers to me, “He’s a goner.”

Pair assignments flash across the holo-slate.

“Tov Strade. Keira Noelle Strade.”

Silence.

Tov blinks. “Wait. We’re—”

“—Not related,” Keira finishes with practiced grace, already stepping toward him.

Tov looks like he’s been hit by a stun pulse. “Right. Obviously. Of course. That’d be weird. Hah. Like, what are the odds? Strade’s a common name. Very common. Super common.”

Keira arches a brow. “Are you always this... energetic?”

“I’m calm,” Tov insists. “I’m serenity incarnate.”

“You tripped over a cable five minutes ago.”

“That was gravity. It’s after me.”

Keira presses her lips together, fighting a smile. “Well, Serenity Incarnate, I hope you don’t trip when I hand you a plasma charge.”

Tov salutes dramatically. “I would never betray your trust like that, Lieutenant Not-My-Sister.”

She walks past him with a half-shake of her head. “We’ll see.”

Behind them, Elira mutters to Nael, “If he survives this mission, it’ll be purely out of her mercy.”

Meanwhile, another name pairing echoes in the space:

“Lirae Kenze. Thalen Vox.”

Both parties freeze. Then turn. Then glare.

“Great,” Liri says, deadpan.

Thalen doesn’t even blink. “Likewise.”

They approach each other like two diplomats forced into a handshake during war-time.

Liri crosses her arms. “So. I assume you’re gonna treat me like I’m incompetent just because I don’t move like a programmed droid?”

Thalen tilts his head. “No. I’ll treat you like you’re incompetent if you prove it in the field.”

“Oh wow,” she says with a dangerous smile. “You’re exactly as charming as your reputation promised.”

“I aim to exceed expectations.”

Nael whispers to me, “Are they gonna kill each other or make out?”

“Probably both,” I whisper back.

As our teams head toward the drop ships, there's an uneasy blend of tension, mockery, and something almost like camaraderie. Almost.

Caius steps beside me again. “Try not to get distracted.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Try not to explode from all that personality.”

He doesn’t smile. But he looks close to it.

The rest of the squad breaks into their assigned pairs. Thalen stalks past us like he’s allergic to socialization. Tov salutes mockingly. “Sir Doomface.”

Caius lands beside me again, reading the mission data aloud like we didn’t all receive the same file.

“We move through Zone A, secure data nodes, and check for biometric residue. You cover left. I cover right.”

I raise a brow. “Wow. Such thrilling teamwork.”

He glances at me. “Don’t get sentimental.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Liri passes behind us and sings under her breath, “Two enemies, sitting in a tree…”

Nael picks it up. “K-I-L-L-I-N-G—”

“Enough,” I snap, cheeks warm.

Caius, of course, doesn’t react at all.

And I don’t know what’s worse—that we’re all about to risk our lives in enemy territory…

Or that I might actually be getting used to him.

...----------------...

...END OF CHAPTER 2...

Docking Bay – Designated area where ships land and launch.

Recon Routes – Pre-planned scouting paths for gathering intel.

Quantum Engines – Advanced propulsion systems allowing near-instant travel or extreme efficiency.

Serenity Incarnate – A poetic/metaphoric phrase meaning "calm made flesh" or an embodiment of peace.

Plasma Charge – High-energy explosive or weapon powered by ionized gas.