They all ran at full speed, as if the devil himself were chasing them. Eamon, slowed by the weight of his years, struggled to keep up but held on, forcing his body beyond its limits. Kiran led the charge, taking full advantage of the natural gifts of his species. Neurorians, by their very physiology, were built for speed: running swiftly and with agility was no obstacle for them—quite the opposite. Right behind him, the android followed with almost mechanical precision. Despite his long years of service and wandering, he still retained a surprising vigor. In his younger days, he would have easily outpaced the Neurorian.

  Zena closed the leading trio, the Daranian using her long-legged stride to maintain a frantic pace. Farther behind, Adam and Eamon fought not to fall behind. The old Azarian was losing ground, each step draining more of his strength. Adam did his best, but humans were not known for matching the speed of most races from the Orion Arm.

  Yet something happened.

  Little by little, the Terran gained ground. First he overtook Zena. Then Koros. He caught up with Kiran… and, against all odds, even took the lead.

  A shiver ran down his spine.

  He didn’t understand. His legs moved with baffling agility, defying the very nature of his species. He sped down the sandy dunes at a staggering pace, dodging obstacles with an ease that wasn’t his.

  Something had changed.

  But what?

  Barely a few minutes after leaving the temple, Adam reached the camp. Without hesitation, he rushed toward the ship. But at the last moment, a strange sensation stopped him. As if called by an invisible force, he turned back—and his heart clenched.

  His companions weren’t there yet.

  Their silhouettes appeared faintly a few hundred meters away, battling fatigue and the rough terrain. Without hesitation, Adam turned back. He needed to help them, bring them faster, make sure they all reached the camp in time.

  But as he sprinted toward them, relief washed over him—Kiran and the others were finally arriving, faces marked by exertion. Eamon, however, did not head for the ship like the rest. Breathless, shaking, he veered sharply toward the research tent, eyes locked on one goal: the artifact discovered on the first day.

  “Eamon! What are you doing?!” Adam shouted.

  But it was already too late.

  The ground shook violently. A shockwave rippled through the sand, sending them staggering. Eamon collapsed to his knees, releasing a groan of pain. He tried to get back up, trembling, still determined to reach the artifact.

  “Damn it, he'll get himself killed!” Koros spat before sprinting after him.

  Then the first shot fell from the sky.

  With a deafening roar, an impact obliterated a large portion of the camp. A plume of sand erupted into a blinding storm, a massive cloud of dust swallowing the entire area. Within seconds, visibility dropped to just a few meters.

  And then, behind the small water basin, the source of the quake finally revealed itself.

  The troop carrier hovered ten meters above the ground.

  A colossal shadow covered the sand. Beams of light shot out from the hull, casting strange white rays onto the surface. And one by one, the Consortium soldiers emerged from the glow.

  The Supernovas had arrived.

  The threat stood before them—relentless, implacable.

  This time, there was no waiting.

  No escape.

  They were at the Consortium’s mercy.

  Soldiers, clad in lightweight armor and armed with laser assault rifles, advanced methodically, drowning the camp beneath a barrage of precise fire. Bolts of energy tore through the air, lighting up the smoldering ruins. Each impact thundered like a storm, flinging sand and debris in every direction. The very ground seemed to vibrate beneath the assault.

  Koros ran. As fast as his circuits allowed.

  But he wasn’t fast enough.

  The first shot pierced his shoulder, ripping a chunk from his exoskeleton. He staggered but didn’t stop.

  The second struck his torso, charring his internal cables.

  Then came the fatal blow.

  A burst of shots tore through him, sending burning shards of metal and circuitry spraying into the air. His body ignited from the inside, sparks bursting from his joints as his failing systems desperately tried to reboot.

  He let out one last distorted cry—a mix of static and broken sound—before his legs gave out. His metallic body crashed violently into the sand, scraping across several meters in a cloud of dust and debris.

  Then nothing.

  Only the gunfire remained.

  Koros was gone.

  Horrified, Adam felt each second ticking down like a countdown to their inevitable death. The Consortium had only one objective: erase every trace of their presence on this world. No negotiations. No mercy. Escape was their only chance.

  But Eamon…

  The old Azarian was still isolated inside the research tent, which he had somehow reached before Koros’ brutal execution. Adam tried to regain his senses, to find a way to get him out. He screamed his name, but his voice was drowned under the storm of laser fire.

  He reached for his intercom—nothing but white noise.

  The situation worsened by the second. Adam turned to Kiran, who was staring at the tent, jaw clenched.

  “I’m going after him,” the feline said, ready to leap.

  “No! Absolutely not—you’ll end up like Koros!”

  “And so what? We're dead anyway…”

  “…Wait. Where’s Zena?”

  A sob, barely audible beneath the chaos, reached their ears. They turned and spotted Zena curled behind a rock near the ship, trembling under the hail of enemy fire.

  Kiran didn't hesitate. He rushed toward her.

  And that’s when Adam felt it.

  A strange sensation—visceral, primal. A shiver like a silent alarm deep within him. His gaze locked onto Kiran, onto the trajectory of the shots.

  Something was wrong.

  Without thinking, he yelled:

  “Right side, Kiran! DOWN!”

  The Neurorian obeyed instantly, diving to the ground.

  A yellow beam sliced through the spot where his head had been a split second earlier. In a shrill hiss, the blast shattered against a nearby rock, unleashing a wave of incandescent dust.

  Lying in the sand, Kiran felt his heart hammering wildly.

  He was alive.

  Thanks to Adam.

  Zena, still curled up, lifted tear-filled eyes toward Kiran. Her cheeks were soaked, streaked with salt and fear, but within the despair glimmered a fragile spark of relief when she saw him.

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  Kiran, breathless, grabbed her arm and pulled her close. They had no time to spare. They needed to reach the ship. At any cost. It was their only chance—their last hope.

  But as the duo ran toward the vessel, Adam felt that strange sensation again. That silent warning vibrating through every fiber of his being.

  He narrowed his eyes. Instinctively, he turned toward the soldiers.

  Something was very wrong.

  “Two shots! Behind you!” he shouted.

  Kiran didn’t think. He grabbed Zena and dove forward. Two plasma bursts tore through the air right where they had stood a moment earlier. A scorching wave brushed past them as the shots exploded further away with a deadly whistle.

  Panting, the feline looked up at Adam. He had called the exact number. And once again, he had saved their lives.

  Stunned, Kiran stared at him—looking for an explanation.

  But Adam wasn’t looking back.

  He was already moving.

  Driven by that strange intuition, he sprinted toward the research tent where Eamon was still trapped. Time was running out. Any second now, the soldiers would overrun the camp—and once they did, there would be no escape.

  But something guided him.

  His steps became faster, sharper. He dodged the incoming fire with unnatural agility, slipping between shots, avoiding every blast as if he already knew where they would hit. Sometimes a laser passed so close he felt the heat sear his skin, a stray lock of hair burning mid-air…

  But he didn’t slow down.

  He had to save Eamon.

  Inside the shredded tent, Eamon was curled under the briefing table, hands over his ears, eyes shut tight, trembling beneath the chaos tearing the camp apart. He held his breath, na?vely hoping the storm of fire might stop… but the shots only intensified. Lasers tore through the tent from every direction, turning it into a shroud riddled with glowing holes.

  Chaos reigned. Research documents littered the floor like the remnants of knowledge doomed to vanish. A table lay overturned, electronic tools burned slowly, releasing acrid fumes that filled the tent with suffocating smoke.

  Suddenly, a shadow burst through the entrance.

  Adam rushed in, panting, eyes wide with urgency. He scanned the wreckage and spotted the old Azarian under the table. Without hesitation, he darted forward, grabbed his arm, and dragged him out.

  “Come on, Eamon! We have to go, now! The ship is our only chance!”

  The archaeologist blinked, dazed, still stunned by terror. He nodded weakly, gathering what strength he had left, and rose shakily to his feet.

  They burst out of the tent—but barely had they taken a few steps when the looming silhouettes of Consortium soldiers appeared. They were only meters away.

  A piercing cry tore through the sky.

  A metallic howl—dark, chilling.

  Adam felt the warning explode within him, that eerie sensation returning like a dagger in his gut… but this time, he had no time to act.

  The ground erupted.

  A fighter had opened fire.

  The shockwave hurled Adam forward, ripping a scream from his throat. He crashed into the sand, the impact knocking the air out of him.

  But behind him—

  Behind him came a scream unlike anything human.

  Adam turned—just in time.

  Eamon was hit.

  The blast struck him directly, flinging him into the air like a rag doll. Flesh and blood burst in a gruesome spray as his right leg was obliterated—torn apart in a crimson explosion. Fragments of bone and flesh scattered across the sand, splattering Adam’s face as he watched in horror.

  The old man crashed back down…

  And impaled himself on a jagged piece of metal.

  A sickening sound followed—a crack, a wet crunch.

  Eamon fought for air, his face contorted in unbearable agony. His chest heaved in desperate, futile attempts to breathe, blood pouring rapidly around him, soaking the sand in a widening pool.

  Adam, dazed and trembling, crawled toward him—

  Then he saw the full horror.

  “Eaaamoooonnn!!!”

  His scream shattered the air.

  Raw. Primal. Broken.

  The archaeologist slowly opened his eyes—once bright, now dimmed by the veil of death. His lips quivered, forming words that barely existed.

  Adam fell to his knees beside him, hands shaking, drenched in blood. He grasped Eamon’s trembling hand and held it tight—as if he could anchor him to life.

  “Hold on… please… please…” he begged, voice breaking.

  Tears streamed down his face, dripping into the blood-soaked sand.

  Eamon had never been just a professor. He was Adam’s guide. His shelter. The man who saved him from loneliness after his parents’ death… the one who brought him to the Mazari Institute… the one who believed in him when no one else did.

  He wasn’t just a mentor—

  He was a father.

  The old doctor tried to speak, but only a painful gurgle escaped. His once-bright eyes faded, dimming slowly as life left him. With a final surge of will, he squeezed Adam’s handhis gnarled fingers trembling.

  And in a fragile whisper, he murmured:

  “Adam… I’m… so proud of you…”

  A violent spasm rattled his body. Blood gushed from his lips.

  “No… no, don’t—don’t go…” Adam pleaded, shaking his head, as if denial could reverse reality.

  But Eamon fought on, mustering the last of his strength. His gaze locked on Adam’s—one final spark of urgency flickering in it.

  “You…must find…the Asc…endium… you must… understand… it is… our hope…”

  Adam’s heart twisted.

  “The Ascendium? What is it? Why is it our hope?! Eamon—please, I can’t do this without you!”

  But Eamon’s voice was fading, drifting away like a dying flame. He forced out one final sentence:

  “You… are… better… than I was… Find… the Ascendium… it’s… the… Esth—”

  His hand fell limp.

  His gaze froze—empty, extinguished.

  Eamon’s breath faded.

  A cold silence fell upon Adam.

  He stayed frozen, refusing to accept reality. He held the hand growing cold within his own, feeling the warmth of life seep away.

  A hollow abyss opened inside him.

  A silent scream crushed his chest—too heavy to escape his lips.

  Eamon Fedrus was gone.

  And Adam was nothing but a shattered man, kneeling in the ruins and blood.

  The heavy footsteps of soldiers brought him back to reality. He didn’t have time to mourn. Every second mattered. Hesitating meant death.

  Adam rose unsteadily, wiping his tears, smearing Eamon’s blood across his face. If honoring his last words meant anything… it meant surviving.

  He ran. Every step hurt, but he couldn’t falter.

  He spotted Kiran and Zena hiding in the ship’s shadow, pinned down by relentless fire.

  When Zena saw him, a trembling question escaped her lips:

  “And Eamon…?”

  Adam simply lowered his gaze and nodded—too broken to speak.

  “We’re out of time, we have to leave NOW!” he ordered, voice cracked yet resolute.

  Kiran and Zena nodded silently, grief weighing down their eyes. The three of them rushed up the ship’s ramp. Blaster fire rained around them like a storm of deadly stars—but Adam, driven by an intuition he still didn’t understand, dodged every shot with uncanny precision, pulling his friends along.

  They reached the ramp. Kiran hit the close button. The ramp rose slowly—but the blaster fire intensified, hammering the hull. Sparks erupted everywhere, metal screeching under the strain.

  Kiran dashed to the cockpit to start the lift-off.

  The ramp sealed shut just as a final blast hit it.

  Adam turned—just as Zena collapsed into his arms.

  Blood dripped from her mouth. Her breathing was ragged. A lung was hit.

  “Zena!” Adam cried, holding her trembling body.

  She looked up at him with terrified, unfocused eyes.

  “Adam… what’s happening…? I’m cold… so cold…” she whispered, her voice shivering.

  “Stay with me! Zena—look at me! You’re going to make it. Don’t close your eyes!”

  She shook her head weakly.

  “Everything… feels numb… I can’t… feel anything…”

  He clasped her shoulders, desperate to pull her back from the edge.

  “Remember Darania—your home. The violet plains, the crystal forests under the red sun. The amethyst rivers. Your family—your little sister waiting for you. Your dreams, everything you wanted. You’re strong—stronger than any of us. Don’t let it all disappear. Stay with me!”

  She tried to smile, but it broke into a bloody cough.

  “Adam… I miss my sister… so much… I wish I could see my parents one last time…”

  Adam held her tight, heart breaking.

  “You will. I swear. Just hold on.”

  Her eyes filled with tears.

  Another cough. More blood.

  She closed her eyes.

  “No—Zena! No!” Adam screamed. “Stay with me! Don’t leave!”

  She opened her eyes one last time—weak, fading.

  Her breath slowed…

  Stopped.

  Her body went still, cold and heavy in his arms. Adam froze, soul shattering. He pressed his forehead to hers, sobbing as the world collapsed around him.

  Then—

  “Adam! I need you in the cockpit! We won’t take off otherwise!” Kiran’s voice blared through the speakers.

  Dazed, drowning in grief, Adam forced himself up. He laid Zena down gently, as if she could still feel his care. Then he stumbled toward the cockpit.

  “Okay… what do I do?” he whispered, voice broken.

  “Auxiliary thrusters. I’ll handle the trajectory!” Kiran replied, focused despite everything.

  The ship roared—finally lifting off. Beneath them, the world they’d come to explore burned in ruins.

  Adam stared through the viewport—but he didn’t see the horizon.

  He saw faces.

  Zena.

  Eamon.

  Koros.

  Ghosts that would follow him forever.

  He clenched his fists, a quiet hatred rising.

  “The Consortium…” he whispered. “I won’t forgive them.”

  A silent vow formed—hard, unbreakable.

  He would uncover the truth.

  Honor the dead.

  And make the Consortium pay.

  But above all…

  The Ascendium.

  What was it?

  A key?

  A hope?

  He swore he would find the answers—no matter the cost.

  No matter the sacrifices ahead.