[POV: Nardia]

  The Ancients giant had just deleted a shuttle.

  And I… I froze so hard my brain might’ve blue-screened.

  (Wait. No. This isn’t the fun scary kind. This is the “we die here” kind—!)

  In front of us, the “whale-monster” machine that had risen out of the ground shifted its posture, its semi-solid metal shell rippling as if it were flexing muscles it didn’t need.

  “A-Ahmad…!” I choked out. “That thing is—!”

  “Probably a type of guardian for the Ancients ruins,” Ahmad said. Calm. Too calm. “Not what we expected.”

  “‘Not what we expected’?! You say that like we got the wrong takeout order!”

  “Unexpected is standard issue for adventurers.”

  “STOP MAKING IT SOUND LIKE EQUIPMENT!”

  Genichiro, pale as chalk, shouted from the sensor console.

  “Bad! The optical sensors— it’s turning toward us!”

  “Why is it looking at us?!” I squealed. “We didn’t do anything wrong, right?!”

  Genichiro shot me a sideways glare. “Maybe it’s because your voice is loud enough to be registered as a seismic event.”

  “Volume doesn’t matter! There’s no air!”

  The giant machine’s “eye” aligned with us anyway.

  Metal groaned. Something inside it ground, like mountains rubbing together.

  My knees started shaking so hard my boots clicked.

  Ahmad’s voice dropped.

  “…Genichiro.”

  “Yeah,” Genichiro said, jaw tight. “I know. We don’t have a choice.”

  He slammed commands into the comm pad like he was trying to punch the machine through the screen.

  The next instant, the Shiratori’s upper catapult howled—and a long, slim craft in white and gray leapt upward.

  The orbital fighter Ahmad had briefed me on.

  Aelimius.

  Its silhouette was smooth, almost birdlike… except the loadout screamed war machine wearing a bird costume.

  Genichiro sprinted for it.

  “W-wait— Genichiro! You’re getting in?!” I blurted. “Aren’t you a mechanic— I mean, not a pilot?!”

  A gruff voice answered from the catapult deck. “I’m getting in because I’m not an official mechanic.”

  “That makes ZERO sense!”

  “I trained on the stick years ago,” he snapped. “My hands remember.”

  “So you’re relying on muscle memory?! Where did ‘technical precision’ go?!”

  “Shut up,” Genichiro said. “I’m concentrating.”

  “…Yes, sir!”

  I had no comeback. None.

  And I realized something terrifying:

  Genichiro is scariest when he’s being completely normal and serious.

  Aelimius rose lightly, then launched with a razor-slice whine—like a blade being drawn.

  My eyes couldn’t track it. One moment it was there, the next it was simply gone—vanished from the sky like it had been erased.

  “N-no way… it’s fast—!”

  “Aelimius is my design,” Ahmad said, absurdly casual. “Genichiro modeled it for me. Of course it’s fast.”

  “That is NOT something the designer should say like it’s obvious!”

  Then white light fell from above.

  Aelimius’s main cannon—an ultra-high-output free-electron laser.

  The moment the beam struck the guardian’s chest, a thunderous shock rolled through the valley like the air itself was vibrating.

  And then—

  The giant machine’s upper body dispersed.

  Not “broken.” Not “blown apart.”

  It mist-ed, like paper caught in a hurricane—reduced into glittering nothing.

  “…Huh?” was all I managed.

  “Well,” Ahmad said with a shrug. “One hit.”

  “One hit?!” My voice cracked. “That wasn’t ‘one hit’—that was ‘it stopped existing!’ The top half is GONE!”

  “Genichiro’s skill is guaranteed,” Ahmad replied.

  “That’s not a ‘guarantee’ level problem, that’s a ‘my worldview shattered’ problem!”

  Somewhere inside me, my common sense made a tiny crunching sound and collapsed into dust.

  Genichiro’s voice cut in over comms, clipped and annoyed.

  “Don’t celebrate. Cooling’s spiking.”

  “Cooling?” I repeated, because my brain had latched onto the idea that we had time for trivia.

  “Laser heat,” he snapped. “One big shot means a long cool-down. We can’t spam it.”

  Ahmad’s eyes narrowed. “Copy. Keep it ready, not greedy.”

  So even the miracle bird war machine had a price tag.

  Somehow that made the universe feel more real.

  This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  And more unfair.

  The Ancients machine fell apart into fragments, and a white fog of metallic powder spun into the wind.

  Gravity of Veshild’s moon was weak, so some of it drifted upward, rising like ash that refused to fall.

  My visor finally stopped glitching.

  That was when a blue flash—like someone tearing open the sky—split the horizon beyond the valley.

  A black shape descended slowly to the surface.

  “…A ship?” I whispered. “But… that’s not an Earth ship…”

  It was wrong. A rhombus-like cube stretched by complex lines, matte-black metal writhing like wet carapace.

  Not an Earth corporation standard. Not even close.

  I’d seen that silhouette in textbooks—the arsenic-based alien species that Earth was hostile with.

  “A Gara XFI-Za-A vessel…” I breathed. “Why is it here? They’re enemies of humanity—!”

  “…Bad feeling,” Ahmad murmured.

  The alien ship’s hatch opened like an animal’s mouth.

  I zoomed in with my visor scope—and out of the darkness stepped Barlock.

  Black cloak. A metal-like, emotionless face.

  Exactly like the dossier photo Ahmad had shown me back then… except colder. More real. Like the picture had been mercy.

  “No…” I whispered. “That’s him. The real one…”

  “Back,” Ahmad ordered quietly, stepping in front of me. “Stay behind me, Nardia.”

  Barlock turned toward us slowly, like an actor taking the stage.

  His movements were wrong too—human in shape, machine in precision.

  The alien ship’s hull flared a pale blue-white—

  And Barlock’s voice hijacked our comms.

  “—Earth’s little brats. Same as ever. You love scavenging other people’s leftovers.”

  “Eek—! The comm line— it stabbed right into us?!” I squeaked. “Who is this foul-mouthed guy?!”

  “Barlock,” Ahmad answered as if he were identifying a brand of coffee.

  “Ah. Ahmad L. Rashid… So you came after all. It seems you’ve interfered again.”

  “You’re the one interfering,” Ahmad said, voice dropping lower.

  I couldn’t do anything but tremble.

  There was no warmth in Barlock’s words. No human body-temperature. Just… empty cold.

  (He’s a hundred times scarier than the photo—!)

  Barlock’s mouth twitched into the faintest smile.

  “Whatever. I already took the prize. Bark all you like—losers.”

  “Wha—!” I snapped. “You can’t just—!”

  Ahmad’s expression didn’t move.

  Only his eyes sharpened.

  “No matter what you do, you can’t stop the tide of this galaxy. Humanity will understand soon enough—our power.”

  “Our…?” I muttered before I could stop myself.

  Barlock didn’t answer.

  He turned his back and walked into the black ship again.

  The hull gathered blue light. Sand lifted from the ground. The world trembled.

  “Remember this. Next time we meet, you won’t have anywhere to run.”

  The comm line cut.

  A heartbeat later the ship kicked upward with a crack of force, leaving only a fading blue afterglow—then it vanished.

  The valley was left with broken ruins and silence.

  “…Ahmad,” I managed, voice small. “Is that really… an ‘Earth human’?”

  “That’s something wearing an Earth human’s skin,” Ahmad said, low.

  “Eep—!”

  “The motion is too precise,” he continued. “And I can’t feel a clean life-signature. And—”

  He scooped a handful of dust and let it fall through his fingers.

  “There is no Earth human who rides in a Gara XFI-Za-A ship.”

  “Then… then…!”

  Cold crawled up my spine.

  “Most likely an android shell,” Ahmad said. “And the thing inside… is a different species.”

  “A… different…?”

  Ahmad stared into the distance for a long second.

  “—It might be Rankorow.”

  “Ran… what…?”

  “I can’t say more yet.” His tone stayed controlled. “No proof.”

  Then he placed a hand on my shoulder—firm, anchoring.

  “But that thing is on the side of humanity’s enemies,” he said. “And it’s hard to believe it’s acting alone.”

  “So… we’re really—”

  “Nardia,” Ahmad said quietly. “Don’t be afraid.”

  “…Yes.”

  “If we’re starting to see the shape of the enemy,” he went on, “then we’re starting to see how to handle it. Nothing is more frightening than the unknown. But if it has a name… it can be fought.”

  “…Fought,” I echoed, throat dry.

  “Of course, we’ll be the ones fighting for real,” Ahmad said. “Your job is to learn how to survive. That’s what a trainee is for.”

  I looked down and clenched my fist so hard my glove creaked.

  (Android… Gara XFI-Za-A… Rankorow… I didn’t know the universe had this kind of deep darkness.)

  And yet—

  Heat bloomed in my chest.

  (Even so… I don’t want to run.)

  The wind in the valley was bitter. Ruin fragments clattered over the ice with a dry, empty sound.

  “We’re leaving,” Ahmad said, turning away. “We report this to the GDC.”

  “Y-yes!”

  I hurried after him, and only once did I glance back—at the sky where that blue afterglow had disappeared.

  Aelimius returned like it was nothing.

  Genichiro stepped out of the hatch with a blank face.

  “The corporate shuttle’s completely vaporized,” he reported, tossing a glance toward the scorched crater. “No other life-signs.”

  “I see,” Ahmad nodded and watched the company men enter Shiratori.

  “We'll take these four injured men back to Rankis.”

  “Also,” I blurted, because my mouth never learns, “that maneuvering was insane!”

  Genichiro snorted. “…Habit.”

  “Don’t ‘habit’ me! That was way beyond habit! How combat-used are you?!”

  “I’m not ‘used’ to it,” he said, eyes half-lidded. “I’m just good at breaking things.”

  “YOUR STANDARD FOR ‘GOOD’ IS BROKEN!”

  “Alright,” Ahmad said, cutting in. “We load the remains and go.”

  He spoke into the Shiratori’s comm system, issuing instructions to the ship AI.

  A small robot heavy-lifter rolled out and began gathering the shattered guardian’s remains—stacking alien wreckage into our cargo like it was just another day at work.

  And that was when my stomach tightened again.

  The ruin fragments weren’t inert.

  They tingled through my suit like static. A faint, crawling itch along my bones—like the debris still remembered being alive.

  “Uh… Ahmad?” I asked, trying to sound like I wasn’t about to faint. “Is it supposed to feel like my teeth are buzzing?”

  Ahmad glanced at the floating metal dust, then at the ruin’s glossy black wall in the valley.

  “It’s reacting,” he said.

  To what?

  To Barlock? To us? To the alien ship’s jump?

  Or to something deeper under the ice?

  Genichiro muttered, “Don’t tell me it’s going to wake up on our cargo deck.”

  “Please don’t say ‘wake up’!” I hissed.

  Ahmad didn’t answer immediately. He keyed the comm link to the ship AI.

  “Seal the sample container. Triple isolation. No open air.”

  “Acknowledged, Captain. Container isolation: level three.”

  Captain.

  He wasn’t even trying to sound reassuring anymore.

  Back inside the Shiratori, the hangar lights of surface of Veshild’s moon were gone, replaced by the ship’s sterile glow. It should’ve felt safer.

  It didn’t.

  Ahmad stood at the comm station and recorded a report in a voice so calm it made my skin crawl.

  “GDC Operations. This is Team Rashid. Site: Moon of Veshild. Confirmed Ancients ruin. Confirmed active guardian. Guardian neutralized with orbital fighter Aelimius, single discharge. Salvage sample secured. Four injured people from a corporate shuttle are rescued. Hostile presence detected: Gara XFI-Za-A vessel. Individual identified as Grim Barlock. Comms intrusion confirmed. He stated he ‘took the prize’ and issued a threat. Additionally, subject appears non-human, possibly android shell—request immediate threat assessment and containment directives.”

  He ended the report, then sent it.

  The ship AI chimed. “Transmission complete.”

  For a second, nothing happened.

  Then a reply landed so fast it felt like the GDC had been waiting with their finger on the trigger.

  The comm panel flashed—priority red.

  Genichiro’s eyes widened. “That was immediate.”

  Ahmad opened the message.

  His face didn’t change.

  Mine did all the changing for him.

  Because the first line on the screen was:

  **GDC ORDER: DO NOT ENGAGE BARLOCK.****DO NOT DISCLOSE SITE DETAILS TO ANY THIRD PARTY.**RETURN WITH SAMPLE IMMEDIATELY.

  And then the part that made my mouth go dry:

  **SECONDARY: VESHLID ORBITAL LOCKDOWN INBOUND. ETA: 6 HOURS.**ALL UNREGISTERED VESSELS WILL BE INTERCEPTED.

  “…Lockdown,” I whispered.

  Genichiro made a sound between a laugh and a groan. “We really landed on the day the universe decided to be dramatic.”

  Ahmad’s fingers hovered over the console, reading the rest—protocol codes, clearance levels, a list of names redacted so heavily it looked like a murder scene.

  Then his gaze slid to the last line.

  NOTE: IF SAMPLE SHOWS ACTIVE RESPONSE, PURGE IN DEEP SPACE. DO NOT ALLOW CONTACT WITH HABITABLE ZONES.

  I felt my heartbeat in my throat.

  “Active response,” I repeated. “That means… the debris can do something.”

  Ahmad nodded once.

  Genichiro stared at the sealed container readout. “So if it twitches, we throw it out the airlock.”

  “Basically,” Ahmad said.

  My stomach did a slow flip.

  “We’re carrying a possibly-alive piece of Ancients guardian,” I said, voice too high. “And the GDC is like, ‘If it moves, yeet it into deep space.’”

  “That’s correct,” Ahmad replied.

  “That’s insane!”

  “That’s procedure,” he corrected.

  Procedure. Standard issue. Equipment.

  Everything in this job came with labels, like someone had tried to make “terror” manageable by filing it.

  Ahmad closed the message and looked at us.

  “We lift off now,” he said. “Before the lockdown arrives.”

  Genichiro rolled his shoulders. “And if Barlock circles back?”

  Ahmad’s eyes sharpened just a degree.

  “Then we leave faster.”

  Simple. Brutal. Practical.

  Exactly like him.

  I swallowed and forced my hands to unclench.

  This wasn’t a training sim anymore.

  This was the real universe.

  And it was absolutely unreasonable.

  …But it had a name now.

  It had a face.

  And a deadline.

  And for some reason—deep in the panic—

  my chest burned with the stupid, stubborn heat of I’m still here.