Captain Hirota's ship.
Dim lighting on the command deck.
The soft pulse of holograms — the only light.
The air sparks with tension.
Officers remain silent.
No gestures. No sighs.
Each one straining to catch the signal — like it's their last hope.
The search system vibrates within the console —
casting blue light, pulsing faster…
And then —
a flash.
Two red dots flare on the map.
Not by protocol. Not standard.
Unregistered call signs.
"It's them," Nicholas nearly jumps.
His fingers tremble.
Relief in his voice — almost a prayer.
"Coordinates confirmed. They're alive."
Captain Hirota —
tall, stands in the center of the bridge.
Her face — focused.
Her eyes — searching.
Slicing through space and time.
"All shuttles, this is your directive," she says quietly.
Each word — a strike against metal.
"Follow the coordinates. Bring them back. No matter what."
The tactical projection comes alive.
One shuttle peels off,
lights fade —
and it vanishes in a gravitational twist,
like an arrow
shot through chaos of debris and radiation.
"Target reached. First one aboard,"
the pilot's voice sounds almost unreal.
"I repeat — Ivor is with us. He's conscious."
Nicholas steps back.
His eyes close.
His whole body releases its grip.
Only now does he realize
how close to despair he had come.
"Second capsule on screen," reports the second pilot.
"We're closing in. Almost there."
Everything holds still.
Even the air.
But Hirota's voice —
cuts like glass:
"Be careful.
Enemy drone approaching your sector. Fast."
"Don't worry, Captain,"
the pilot smiles into the comm,
though his face is deathly pale.
"We'll beat it. We're almost there."
But words won't stop fate.
On screen — the drone.
It's faster.
Cold. Perfect.
Almost above Camilla's capsule.
"Target closing in.
Minimal distance.
If we fire — we'll be exposed,"
the operator whispers.
"Order,"
Hirota's voice is pure will.
"Fire."
A moment — stretches forever.
And then —
click.
The click of fate.
The shuttle bursts.
A plasma beam rips from its flank —
slices space like a whip.
Impact.
Flash.
Explosion.
The drone shatters.
Silently.
Like a mask torn from a corpse.
But Earth is not blind.
On the deck — indicators go dark.
"Earth cruiser locked on.
Capsule's coordinates under aim,"
voice like a funeral march.
"Shuttle is cloaked,"
the operator whispers.
"They don't see us. Only noise. Only void."
The stealth shuttle glides forward —
like a ghost of war.
Its mechanical arm stretches into the void,
grabs Camilla's capsule —
rips it out like a heart from the jaws of a beast.
One maneuver. One second.
And — gone.
Hirota's ship.
Cargo bay.
Steel hatch doors hiss open.
Steam spills across the floor,
like phantom hands.
Silence.
The deck holds its breath.
Nicholas is already there.
Standing, unblinking.
Not breathing.
Watching
as the two capsules roll from the ship's belly.
The systems release the seals.
Steam rises —
like the souls of those returning from the dark.
Camilla steps out first.
Pale.
But alive.
Eyes — defiant.
Steps — shaky.
But spine — straight.
Then Ivor.
Exhausted.
Clothes soaked.
But his gaze — clear.
Like an android
who reclaimed his name.
They walk.
Slowly.
Like waking from a century of sleep.
And then —
an embrace.
No words.
No sound.
Only breath.
And in that breath — everything.
"You saved us," Camilla says,
looking into Captain Hirota's eyes.
Her voice — dry.
But grateful.
"Death was waiting for us on that cruiser.
Cold.
Silent.
No right to speak."
"You were our last chance,"
adds Ivor.
His voice — ragged.
But alive.
"Thank you. Truly."
Nicholas smiles.
For the first time.
Quietly. Warmly. Honestly.
"You're the heroes.
You destroyed the Platform.
You risked everything.
The world won't understand
that its life
is your madness."
But Captain Hirota doesn't smile.
She's not made for wonder.
Her face — a shield
untouched by fire.
"In return for your rescue… tell me.
What was that?"
Her voice — lower. Colder.
"Those objects.
They fired at each other.
Then… moved apart."
Silence.
Sharp as a scalpel.
Camilla looks at Ivor.
He nods.
She steps forward.
"They were ships, Captain.
But not ours."
"Alien?"
Hirota's voice — a shocked whisper.
Already knowing.
"One with Kairus.
The other — with Hanaris,"
Ivor says softly.
Hirota narrows her eyes.
"One enemy.
One ally?"
Ivor walks to the viewport.
Beyond it — space.
Dark as a foreign thought.
And within —
a sphere.
Singular.
Massive.
Still.
Like frozen truth.
Like an eye without a lid.
Eternal.
He's silent.
Watches.
Feels.
"That remains to be seen, Captain.
Perhaps they're both enemies.
Or neither."
He turns.
His voice steady.
But inside — fire.
"But the war of gods has entered our world."
The bridge falls still.
Like a hall before execution.
No one speaks.
All eyes on the viewport.
The eye does not blink.
It watches.
It waits.