The one retrieved from The Void

Far beneath the central hub of the Sanctum, in a concealed chamber steeped in shadow, the High Keeper of Nexus stood before a veiled figure cloaked in black and silver. Their face was obscured by a featureless mask, its surface shifting faintly as if alive, reflecting the dim, flickering light in unsettling patterns.

"Ensure the students all die," the High Keeper commanded, her voice cold and resolute, carrying the finality of divine will.

The veiled figure nodded silently before vanishing into the darkness, leaving the High Keeper alone. The chamber grew heavier in their absence, as if the room itself resented the grim order.

Moments later, another figure entered. The High Keeper of Atlas, a wiry man with dark skin and silver-streaked hair, stepped into the room. His ageless eyes seemed to pierce through the shadows, and his robes, adorned with intricate clockwork and celestial designs, rustled faintly as he approached.

"Alvenar," he began, addressing the High Keeper of Nexus with a slight nod. "The Hek will be joining Kadmon in this endeavor. Are you certain sending only the Shadeborn is sufficient?"

Alvenar, the High Keeper of Nexus, sighed deeply, the weight of her station etched across his face. "It's not as though we have much choice, Eldrin. We must trust in the revelation of the Gods. Besides, neither Kadmon nor the Hek poses a threat significant enough to concern us."

Eldrin, the High Keeper of Atlas, chuckled darkly, his laughter echoing unsettlingly in the chamber. "Kadmon? Perhaps not. But Gerald Hek... he's a different beast altogether. You know as well as I do that he has ways—ways that could unravel even the most carefully woven plans."

"I'm aware of the risks," Alvenar replied, her tone laced with irritation. "But the Gods' will is absolute. We cannot ignore a revelation."

For a moment, the two High Keepers stood in tense silence, the air between them charged with unspoken doubts. Somewhere deep within the Sanctum, a bell tolled, its mournful chime reverberating through the hallowed halls, as if marking the beginning of an inevitable reckoning.

At the Aetherion Prime Station, one of the largest orbital hubs in the system, activity buzzed with frenetic urgency. In one of the outer rings, the section dedicated to military operations, soldiers clad in advanced combat exosuits moved in synchronized precision. The air was thick with tension, punctuated by the rhythmic clatter of boots on metal floors and the hum of energy weapons being calibrated.

Standing at the center of the organized chaos was Kieran Rhyne, a captain known for his sharp tactical mind and unflinching resolve. His presence alone commanded respect—or fear, depending on whom you asked. Tall and broad-shouldered, Kieran's dark hair was cropped close, with streaks of gray at the temples hinting at years of hard-earned experience. His piercing green eyes scanned the assembly with a clinical detachment, missing nothing. He wore a sleek, reinforced combat suit adorned with insignias denoting his rank and service. The suit's matte-black surface was etched with faint glowing lines, powered by a personal shield generator designed for frontline skirmishes.

Beside him, a holographic display projected the tactical layout of Nu Prison, spinning in mid-air as officers and technicians made adjustments. Red markers flashed ominously across sections of the prison, indicating areas under attack.

Kieran spoke, his voice a resonant baritone that carried authority effortlessly. "I want a full deployment readiness check in under five minutes. The last thing we need is to arrive unprepared for whatever chaos is waiting for us."

One of the junior officers, a wiry man with nervous energy, stepped forward. "Sir, preliminary reports indicate the attackers are employing unconventional tactics. There's been mention of... anomalous activity."

Kieran's gaze sharpened. "Define 'anomalous.'"

The officer hesitated, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Unverified accounts describe them using technology—or something else—that disrupts communications and energy fields. It's as if they're bending the rules of physics, sir."

"Bending the rules of physics," Kieran repeated flatly, his tone laced with skepticism. "Or exploiting something we don't fully understand yet. Either way, it doesn't matter. We'll adapt. We always do."

The junior officer nodded, retreating quickly as Kieran turned his attention back to the soldiers gathered before him.

"All right, listen up!" Kieran barked, his voice cutting through the noise like a blade. "This isn't a standard mop-up operation. We're going into a high-stakes situation with multiple unknowns. Nu Prison has already taken hits we didn't see coming, and now we've got reports of potential anomalies on the ground. That means we treat everything—everything—as a threat until proven otherwise."

The soldiers stood at rigid attention, their visors reflecting the cold light of the station. Kieran continued, his voice hardening.

"We don't know who these attackers are, what they want, or how far they're willing to go. But what we do know is that they've targeted one of the most secure facilities in the system. That's not just an attack—it's a declaration of war. And we're going to make damn sure they regret it."

As his words settled over the assembly, Kieran's second-in-command, a woman named Elara Voss, stepped up. Her platinum-blonde hair was tightly braided, and her armor bore the scars of countless battles. Unlike Kieran's cold pragmatism, Elara's demeanor was fiery, her reputation forged through equal parts skill and ferocity.

"Drop teams Alpha through Delta will take point," Elara said, her voice sharp and decisive. "Epsilon will hold back as reinforcement. Nu Prison's layout is complex, so expect chokepoints and ambushes. We're coordinating with station control to ensure air support is ready the moment we hit the ground."

"What about civilians?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice muffled through his helmet.

Elara's lips thinned. "Minimize collateral damage where possible, but make no mistake—our priority is securing that prison. If anyone stands in your way..." She paused, her eyes narrowing. "You neutralize them. No hesitation."

A palpable tension gripped the room. Kieran stepped forward, his gaze sweeping across the assembled troops.

"Remember why we're here," he said, his voice quieter now but no less commanding. "The system depends on stability. If Nu Prison falls, it's more than just a tactical loss—it's a message that we're weak. We cannot—will not—let that happen. You've trained for this. Trust in your gear, your training, and each other. Dismissed."

As the soldiers dispersed to their drop stations, Kieran turned back to the holographic display, his expression grim. Elara joined him, folding her arms across her chest.

"Something's not right about this," she muttered. "Nu Prison was supposed to be impenetrable. Now it's under siege, and we're scrambling to pick up the pieces."

"You're not wrong," Kieran admitted. "This feels... calculated. But we're not in the business of second-guessing. We adapt and overcome."

Elara nodded, but her unease lingered. As the station's klaxons began to wail, signaling the impending departure, Kieran couldn't shake the feeling that they were walking into a storm far more dangerous than anyone anticipated.

And somewhere deep within the station, in the shadows of a restricted section, a figure watched the preparations unfold through a hidden surveillance feed. Clad in a flowing robe of black and silver, their face obscured by a mask as featureless as the void, they whispered softly to themselves.

"They march to the slaughter," the figure murmured, their voice cold and devoid of emotion. "Just as the Gods foretold."

Elara's sharp focus was interrupted by the incoming communication. The subtle chime of her secure channel was enough to turn her attention completely. Contacting her directly wasn't just rare—it was an event that usually meant something significant was unfolding. She straightened, her shoulders instinctively squaring as she activated the holographic display embedded in her wrist console.

"Elara Voss here," she said, her voice firm but tinged with curiosity.

"Supreme Commander," came the unmistakable voice of Supreme Arbiter Althea Corwin, its calm precision underpinned by authority.

Elara's breath hitched slightly. Of course, it would be the Arbiter. Very few people wielded the power or clearance to contact her directly. "Supreme Arbiter," Elara replied, her tone laced with deference. "I'm listening."

"I have information concerning the ongoing situation at Nu Prison," Althea began, her words measured, each one carefully chosen. "Gerald and Abigail Hek will be joining the military operation. They should be arriving shortly."

The mention of those names sent an icy ripple through Elara's composure. She maintained her professionalism, but her thoughts began racing.

"Understood, Supreme Arbiter," she managed, her voice steady.

"Good," Althea said. "Ensure the troops are informed. Though we hope this mission proceeds smoothly, advise them to remain vigilant. These are precarious times."

Elara nodded sharply, though she knew Althea couldn't see her. "Roger that. I'll see it done."

"Very well. Corwin out."

As the communication terminated, Elara exhaled slowly. She pressed her fingers to her temples, willing herself to focus. Her mind, however, refused to cooperate. The names Gerald and Abigail Hek carried a weight that lingered like a stormcloud over the room.

"Kieran!" she barked suddenly, her voice slicing through the air like a blade.