Every map erased its coordinates, every record deleted its name. Beneath the moon under the surface of Mars and deep below Antarctica, something ancient had been sleeping. It came from the Rhea Collective, a peaceful civilization now under attack by the Zythus Wharm, a biomechanical plague that consumed everything in its path. Beneath the lunar surface, an ancient base called Luna Command came back online. Every record in the galaxy said the Terran fleet had been destroyed.

They invited the human to laugh at him and ended up begging him to stop. Every cycle, a so-called death-worlder species was invited, tested, measured, marked, most failed, spectacularly. This year's candidate, the announcer declared, voice dripping with amusement, originates from a class 12 death-world designation, Earth, laughter rippled across the chamber, gravity exceeding safe limits, hostile biosphere, primitive weaponry. He walked in alone, no armor, no weapons, just a simple uniform, and calm eyes. The human moved faster than any system could track.

The girl didn't step back, didn't flinch. Slowly, he turned toward the sky and saw them, ships, black, silent, appearing out of nowhere, layer by layer, filling the void above the planet, not chaotic, perfectly aligned, a formation so precise, it looked like a blade pointed directly at the surface. The girl looked up at the sky at the impossible fleet hovering above, then back at the thug. The fleet didn't move, didn't fire, but it didn't leave either, because it didn't need to. He had tested the reach of humanity and survived, only because they chose to let him, because in the galaxy, power isn't measured by who you are, but by who comes when you call.

A million alien soldiers landed, not one walked away. The sky over earth turned black, not with clouds, but with ships, millions of them, they descended through the atmosphere like falling mountains, massive invasion carriers, armored drop, barges, endless columns of troop transports burning crimson against the horizon. Hidden doors slid aside across entire city blocks, and from beneath the earth, humanity rose. One Dominion dropship vanished instantly, reduced to molten debris before its crew even realized the battle had begun. The Dominion invasion army, one million soldiers strong, was gone.

Every map erased its coordinates, every record deleted its name. Beneath the moon under the surface of Mars and deep below Antarctica, something ancient had been sleeping. It came from the Rhea Collective, a peaceful civilization now under attack by the Zythus Wharm, a biomechanical plague that consumed everything in its path. Beneath the lunar surface, an ancient base called Luna Command came back online. Every record in the galaxy said the Terran fleet had been destroyed.

His advanced military strategy class was supposed to test the sharpest minds at the Galactic Coalition Academy, but the siege tactics section had turned into a disaster. Well, ancient would cover stuff like Jericho, Constantinople, Siege towers, catapult, sappers, starvation tactics. We've always been really good at trapping each other and figuring out how to break in, over, under or through the room fell silent. Kelvin's body went pale as he reached for his emergency stress medication. Corporal, he said weekly, I'm going to need you to rewrite the entire Siege tactics curriculum.

In the center of the chamber, the device's crystalline heart pulsed rhythmically, evaluating each cadets potential with a precision developed over countless millennia. Commander Zix, a tall vorac with four sharp horns and four eyes that could see far beyond normal spectrums, stood to the side, watching the process with the kind of patience that only came with centuries of service. Every record, every classification, every destiny had been noted down by the Academy's scanner. Though his sharp eyes revealed he was paying close attention, beside him was Mahin Akbar, adjusting her hijab nervously as her brown eyes darted between the towering scanner and her companion. Deep purples that seemed to fold space itself, brilliant gold so intense they made several cadets cover their eyes, and finally a searing white light that forced everyone in the chamber to shield their vision.

In the center of the chamber, the device's crystalline heart pulsed rhythmically, evaluating each cadets potential with a precision developed over countless millennia. Commander Zix, a tall vorac with four sharp horns and four eyes that could see far beyond normal spectrums, stood to the side, watching the process with the kind of patience that only came with centuries of service. Every record, every classification, every destiny had been noted down by the Academy's scanner. Though his sharp eyes revealed he was paying close attention, beside him was Mahin Akbar, adjusting her hijab nervously as her brown eyes darted between the towering scanner and her companion. Deep purples that seemed to fold space itself, brilliant gold so intense they made several cadets cover their eyes, and finally a searing white light that forced everyone in the chamber to shield their vision.

The seats of the human delegation were empty, not left in protest, not vacated in anger, simply empty, as if no one had ever sat there. By the time Calvesh finally finished his sentence, every human ship within ruler-controlled space had already jumped to hyperspace. All personnel accounted for, Admiral, her tactical officer replied, zero casualties, zero assets left behind, were ghosts, good, Sarah opened the strategic display, while the so-called rulers had wasted months debating humanity's fate. New colonies and unclaimed territories hidden shipyards inside uncharted nebulae and trade packs with independent species who had no loyalty to the ruler's empire. Within five years, the question was no longer whether humans would be allowed back into civilized space, but whether the rulers would be invited into humanity's new galactic order.

For most travelers, it was nothing more than a reminder that they were safely on their way through hyperspace. Unlike Reza, Anna wasn't used to seeing hyperspace from here. Reza countered with her own experiences, describing how she had jury rigged impossible repairs, often with nothing more than scraps and whatever she could scavenge. A crackle broke across the ship's intercom and the calm voice of Captain Vexudor came through. If it wasn't fixed quickly, the entire ship could tear itself apart in hyperspace.