Zenithar - Industrial sector
Light
Cold. Merciless.
The first light of dawn reflected off the streets of Zenithar, revealing the horror the night had left behind.
Bodies lay motionless, scattered across the asphalt like puppets with their strings cut. Blood, still fresh, seeped through the cracks in the pavement, painting a mosaic of dark crimson. The armored vehicles had been reduced to smoking carcasses, their doors torn open, their cargo missing.
No one dared to approach.
Not the mercenaries, not the criminals who prowled these streets like vultures. The usual murmur of the slums had fallen silent, replaced by a heavy, foreboding hush.
This wasn't just an attack.
It was a massacre.
An execution.
Even the air felt charged with fear. It was as if the city itself was holding its breath, dreading that whatever had happened here might still return.
"Who did this…?"
A man with a face hollowed by time ran a trembling hand through his unkempt beard. Another spat on the ground, tracing a symbol over his chest—the mark of the Church of Eternity —as if warding off a demon.
"Could've been a mercenary group? Someone after the cargo?"
"I don't know… but look at how they died."
Their voices dropped.
No explosions. No distant attack.
"They killed them. One by one."
The whispers spread like wildfire through the alleys, the underground bars, the black markets.
But no one had an answer.
A battered van rumbled down the decayed streets, weaving between debris and the charred husks of cars. The engine coughed with every pothole, its interior reeking of oil, gunpowder, and spoiled food.
At the wheel was a young man with short, dark hair, his sharp eyes flicking nervously from one side of the road to the other.
Kael.
A veteran of the Resistance. One of the few still daring to defy the government and the Cult of Eternity.
In the passenger seat, hood pulled low over his eyes, sat Allen. Younger. More impulsive. His fingers clenched around the grip of his pistol too tightly.
When the van rolled past the scene of the massacre, neither of them spoke.
The stench of death seeped into the cabin.
Kael pressed his lips together, easing up on the gas. Allen leaned forward, eyes wide as he took in the carnage.
"Shit…" Allen muttered.
Kael's grip on the steering wheel tightened.
"It was him."
"Are you sure?"
Kael nodded.
"Who else could have done this?"
Silence stretched between them.
Some whispered his name—the Shadow of Zenithar.
To others, he was nothing more than a faceless weapon, a creature born from war.
But to the Resistance, he was something far more dangerous.
An uncontrollable variable.
———————————————————————
Zenithar - Safehouse
Pale streaks of gold and ash crept over the city, painting Zenithar's skyline in bruised pastels. Neon lights still flickered weakly beneath the smog, but above it all… the stars had gone.
Liara sat alone on the balcony.
Her knees were drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them. The chill of morning air kissed her skin, but she didn't shiver. She hadn't slept—not even a minute.
She had tried.
But no matter how many times she closed her eyes, she kept seeing that boy.
The soldier.
The way he begged.
"P-please… no… I don't want to die…"
The way his voice cracked when Raiga pinned him down.
And the look in his eyes—the pure, paralyzing terror just before the blade fell.
Liara blinked, slowly. Her breath came quiet and steady, but her hands were trembling.
She turned her head slightly, glancing back inside.
Raiga lay on the mattress.
Asleep.
Peaceful.
For a moment—just a fleeting moment—he looked like he used to.
Like the eight-year-old boy who used to chase fireflies with her in the forests outside their mountain village. The boy who laughed too loud, who swore he'd become a soldier just to keep her safe.
That boy still lived somewhere inside him.
But sometimes… it felt like he was being buried alive.
She looked away.
Then, a soft chime.
The earpiece on the table lit up and buzzed.
Liara stood and stepped back inside. She tapped the comm.
A familiar voice crackled through.
Garret. The leader of Zenithar's Resistance.
"How's it going kid?"
The voice on the other end was rough, gravelled with age and smoke.
But warm. In its own, gruff way.
Liara sighed.
"Let's just say I slept like shit."
Garret nodded slowly.
"That idiot pushed too far again, didn't he?"
Liara lowered her gaze. "…Yeah."
Her eyes dropped to the floor.
She pulled a blanket tighter around her shoulders and leaned against the wall near the window.
"Where's he now?"
"He's… sleeping."
Another pause.
"He didn't even flinch, Garret. Not once.
That man was crying. Begging. And Raiga didn't… he just—"
She bit down on the words.
"I know," Garret said quietly.
"I keep thinking…" she whispered, "…maybe this is our fault."
"Liara…"
"No. Listen. We're the ones giving him targets. We're the ones sending him into hell.
We treat him like a weapon. But he's not. He's not that thing he becomes out there."
She sank down into the chair at her desk.
"And what if the more we use him that way… the less of him comes back?"
For a moment, the line was silent.
Then Garret spoke.
"You're right."
Liara looked up, surprised.
"We do use him that way. Because he can handle it.
Because there's not a soldier on this damn city that can do what Raiga does.
But that doesn't mean it's right."
"Sometimes I wonder what he'd become if I wasn't with him.
Maybe he'd forget everything. Start over. Build a new life."
A long silence.
Then—
Garret snorted.
Then laughed.
Liara blinked, stunned.
"What's so funny?"
"That kid? Start over? Oh, please.
Leave him alone for a week and he'll burn half the Dominion to the ground just because he missed your coffee."
She couldn't help it.
She laughed.
Soft. Sad. But real.
Garret went on. "You're the last piece of him that still remembers what hope feels like.
If you go, so does he."
Liara stared at Raiga through the half-open door.
He shifted in his sleep, brow furrowed, but still calm.
"Then we're both trapped," she whispered.
Garret's voice softened.
"Maybe.
Or maybe… that's what keeps you both human."
A moment passed.
Then—
"What about the device?"
Liara wiped her eyes quickly and sat up straighter.
"I've almost cracked the outer encryption. Another hour, tops."
"Good.
Call me the second you're in. Let's find out what they're hiding."
"I will."
There was a pause.
Then Garret's voice came one last time, low and certain.
"You're doing fine, kid.
I know it doesn't feel like it.
But you are."
The line clicked off.
Liara stood in silence, her gaze still locked on the bedroom door.
Garret's words gave her something to hold on to—but it wasn't nearly enough to quiet the storm inside.
Then—
Raiga stirred.
At first, just a twitch.
Then his breathing changed.
Sharp. Uneven. Violent.
His fingers clenched the sheets, jaw grinding tight as his body started to tense.
He was dreaming.
No.
He was reliving it.
Liara rushed to his side, kneeling by the edge of the bed.
"Raiga…"
He didn't respond.
His brow was soaked with sweat, his teeth bared like he was in pain.
"Raiga, wake up."
His arms jerked—muscles locking, legs kicking like he was fighting something only he could see.
She grabbed his shoulder.
"RAIGA!"
He flinched violently.
Then bolted upright with a broken scream, eyes wide, glowing faintly with panic.
He gasped, his whole chest rising and falling like he couldn't catch his breath. His hand shot for the blade that wasn't there—until he saw her.
Liara froze.
He stared at her, wild-eyed.
Then recognition sank in.
"…Liara…"
His voice cracked.
She didn't move.
Neither did he.
Seconds passed.
Then—
"I'm sorry," he whispered, voice raw. "I didn't mean to—"
"I know," she said quietly, finally sitting on the bed beside him. "It's okay."
But it wasn't.
And they both knew it.
Raiga looked away, eyes glassy with something he'd never let himself name.
Liara watched him, her voice barely above a breath.
"…Was it the same one?"
He didn't answer.
Didn't need to.
She reached out, touched his hand.
Warm. Real.
He didn't pull away.
For a moment, they just sat there, two broken souls in the stillness of dawn.
Then came a soft chime, barely louder than a whisper.
The device was awake.
She hesitated, reluctant to leave his side.
Then Raiga spoke, barely audible.
"…You can check it. I'm not going anywhere."
Liara stood slowly and walked to the console, wiping her tired eyes.
She tapped the screen.
The terminal flashed—once, twice—then glowed steady green.
DECRYPTION COMPLETE.
Her heart skipped a beat.
She rushed over, breath catching in her throat as the display flickered to life, lines of encrypted Dominion code unfolding into readable data.
Dozens of files. Codenames. Operation logs. Shipment routes.
And at the top of the directory, a single folder pulsed red:
PROJECT AEGIS
Classified – Omega Protocol – Eyes Only
Liara stared at the screen.
Then whispered to herself—
"…What the hell is this?"
The screen shifted.
A loading bar.
Then:
1 VIDEO FILE DETECTED
[PLAYBACK READY]
Liara didn't move.
Behind her, Raiga watched from the bed—silent.
"Raiga," she whispered.
"I think we just found something that's going to change everything."
⸻
[To be continued.]