Location: Unknown – Black Wing Strategic Chamber
The chamber was cold and quiet until the panels lit up, one by one.
General Veyr sat at the center console, posture straight. Around him, dark panels activated in sequence. Eight shadowy figures appeared, each blurred and hidden, voices masked by static. They were the hidden hands of the rebellion, scattered across star systems, linked only by encrypted lines.
The meeting had begun.
The news had spread fast. Too fast. It had outpaced containment protocols, spreading through unregulated channels and low-tier network leaks. Dozens of false reports cluttered the feeds—whispers of vanished fleets, of ground blackouts, of a shadow in orbit that had no signature. But all the stories had one thing in common: fear.
A sharp female voice spoke first, clear and urgent.
"We can't delay any longer. The Ascendancy has shown their hand. War has been declared. We move now, we shatter their chain of command while they're still adjusting."
A second voice, older and more deliberate, responded.
"You're suggesting we launch an offensive with no intel on the warship hovering over the excavation site? That ship is not Council-made. If it identifies us as a threat, we'll face the same fate as the Grounx fleet. That's not strategy. That's recklessness."
A third voice joined in, leaning aggressive. "The Grounx were overconfident. That's not our mistake. We're better prepared. We have stealth teams, precision dropships, high-yield kinetic pods."
The older voice interrupted. "And none of that matters if we're facing tech beyond our understanding. You want to throw fire at something that swatted a fleet without blinking."
"Maybe it's not invincible," the third voice argued. "Maybe it's waiting for a challenge."
A fourth speaker broke in, tired and bitter. "And maybe it's a sleeping god and you're all fools lighting matches."
Arguments burst into open clash. The panel chamber filled with overlapping tension. Some were clearly prepared to commit to immediate offensive strikes. Others countered with logistics, probabilities, and historic risk assessments.
One voice snapped, "Every second we wait, the Council regroups. If we stall, we lose momentum."
Another shot back, "Every second we wait, we stay alive. That ship is rewriting what we thought possible."
General Veyr said nothing. He listened. Watched. Let the patterns emerge. Let the fear do its work.
Then a fifth voice joined, low and observant.
"They lost a full Grounx fleet in minutes. That doesn't happen unless you're up against something far beyond our tech. Not just stronger—older. Smarter."
"Or something old," another muttered, their voice barely audible through the static. "Something we never wanted to see again."
That silenced the rest.
Still, the center panel stayed black.
The Organizer had not arrived.
Veyr raised one hand, palm flat. That was enough. The voices fell quiet. Panels dimmed slightly.
"We wait," Veyr said. "Nothing happens until the Organizer gives the order. Not on this."
Nobody disagreed.
All eyes turned to the center.
The black screen blinked once—then flickered to life.
The Organizer appeared. No face. No form. Just a shifting blur of darkness, like a smudged reflection. The voice was distorted but unmistakable.
"Do nothing," the Organizer said.
Silence returned, heavier than before.
"The Council is now at war. That means chaos. Fleet movements. Emergency funding. Internal panic. Let them burn resources preparing for the wrong enemy."
A short pause.
"The ship above the ruins—do not engage. Do not provoke. Observe it. Record what you can. It dismantled a warfleet without communication. If I'm right about what it is, one misstep will be fatal to more than just the Grounx."
One of the shadows leaned in slightly.
"Do you know what it is?"
The Organizer paused.
"I have my theories. But I won't share them here. Not yet."
Veyr's voice cut in, low and even.
"And the weapon? What is its status?"
"Not yet."
"You said it would change the balance. If that ship is a threat—"
"I said not yet," the Organizer replied, sharper. "Do not bring it up again. The weapon will be used when I decide. Not before."
The room stilled. No one questioned it further.
Another voice came through, this time slower and more hesitant.
"And the girl? The refugee Chancellor Yvith protects."
The Organizer acknowledged the thought.
"Your instincts are correct. Her presence is no coincidence, I don't believe is coincidence. She arrived just before the warship awoke. That connection cannot be ignored."
A breath passed.
"She may be the reason the ship responded. Or she may be something else entirely. Until we know, we do not act. Do not approach her. Do not make contact."
A few of the panels went dark in silent agreement. The rest stayed lit, unmoving.
Veyr spoke again.
"And the internal Council fractures? Routhi is stirring unrest."
The Organizer responded without delay.
"Let him. He is doing what we hoped. Five blocs now doubt the Chancellor's leadership. That buys us time. We lean on cracks—we don't widen them ourselves."
Then the Organizer delivered the final order.
"No attacks. No moves. No leaks. The next decision will come from me."
A pause.
"General, prepare for contingency. Develop a plan to secure the girl—whether through rescue or abduction. We may never need it. But we will be ready."
The black screen blinked off.
One by one, the other panels disappeared until only Veyr remained.
He sat still for several long seconds.
Then he tapped a command into his console.
"Monitor everything," he said. "I want detailed reports. Location, behavior, movements. If she breathes wrong, I want to know."
He opened his pad.
"Prep the Luminous-One. Get the extraction teams on alert. Quiet orders only."
He stood and walked out of the chamber.
The lights dimmed.
Silence returned.
---
In the side halls of the hidden facility, Veyr moved fast. His boots echoed through empty corridors. He passed locked doors and dormant surveillance hubs, all bypassed by his direct clearance.
He stopped at a private access door and keyed in a secure code.
The doors opened.
Two officers waited inside his command chamber.
"Call in the Hunters," he said. "Now."
They moved instantly.
Minutes later, the Hunters arrived—four figures in dark robes, no insignia. Their dark green scales features were hidden, but their species was clear: durouks. Elite trackers. Engineered from birth to hunt. Loyal only to the Black Wing.
Veyr stood by the map screen, already displaying the Academy grounds.
"Your target: a girl registered under the name Niri Velas. Student. Refugee status. Assigned quarters in Academy Sector Nine."
He turned to face them.
"We make no moves unless ordered. You're shadow detail. But if the time comes, there are three plans. Plan One: extraction, if she's under threat and we need to recover her. Plan Two: abduction, if she becomes vital to us. Plan Three: termination, only if there is no other option."
The Hunters said nothing.
"These orders come only from me. If anyone else tries to give you permission, ignore it."
He walked back to the feed.
"You leave no traces. No signals. No patterns. You're not ghosts—you're shadows. Understood?"
They nodded once.
Veyr dismissed them. They vanished silently.
He returned to his console.
There was something in his gut that wouldn't quiet down. Not fear. Not doubt. Something colder.
She wasn't a random student. Not anymore.
He pulled up data logs. Her background, her records, her strange injuries. Her name wasn't on any of the refugee databases. Her documents were traced to no colony.
That ship hadn't reacted to weapons. It hadn't reacted to signals.
It had reacted when she spoke.
He leaned closer to the screen.
"Who are you?" he muttered.
He tapped a final command into the system.
"Begin full trace. Include voice records. Every word she's spoken since arriving at the Academy. Feed them through signal modeling.
He stood again.
"And prepare secondary blackout protocols. If something wakes again—we cut all ties."