The rain hammered against the glass of the orbital laboratory, each droplet tracing a silver streak across the curve of the viewport. Earth spun below, a pale-blue orb that looked serene from space—though Dr. Kaelen Veyra knew serenity was an illusion.
Inside the dimly lit control chamber, screens pulsed with red warnings. Kaelen sat hunched forward, his sharp features illuminated by the cold glow of alien glyphs streaming across the monitor. His chest tightened as the patterns resolved into something impossible: a message not of human origin.
"Translation at eighty percent," the AI assistant whispered in its sterile tone. "Probability of artificial origin: 99.4%."
Kaelen's heart pounded. For years he'd been dismissed as a dreamer, a rogue academic obsessed with myths of lost civilizations. He had sacrificed his position at the Institute, his reputation, even his family ties—all for this moment.
The alien signal throbbed on the screen like a heartbeat. It wasn't random static. It was a set of coordinates.
He leaned closer, his breath fogging the glass. The coordinates pointed to a region beyond the outer colonies, deep in the unexplored folds of space.
Suddenly, the chamber lights flickered. The hum of the life-support grid faltered. He froze. Someone had breached the station's systems.
The AI chimed again, this time almost panicked:
"Unauthorized intrusion detected. Origin… corporate military network."
Kaelen cursed under his breath. They knew. Somehow, the megacorporations had intercepted the signal too. His discovery—the single greatest find in human history—was already being stolen.
He snatched the data crystal from the console and slipped it into his coat. Sirens wailed through the station. Beyond the viewport, streaks of light cut across the void—gunships rising from the shadow of Earth's defense grid.
He had minutes at best.
The blast doors to the chamber shuddered, sparks spitting from the locks. Kaelen sprinted down the corridor, boots slamming against the metal deck. His lungs burned in the recycled air as he reached the docking bay.
And there, waiting like fate, was a ship he didn't recognize: sleek, black, its hull scarred from battles long past. The ramp was lowered, as though expecting him.
A figure stood at the top—tall, poised, her silhouette backlit by the glow of the ship's engines. She wore a pilot's jacket, her posture relaxed but ready, like a wolf daring the world to challenge her.
"Need a ride, doctor?" her voice carried across the bay, low and confident.
Kaelen stopped, breathless. He didn't know her—yet something about the curve of her smile made his pulse stumble.
The blast doors behind him exploded inward. Armed soldiers spilled into the bay.
Kaelen didn't hesitate. He sprinted up the ramp toward the stranger, toward the ship, toward whatever destiny awaited in the coordinates that pulsed inside his pocket.
As the hatch sealed shut and the engines roared to life, he caught her name from the ship's comms:
Lyra Solen.
The woman who would either save him—or destroy him.
And beyond them, in the abyss of uncharted space, the ancient signal waited.