The stronghold's map pulsed brighter as the last tremors of battle faded. The web of lights stretched beyond anything they'd seen—threadlike pathways linking stars across unknown galaxies.
Rhyss broke the silence. "How many of these are there?"
Ceyra's fingers danced across the interface. "Hundreds… maybe thousands. And they're active."
Lyra felt it, too—a low, thrumming hum in her bones, as if the gateways themselves were alive, aware of their presence.
Kaelen sheathed his blade, his voice low. "We can't stay. If that thing calls for reinforcements, we're done."
"Where do we even go?" Rhyss asked.
Before anyone could answer, the map surged, selecting a single gateway—its light a deep, burning crimson.
Lyra staggered back, clutching her head. "It wants us to go there."
"It?" Kaelen demanded.
"The Seed… or whatever's inside it. It's guiding us."
Ceyra frowned. "Then we follow. Because if we don't, others will." She pointed to new signals flashing on the map—fleets converging on different gateways.
With no time to debate, they entered the portal chamber—a cavernous hall with a swirling vortex suspended in midair. The wormhole shimmered, liquid light folding into itself, showing flashes of alien landscapes and unfamiliar suns.
"Hold on to something," Ceyra muttered, activating the jump.
The vortex expanded, engulfing them in blinding radiance.
---
They emerged into chaos.
The void beyond the wormhole was alive—a vast expanse of color and motion. Fragments of shattered planets drifted through an ocean of luminous nebulae. And in the distance, titanic ships hung like predators in the dark.
One, a sleek obsidian battleship adorned with glowing sigils, turned toward them. Its insignia—a serpent devouring a star—burned across its hull.
"Who the hell are they?" Rhyss whispered.
Ceyra's eyes widened. "The Seraph Dominion. I thought they were wiped out centuries ago."
A voice cut through the comms, cold and commanding:
> "Unidentified vessel. By decree of Admiral Veyric, you will surrender your cargo—the Infinity Seed—or be annihilated."
Kaelen stepped forward, jaw tight. "Tell Veyric he can try."
Before Ceyra could mute the channel, a second transmission bled through, this one softer, melodic, like a dream:
> "Do not give it to him. Follow the path of moons, and you may yet survive."
Lyra froze. "Who was that?"
The answer came as another wormhole tore open nearby, spilling out a fleet of bone-white ships. Their leader appeared on every screen: a tall, veiled figure with eyes like twin suns.
> "I am Azhira, Seer of the Veiled Chorus. The Seed must awaken in my hands—or all of creation will burn."
Then, without warning, Admiral Veyric's fleet opened fire. The wormhole region erupted into war.
Kaelen slammed his fist on the console. "Strap in! We're picking a side—"
Lyra's voice cut him off, trembling but resolute. "No. We're choosing our path."
She slammed her hand on the controls, and their ship dove into the debris field just as the two mighty factions clashed behind them.
But in the depths of space, a third signal whispered—one no one saw.
A masked warlord watched from the shadows of a dying star.
> "Run, little spark. I will be waiting."
---