The wind howled across the Kalahari, carrying with it the dry sting of sand and dust. The night sky was a vast canvas of stars, burning bright and cold above the dunes.
Kofi Daramola trudged through the desert with his field pack slung over his shoulder, sweat mixing with the grit on his skin. His equipment hummed faintly—prototype sensors meant to study magnetic interference that had been spiking for days.
He stopped, glancing at the flickering readings on his tablet.
"That can't be right…" he muttered.
The numbers were off the charts—energy levels no Earth instrument should be picking up.
He looked up, and that's when the stars began to move.
At first, they shimmered—then bent inward, spiraling like water down a drain.
The air grew heavy, electric. The sand under his boots began to vibrate.
"Whoa… what the hell…"
A low hum rolled through the desert, deep enough to rattle his bones. The sky cracked open—not lightning, not fire, but something else.
A column of blinding white light pierced through the heavens, stabbing the earth just a few yards away.
The ground exploded outward, hurling him back. His tablet shattered, the sand around him turning to glass. He tried to crawl, but gravity itself seemed to twist—pulling him toward the light.
He dug his fingers into the sand, screaming, but it was useless.
The air tore itself apart—his vision fracturing, sound turning to liquid.
And in the chaos, something massive and metallic descended within the beam, half-seen, half-imagined.
A shape, alive with motion and light—a ship like a cathedral turned inside out, covered in shifting glyphs.
The light wrapped around him, lifting him off the ground.
His body seized, nerves burning, the world spinning into a single point of impossible brightness.
Then—
Blackness.
No air. No ground. Only a sensation of falling through liquid fire.
He gasped, but there was no sound—just light pouring through his skin, voices whispering from somewhere inside his skull.
"Human specimen… confirmed."
"Anomaly detected… organic code irregular."
"Initiating transfer to containment."
A sharp sting in his chest—then cold.
He tried to scream, but the sound never came.
The light collapsed inward, swallowing him completely.
Darkness pressed in from every side.
Kofi's mind floated somewhere between dream and nightmare—voices, heat, and a high-pitched ringing that wouldn't stop.
When he opened his eyes, the world came in pieces—a ceiling made of cold steel ribs, the hum of machinery like a distant heartbeat, the sharp bite of iron around his wrists. He was chained to a wall, half-sitting, half-hanging, the metal biting into his skin.
The air was thick with antiseptic and oil. A single strip of light ran across the ceiling, flickering like it could die at any second.
Then came the voices.
Two figures stood near the doorway—tall, armored, and inhuman. Their faces were hidden behind insectoid masks that clicked when they spoke. The language was strange at first—guttural, sharp—but after a few seconds, something in Kofi's head shifted, and he began to understand them.
"What is it, you think?" the first one hissed, voice full of sick curiosity. "Soft... fragile... the skin like wet cloth. Never seen one like this."
"Careful, Reth," the other replied, tone lower, more cautious. "Last time you touched one, it didn't survive long enough for the Trials. The nobles weren't pleased. They said the feed was... disappointing."
Reth laughed—a dry, crackling sound that made Kofi's stomach twist.
"Disappointing? Hah! That thing screamed in ways I didn't think possible. These creatures are here to amuse the high ones—to bleed, to run, to die. That's the game."
"Still," the cautious one said, "we'll lose credits if he dies early. The Overseers don't tolerate waste."
Reth tilted his head, eyes narrowing behind his mask. "Then I'll only test him a little."
He reached for a jagged rod on the table—a device humming with red light. Kofi struggled, trying to pull free, but the chains only tightened, sending pain up his arms.
The air suddenly changed—colder, heavier.
A high, resonant hum filled the room.
The door slid open.
A figure entered, her steps echoing softly on the metal floor. She was tall—elegant in movement, wrapped in silver armor etched with lines of glowing blue script. Her face, though partly masked, was unmistakably alive—pale violet eyes that burned with intelligence and authority.
Both guards froze.
"C-Commander Nira!" Reth stammered, dropping the rod instantly. "We were—"
"—about to break protocol," she interrupted coolly, voice cutting through the air like a blade. "Step away from the human."
They obeyed immediately.
Nira approached Kofi slowly, her gaze scanning him from head to toe—curiosity, not disgust, in her eyes.
"A human..." she murmured, almost to herself. "We thought your kind were myths. Even the Archives have no record of one alive."
"Where... am I?" Kofi croaked.
"You're aboard the Xarith Dominion's vessel Obsidian Halo," she replied. "You've been selected for the Trials of Or'Rhen—though it wasn't by your choice."
Her tone softened slightly.
"I wish I could say this was an honor. But it's not. You are entertainment for nobles who have forgotten what it means to fear."
"You're telling me I was kidnapped to die for someone's amusement?"
"Yes," Nira said. "That is exactly what I'm telling you."
She stepped closer, resting one hand against the wall beside his chain controls.
"You're the first human ever brought here. I don't know why they chose you... But I will say this: don't give them what they expect."
"They want you to beg. Don't."
For a moment, something like regret flickered across her face. Then she turned to the guards.
"Release him. Transfer him to containment for his implants.
And Reth—if I ever catch you near him again, I'll make sure you become the next source of entertainment. Understood?"
Reth bowed quickly, trembling. "Y-yes, Commander."
The heavy door sealed behind Commander Nira, her footsteps fading into the rhythmic hum of the ship.
Reth spat on the floor as the door slid shut behind Nira, the sound sharp in the cold air. His mandibles twitched with contempt.
"She walks around like she's some highborn," he hissed, pacing near Kofi. "But she's only soft because the Dominion broke her. Her homeworld burned like the rest, and now she serves them to keep what's left of her kind breathing."
He turned toward the other guard, voice dropping into a growl.
"I still don't understand why a commander who isn't even pure-blood should hold rank over us. She's a stray — a half-line, tainted by mercy and weakness."
The other guard shifted uneasily, glancing at the sealed door.
"Careful, Reth. Walls have ears. The Overseer doesn't care what blood runs in your veins — only that you obey."
Reth's mandibles clicked in irritation. "Obeying a half-line isn't what I was bred for."
"Then keep it to yourself," the other snapped, lowering his voice. "You've already tested her patience once. I won't cover for you again."
He gave Kofi a brief glance — one that held neither pity nor cruelty, just cold duty.
"The Overseer wants this one alive. Prep him for transfer and make it clean this time."
Reth growled low, fists clenching. "Fine. But if he looks at me like that again, I'll make sure the medics have less to work with."
Kofi sat chained against the wall, wrists bound high by cold metal cuffs that bit into his skin. The dim blue light from the corridor flickered against the silver of his restraints, reflecting in his tired eyes. He could still feel Nira's presence in the room — that strange moment when pity and power had shared the same breath.
He exhaled slowly. So this is how it starts, he thought. A human in chains. Again.
Through the haze of exhaustion, he noticed the two guards talking just outside the barrier. Their language was a mixture of tones and clicks, yet somehow—faintly—he could understand. Not the words themselves, but the intent. The rhythm of it made sense in his head, like hearing a song you shouldn't know but somehow recognize.
He frowned. How the hell…?
The taller one, Vorrek, a stoic and broad-shouldered figure, was checking a glowing wrist panel. The smaller, sharp-featured one — Reth — leaned against the frame, mandibles twitching in amusement.
"She shows him mercy," Reth spat, his voice a low hiss. "Soft-hearted fool. This thing is weak — flesh too thin, bones too soft. It won't last a single trial."
Vorrek grunted. "Orders are orders. He's marked for implantation. You break him before that, the Overseer will flay us both."
Reth turned, his compound eyes narrowing through the field barrier.
Kofi looked up, meeting his gaze.
And smiled.
It wasn't much — just a small, crooked grin. But on that ship, under those cold lights, it was rebellion.
Reth froze for a moment, then tilted his head, confused.
"Did it just… smile?"
Vorrek didn't answer, already focused on his console.
Reth stepped forward, pressing his face close to the shimmering barrier.
"Think this is funny, soft-blood?" he growled. "You think this is some kind of game?"
Kofi didn't speak. He couldn't — or wouldn't. But the look on his face said everything. He wasn't begging. He wasn't afraid. He was challenging.
That look infuriated Reth.
With a guttural snarl, he slammed his palm against the control pad. The barrier flickered, then collapsed with a hiss.
"Reth!" Vorrek barked. "Don't—"
Too late.
Reth's armored hand shot out, grabbing Kofi by the collar and yanking him forward. The chains rattled violently as Kofi's body hit the wall. The first blow came fast — a backhand that split his lip. Another followed, driving the air from his lungs.
"Still smiling?" Reth hissed. "Let's see you smile when the implants start eating your brain."
Kofi gasped, pain blurring his thoughts. But even through the haze, he caught fragments of their words — not English, not any Earth language, but he understood.
He didn't know how. He didn't know why. But he understood every cruel word.
Vorrek stormed in, grabbing Reth's arm and pulling him back. "Enough! You'll kill him before he's fitted. Do you want to explain that to Nira? To the Overseer?"
Reth hissed but stepped back, breathing hard. His claws twitched as he glared at Kofi one last time.
"Fine. Let the machines do their work. They'll break what I can't."
He slammed his hand against his wristband.
The restraints on Kofi's arms released, but before he could move, the floor lit up beneath him — circles of white energy forming a pattern that pulsed faster and faster.
"Transport ready," Vorrek muttered.
Reth leaned close, his breath hot and foul through his mask. "Enjoy the pain, soft-blood. The implants don't always play nice."
The last thing Kofi saw before the light consumed him was Reth's sneer fading into static.
Then everything went white — and the air felt like liquid fire.
A light burned through his eyelids. When he forced them open, the ceiling above him wasn't white, but a dull silver, rippled like liquid steel. His breath fogged slightly, the air colder than it should've been. He tried to move, but something tugged at his wrists—restraint bands, smooth and metallic, clamped around him.
A figure leaned over. Not a nurse. Not human.
A transparent respirator mask covered its face, its eyes black and reflective.
"Vitals stabilizing," it said, though the voice didn't come from its mouth. The words vibrated in Kofi's head like whispers under his skin.
He tried to speak, but his throat was raw. "Where... where am I?"
The being ignored the question, pressing a sequence of hexagonal lights on a floating panel beside him. A swarm of thin mechanical arms extended from the ceiling—needles glinting, scanners humming. They moved with unsettling precision.
A shock of heat flooded through him, like molten air filling his lungs. He gasped, choking, feeling something crawl beneath his skin—thin tendrils weaving through his veins, wrapping around his heart, throat, and ears.
"Respiratory and linguistic adaptors: integrated," the being said tonelessly.
"Subject will now breathe within Dominion atmosphere and process universal phonemes."
His veins glowed faintly beneath his skin, then dimmed. He could feel something new in his chest—a pulse not his own, syncing to the rhythm of the machines.
"Subject: Kofi Daramola. Species: Homo sapiens. Age: twenty-eight cycles. Height: one hundred eighty-two centimeters. Weight: seventy-six kilograms. Blood type: O-negative. Compatible with nanolattice integration."
"Vitals stable. Neural assimilation successful," the being said. "The Overseer has requested him immediately."
The table beneath him unlocked with a soft chime. He floated weightlessly as magnetic grips guided him toward the corridor. The doors hissed open to reveal translucent glass walls filled with shadows—other beings restrained, examined, dissected. Some screamed. Others prayed.
At the corridor's end stood two towering guards—the Xarith. Their armor was made of obsidian plates that moved like living muscle.
They led him into a vast chamber.
At its center stood a dais surrounded by swirling light.
Above it, seated on a throne carved from petrified stars, was a being unlike the rest.
The Overseer.
Its face was a mask of shimmering crystal, shifting like oil on water. Its voice wasn't sound—it was gravity pressing on Kofi's bones.
The Overseer tilted its head slightly, observing him like one might examine an insect.
"Human. You are awake."
"You have been measured. You have been found... insufficient, yet interesting."
"The Trials of Or'Rhen will decide your value. You will be transferred to Containment Vessel 9B — designation: Exile-class prison transport. If you survive, you will be granted a place in the Dominion. If not…"
It paused. The light around its form dimmed to a cold blue.
"…your remains will serve the archives well."
A siren wailed. The platform beneath Kofi split apart, plates folding open like metallic petals. The light beneath him turned from white to crimson.
He had no time to struggle. Gravity shifted — then vanished.
He fell.
Not through air, but through energy. His body dissolved into light, every nerve screaming as he was swallowed by the transport field. For a moment, he saw flashes — the black gulf of space, streaks of starlight, and the faint echo of voices not his own.
Then, silence.
The transport ship drifted through the void like a ghost, its engines humming in a low, unsettling rhythm. The cells were cramped metal boxes filled with beings from dozens of worlds—scaled, furred, luminous, and cold-eyed. And among them sat Kofi Daramola, the only human in the galaxy.
He woke to the sound of iron breathing.
The air vibrated—low, steady, mechanical—as though the ship itself had lungs.
He sat up, his vision flickering back into focus: metal ribs, blue veins of light, and a narrow cell among hundreds stacked in tiers.
Each cell glowed with shifting energy fields—and inside, something moved.
Scaled. Winged. Armored. Dozens of species, none of them human.
Across from him, a tall violet-skinned alien sat cross-legged, motionless except for the faint movement of four golden eyes. Thin threads of light ran beneath his translucent skin like rivers of molten gold.
"You're awake," the alien said at last. "That's unusual. Most scream for a while after the neural binding."
Kofi muttered. "Where are we?"
The alien looked up. "Containment Vessel 9B. Prison transport bound for the First Trial."
Kofi frowned. "You speak English?"
The alien tilted its head. "No. You hear the translation. Implant adjustment. It connects us… somewhat."
Before Kofi could ask more, a massive hologram ignited in the center of the hold, flooding every corner with white light. The faceless construct bore the Dominion's crest—burning stars circling a black sun.
"Prisoners of the Dominion," it declared. "You have been selected for the Trials of Or'Rhen."
"There will be seven trials in total... but only the first will be revealed to you now."
"Trial One: The Trial of Survival."
"You will be deployed upon a dying world—atmosphere unstable, terrain hostile. You have seventy-two hours to locate the extraction beacon. Those who fail to reach it in time... will remain behind."
"At the end of each successful trial, survivors will receive coordinates for the next retrieval zone. Arrive late... and the transport will not return."
The hologram vanished. Silence fell.
"So... if we miss the ship, we die," Kofi said.
"That's the game," the alien replied.
"Name's Kofi," he said.
"Luro," the alien answered. Atheri scholar. Former strategist for the Dominion. Now, a prisoner of my own calculations."
Luro studied him. "Human. Unregistered species. You should not be here."
"I've been getting that a lot lately."
"Tell me, Kofi Daramola—what is your craft?"
"I'm an electrical and mechanical engineer."
"Engineer. Explain."
"I built things—systems, machines. I made a Power move where people needed it. Kept the lights on. Fixed things when they broke."
"Interesting," Luro said. "You shape energy and motion. That could be useful where we're going."
The ship shuddered as it entered orbit around a storm-ridden planet.
"PREPARE FOR DESCENT."
Every cage vibrated as clamps released. Prisoners braced themselves.
Luro reached through the bars, pressing his palm to Kofi's—a brief gesture of solidarity between strangers.
"Welcome to the Dominion's game, engineer," Luro said. "Try not to die before I see how you work."
"Yeah," Kofi muttered, forcing a small grin. "I'll do my best not to disappoint."
Outside, the planet loomed—a world wrapped in storms and lightning. The ship dove straight into it, engines howling like beasts.
And deep in Kofi's chest, something pulsed once—steady, alien, and familiar all at once—as if his blood knew this place before he did.