The war of conquest raged. Data's reports scrolled in real-time on the command room screens, detailing the relentless advance of the Terran forces. The Siege Tanks, anchored in artillery position, were reducing the last pockets of organized xeno resistance to dust. The Wraiths, like a swarm of stealthy hornets, hunted the remaining flying creatures.
Julius observed everything, his new 1.73m body standing straight in his uniform. The small psionic flame within him, although weak, pulsed with every victory notification, as if feeding on the energy released by the conflict. He felt his power growing, drop by drop.
Suddenly, a priority alert flashed. It wasn't a report from Data, but a direct communication from Raynor, whose voice, crackling with static and tinged with unusual urgency, burst into the room.
"Braveheart, you read me? We got a problem. A big one."
"I hear you, Jim. What's happening?"
"We cleaned out a big nest of shelled beasties, as planned. But behind it... there was a cavern. And in that cavern, we found more than bones and slime."
An image displayed on the main screen. It showed the inside of a vast cave, illuminated by the Marines' spotlights. In the center, a structure. It wasn't natural rock, nor an organic xeno construction. It was metal. Rusty, ancient, covered in moss, but undeniably technology. Cables hung from the ceiling, and on a wall panel, a half-erased inscription was visible: "Sector 7 - Prototype Storage - Restricted Access."
"Looks like human ruins, Julius," Raynor's voice continued. "Very, very old. Pre-Crusade, I'd bet. And that's not all."
The camera moved, shaky, to focus on a stasis sarcophagus, incredibly ancient, integrated into the wall. The viewport was covered in frost, but a silhouette could be distinguished inside. The stasis unit was blinking weakly, red, indicating imminent failure.
"There's someone in there," Raynor added. "And the scans show vital signs. Weak, but present."
Julius's heart missed a beat. A human? Here? Asleep for... who knows how long? Before the Great Crusade? It was an archaeological find of incalculable importance. And an immense risk.
"Don't touch anything, Jim. I'm coming down."
A few minutes later, Julius arrived on site aboard a Dropship, escorted by a squad of Goliaths. The air in the cavern was cold and still, heavy with the weight of centuries. Raynor waited for him near the sarcophagus, his Impaler at the ready, wary.
"He's holding on, but not for long," he said, indicating the blinking red light.
"Data, analysis," ordered Julius.
The android's voice resonated in his auditory implant. < Remote analysis. The sarcophagus is of pre-Imperial design, model "Aeterna Custodia". Residual energy is less than 0.3%. Failure will be critical in less than thirty minutes. The subject inside shows signs of advanced cellular degeneration due to age, but suspended by stasis.>
"We have no choice. We have to open it."
Under Julius's watchful eye and the aimed weapons of Raynor and his men, a team of SCVs approached. With the surgical precision of their lasers, they cut the sarcophagus's rusted seal. A hiss of vitiated air escaped as the lid lifted.
The vapor dissipated, revealing the occupant.
It was a man of advanced age, his face hollowed by the years and marked by countless trials. His hair was white and short, his gray beard trimmed with care despite the centuries spent asleep. He wore a worn flight suit of an unknown model, and on his chest, insignia faded by time.
As the cavern air touched him, the man coughed violently, his eyelids opening with difficulty. His eyes, of a pale and piercing blue, wandered for a moment, disoriented, before fixing on Julius. There was no fear in his gaze, but an extreme weariness and vigilance.
He spoke, in a voice hoarse and broken from disuse, in an archaic dialect that Julius's universal translation system struggled to grasp.
"...The silence... finally? The... the shadows... have they fallen silent?"
Then, his gaze seemed to clarify, taking the measure of the Marines in CMC armor, the SCVs, the Terran technology surrounding him. A glimmer of recognition, then of profound sadness, crossed his eyes.
"This is not... my fleet. Who... who are you?"
Julius stepped forward, raising a hand to calm his men.
"I am Commander Julius Braveheart. You are safe. You were in stasis for a very, very long time."
The man closed his eyes for a moment, as if to assimilate the information. When he reopened them, a bitter resignation was visible.
"Braveheart... A warrior's name. My name is... Caleb. Caleb Valerius. Captain of the exploration vessel Aethelstan. We were seeking... a refuge. A world safe from the madness." He shook his head weakly. "It seems we failed."
Suddenly, a System notification appeared, visible only to Julius.
< Analysis of individual "Caleb Valerius" complete.>
< Detection of an exceptional skill pattern: Naval Strategist, Experienced Ship Pilot, Diplomat.>
< Conformity with "Champion" parameters confirmed.>
< Attribution of title: "Champion - The Last Captain of the Age of Darkness".>
< Loyalty: Determined by circumstances (life debt). Requires a diplomatic approach to consolidate.>
Julius looked at the old man, fragile and lost in a universe that was no longer his. This wasn't a warrior summoned by the System's magic. He was a survivor, a relic of a bygone era. And his skills – spatial strategy, knowledge of the stars – were something that even Raynor and Data did not possess.
"Captain Valerius," said Julius with sincere respect. "You have not failed. You have found a refuge. And perhaps... a new fleet to command."