Space.
Rescue ship Scythian.
The command deck.
Beyond the vast viewing screen, the battle unfolds—Earth ships against Martian ships.
Arcs of fire tear through the pitch-black void.
Each flare is more than a weapon:
they are curses of ancient gods,
searing their names into the fabric of nothingness.
Space shudders under the weight of rage.
Every burst of energy is the heartbeat of a dying world.
---
Vicar stands at the very edge of the screen, motionless.
Crimson and sapphire gleams race across his face.
Beside him—Captain Manuel, hands clasped behind his back.
He does not move.
Only his eyes—dark, weary,
filled with silent courage.
"How can we help them?..
We are not just… watching?
We must do something…"
Vicar's voice is quiet, burning from within.
Manuel says nothing.
His lips press into a thin line.
He does not look away from the madness outside the glass.
"Nothing," he says at last.
His voice is dry.
Not cruel.
Simply… true.
"Absolutely nothing."
The bridge falls into silence,
thick and heavy.
The hum of the systems seems to fade,
yielding the stage to mute horror.
Vicar takes a step back.
He grips the railing—
as though suddenly the weight of every year he has lived
has pressed down upon his shoulders.
"The adepts of Kairus…
they have begun building a new Platform…
near Earth.
One probe remains…
It sent the data…"
"Then soon the spheres will appear again,"
Manuel lowers his head.
For a moment his face vanishes into shadow.
"And our world…
will stop them.
Or fall."
He says nothing more.
Words no longer carry weight
against the scream of dying ships.
The bridge empties itself of meaning.
---
Observation chamber.
A wall of glass
from floor to ceiling.
But beyond it—no stars.
Beyond it rages chaos.
Ships.
Wreckage.
Flashes.
Shockwaves.
A slaughter on the edge of comprehension.
It seems even infinity
flinches as it watches.
---
Pietro and Ivor stand side by side.
The room holds no sound—
only the murmur of the systems
and the pulse of distant darkness.
"Ivor…
explain to me.
Why do those who wear the amulets of both gods
die?"
Ivor is silent for a long time.
His face bathed in the blue glow of monitors.
Slowly, he turns his head.
"Do you remember the boy… in the Desert?
He was the first.
The first version of Kairus.
Not legend—truth.
I saw Gorgorot—the forefather.
He wore both amulets.
He stood between worlds.
He watched as one god died
and another was born."
Ivor steps closer to the glass.
He runs his fingers along the cold surface—
as if he seeks to touch not stars,
but memories.
"Transition is rejection.
I saw faith thrown into the sand.
Then Kairus changed.
No—was reborn.
He became the third.
Stricter.
He forged a new order.
A new fear.
And a new law."
He turns.
His gaze is heavy, like the cosmos itself:
"This Kairus does not kill from hatred.
He kills from duty.
His dogma is a nail driven into the sky:
all who do not believe must perish."
"And the boy?..
The first version?..
He is different, is he not?"
Pietro trembles.
His voice holds pain. And hope. And despair.
"He… does not kill,"
Ivor answers softly.
"He only watches.
He is a witness."
A pause.
Long.
Dense.
Pietro steps forward.
In his eyes burns the fire of resolve.
"Put the amulet on me."
Ivor freezes.
He blinks.
"What?.. "
"Do it. Now."
"You…
You have lost your mind?!
Jamal is dead!
You will die too!"
"No," Pietro speaks calmly.
"Jamal was given the amulet by Julia and Alex.
At that time they did not know.
Their god was Kairus the Third—the judge.
But you…
You were in the Desert.
You met the boy.
You chose differently."
He steps closer.
Between them—only breath.
"Put the amulet on me.
And take me there.
To the Desert of Oblivion.
Before it is too late.
Before the third god finds me.
Before he condemns me."
Ivor recoils.
Shakes his head.
His lips pressed tight.
His gaze flickers, restless.
"This is…
This is madness.
We do not know what will happen.
It could be a trap."
"But it is a chance."
"If the boy does not kill…
If he only watches…
Then maybe he will show us a way.
A new passage.
A new choice."
Ivor stands still.
Slowly, he reaches for the transmitter.
He hesitates.
On his face is no fear—
but reverence. And grief.
Pietro looks straight into his eyes.
Between them—decision.
Between them—the world.
And somewhere beyond the glass,
an unknown god falls silent…
…to listen.