The air roared.
Dorian had corrected his posture mid-vacuum with the agility of an avian predator. What began as a suicidal head-first dive had transformed into a perfect vertical descent. His boots aimed at the ground, but atmospheric friction at that speed should have incinerated any ordinary human tissue.
Yet Dorian was anything but ordinary.
"Sir, you're being especially flashy today," Omega's voice flowed with analytical calm through his mind, contrasting with the chaos of the wind outside.
"I wanted to try something new," Dorian replied. His lips barely moved, but internal communication was instantaneous.
As he devoured the meters, the smart-alloy trench coat expanded, vibrating in sync with the Helion emanating from his pores. It wasn't technology dictating the descent; it was Dorian's will, shaping solar energy to transform his body into an arrow of cyan light.
Forty stories remained. The ground spread beneath him like a hungry mouth.
[Advanced Branch Command Center]
Inside the circular base's command post, holographic screens flickered with proximity alerts. A group of high-ranking officers watched the thermal signature plummeting from the zenith.
"That kid... hahaha," the Lieutenant in charge let out a dry laugh, adjusting his visor. "He's too incredible. His energy signature is breaking every standard descent protocol."
"Yeah, this boy sure knows how to make an entrance," another officer added, a predatory smile spreading across his face—the kind that only appears when one warrior recognizes another of the same caliber. "Almost makes me want to go out there and see if his reflexes are as fast as his fall."
"I like that today's youth are so enthusiastic," interjected a man with white hair and a neatly trimmed beard, whose mere presence radiated ancient authority. "The spirit of Helion seems to burn fiercely in this generation."
"It's pure instinct," the youngest officer replied, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "We've never seen anything like this in our time. The new generations are truly leaving our old doctrines behind."
The white-haired Major nodded, casting one last glance at the blue dot on the screen before resuming his elegant posture.
"Well, where were we before this interruption? Ah, yes... Veridia."
Outside, in the maneuvering yard that stretched for kilometers, low-ranking warriors and operators halted their work.
"What the hell is that?" one of the men shouted, pointing at the sky. "Is that a meteor? A shooting star in broad daylight?"
"Idiot, if that were a meteor, orbital defense alarms would have vaporized the zone before you could even spot it," his companion retorted, though his hand trembled slightly as he shaded his eyes. "But… I've never seen anything fall with that trajectory."
"If it were a threat, it'd already be neutralized," the other concluded, making vague gestures with his arms. "Though brace yourself—the impact's going to kick up a mess of dust."
The blue sphere, which from orbit had looked like a spark, now resembled a rising sun falling directly upon them.
"Sir, less than ten meters to impact," Omega warned.
In the landing area, roughly forty people were scattered about. Noticing the trajectory aimed at the center of the yard, controlled panic seized them.
"Hey! Activate the frequency shields on the brooms!" one operator shouted to his colleague, referring to the magnetic cleaning and maintenance tools.
"Come on, activate personal shields too!" another urged, seeking refuge behind small energy barriers.
"Not like that'll do much against an eighty-story free fall…" a veteran muttered, though he activated his protection out of pure reflex.
Light metal shields deployed in chaotic disarray. People hunched their shoulders, raising their arms to shield themselves from the imminent shockwave. The base floor—a mix of advanced technology and compacted earth—seemed ready to erupt in a cloud of debris.
"Impact in five seconds," Omega recited.
Five.
Four.
Three.
Two.
One.
Everyone closed their eyes, bracing for the deafening roar of a BOOOOM.
But the sound never came.
Instead of an explosion, there was a metallic whisper—a faint shhh of displaced air.
Dorian had used the Helion in his veins to generate gravitational counter-pressure in the final millisecond. It was the same technique as his Cyan-V boots, but elevated to a biological level. He absorbed the inertia of an eighty-five-story descent as if he'd jumped from a wooden step.
When those present opened their eyes, there was no crater. No dust cloud. Not a single shield plate had vibrated.
At the center of the group, standing with supernatural calm, was a boy. His black hair, streaked with orange highlights, fell softly across his forehead as he ceased aiming at the sky. The black trench coat—which a second ago had resembled a combat wing—resumed its fluid drape around his legs.
Dorian Astra looked around at the stunned faces of warriors and operators still clutching their shields.
His green eyes, laden with emerald coldness, met those of everyone present. With an impassive, almost bored expression, he adjusted his trench coat's collar.
"Well then," Dorian said, his voice cutting through the silence like a scalpel. "Now what?"