News that Zaelen Deyron and his squad were still alive after their mission to northern Edena should have been cause for celebration. Instead, inside the presidential palace, it was met with grim faces and a silence so heavy it felt carved from stone.
Deep within the underground command chamber, President Caius Dalthar stood before a massive display showing the emergency signal Zaelen had managed to transmit to the Aetheria underground network. Behind him, his advisors exchanged uneasy glances.
"How is he still alive?" Caius muttered, quiet yet razor-edged.
His strategic advisor, Jeren Solvak, swallowed hard before answering. "We assumed the weather interference would be enough to cancel the distress beacon. But it seems Deyron is... more stubborn than we expected."
Caius stared at the screen for several seconds before speaking, his voice cold. "Then we make him believe he's a hero."
Hours later, a large drone launched from the Ceralune air station, heading toward the coordinates of Zaelen's last signal. It carried a voice message recorded by the President himself.
"Zaelen Deyron, the Edena nation will not forget your courage. The northern expedition is officially marked as a failed operation. No signals were detected from the previous team. We will dispatch a retrieval squad immediately. Hold your position."
Zaelen, resting with the remnants of his squad behind a frozen ravine, listened to the message with an expression carved from ice. "So they admit the expedition failed," he said.
Sergeant Lienne answered softly. "And they're talking like we weren't part of that failure."
Zaelen nodded once. "We still don't know their intentions."
They didn't need to wait long.
Moments after the drone landed and released a logistics package, it emitted an invisible pulse—a high-frequency signal that immediately agitated the biological systems of the northern beasts.
Soon after, the ground trembled. Low growls echoed through the misted ice fields.
"Positions!" Zaelen barked. "Take cover and ready the wave launchers!"
The monsters charged in, more vicious than any previous encounter, as if deliberately provoked.
The battle raged for three relentless hours. Zaelen and Lienne fought side by side until, finally, the extraction signal arrived.
But when the airship lifted off with the survivors, only one of them remained.
*****
The return of Zaelen Deyron to the Edena Military Command should have been met with honor. Instead, a cold silence greeted him. No cheers. No ceremony. Only a dim chamber where the High Military Evaluation Committee waited like statues carved from shadow.
The official media broadcast a sanitized headline:
"Commander Zaelen Deyron has returned alive from the northern rescue mission. Tragically, all members of his squad perished during the operation. The government expresses deep condolences and will conduct an internal review of all military actions involved."
Zaelen stood before five senior generals and two observers from the Ministry of Defense, his posture unwavering.
General Thamos opened the inquiry. "Zaelen Deyron, your report does not explain why you continued the mission despite finding no trace of the expedition team. Why did you not withdraw?"
Zaelen replied firmly, "Because the order came directly from the President."
"There is no written record of such an order," another general countered.
Zaelen exhaled slowly. "The order was transmitted through a Class-One channel. It cannot be forged, and I cannot fabricate it."
A third general leaned forward. "Then explain why you were the only survivor. What were your actions when your squad was attacked?"
"I fought," Zaelen answered flatly.
The room fell into silence.
Two days later, the verdict was announced:
"Commander Zaelen Deyron is hereby found guilty of negligence during the northern rescue operation. He is officially relieved of duty, placed under active-status suspension, and prohibited from participating in military operations for five cycles."
The media machine erupted.
News channels, opinion articles, and short documentaries flooded every network, all pushing a narrative sharpened to perfection.
"If Auren Deyron had become president, would he have sacrificed the nation just as his son sacrificed his squad?"
"President Caius's decision to prioritize national integrity over personal connections is worthy of respect."
"Zaelen Deyron: A silent betrayal in uniform."
*****
In the quiet gardens of Valessia, Auren sat gazing at the night sky. Beside him sat Zaelen, stripped of rank, wearing only a plain black cloak.
"I didn't expect it," Zaelen murmured. "The medal they gave me… turned into a weapon."
Auren looked at him gently. "Power is like water, Kaelen. It can refresh… or it can drown."
Zaelen's voice lowered. "Should I fight back?"
"Not yet," Auren replied softly. "Let them celebrate their victory. Because the higher they rise, the louder the truth will sound when they finally fall."
*****
A full year had passed since the world watched Zaelen Deyron fall. In the aftermath, President Caius Dalthar's face transformed into something unrecognizable. The warm smile he once offered freely now appeared only on carefully crafted propaganda feeds. Behind the screens, his rule hardened into a regime with no room for dissent.
Any spark of resistance—whispers in community corners, open discussions in public forums—was silenced. Vox Terra, once a symbol of idealistic rebellion, had become nothing more than a story from a gentler time. Its members were imprisoned or simply vanished. The few who remained stepped back after their families received threats too sharp to ignore.
"Stop now, or your blood won't fall alone."
That anonymous warning struck countless personal comm-devices belonging to former activists.
Aetheria fell silent as well. The conservationists who once proudly served in the cabinet now worked like shadows, seen but unspoken. They hadn't disappeared—only their voices had.
And Zaelen Deyron? No longer a hero. No longer a villain. Merely… silent. Tucked away in his home, far from the world's attention. Forgotten by many—and choosing to be forgotten.
In that quiet, Edena began to send signals. Subtle at first, then impossible to ignore.
Electromagnetic storms grew frequent and erratic. Rivers dried without explanation. Creatures once gentle turned hostile and lost their social instincts. Rare flora species died in synchronized waves across the southern territories.
In a subterranean research lab beneath Solera District, conservation scientist Lyra Naevon stood before the scientific council and delivered her findings.
"Edena's magnetic layer has thinned by thirty-two percent in the last decade. At this rate, we lose protection from cosmic radiation in less than two years. The planet will enter a catastrophic dark age."
The murmurs that followed were tense—yet drowned beneath the influence of one man: Arlen Vorex, the new head of the expansionist program.
Immaculate suit, easy smile. Dangerous confidence.
"Your data is concerning, Dr. Lyra," Arlen replied, light and dismissive. "But we must understand that every leap in civilization requires sacrifice. This is merely the cost of progress. We aren't destroying Edena—we're rebuilding it."
"Rebuilding it by killing its biology?" Lyra shot back. "We don't have a spare planet waiting for us."
Arlen's smile sharpened. "With our technology, we can recreate anything. Genetics, atmosphere, even the magnetic field. All of it is… reproducible."
He said it like assembling a puzzle.
Lyra didn't stop. She visited conservationist communities one by one. Spread the data. Hosted small seminars. Sent reports to every government branch that hadn't yet sealed its doors.
Every attempt sank.
Colleagues withdrew. Some out of fear. Some out of threat.
In a dim café, her friend Dres Maren leaned in with a shaken voice.
"Lyra… you know I agree with you. But they've already threatened my family. My kid has a guard on him. I can't do this."
Lyra's voice cracked. "Then who can?"
Dres lowered his gaze. "Maybe… no one."
Months later, Arlen's group made their triumphant announcements:
"The Veinsteel mines have reached Edena's mineral core. Planetary energy conversion will power our civilization for millennia."
"Project Atmos-Genesis begins today. Objective: align Edena's atmosphere with Earth-standard oxygen-carbon ratios."
"Bio-Surge genetics division has successfully re-engineered local flora and fauna to enhance productivity."
Cities glowed brighter than ever. Energy became limitless. New machines replaced entire workforces. And anyone who questioned it… simply disappeared from public memory.
Far from the celebrations, Zaelen sat on his porch in Valessia. In his hands: a classified report from a hidden network, detailing the escalating damage to Edena's atmosphere.
He read it slowly. Then lifted his gaze toward the sky.
"It's time," he murmured.
From inside the house, Auren stepped out carrying a warm drink.
"Are you sure you want to step back into this?" she asked.
Zaelen nodded. "If I stay silent, who speaks?"
Auren studied him, pain in her eyes. "Wounds that haven't healed will bleed if you force yourself to run."
Zaelen met her gaze. "And if I don't run, I'll rot sitting still."
Across Edena, expansionists celebrated.
Machines dug deeper.
The sky began to change.