The Skiff, Captain Manuel's ship, pierces through the last rings of satellites, entering the Inner Belt, drawing ever closer to Earth's orbit.
The hull trembles, as if restraining a scream.
Gravity presses like an iron grip, but the engines pull the ship forward—
as if the metal itself understands: there's no time left.
In the cockpit — semi-darkness.
Only the cold glow of screens and flickering panels drag the crew's faces out of the shadows.
Silence — like an icy dome.
Stillness — the moment before a storm tears open the skin of the world.
Maria sits at the monitor.
Brows drawn tight. Lips pressed shut.
Her eyes bore into the tactical display—red and green markers dance like wild signals of the end times.
Suddenly, she straightens.
Holds her breath.
Something's wrong.
"Captain…" she whispers, barely audible, as if the word itself might trigger an explosion. "An object has launched from the Platform.
The scale—abnormal. The speed—beyond comprehension."
Manuel spins from the holographic map.
His gaze sharp as a laser.
He steps closer, eyes locked on the screen.
And there, in the depths of digital space—
a dark shadow grows and pulses, like an abscess from another reality.
"The Platform… has activated?" the captain's voice drops to a near whisper. "We… we're too late?"
"It doesn't matter anymore," Maria cuts in.
Cold. Merciless.
Her fingers hammer commands like piston valves.
Eyes fixed on the red alert ring.
"If I'm right… that's not a ship.
It came from another universe."
The cockpit door slams open.
Pietro bursts in.
His face burns—as if he just ran through fire and ice.
Words fly from his lips like gunfire:
"Now! We must activate Hanaris's call signs!
The protocol is loaded. We can use the Platform. Summon his power!"
Maria leaps to her feet.
Her eyes blaze—a storm of fear and fury.
"Did you forget what Hanaris said?" she hisses. "When god-alliances clash—everything dies. Millions of times. Across millions of universes."
"We weren't given a choice!" Pietro snaps.
His voice raspy, frayed.
"If we don't act—Kairus's forces will rise from the Platform.
We'll die. Or worse, become slaves to his will."
Tension sings like a wire stretched over an abyss.
And then—another jolt.
The door opens again.
Vikhar enters.
His steps — silent.
His presence — icy, cutting.
The room freezes.
"What is going on here?"
His voice slices nerves like a blade.
The captain steps back from the screen.
Restrained—but it shows.
"The Platform's active," he says.
"An unidentified object has launched into space.
Speed and size—off the charts. Nothing in our civilization comes close."
Vikhar stares at the screen.
His pupils—almost motionless. But tension creeps across his face.
Something he understands. Something—he fears to name.
"Bring up the signature.
We need the full picture."
He turns to Pietro:
"Can we reach Ivor?"
"Only through Kairus's world," Pietro replies.
"But I know how to breach the channel.
Alex and Julia are still onboard.
They… can do it."
Vikhar pauses.
Calculates.
Weighs.
"Your help is not required,"
he says, like passing sentence.
But Pietro steps forward.
No plea in his eyes. Only resolve.
"I'm not asking.
I insist.
We need a chance.
They know how to upload the call signs. That's our trump card."
Pause. Silence.
Then—a slow nod.
"Fine. Let's go."
**
They leave the cockpit.
The corridors tremble.
Ventilation moans, as if the ship itself holds its breath.
As if it, too, knows: something greater than battle is coming.
They enter the cabin.
A dull hiss—the door slides open.
Inside—dim light.
Two silhouettes.
Alex — sitting on the bunk, bent over a tablet.
Julia — standing by the wall, arms crossed.
Tense, like a spring ready to snap—or explode.
"We need your help,"
Vikhar says without prelude.
"The Platform has awakened.
You're the only ones who can establish a channel through Kairus's world."
Pietro steps forward, voice shaking—but not from fear:
"We want to activate Hanaris's call signs.
Summon his power to…
stop what's coming for Earth."
Alex slowly lifts his eyes.
In them—weariness of ages, but firm resolve.
"It won't be easy.
Any mistake—and Kairus will wipe cities off the map like dust from a mirror."
Julia remains silent.
A moment—and her voice speaks for them both:
"We agree.
But you must understand: you will summon something
that may save…
or erase everything."
Pietro nods.
Inside—everything tightens to a point.
The Platform—active.
The threat—real.
Hope and ruin stand side by side, like two faces of the same mirror.
And there's only one path left.
A step forward.
**
Julia and Alex enter the realm of the gods as if tearing through the dense fabric of reality from the inside.
Their step is like a crack against glass. And the glass shatters.
The world changes in an instant.
A desert—boundless, blistering, with no beginning and no end.
Not time. Not space. Not dream. Yet not reality either.
Every grain beneath their feet is like a nail soaked in ancient pain.
The air vibrates with heat. There is no sky, only thick darkness pierced by bursts of distant stars—poisonous light, offering no warmth, no salvation.
The sand beneath their feet is alive.
It breathes. It shifts. It waits.
It tests the strength of their minds, as if God himself had issued a challenge.
Julia holds back the fear clawing inside her. Not from the heat—but from the depth. From the sensation that they are inside something older than time.
The silence rings.
Every step sounds like a whisper of battle. Every movement—a provocation to eternity.
Then— a figure.
Ivor.
Still, as if grown from the sand.
Wrapped in shimmer. His face does not twitch, does not blink.
Around him—thousands of adepts, frozen in meditation.
Their bodies—almost translucent. Dissolving into the landscape, as if they long forgot where flesh ends and emptiness begins.
Above them—a boy in a lotus pose.
Hovering.
His skin sparkles. His body—ethereal, like the breath of dawn.
Term isn't just here.
He is the heart of the desert. The mind of the world.
Alex tightens his palm.
A handful of scalding sand.
It feels as if he's holding time itself.
The grains—alive, trembling, slipping through his fingers like thoughts before death.
"Are we too late? Or can we still undo this?"
"Tell us what happened on the Platform," Alex's voice breaks through—
Hoarse. Dry. As if he tore it out of himself with pain.
Ivor slowly opens his eyes.
His gaze—like the pressure of steel. Not anger, not fear. Only knowing.
"After the object launched… the failsafes triggered.
Martian saboteurs.
A chain reaction. Destruction. The Platform is offline—but not for long.
It will restart.
But next time, there won't be one.
There will be hundreds. Thousands. An endless army of machines.
The army of the god Kairus. The end of all life."
Julia closes her eyes.
The heat chokes. Doubt pounds beneath her ribs.
"Maybe it's just a nightmare? Maybe we're still asleep?"
But the pain is real.
And the breath of fire—near.
"They… really want to do this?"—her voice is a trembling blade—
"Destroy everything?"
Ivor looks at her.
Not like an android. Like a witness.
Like someone who has seen the universe collapse.
"They do.
But it's too late now.
Now—it depends on us."
Alex steps forward.
His voice—taut like a rope stretched over an abyss:
"That's why we're here.
Tell us how to summon Hanaris.
How to encode the call signs."
Ivor lowers his gaze.
Inside him—weight. Years.
He searches for something within. Knowledge that cannot be forgotten.
"There's a coordinate node.
Deep within the Platform.
Built… specifically for the summoning.
But I have no maps. I don't know exactly where."
"You don't need to," Alex interrupts.
His voice—confident, almost mad.
"I have Charmer.
I'll encode the call signs into its behavioral matrix. It'll understand everything. It'll just… carry it.
And you'll take it there."
Ivor smiles—for the first time.
Barely. Warm. Real.
"Alright.
But there's a catch.
The protective field won't let the container through.
You'll have to exit the boundary.
Catch it in open space.
By hand.
With a loader."
Julia smirks.
There's fire in her eyes—a habit of madness.
"You've already chosen your mission.
You always do.
You're a pleasure to work with, Ivor."
But Alex frowns.
Something nags at him.
He throws sharply:
"And Kairus?
You act like he's blind.
But his gaze is everywhere."
Ivor slowly lifts his head.
Looks upward. Where there is no sun—but there are stars.
"Here he's powerless.
This is the Desert of Oblivion.
The only place his will cannot reach.
Nicholas told me.
They tried to break him.
Kairus tried to pierce his mind.
But the boy…
The boy stopped him.
The one floating in the air—he protects us.
This is Term.
Here, he safeguards our minds."
Silence.
Julia and Alex—frozen.
Realization rises like lava beneath the skin.
They are in a sacred place. On the edge between freedom and eternity.
And then Ivor begins to vanish.
Disintegrating like sand.
Dissolving into the air.
Only his voice remains—
like a trace of light on closed eyelids.
"See you there.
Don't be late."
Julia and Alex slowly turn toward each other.
Their eyes—without fear.
Only resolve. Only duty.
They turn, and the Desert of Oblivion—
recedes.
As if respecting their choice.
When they return to the ship,
everything feels quieter.
Darker.
Heavier.
But inside them—
there is no more fear.
They've made their choice.
And now—they're ready to pay the price.