Prologue - The Winds of Change

The war at the edge of the galaxy had raged for over two centuries, its once-unstoppable momentum reduced to a grim stalemate. Entire civilizations had been shattered, leaving behind only floating debris as a testament to their existence. The Galactic Alliance of Species fought relentlessly against the Eltec Empire, but whispers from the battlefield spoke of horrors beyond war—the resurrection of the dead, fallen warriors forced into the enemy's ranks by means unknown.

Across the stars, countless worlds bore the scars of war. Once-thriving planets had been reduced to barren husks, their surfaces scorched by orbital bombardments and planetary-scale conflicts. The inner-sector megacities, once symbols of progress, had become fortified bastions, their towering spires lined with anti-aircraft defenses and flickering energy shields, straining under near-constant assault. Refugees poured in from the Outer Colonies, their once-prosperous homes now distant memories.

The Outer Colonies, once the lifeblood of interstellar commerce, had become war zones or ghost worlds. Some planets had been completely abandoned, left to scavengers and rogue factions profiting from the war's chaos. Others had been transformed into industrialized strongholds, manufacturing weapons and war machines in a desperate bid to outlast the enemy. Black market trade thrived in the shadows, supplying mercenaries and warlords with whatever the highest bidder desired.

The Eltec Empire, ever the enigmatic force of destruction, pushed forward with their most terrifying weapon—resurrection technology. Their ability to reanimate the dead, both their own and their enemies, had turned battlefields into never-ending nightmares. Stories spread of fallen soldiers rising from the dead, void of their former selves, forced to fight against their own people. Was it dark science, genetic engineering, or something even worse? No one knew. But the more the Galactic Alliance fought, the stronger the Eltec forces became.

Even within the Galactic Alliance, fractures had begun to form. The once-unified coalition was now a tangled web of political disputes and hidden agendas. The High Council debated preemptive strikes with experimental weapons, while others called for restraint, fearing escalation. Some doubted their own allegiance, wondering if peace—or surrender—was the only viable path. Others resorted to desperate measures, employing mercenaries, covert assassins, and intelligence brokers to eliminate key players from the shadows.

Though the war had reached a standstill, a recent tragedy-turned-military victory sent ripples through the galaxy, unknowingly setting the stage for an even greater catastrophe.

The Twilight Before the Storm

A cool breeze whispered through the canyon, carrying the scent of water and damp earth. The majestic waterfall, cascading from a towering cliffside, created a fine mist that veiled the landscape in a soft haze. Across the canyon, a solitary, ancient tree stood resilient against the wind, its twisted form bent from centuries of relentless gusts. Beyond it, nestled in the heart of an exquisite flower garden, a grand mansion stood tall, surrounded by a vibrant mosaic of blossoms forming a breathtaking depiction of the Milky Way.

In the center of the garden, where the galactic spiral converged, stood a majestic dragon statue, its head lifted to the heavens, wings spread wide as if ready for flight. The stone had weathered centuries of storms, yet still stood proud—a silent guardian watching over its home. The tranquil beauty of the estate stood in stark contrast to the endless war waged beyond the stars.

Above, sleek warships and transport vessels streaked across the sky, their metallic hulls reflecting the distant glow of a dying sun. The air crackled with the faint hum of their engines as they maneuvered between orbital defense stations and hidden battle platforms, silent reminders that peace was a fragile illusion.

As the last light of day faded, a Kitsurai figure moved silently toward the mansion, his steps deliberate, his posture unwavering. His presence lingered briefly before disappearing into the grand halls, leaving behind only the faint imprint of his watchful gaze.

A lone figure strode across the stone path, his pace measured, his posture exuding both grace and confidence. As he approached the twisted tree, another figure stood beneath its massive canopy—a broad-shouldered humanoid dragon, his imposing frame barely concealed by the shifting shadows.

The hulking figure remained still, his wings at rest, their dark webbing fluttering like calm ocean waves in the breeze. His scaled tail, thick and battle-worn, lay motionless on the damp grass, revealing scars that spoke of countless battles. The golden spines along his ridged back gleamed as light broke through the rustling leaves.

Stepping into the tree's shadow, the middle-aged Soltarian warrior came into full view. His sharp blue eyes, framed by shoulder-length dark hair, studied the scene before him with quiet reverence. The wind tousled his well-kept attire, the pocket watch pinned to his coat catching the light. The watch bore an intricate crest, depicting six dragons intertwined, each wielding an emblem representing their house. His forehead bore a translucent gem, its golden glow pulsing faintly in rhythm with his heartbeat—a physical manifestation of the Aetherbind within him.

The Soltarian exhaled a long, weary sigh.

His voice carried the weight of countless battles. "You know, Syn... every time I return home, it's as if the bloodshed never existed. The smoke-choked air, the metallic stench of war, the grime that clings to my scales—it all fades away here."

His words were firm, but his grip tightened around the data prism in his hand, its crystalline surface glowing faintly, beating like a living heart. Encoded within it was the knowledge that had cost countless lives on Daridus Delta—knowledge that now placed everyone he loved in danger.

A gust of wind shook the tree's branches, allowing sunlight to momentarily illuminate his hardened features. The golden-eyed warrior bore deep scars along his brow, a fresh wound still healing above his right eyebrow. Dark circles clung to his eyes, the fatigue of war evident beneath his strong, chiseled jaw.

Syn Brigand stepped forward cautiously, bowing his head slightly in respect. His words carried a weight of familiarity, tempered with deep-seated reverence.

"Master Argus, these fleeting moments of peace serve as a glimpse of the future you fight for. The sacrifices, the scars, the battles—they pave the way toward something greater." **

Argus turned toward Syn, his massive frame moving with practiced precision. The air around him seemed heavier, the presence of a warrior who had led countless legions into battle. Syn held his ground, standing as an equal, though respect laced his every motion.

In his other hand, Argus held a data prism, its crystalline surface shimmering faintly, pulsing with a rhythmic glow—almost as if it were alive. The encoded knowledge within it held the weight of countless sacrifices, a testament to the heavy price paid on Daridus Delta.

His grip on the prism tightened, his expression darkening as he exhaled, the burden pressing upon him. "Daridus Delta... the toll was unimaginable. We retrieved what was needed, but the cost—Syn, it was too great." His voice dropped to a near whisper. "We don't have much time. Our escape begins now."

Argus placed a firm hand on Syn's shoulder.

"Speaking of my family—where are they? I expected to see Tatianna and Tienerra when I arrived."

Syn hesitated. This was the plea of a father.