She remembered her youth, the lessons ingrained from the moment she could comprehend language—logic, order, and the rejection of obsolete myths. The Grithan species had long since abandoned such archaic beliefs; gods were relics of a primitive past, discarded in favour of reason and progress.

Yet, even as a child, she had been different. Curiosity had led her to the forbidden texts, the records of old gods—beings of impossible power who commanded the elements, who waged war among themselves, who punished non-believers with floods and fire.

She had studied the accounts of seas boiling, continents fracturing, and cities swallowed whole by the earth itself. In time, she dismissed those stories as mere superstition, the remnants of a species that had once feared what it could not explain.

But now, as she observed Nethros, those memories returned in a different light. The raw chaos of the etheric plane bent toward it, a force neither random nor passive but drawn like a predator to its master. Lesser minds would fracture under such exposure, their thoughts unravelling into madness. Yet, Nethros moved through the turbulence with purpose, and the etheric storm followed like a loyal pet.

She was not alone in her observations. Others watched from a cautious distance, unwilling to risk closer scrutiny. Some whispered theories, others speculated in hushed tones. None dared interfere. Even her mentor, Dauqils, had admitted that Nethros' mere existence had propelled their understanding of the etheric plane forward by thousands of cycles. And yet, for every answer, a million new questions arose—questions that, perhaps, were never meant to be understood.

Ankrae observed the shifting data streams with concern. The battlefield was in flux, the Northern Hemisphere engulfed in chaos as the anomaly executed a systematic attack on supply hubs, mines, and installations. It was methodical, deliberate, and unrelenting. Only a handful of outposts remained untouched—those housing the more advanced Nullite generators. The entity seemed to actively avoid them, a behavioural pattern worth analysing.

Her virtual intelligence continued to summarize the fleet network’s chatter. Investors expressed predictable outrage at the loss of material and clones. The clones were replaceable, manufactured from templates several decades old. The destroyed assets were nothing more than refurbished units repurposed for frontier operations. The financial complaints were, as always, short-sighted—profit-driven individuals who failed to grasp long-term strategic concerns.

The scientific division, however, had proven more insightful. They closely analysed the battlefield, marvelling at the new BCU iterations. These combat units had adapted—faster, more durable, and with increasingly sophisticated responses to attacks. Recovery teams were already deploying to secure samples from the quieter zones. Every battle provided fresh data, revealing an evolutionary process that defied conventional understanding.

The admiralty remained silent, their discussions removed from the public network, focused solely on tactical matters. Reports of sightings outside the conflict zone were dismissed as hysteria. As far as Ankrae was concerned, the anomaly’s influence remained localized—for now.

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The mining consortium had suffered the greatest economic loss, with entire operations buried under shifting rubble. Even so, what had already been extracted would yield significant profits. The system’s resources were rich enough to multiply their wealth threefold. The war was an equation, a simple matter of balancing attrition against resource acquisition. And at present, the equation does not favour them.

Her division, the etheric observers, maintained a more reserved stance. Some of the lesser minds whispered theories of contact, of direct communion. They were eager to experience what had once been theoretical. Fools. The anomaly was not a simple entity to be probed and understood—it was a network, a gestalt consciousness operating at a scale that eclipsed any known psionic construct. The reckless desire for interaction had already cost them Master Dauqlis.

She glanced at his status: medical coma. He had insisted on direct engagement despite her warnings. Now he lay in stasis, his mind fractured, his consciousness fluctuating between coherence and oblivion. That, too, was data.

As days passed, the casualty rate became unsustainable. The anomaly's forces did not align with prior projections. They were appearing at a rate that defied logistical modelling. The fleet had shifted tactics to full-scale bombardment, sacrificing efficiency for raw destructive power. Clones, drones, and materials were being redirected from other sectors, but the numbers remained unfavourable.

And yet, the anomaly continued to expand. The Northern Hemisphere was beyond recovery. Reports from the etheric plane indicated a disturbing development: the entity’s presence was deepening, anchoring itself in ways that were not fully understood. Some speculated it was consuming the etheric remnants of fallen clones. Ridiculous. Such notions were rooted in primitive superstition. Still, the evidence suggested something was altering the fabric of the etheric plane, and Ankrae did not believe in coincidence.

A weak mental connection reached out to her. She recognized the mind instantly and accepted the link without hesitation.

The world around her shifted, distorting into the hazy dreamscape of the etheric plane. Master Dauqlis sat on a white coral formation, the once-vibrant realm around him fracturing and reforming in an ominous sign of mental collapse.

His form mirrored the decaying world. His once-lustrous scales were dull, his body gaunt and withered. But his eyes no longer artificial now glowed with an intense, pure white light.

“Tell me,” his voice came, calm and resigned. “How goes the battle?”

“Badly,” she replied. “The casualties and material losses far exceed our best projections.”

He stared into the distance, focused on something she could not see. “It has already won,” he murmured.

She studied him carefully. “Please master clarify did it say anything else?”

Dauqulis exhaled slowly. “It spoke of war—against our entire species. What we are witnessing is only the beginning. If it escapes this system, it could mean our extinction.”

The weight of his words pressed into her mind, sending a ripple of fear through the dreamscape.

Ankrae processed his words, analysing potential scenarios. The probability of total systemic collapse was low but increasing. The anomaly's exponential growth rate suggested an eventual threshold event—one that could shift the balance of power on a galactic scale.

“I want you to understand, Ankrae,” he continued. “This mind is capable of more than we can possibly comprehend. In the briefest moment, I glimpsed something beyond our understanding. We know so little of the etheric plane.” He turned to face her, his new eyes piercing. “And yet, this changes everything. The galaxy will not be the same. Many will seek to exploit it and fail. We cannot allow that to happen we must establish containment before it reaches civilized space.”

Ankrae remained silent. His mental state was compromised, but the core of his analysis was sound. The entity was evolving—adapting in ways that could not be countered through conventional means.

“I want you to prepare,” Dauqlis said at last. “When the Arc Ship returns, reach out to the Psionic Union. They should begin diplomatic talks with Nethros. We need peace before Nethros learns how to reach civilized space. If we fail…” He paused, his expression grim. “Then we may bear witness to our extinction.”

Ankrae swallowed. “And you, Master Dauqlis? What will you do?”

“I will attempt to negotiate a peaceful end to this conflict,” he said. “But I fear… this is only the prelude to a war beyond anything we have ever known. One that, even now, I see no path to victory.”