As Gertrude watched the young couple’s fight, the air shifted.

The atmosphere grew heavy. The sound of the portal activating reverberated across the battlefield, and as it opened, a man emerged.

He was tall, strong, with a graying beard that matched his sharp eyes. Every step he took felt as if gravity itself bent around him.

Tyrin, still dazed from Luci’s punches, lifted his head to see him—and felt a shiver run down his spine.

The man opened his mouth, his voice echoing across the field:

— Envoys of Drokavas-3, present yourselves.

The next sight made Tyrin hold his breath.

Gertrude stepped forward and… knelt.

— General… What brings you here?

— I’d think it’d be obvious that I came to retrieve my daughter, wouldn’t it, Gertrude?

Absolute silence.

Luci and Tyrin exchanged confused glances.

The shock on their faces was unmistakable.

Gertrude and this man were father and daughter?

But… how? They were completely different. The General had dark silver hair, cold gray eyes, and an impassive expression, indifferent to everything around him.

Gertrude, on the other hand, always seemed full of life. She was always smiling—even after a deadly battle.

But now that Tyrin thought about it…

Since they had arrived on this planet, a few pieces were starting to fall into place.

The eyes.

The way they walked.

The way their presence weighed on those around them.

They were more alike than he had realized.

The General swept his gaze across the area, his expression severe.

— Where are your students, daughter? We need to leave this planet.

Gertrude let out a sigh, glancing at Tyrin and Luci.

— Father… These two are my only students.

A heavy silence fell over the group.

The General’s eyes darkened, the wind slicing through the silence like an invisible blade. Gertrude seemed uneasy—a rare nervousness that Tyrin had never seen in her before.

General Zod, her father, furrowed his brow upon hearing that his daughter had only two students.

— What do you mean? Just these two? That’s impossible. The smallest class should have at least fifteen. What the hell is going on here?

Gertrude scratched the back of her neck, looking away.

— Father… you do know I teach history, right? I don’t think anyone likes history.

Tyrin’s jaw nearly dropped.

That’s it? That’s the reason?!

Seeing Gertrude—the same woman who had massacred the Aracnofon in a fury—speak so hesitantly before her father was simply surreal.

The General let out a deep sigh, his stern gaze never softening for even a second.

— This is ridiculous. You left your planet to become a teacher, and this is what you have to show for it? A history class with two students?

He narrowed his eyes, exhaling in frustration.

— Enough. We’ll discuss this when you go see your mother. Right now, we need to leave this place before it all goes up in flames.

Gertrude blinked.

— What? What do you mean? You’re going to destroy the planet? But it’s full of life! It has sixty moons! We’re in the Empire’s quadrant! How is this happening?!

General Zod stared at her for a moment before answering.

— It was a direct order from the Emperor himself. I’ve been to the planet, and I’ve seen monsters that even I couldn’t defeat easily. These beings are different from the Tyranos. They feel no fear, no anger. They follow a blind loyalty, as if they are all part of a single ecosystem.

His eyes shone with the gravity of a man who had seen the worst of war.

— There is no negotiation. We must exterminate them. The entire quadrant will be destroyed in twenty minutes.

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Silence.

Tyrin, Luci, and Gertrude went pale.

It wasn’t uncommon for peripheral planets to be destroyed—Tyrin knew that. But a planet of this scale? With dozens of moons? With vital commercial importance to the Empire?

It made no sense… unless…

A chill ran down his spine.

— We’re being slaughtered… aren’t we, Father?

Gertrude’s question cut through the air like a razor-sharp blade.

The General didn’t answer immediately. He crossed his arms, staring at the planet above them, its colossal shadow covering the sky.

He had fought countless enemies. Most were weak, a few were strong. But there had always been a limit. There were places where humans should never venture.

And now, for the first time, he felt that this threat stood right in front of them.

The Empire had always thrived on strength and dominance, but what if, this time, they had gone too far?

He let out a long sigh.

— Daughter… sometimes, the greatest victory in war isn’t winning—it’s knowing when to retreat so you can fight another day. Abandoning a battle isn’t weakness when the battle itself is no longer worth the sacrifice.

— But what about everyone on the planet and the moons?

The furious voice came from Luci.

She crossed her arms, her eyes burning with indignation. Her tone was a direct challenge, and for the first time, Tyrin noticed something curious—Gertrude and her father’s faces became identical.

Both wore the same expression, a mix of sorrow and duty.

And then Zod spoke, without hesitation:

— Those who can leave, will leave.

— And those who can’t…?

He remained firm, his voice as cold as steel.

— Will stay.

Luci clenched her fists. Her breathing grew heavy, her eyes shaking with fury.

— This makes no sense! We can’t do this!

She took a step forward.

— We can fight, and we can win! There are children here, families, people who still want to fight!

Her voice trembled, but not with fear.

— I refuse to leave.

She lifted her chin.

— Tell my father I died as a warrior, not a coward.

It happened too fast for anyone to react.

The General vanished before their eyes, and in the next instant, he was behind Luci.

Before she could even flinch, he struck the back of her neck with a single, precise blow—a light tap, yet perfectly placed.

Luci collapsed, unconscious.

Tyrin’s eyes widened in shock.

The General turned to him, his gaze piercing.

— Boy, I can see it in your eyes—you want to fight. Will you follow my orders or not?

Tyrin couldn’t think straight.

He wanted to fight.

But why?

He thought of his sister. He wanted to go back to her. But… what if it were his own planet?

The Aracnofon wouldn’t have hesitated.

They would have annihilated everything without a second thought.

The truth hit him like a rock falling from space.

"We are nothing."

If this had been his planet, there would have been no reinforcements.

They would have been slaughtered without mercy.

He clenched his fists.

"I need to get stronger… no matter the cost."

The General watched him, analyzing every microexpression. He recognized that look. Frustration. Anger. A burning desire for power.

Then came the question Zod already knew by heart but never liked saying out loud.

— How many will die? — Tyrin asked.

The General closed his eyes for a moment before answering.

— 47 billion, 723 million, 436 thousand.

— They will all die quickly and painlessly.

Absolute silence.

Tyrin took a deep breath.

His fingers trembled slightly before he finally gave his response:

— Let’s go, General.

Gertrude’s eyes widened. Even the General raised an eyebrow in surprise.

But both of them understood.

Everyone carries their burdens in their own way.

And neither of them realized that, in that moment, Tyrin made a silent promise to himself.

"I will have the power to protect 50 billion people...

No matter the cost."

Tyrin and Gertrude watched through the ship’s window as an entire planet died.

The enemy had undoubtedly won. But the planet, its moons, its lights—everything that once existed there—vanished in a monumental implosion. The brightness of its destruction was so intense that it burned the retinas of anyone who dared to look for too long.

And then, nothing remained.

Only the vast, indifferent emptiness of the universe.

Tyrin didn’t look away. He didn’t blink.

He wanted to remember this.

— And now? — he asked, his voice hoarse.

Gertrude sighed beside him, crossing her arms.

— Now, nothing.

Tyrin turned his head to look at her, but she kept her gaze fixed on the endless blackness before them.

— We live our lives and get stronger so we never have to do this again.

She clenched her fists.

— I didn’t even ask for the names of those soldiers. So many lives…

— Victory wasn’t ours today, but tomorrow it will be.

Her eyes met Tyrin’s.

— That’s how you have to think… always.

He held his breath for a moment before letting out a long sigh.

— I understand. I’m leaving, professor.

He walked away without waiting for a response.

The ship was massive, one of the largest he had ever set foot on.

His stomach growled, but the mere thought of eating felt wrong.

Even so, he tried.

The food was delicious. Probably the best he had eaten since leaving home.

Juicy meats, rich sauces, soft breads that melted in his mouth.

But it was hard to swallow.

His throat was tight, as if something had locked it shut.

In the ship’s oppressive silence, he could hear Luci’s muffled sobs.

She hadn’t left her room since they boarded.

Who had she lost?

He didn’t know. But in some way, he felt that everyone there had lost something.

The ship was massive, but the areas open to the public were limited. He wandered the halls aimlessly, exploring every corner.

Trying to distract his mind.

Trying to forget.

In the end, he gave up.

He took a hot shower, letting the water run over his skin, and threw himself onto the bed.

The weight of the world was still on him.

But even so, he fell asleep.

Three days passed.

The ship finally landed on a nearby planet, one of the many transit hubs with direct portals to Astra’s Planet.

Tyrin disembarked along with the other survivors and immediately noticed something strange.

Classes were on hold.

The reason?

There weren’t enough students.

Nearly 70% of them were dead or missing.

And in this context, missing meant dead.

Tyrin stood before the registry boards on the holographic terminals. The crossed-out names. The official notices.

They were just numbers.

Statistics.

70%.

Almost three-quarters of the students who had set foot on that moon would never return home.

And the Academy’s response?

Mass recruitment.

A new wave of fresh meat.

Drawn from every corner of the universe.

— So that’s what we are. — Tyrin murmured to himself.

Fleeting.

Small.

Disposable.

No matter how strong a student was, there were always more to take their place.

The weight of that reality hit him like a punch to the gut.

A bitter taste rose in his throat.

But he refused to accept that fate.

He looked down at his hands, clenching them into tight fists.

I refuse to be just another name crossed off a report.

I refuse to be fleeting.

In the midst of the storm of emotions, two voices called out to him.

He knew those voices well.

And no matter how broken and devastated he felt, a sense of relief and happiness filled him.

He recognized those voices.