Professor Custer’s lecture had raised the bar of knowledge to a new level. The empire was on high alert. The threat looming over them was not new, but its audacity and strength had intensified to an unprecedented degree. Until then, this unknown race had limited itself to sporadic attacks, always in isolated locations of little strategic importance. But this time… this time, even the empire’s elite forces, the invincible Ultras of the Frontier, had been summoned—something big was about to happen.

It was a dangerous pause. The empire had always advanced without hesitation, its economy driven by the relentless discovery of new resources—veins of rare minerals, colossal energy sources. The heart of progress lay in the exploitation of Dyson Spheres, colossal structures built around solitary stars. Their creation demanded materials in absurd quantities. Entire planets were torn apart, drained until they lost their celestial status, reduced to mere cosmic skeletons.

Without expansion, the empire would halt. And if the empire halted… it would collapse. Yet at that very moment, something along those lines was being debated.

The planet Gaia, headquarters of the interplanetary council, was the nerve center of power. It was there that alliances were forged and disputes settled. And it was in the Spiraled Hall—a colossal structure three kilometers deep and one kilometer wide—that the most heated discussions took place.

Today, the hall was packed. Overcrowded.

Representatives from entire systems had gathered, many without even a seat, forced to wait outside. The tension was palpable, laden with uncertainty and fear.

At the edge of the spiral’s base, a tall man with blue eyes and blond hair stood up. His dark suit contrasted with the intense light hovering above him, illuminating him like a leader about to challenge the empire’s fate. His voice was firm, polished, fluid.

— Mr. Orion. I understand the urgency of the situation… but halting the advance? Summoning even the Ultras of the Frontier? What do you know that we don’t?

A restless murmur rippled through the hall. Orion. Everyone knew that name.

In the center of the grand auditorium, he was seated. The same man Tyrin had seen at that first lunch on Vanaheim, the imposing figure among the five members of the council.

He was neither young nor old. His presence was marked by a rigid posture and a sharp gaze, as if he could see beyond the obvious. When he finally stood, silence consumed the crowd.

— Ladies and gentlemen of all nations. — His voice was deep, powerful, amplified by the hall’s artificial acoustics. — I want you to understand the gravity of what has happened.

The weight of his words made some diplomats hold their breath.

— We lost the battle.

A murmur arose among the representatives, but Orion raised a hand, imposing silence.

— And I must say, with regret, that this was no ordinary defeat. We are not dealing with the Tyranos, our former enemies, whose ambition is predictable. This time, we don’t know what they want.

The tension thickened. Some representatives exchanged worried glances.

— And more than that… we don’t know how far they can go.

A chill ran down the spines of many in that hall.

— We are not talking about a loss on the empire’s periphery. They attacked the Alpha Belt. — His voice thundered. — We are still trying to understand how they got so far… and, more importantly, how we can stop them from attacking again.

The silence that followed was crushing.

For the first time in centuries, the empire was afraid.

Orion’s voice reverberated through the Spiraled Hall, echoing until it reached every representative present. No word was lost, no intonation went unnoticed.

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— Thus, Mr. Oliver Von Richt, I understand that economically, a pause in this advance will hinder your lucrative ship sales, but I hope you understand that your desire holds no weight among the majority here.

The blond-haired man with a cold gaze clenched his fists but could not openly contest.

— That said, there are no secrets left unrevealed in this hall. Only a genuine concern for the safety of everyone here.

The outraged murmurs of some merchants echoed through the hall, but no one dared contradict him directly. The debates dragged on for hours, shifting between border defense, resources, and the redeployment of elite troops. With each argument, with each response, one certainty grew stronger: the empire could not afford to retreat… but it also could not risk charging forward blindly.

In a private room, far from the clamor of the hall, Orion slumped onto a dark leather sofa, pressing his fingers against his temples. The weight of the day was crushing his shoulders.

— Fucking hell! — he growled, loosening his tie and tossing it onto the table. — I hate this useless politicking. Why don’t they just send us to battle?

In front of him, a woman of similar stature stood with her arms crossed, watching him with a critical gaze.

— Lord Orion, why didn’t you tell them everything? The Emperor won’t be pleased…

Orion let out a humorless laugh, running a hand through his hair.

— What do you think that child would do if he knew? — His eyes were dark. — There was no point in revealing everything. They can’t do anything. We never would have lost that fight if we had a legion of Vultras or a platoon of Zentros. For the love of the Empire, if only we had even a handful of Ultras!

The glass in his hand cracked under the force of his grip. He was at his limit.

— We’re so obsessed with expansion that we’ve failed to see the obvious: we’re at risk of imploding.

The woman narrowed her eyes.

— So what do we do? The Aracnophons are coming. — She slid a holographic tablet across the table, revealing graphs and projections. — At most, three years, and we’ll suffer a devastating attack.

Orion frowned. He knew that. He knew it all too well.

What no one in the hall understood was that the recent attack had not been a true military advance.

It was a test.

The Aracnophons had sent scouts. Just 1% of their main force.

And the imperial fleet had barely managed to hold them off.

He took a deep breath.

— If we wait three years, we’ll be dead. We need to intercept them now.

The woman’s eyes gleamed in agreement.

— And if we fail?

Orion didn’t hesitate.

— If we fail… we’ll be obliterated.

That very night, ships hovered over Gaia like a black veil, speckled with the glow of the three moons that illuminated the city's golden towers. But atop a luxurious building, on a glass balcony jutting into the void, something watched the horizon.

It wasn’t just a woman.

Her war-sculpted, bare body looked like a masterpiece, but something was wrong. Something out of place.

The silver glow of the moons slid over her damp skin as she remained motionless, like a statue of flesh.

Then, her lips moved.

— He didn’t tell anyone about the attack…

She spoke to herself.

Or so it seemed.

The words flowed in a language not of this world, a hoarse, distorted whisper, as if multiple voices echoed from within her throat.

— Even if we attack now, we’ll be the ones who have to face that crazy queen…

Silence.

The night breeze blew, but it did not touch her.

She tilted her head, listening to something that wasn’t there. Her fingers slid over her own skin, as if its texture repulsed her.

— No… Yes… This skin disgusts me.

Her eyes blinked. Vertically.

Something twisted beneath her epidermis, a subtle movement, as if something was trapped inside, scratching to get out.

Then… the smile appeared.

A grotesque tear, stretching far beyond what should have been possible. Her cheeks split open down the middle, revealing jagged, irregular teeth, aligned like those of a primordial predator.

Her eyes, once human, glowed from within, pulsing with a hunger impossible to name.

She gazed at the moon in fascination, as if awaiting an answer.

The sky, however, remained silent.

The smile closed. The skin fell back into place.

Normalcy was restored.

She exhaled slowly and stepped back inside.

The interior of the room was an abyss of shadows and decadence, cut by the pale glow of the moon filtering through silk curtains.

On the bed, a bound and gagged man trembled violently.

His eyes did not blink.

Tears streamed down his face, but he did not sob. He couldn’t.

Absolute fear had stolen even his ability to cry.

She glided through the darkness, approaching with a motion too fluid, as if unbound by human joints.

Straddling him, her weight crushed his chest. He gasped, struggling to escape, but his muscles refused to obey.

He had seen something.

Something his mind could not comprehend.

— Relax, baby… — she purred, running her tongue over her teeth.

Her icy fingers slid across his face, wiping away his tears, savoring the involuntary shudder of his skin.

— I usually eat everything… even the tiny bones in your pinky.

She smiled—a wrong smile, a distorted reflection of humanity.

The man tried to scream, but the gag smothered any sound.

She tilted her head, studying him with fascination.

— Oh, this is going to hurt so much.

Her eyes gleamed again.

— Didn’t you want to eat me? Oh, the irony…

Then, she laughed.

But it was not a human laugh.

It was a wet, visceral, erratic sound—something that should not exist in this world.

The man finally managed to scream.

And no one heard him.