YEAR 1026 OF THE SILVER ALLIANCE.
Its name comes from the grand coalition of multiple races scattered across the vast Eldrathis Galaxy—the new home of humanity, who abandoned Earth over a millennium ago.
Far greater than any galaxy before it, Eldrathis remains largely unexplored, with less than a tenth of its wonders discovered. A paradise of infinite potential, it holds untold mysteries and treasures amidst its hundreds of resource-rich planets and countless barren rocks drifting in the endless void.
Humanity, one of the newest arrivals in this strange cosmos, is far from the top of the food chain. Yet, their unnatural adaptability and rapid reproduction make them a force to be reckoned with. Day by day, they push further into the unknown.
And right now, one of those expeditions is venturing into one of the most dangerous places ever discovered…
THE DRAVAAL EXPANSE.
A desolate, enigmatic sector of Eldrathis, where dying stars cast eerie light upon shattered asteroid fields and worlds ravaged by time itself.
Once, it was the heart of an ancient, powerful civilization, long extinct. Now, it is nothing but ruins—monuments of forgotten glory, scattered relics of lost technologies beyond comprehension. Many explorers and warlords have sought its secrets. Few return.
And now, the crew of the Safira is heading straight for one of its most perilous planets:
Zhaaros.
A scorched world beneath a red sun, its surface cracked and ruined by ages past. But ruins are not the only thing lurking here…
Zhaaros is also home to the nomadic Thek’Shar, a ruthless warrior race, and their massive, brutal hunting beasts—the dreaded Vhorr’Ka.
That’s why the plan was simple:
Get in. Find the ruins. Grab the relic. Get out.
Fast.
But speed doesn’t seem to be on the mind of the Safira’s lead archaeologist right now…
…
“Look at this…”
Dr. Clara Dravenmoor, an exceptional archaeologist with a reputation for brilliance (and recklessness), runs her fingers over the rough, ancient symbols carved into the stone wall. Her sharp blue eyes shimmer with fascination.
“I have no idea what language this is,” she murmurs, half-laughing. “It’s got to be at least ten thousand years old—maybe more…”
The carvings are crude but deliberate, thick strokes etched into the weathered walls of a vast, monolithic pyramid.
Her delicate fingers trace the symbols, her brows furrowing. ‘This is insane…’
One in particular catches her eye—a stick figure with a pointed object on its head.
“What the hell…?”
…
Beside the crowned figure, dozens of other stick figures are kneeling, repeating the same symbol over and over again.
Clara's breath stills. Something clicks.
“This… This looks like a mix of Ancient Vael’Sharr and Xharythuun!” Her voice rises in excitement as she digs through her satchel, pulling out a tablet and scrolling rapidly through ancient scripts.
“Come on, come on, where is it… There!”
She finds a match.
Her gaze flickers between the screen and the wall as she whispers the translation aloud:
“E-electus exercitum… aureum d-ducet…”
The words feel strange on her tongue.
“The chosen one… Golden what? Maybe?”
She hesitates, reaching for the small communicator in her ear and pressing it.
“Hey, guys? You seeing this? A little help here?”
Silence.
Only static hisses back.
…
“...Guys?”
A flicker of unease crosses Clara’s face.
But something else draws her attention. More symbols—dozens of them—etched deep into the walls of the dark corridor ahead.
“I don’t have time. Fine. I just need to be faster.”
A small flashlight in hand, she presses forward, scanning the walls as she moves deeper into the ruin.
Then—she stops.
Another mural. More stick figures.
But this time…
A new figure stands before the crowned one.
A shadowy being, its form writhing, tendrils spiraling from its very heart.
Clara tries to decipher the symbols surrounding the mural, using her knowledge of two ancient languages.
“Electus malum verum contraibit et illud in profundum sigillabit.”
Once again, she struggles to grasp the true meaning of the words.
“This ‘chosen one’ again…” Her gaze shifts between the radiant, crowned figure and the ominous, shadowy entity.
“Malum verum? ‘True evil’?”
For some reason, her curiosity is drawn more toward the dark figure than the so-called chosen one.
"Who are you…?"
…
She follows the corridor, encountering more murals—all depicting the same two figures, forever locked in battle.
Clara is completely engrossed, tracing their story along the walls. She only stops when she reaches the end of the corridor.
A dead end.
"No, no, no…!"
She frantically looks around, searching for an exit—only to find nothing but solid stone.
Her fingers fly over her tablet, pulling up the mapped route of her journey. The blinking dot showing her current position lies at the center of a large square—right in the heart of the pyramid.
“There should be something here!”
She whirls around, retracing her steps until she reaches the last mural.
This one depicts the dark figure being imprisoned—sealed away by the chosen one and their followers.
"Where… where is it…"
Her hands skim over the mural’s engravings, searching for something—anything. Then, her fingers land on the final inscription.
“Malum verum in tenebris sigillatum.”
She narrows her eyes.
“True evil…?”
She mutters under her breath, running the words over in her mind.
Then, something clicks.
She presses her fingertips against the final two words and repeats them aloud:
“Tenebris sigillatum?”
The mural glows faintly.
Her eyes widen.
“That’s it!?”
Excitement surges through her.
She presses the words again and repeats them—louder this time.
“Sigillatum! Sigil! Sigil!!!”
With each repetition, the glow intensifies.
Then—
Tremble.
Tremble.
The entire wall shudders.
A secret passageway slowly emerges from the stone, revealing a hidden chamber beyond.
Clara’s lips curl into a wild grin.
"Fuck yeah!!!"
She jumps in victory before composing herself, eyes locked on the darkness beyond the entrance.
…
Beyond the secret passage lies something even more ancient—a vast chamber, darker than anything else within the pyramid.
She reaches into her bag, pulling out several small metallic orbs and tossing them inside.
They activate mid-air, dispersing waves of light that illuminate the chamber in full.
And then—her gaze snaps to the object at the center of the room.
A massive stone container.
Two meters long. One tall.
Clara’s breath catches.
“Damn, I found it!!”
She pumps a fist in triumph, pure pride gleaming in her eyes.
"I wish I could see the look on those Academy snobs’ faces right now, hahaha!!"
"They’d kill for this…"
But then—her victory turns to curiosity.
"...What the hell is this, anyway?"
She steps forward, approaching the mysterious monolith at the heart of the chamber.
Unlike the rest of the pyramid—worn, archaic, ancient—this rectangular case is different.
It looks fresh new.
Its smooth, silver surface gleams, adorned with fluorescent blue lines that pulse faintly in the dim light.
Clara’s excitement fades into caution.
She moves slowly, carefully, scanning for traps.
"...Hmm?"
Nothing.
She checks the surrounding floor. The edges of the container. No pressure plates, no tripwires.
Finally, she reaches out.
…
Her fingertips brush against the cold metal.
And she jerks her hand back.
If you come across this story on Amazon, it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
"Shit! It’s freezing!?"
Her mind races.
The air inside the pyramid is over forty degrees Celsius—hot, dry, suffocating.
But this thing…
It’s like solid ice.
She shakes her head, regaining focus.
Pressing a finger against her earpiece, she tries again:
“Guys? You there??”
Static.
No response.
…
"Damn it! Don't do this to me… I…"
Her words fade.
Because her eyes are locked on the artifact again.
And she remembers the warning.
“We can’t open the artifact. We take it and transport it. That’s the deal. No bonus if it’s damaged.”
Those words were repeated. Emphasized.
The rules were clear.
"...We can’t. We must. Blah, blah, blah."
Clara scoffs, rolling her eyes.
Her fingertips glide over the mysterious casing.
"I have to see inside…"
A playful smirk tugs at her lips.
"For science."
Then, she chuckles.
"…Fuck science. I found it. That gives me rights, right? Right!?"
…
A mischievous grin curls on Clara’s lips as she places her right hand atop the metallic container.
“Let’s see what kind of artifact is worth a billion credits…”
As soon as her fingers make contact, she fights against the biting cold of the metal, pressing down harder. Suddenly—
Thin blue lines ignite across the surface.
“This better be worth it!” Clara exclaims, pushing with more force. More luminescent lines flicker to life, spreading like circuitry.
Then—words appear.
Not in the same ancient script as the murals.
This one is precise, elegant, and technological.
“Xharythuun…?”
She frowns.
And then, she reads aloud:
“N-Noctis Aeternum…?”
The words confuse her. Unlike the murals, these symbols are sleek, deliberate—something she has only seen in high-tech ruins.
Her eyes drift to two distinct markings after the phrase—one indicating a pause, the other likely the number 1.
Before she can think—
HISSSSSHHH!!
A sudden blast of compressed air hisses from the seams of the container.
Clara jerks her hand back—her fingertips burning from the cold.
“What’s in—”
She stops.
Frozen in place.
…
Because lying inside the container—submerged in a transparent red liquid—is something she never expected.
The artifact she and her crew had risked their lives for, the treasure of a long-lost civilization, the ancient relic worth a billion credits was…
…
“…A GUY?!?”
Clara blinks.
Once.
Twice.
The vision doesn’t change.
Inside the high-tech sarcophagus lies a man, his body perfectly preserved within the crimson fluid.
Her hand hovers over the strange, almost-blood-like substance as her mind reels.
This was supposed to be a weapon.
Or some advanced technology that could reshape worlds.
Not… this.
Not a man.
…
“A GUY?! A FUCKING GUY?!”
Frustration and disbelief war in her voice as she shakes her head.
“No, no, no… This makes no damn sense.”
Her eyes dart over his features. His skin appears red due to the liquid, but his face…
It’s human.
…
“How??”
Her confusion deepens.
The man’s appearance is unnerving. Everything about him is… flawless. His sharp, chiseled features, his unnatural symmetry, his impossibly smooth skin. He looks like a sculptor’s perfect rendition of what a man should be.
And yet—there’s something off.
His body is covered in tattoos—arcane symbols, intricate patterns she’s never seen before, spiraling across his naked form.
Clara’s curiosity turns to intrigue as her gaze wanders lower…
Her mind tries to analyze the markings, searching for familiar scripts—until…
…
Until she notices something else.
Something bigger.
Something HUGE.
Clara’s face ignites.
“D-DAMN!! That thing is massive!!”
She snaps her gaze away, cheeks burning as she clenches her fists.
“Focus, Clara! Focus!”
Fearing she might get hypnotized by the view, she forces herself to look up.
And then—
…
His eyes snap open.
"WHA—?!"
Clara stumbles back, heart slamming into her ribs.
Two glowing white irises, red-like now due to the water, bore into her, intense and sharp.
Pure predatory instinct.
Her breath catches. A cold chill runs down her spine.
She moves.
Her hand flies toward her pistol.
But—
…
WHOOSH!
His hand bursts from the red liquid—lightning fast.
“No!!”
Clara barely has time to gasp before he grabs her wrist.
Her instincts scream at her to fight, to rip free and shoot, but—
Something stops her.
Their eyes meet.
For the first time, she sees something else beneath his actually pure white eyes with black pupils.
Confusion.
Disorientation.
Fear?
He doesn’t crush her wrist.
His grip is firm but cautious. Careful. As if he doesn’t want to hurt her.
Something about that throws Clara off.
She had expected violence. Aggression.
Instead, he’s… hesitating.
Like he doesn’t understand what’s happening.
Like he doesn’t know who—or where—he is.
Clara exhales slowly and does something unexpected—
…
She lets go of her pistol.
Raising her free hand, she offers a silent gesture of peace.
“Hey… It’s okay.”
Her voice is calm, soothing.
“I’m not your enemy—”
…
“Doctor Dravenmoor?!”
The moment shatters like glass.
A deep, hostile voice echoes behind her, its tone sharp with authority.
Clara freezes.
“HUH?!”
Clara whips her head around, eyes darting to the entrance of the chamber—and there they are.
A group of armed figures stands silhouetted in the doorway, weapons raised—both large and small, all aimed at her.
One quick glance at their dirty, mismatched armor, and she already knows who they are.
“FUCK!!!”
She doesn’t hesitate.
In a split-second, she vaults over the metal container, grabbing the mysterious man’s arm and pulling him with her, both of them diving behind cover.
…
Shoosh!
Her movements are fluid, precise, and powerful—almost inhumanly fast.
She lands gracefully, her body absorbing the impact with ease. She expects the mysterious man to be caught off guard by the sudden motion.
Whoosh!
But—
He recovers mid-air.
And lands perfectly in front of her.
Effortless. Precise.
Almost like he was mimicking her movements—
Only doing them better.
“Get down!”
Clara throws out an open palm, motioning for him to lower his head.
But—
He doesn’t listen.
Instead, his crimson eyes fixate on her hand.
On the burn marks across her palm—the frostbite from the icy metal.
He goes still.
Then, without a word, he reaches out.
His pale, elegant fingers hover just above her injured palm, his expression softening into something almost… apologetic.
As if he feels guilty.
“What? This?”
Clara notices his expression—the strange concern in his eyes.
It catches her off guard.
She chuckles and waves it off.
“It’s nothing. We should probably focus on the guys trying to catch us—”
Her words die in her throat.
Because he moves closer.
Slowly.
Purposefully.
…
His gaze locks onto hers as he reaches out again—this time, gently tracing his fingers down her arm before wrapping them around her wrist.
His grip is firm, warm—but not forceful.
Clara freezes.
“W-what… are you doing…?”
She watches, heart racing, as he leans in.
Too close.
His face is too close!
“No, no, no… wait—”
She instinctively tries to lean back, but—
Her head bumps into the freezing metal.
She winces.
And the moment she tilts forward—
He doesn’t stop.
His lips touch hers.
A KISS?!?
Clara’s mind screams in confusion.
She jerks slightly, but the moment she tries to pull away—
She feels it.
…
A strange energy.
Rushing through her body.
Her eyes widen in shock.
This…
This isn’t normal.
Warm. Addictive. Euphoric.
An incomprehensible sensation floods her veins, spreading through her entire system like liquid fire and stardust.
Her muscles relax.
Her nerves ignite.
Her heart pounds.
She has never felt anything like this.
Not just the energy—but him.
Inside her.
…
His lips move softly, teasingly, exploring hers.
Gentle. Slow. Perfect.
And then—
He deepens the kiss.
His tongue parts her lips, sliding in smoothly—his touch deliberate, intoxicating.
His sweet, warm taste fills her mouth, flooding her body with even more of that mysterious energy.
It’s overwhelming.
Insane.
Clara’s mind short-circuits.
She has kissed people before.
She has had great kisses before.
But this—
This isn’t just a kiss.
This is something otherworldly.
It feels like her soul is being rewritten.
Like her entire body is weightless—but at the same time, stronger than ever.
…
Her breath hitches.
Her vision blurs.
She doesn’t even realize she’s moaning softly into his mouth.
She doesn’t even care.
She just wants to—
Enjoy.
…
But then—
The warmth disappears.
The energy vanishes.
Her eyes flutter open—
And she sees him, pulling away.
Her lips part.
A silent plea.
She doesn’t even realize she’s looking at him like that.
But he does.
And he smirks.
A confident, teasing smirk.
The kind that should be illegal on someone that attractive.
Damn him.
But then, his gaze shifts to her hand.
Still holding her wrist, he lifts it up.
Together, they look down.
And—
Her wound is gone.
Her skin is completely healed.
No scars. No burns.
Just perfect, smooth skin.
In a matter of seconds.
Clara gapes.
…
“…What the…”
Her mind is reeling.
She has seen a lot of crazy shit in her life—
But this?
This is next-level insanity.
Then—her shock melts into something else.
A spark of mischief.
A glimmer of pure, childish excitement.
Her lips curl into the biggest grin she’s ever had—
And then, she bursts into laughter.
…
“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU JUST DO?!?!”
Clara throws her head back, cackling.
“Hahahahahahah!!!”
THE MYSTERIOUS MAN JUST KISSED HER… AND HEALED HER.
And now—
Clara Dravenmoor has a million new questions.