The moment the distant boom echoed through the air—followed by a column of black smoke rising beyond the ridge—his heart stopped cold.
Without thinking, Jian bolted.
He tore through the half-collapsed streets, boots splashing through puddles and cracked asphalt, every breath coming out in panicked bursts. The smell of burning metal thickened the air, and shards of debris still rained down from the sky like dying embers. No… please… please let them be alive…
The fallen Farian ship came into view at last. Smoke and fire roared high into the clouds, painting the morning a grim orange-red. The impact had been devastating—half the ship was torn apart, its tail section broken clean off and lying several kilometers away, flames devouring the once-silver hull. The scent of fuel and charred circuitry filled his nose.
Jian's chest clenched so tightly it hurt.
He stumbled forward, his boots sinking into ash. No… not again. Not another one of us…
The screams—weak, distant—snapped him back.
