A meteor streaked across the sky, cutting through the terminator line with blazing speed. The violent flames enveloping the re-entry capsule had almost solidified, while the temporary heat shields disintegrated under thousands of degrees of temperature, trailing long threads of molten metal debris. The scratched and scarred hull of the shuttle was laid bare—this was the same battered vessel that had once carried Salomon through countless boarding raids at the edges of the galaxy, bearing witness to his rise from rogue smuggler to the most feared pirate beyond the galactic rim.
Where once the cargo bay bustled with boarding crews, it was now filled to the brim with data storage devices from civilizations scattered across the stars. Each pirate he'd once commanded had been cast out from their native societies, and the dangerous technologies they carried had become Salomon's spoils of war—collected and curated with meticulous intent on this long journey.
Tita watched the crimson meteor blaze across the sky, then suddenly veer with impossible agility, gliding toward the southern edge of the Rat Islands. The shuttle's maneuvers were far beyond the capabilities of current human aerospace technology. Unless one had access to a planet-wide infrared tracking satellite network, its movement would be invisible to every nation's surveillance. Humanity simply wasn't equipped to detect it—yet. But once the Immortal City fully decoded the contents of the shuttle's databanks, their technology would surpass even Wakanda's, allowing them to dominate any future partnership.
The sickening vibrations finally ceased, and the fires licking the reinforced canopy died down, leaving only scattered sparks still dancing across the hull. Lyudmila and Liliya held back their excitement as they stood in formation per Tita's orders, among the other armored women, ready to welcome their lord.
Inside their helmets, the Sisters' expensive vision-assist systems locked on to the shuttle's location. Yet some things could not be seen through electronic eyes—like the ozone stench of ionized air, or the way loose stones began to tremble and roll beneath their boots from the shuttle's reverse thrust. Fine debris ricocheted off their armor with sharp metallic clinks. Though their master had yet to disembark, both Lyudmila and Liliya could feel his heartbeat approaching.
It was overwhelming.
Neither could clearly recall what they'd been thinking in that moment. As time passed, the memory faded into an incomprehensible haze. No matter how hard they tried, they couldn't picture his face. All they remembered was the warm golden light that poured from the cockpit—and how their mental fatigue vanished like snow under spring sun. In that moment, they finally, truly believed in the faith the Sisterhood had taught them.
Together with the rest of the Sisterhood, they dropped to one knee, their reverence uncontrollable. The pain of the past felt like a prayer answered, and their faith was the shelter that had heard it.
They would never forget that voice—gentle, weary, yet imbued with unspeakable majesty.
Their lord gave new orders. They were to work with the Intelligence Division to launch a mission at an ancient ruin in Siberia. The operatives needed to extract a female target, while the Sisterhood would retrieve a relic their lord had once stored in that very site. Their enemies would be an ancient cult and creatures that defied death. Though the enemies wielded only light weapons, it was the unforgiving weather that would pose the greatest challenge. The orders were brief and precise, but even after returning to the cramped barracks aboard the sky carrier, Lyudmila and Liliya found themselves unable to calm their racing hearts—until the call came: it was time to receive their Steel Wings.
They had been trained in the use of Steel Wings.
The equipment required precise balance. Liliya, in particular, remembered the two massive lumps she'd once earned on her head during training. She was visibly tense as she suited up—checking and double-checking the servos that connected the wings to her power armor, carefully drawing and holstering her blade and rifle, listening to the deep hum of the armor's systems. A single mistake during flight could mean death. There were no parachutes. If she failed, even the reinforced armor wouldn't save her.
"The Steel Wings have been issued. The new recruits are fit for combat deployment," Tita reported to Salomon, seated atop the command throne on the bridge. "These are Lyudmila and Liliya's live-fire scores, melee proficiency, and flight-control ratings. Frankly, my lord, you've been far too indulgent with those girls."
She left out no detail—her devotion to her master demanded it. And though Salomon sensed her thoughts through their spiritual bond, he said nothing, choosing to preserve her pride.
He extended a tired hand and brushed her cheek, ignoring the blush that bloomed across the synthetic woman's face. "You've done well, Tita. I'll need you even more in the days ahead," he said softly. "The future will be harder. I need every hand I can rely on… because our enemy… is God."
"I'll do my best, Master," Tita whispered, refusing to register the second half of his sentence. Just twenty minutes earlier, she had been overseeing the loading of gunships and Quinjet escorts. The alien shuttle, its wings trimmed by engineers, had been brought into the carrier's newly cleared hangar. To make room for it, they had delayed takeoff.
Salomon offered a convenient excuse to halt any immediate analysis of the shuttle's databanks. He didn't trust the Wakandans—not entirely. But now wasn't the time to act on that distrust.
The transmission from Victoria Hand came at the worst possible moment, cutting short Tita's precious time beside Salomon. The intelligence officer's hologram stood with arms folded, the red streak in her dark hair stark against her forehead. She wore a sleek business suit adorned with a golden Intelligence Division pin—her light combat exoskeleton from the Immortal City wasn't visible, indicating a short-range call from the carrier now stationed in the Sea of Japan.
"Agent C-A1 has submitted his latest report," Victoria said without preamble. "Lara Croft has escaped from Trinity's prison. Agent C-A1 is tracking her. We've linked our recon satellites to his position feed. He can guide the Sisters and our special forces for a precision drop strike."
"Excellent," Salomon nodded. "Ensure the agent keeps his distance from Lara Croft. She must not die—not before her mission is complete."
"Can you share what that mission is?" Hand asked. "The more we know, the better we can control the situation. Why are you so invested in a college girl and adventurer?"
"Perhaps the resurrection of a god," Salomon answered casually. "There's little I know about Quetzalcoatl at this stage. As one of the second-generation gods who ushered in a new epoch, his current status isn't recorded in the Kamar-Taj archives. Still… fate is a curious force. I'd rather not lose any more agents to Lara Croft."
"You might want to look at something else," Victoria said, forwarding a series of satellite images to the command console. "These blue-flame entities caught on thermal imaging—they're the real threat."
"Phoenix is already en route," Salomon replied calmly. "It will burn away all obstacles. No flame-wielding creature can stand against it."
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