The morning began like any other in the Aurion Republic. The streets of Solaira City buzzed with honking cars and chattering crowds. Freight trains thundered along the industrial belts, while schoolchildren in pressed uniforms walked briskly to class. It was a normal, busy day in a nation of nearly five hundred million people.
At 08:14 AM, the world ended.
There was no warning. The sky fractured, not with lightning but as if reality itself had been torn open. A deafening crack reverberated across the land, and a blinding white light swallowed everything. For five agonizing seconds, people screamed as gravity seemed to twist and warp. Vehicles crashed into each other, power grids flickered violently, and birds plummeted from the air.
Then it stopped.
The light vanished, leaving behind an alien sky—a deep teal hue with two pale moons looming where the sun should have been. The air felt heavier, thicker, and eerily still.
In the Presidential Emergency Operations Center, the usually unshakable President Edrian Velez stood frozen, his eyes darting across the room as screens blared with red alerts.
"Status report!" His voice cracked slightly.
"Sir, we've lost all satellite connections!" an operator shouted. "GPS is dead. All international communication lines are offline!"
Velez turned sharply toward the Chief of Staff, General Marcus Delos, a hardened veteran known for his cold efficiency. "Get me Washington, Beijing, Moscow—anyone!"
"Already tried, sir," the communications director replied, panic creeping into her tone. "No one is answering. Shortwave frequencies are silent too. There's nothing out there."
The room fell quiet, broken only by the faint hum of the emergency generators.
General Delos stepped forward, his expression grim but composed. "Mr. President… it's not that we've lost contact. There is no one to contact. We may not be on Earth anymore."
The words hung in the air like a death sentence.
"Confirm it," Velez ordered. "Deploy reconnaissance flights in every direction. I want reports on our borders immediately."
Within the hour, the Aurion Air Force scrambled squadrons of stealth fighters, reconnaissance drones, and high-altitude surveillance planes. They soared over endless forests, mountain ranges, and winding rivers where, just hours earlier, there had been bustling cities and neighboring nations.
By evening, the first reports arrived. The officer delivering them looked pale, his voice unsteady. "Sir… there are no cities. No roads. No power grids. Just wilderness. We've mapped nearly two thousand kilometers in every direction, and it's all barren land. This isn't Earth."
The President leaned back in his chair, silent. Around him, ministers exchanged uneasy glances.
"Mr. President," General Delos finally said, "we must assume we are completely isolated. Our neighbors are gone. The rest of the world… is gone. Until proven otherwise, we are alone."
In the cities, panic spread like wildfire. Rumors of apocalypse consumed social media. Long lines formed at gas stations and banks as frightened citizens withdrew cash and hoarded supplies. Supermarkets were stripped bare within hours. In New Bastion, the largest megacity, riots erupted. Looters smashed storefronts while riot police clashed with mobs in the streets.
In the Parliament, chaos reigned. Lawmakers screamed over one another in a haze of fear and confusion.
"We must focus on maintaining order!" one minister shouted.
"What good is order if we starve in two weeks?" another retorted.
"Rationing is inevitable!"
"Rationing will cause panic—this is already collapsing!"
The shouting continued until Velez slammed his fist on the table. "Enough! We will not descend into chaos. We will stabilize the nation before anything else. We have food reserves, we have power plants, and we have the military. The first step is control. After that, we will decide how to proceed."
General Delos exchanged a glance with Defense Minister Takahiro Sato, a reserved man with a sharp gaze. "We cannot act rashly," Delos said. "We know nothing about this world. Reconnaissance must come first. If there are other civilizations, we will approach diplomatically. Our people are scared, but a war of survival does not mean blind aggression. We attack only when forced. We expand only when necessary. And if negotiations are possible, we take them before we take lives."
Sato nodded in agreement. "Every action we take from here on out will decide whether the Republic endures… or collapses."
Outside the walls of power, armored vehicles rolled into the streets, soldiers establishing checkpoints and securing key infrastructure. Curfews were announced over emergency broadcasts. The hum of fighter jets overhead became constant as patrols continued day and night.
But deep in the command bunkers, the reality was setting in. They were in a new world alien, hostile, and utterly unknown.
Aurion was alone.
And survival would demand choices far beyond politics.
Hours after the transference (afternoon)
Captain Elias Verdan had flown countless missions before—combat air patrols, long-range reconnaissance, joint exercises with allied nations—but nothing like this.
His F-35's cockpit HUD flickered with warning symbols, each one screaming that every navigation system had failed. GPS was gone. Satellite uplinks were dead.
"Control, this is Vulture-One. Confirming—we have no uplink, no satellite guidance. Systems are in dead-reckoning mode," Elias said, forcing his voice to stay calm.
"Copy that, Vulture-One. Continue reconnaissance heading north. Report all findings," the air controller replied through static.
The alien landscape stretched endlessly below him—dense forests, jagged mountains, and rivers glinting under the light of two moons. No highways, no power lines, no farmland. Just raw wilderness.
"God…" Elias muttered under his breath. "Where the hell are we?"
His wingman, Lieutenant Kira Solen, cut in. "Seeing the same thing on my side. It's… beautiful. And terrifying."
Elias checked his sensors. No radar contacts, no heat signatures except for wildlife. He banked left, descending slightly to get a closer look at the terrain. Through the canopy, he spotted enormous herds of strange creatures grazing in an open plain—some resembling elk, others like massive reptilian beasts lumbering near the riverbank.
"Control, we have visual on unidentified megafauna. Recording for analysis. No signs of intelligent life so far."
"Copy, Vulture-One. Proceed to designated waypoint."
For hours, they flew over alien mountains and lakes, capturing terabytes of imagery. The eerie stillness of the world gnawed at Elias' mind.
Finally, as the sun dipped below the horizon, he caught sight of something different.
"Vulture-One to Control," he said, his voice tightening. "Possible settlement spotted. Marking coordinates."
On a distant plateau stood a cluster of stone buildings surrounded by wooden palisades. Smoke curled from chimneys. Figures moved below—tiny dots compared to the vast forest around them.
"Looks medieval," Kira said, disbelief in her tone.
Elias banked his jet in a slow arc, maintaining distance. "No roads. No power lines. No vehicles. Just… a village. We're not on Earth anymore."
Control's voice came back, more tense this time. "Copy, Vulture-One. Maintain observation. Do not engage. Return to base once you've completed scans."
"Roger that," Elias replied, though his hands tightened on the stick.
As the alien sky turned orange under the light of twin moons, Elias felt the weight of it sink in.
Somewhere
That afternoon, a strange rumble rolled through the sky.
At first, the peasants thought it was thunder, though the air was clear and the twin moons shone brightly overhead. The sound grew louder, deeper—a metallic roar that made the ground tremble beneath their feet.
Then they saw it.
A gleaming metal beast tore across the heavens, faster than any bird, its sleek black frame glinting under the sunlight. It left a faint trail of heat in its wake, its shape unlike anything they could comprehend.
The villagers froze.
One farmer dropped his scythe, his jaw slack. "By the gods…" he whispered.
Children screamed and ran to their mothers. An elderly woman fell to her knees, clutching her rosary of wooden beads. "It's a dragon," she cried. "The old tales are true! The beasts have returned!"
The blacksmith stumbled out of his workshop, staring up at the sky with wide eyes. "No dragon's ever looked like that…"
The village priest, Father Alric, stood at the center of the square, his face pale. "This is no work of man," he said hoarsely. "It is a sign. The gods are warning us."
The metallic monster made a slow, banking turn in the distance, the sunlight catching its strange wings that never flapped. Its roar sent chickens scattering, dogs barking, and horses rearing in terror.
A group of children cried as they clung to their mothers' skirts.
"Will it eat us?" one boy whimpered.
"No," an old shepherd muttered, his voice trembling. "It doesn't need to eat us. It's come to burn us all."
When the strange creature finally soared away, the village was silent—except for the distant sobs of terrified children and the frantic tolling of the chapel bell, rung by trembling hands.
By nightfall, the rumors had already begun to spread to nearby hamlets.
"A dragon of steel," some called it.
"An omen of the end times," said others.
But Father Alric feared something worse. "It was no dragon," he whispered to himself as he gazed at the twin moons above. "No dragon moves like that. No dragon shines like that. Whatever it was… it is not of this world."
And deep in his heart, he prayed that the heavens had not delivered a punishment far beyond their understanding.
Two Weeks after the event
The capital of the Kingdom of Drakensport, Drachenhalm, bustled as usual. Merchants shouted their wares in crowded marketplaces, nobles rode in ornate carriages through cobblestone streets, and knights patrolled in gleaming armor. Life went on as it always had—predictable and rigidly ordered.
But then came the rumors.
Messengers from the western frontier galloped through the gates, their horses lathered in sweat, eyes wide with fear. They spoke of a beast of metal, a dragon that flew faster than the wind and roared like a thousand thunderclaps. They told of terrified villagers dropping to their knees as the sky split with the creature's sound before it vanished into the horizon.
By evening, the rumors spread like wildfire across taverns and marketplaces. Peasants whispered of the "Iron Dragon," saying it was an omen of war, a herald of the gods' wrath.
When the tale finally reached the court of King Aldred IV, it was met with sneers and laughter.
"Utter nonsense," scoffed Lord Brenwick, a heavyset noble draped in silks. "The peasants have always seen demons in the clouds. No doubt some barbarian trick. A kite with fireworks, perhaps."
Sir Galric, captain of the royal knights, smirked. "A dragon of iron? Ridiculous. If such a thing existed, our ancestors would have written of it. This is nothing more than frontier rabble trying to impress simple folk."
Even the king himself leaned back on his throne, bemused. "Barbarians' tales," Aldred said dismissively. "The western lands are empty and wild. Beyond the frontier, there is nothing but savages and half-bred tribes. Let the peasants chase their omens."
The chamber erupted in laughter.
Yet not all were convinced.
Chamberlain Hadrien, a frail man with sharp eyes, spoke softly. "Your Majesty, I have never known the frontier messengers to arrive so pale and trembling. If they were frightened enough to ride through the night without rest… then perhaps there is more to their words than mere superstition."
The king waved a hand lazily. "We will send a patrol of knights to placate the peasants. A show of strength will calm them. Nothing more."
And so, the matter was dismissed as a peasant's fantasy.
But in the dark corners of Drachenhalm, where gossip flowed faster than wine, the whispers grew.
"They say it shone like polished steel."
"They say it had no wings, yet flew faster than any falcon."
"They say it roared louder than a hundred dragons."
What the nobles laughed at, the common folk feared.
And somewhere, far beyond their understanding, the Iron Dragon watched them still.
A week after the reported civilization
weeks had passed since the event thatore the Aurion Republic from Earth.
The nation had not collapsed—order was tenuously held by the military, food rationing was in place, and power plants continued to hum. The government, despite the protest and riots still functioned.
In the deep chambers of the Presidential Emergency Operations Center, President Edrian Velez sat at the head of a long steel table. Around him were his closest advisers: General Marcus Delos, Chief of Staff; Defense Minister Takahiro Sato; Foreign Minister Elena Choi; and several intelligence and economic officials.
On the central screen, high-resolution drone footage played. It showed a walled settlement stone houses, thatched roofs, smoke curling from chimneys. People in crude garments moved about the muddy streets. There were blacksmiths, open-air markets, and what appeared to be armed men carrying swords and shields.
"This is our first confirmed settlement," an intelligence officer explained. "Population estimate: eight hundred to one thousand. No signs of advanced infrastructure—no roads, no water systems beyond wells. Technology level is pre-industrial. Likely medieval."
The room was silent.
President Velez leaned forward. "So, it's true. We're not alone here."
General Delos folded his hands on the table. "Sir, reconnaissance over the last two weeks suggests multiple small settlements. This is the first significant one we've found close to our borders."
"Have we made contact?" Velez asked.
Delos shook his head. "No, sir. We've observed only. Pilots have kept their distance, but villagers have clearly seen our aircraft. Their reaction has been… fear. Utter terror."
Elena Choi, the Foreign Minister, exhaled slowly. "If they truly are at a medieval level, they cannot possibly comprehend our technology. Any sudden appearance might spark panic or worse, hostility born of fear."
Defense Minister Sato adjusted his glasses. "A single company of soldiers could take that entire village without firing a shot. But if we act aggressively now, we risk being seen as invaders by anyone else in this world. We do not know the political landscape yet. We must be careful."
The President's gaze swept across the table. "Then what is our course of action?"
Delos answered firmly. "We continue observation. No contact. No flyovers at low altitude. We map their lands, learn their language if possible, and study their power structures. If they are organized under a kingdom or empire, we will approach diplomatically on our terms, but without threatening them. If they prove hostile, we will have the upper hand."
Velez nodded slowly. "We cannot afford a misunderstanding. If they see us as monsters, war will be inevitable."
Sato leaned forward, his tone measured. "Sir, this is a new world. For now, our doctrine must be survival and stability. We avoid unnecessary conflict. But… we must prepare for the possibility that diplomacy will fail. If this world's powers see us as weak, they will attack us eventually."
"That," Delos agreed, "is why we watch. And when we finally speak to them, we will know exactly what kind of world we're dealing with."
On the screen, the drone feed zoomed in on the villagers below simple people going about their lives, blissfully unaware of the nation watching them from the skies.
For now, Aurion would remain a ghost.
But its eyes were everywhere.