As everyone made their way out, they could see the silhouette of a massive machine descending toward the third level. It looked familiar somehow—and as it drew closer, the crew lit up with sudden recognition.
It was an Orbiton.The Titan had come down to get them.
Oscar could hardly believe his eyes. Somehow, everything had fallen into place. As the Titan descended lower and lower, the crew began waving wildly at Tom.
Inside the cockpit, Tom stared in awe at the vast sprawl of the Undying Forest beneath him. He had never imagined it would be this large. Then, through the treeline, he spotted movement—figures waving up at him. His chest tightened. It was them. The missing crew. Somehow, against all odds, they had all gathered in the same place.
As the Titan's enormous feet met the ground, the air trembled. Prisoners and crew alike rushed toward it, eyes wide with disbelief. For most of them, it was the first time they had ever seen something like it—an ancient war machine that looked as if it had stepped straight out of the future.
The Orbiton stood over twenty meters tall, a humanoid figure sculpted from metal and history itself.Its frame bore the scars of countless campaigns—scorch marks, impact dents, and faint black streaks from atmospheric reentries. Along its limbs ran narrow conduits glowing with faint blue light—energy veins pulsing in rhythm with the reactor core beating deep within its chest.
Its head was angular and narrow, with no visible face—only a black visor slit surrounded by heavy armored ridges, giving it the look of a silent sentinel. Twin antennae arched from its back like steel wings, doubling as quantum relay nodes that linked directly to orbiting command ships. Its hands were massive yet precise, capable of crushing steel or handling a plasma rifle with surgeon-like steadiness.
Noland shouted up at the towering machine, "Hey! Don't leave the cockpit—this place is dangerous! Stay inside!"
Tom looked down and shouted back, "Alright! I sent a message to Marek—he'll be here soon with a shuttle!"
Further back, Oscar stood with Tarko, both staring up at the giant.
Tarko whistled low. "Is that… a thing from the future?"
Oscar just nodded.
Tarko grinned. "God damn, I was born in the wrong age."
Oscar smirked and placed a hand on his shoulder. "Don't worry, Tarko. Once we're out of here, I'll let you sit in it."
Tarko laughed. "You serious?"
"I'm always serious," Oscar said—and for a moment, they both laughed like soldiers who had forgotten they were at war.
Minutes later, the low roar of engines filled the forest canopy. A shuttle descended through the crack above, its spotlights cutting through the mist. It touched down roughly beside the Titan, kicking up leaves and dust.
Preston stepped out, rifle in hand, shouting over the noise, "Hey! Everyone—get in! We don't have much time!"
The forest erupted in chaos. Dozens of prisoners swarmed toward the shuttle, desperate to escape. Space was limited—too limited—and panic spread fast. The crew fought their way through the crowd, trying to reach the hatch. They saw others clinging to the wings and propeller housings, faces pale with desperation.
Oscar knew what would happen when the engines ignited, but there was nothing he could do. "We can't save them all," he muttered under his breath.
Within minutes, everyone from the Tartarusios crew was aboard. Preston did a quick head count, shouting over the roar, "All accounted for!"
The shuttle's engines screamed to life, and as it lifted off, those still clinging outside fell away—some into the canopy below, others into the blinding light of the thrusters. A cruel fate, perhaps, but better than being swallowed by the Labyrinth forever.
Both the shuttle and the Titan ascended together, breaking through the thick fog.
Above, the Tartarusios waited—its hull gleaming under the fading light of Baraka's upper atmosphere. Outside the walls of the outer layer, the battle still raged. Barrages of energy fire streaked through the sky, crashing uselessly against the ship's plasma shields. Despite the sheer volume of firepower, nothing the Empire threw at them even made a dent.
With the rescued crew safely aboard, the Tartarusios propelled itself upward, engines burning white as it tore through the stratosphere toward open space. For the first time in hours, the crew could breathe again.
Inside the ship, the corridors filled with motion—soldiers and engineers rushing to stations, medics tending to the wounded. The crew made their way to the control room, tired, bruised, but alive.
When the doors slid open, Youri and Zoma were already there.
Youri looked up from the command console, a smirk forming on his face. "Hey, welcome back. How was the vacation?"
Bjorn let out a dry laugh. "Historic," he said flatly.
Oscar stepped forward. "Come on, guys—we need to move. Zoma, do you have any idea what we went through because of your words?"
Zoma didn't flinch. Her voice was calm, almost serene. "Don't worry. It was all for the best possible future."
Oscar frowned. "What the hell does that mean?"
Zoma smiled faintly, her dark eyes glinting under the console lights. "You'll see soon enough."
Before anyone could question her further, the radar alarm blared. Red light flooded the bridge.
Bjorn's fingers flew over the console. "Captain—contact. Multiple signals incoming."
"How many?" Youri demanded.
Bjorn's voice dropped. "All of them."
Outside, the stars vanished behind the silhouettes of hundreds of ships forming a blockade around Baraka's orbit. Cruisers, destroyers, carriers—each bearing the golden insignia of the Imperial Throne.
The Tartarusios came to a stop amid the silent storm of vessels. The void outside shimmered with targeting locks and magnetic shields ready to fire.
Then, the comms crackled. A transmission forced its way through.
The holographic image of Kaiser Barak II appeared on the bridge—tall, regal, expression cold as iron.
"Crew of the Tartarusios," he began, his voice deep and commanding, "you stand accused of treason against the Throne. You have abandoned your posts, stolen imperial property, and trespassed into forbidden zones beneath Baraka's crust—zones sealed for a reason."
His gaze shifted slightly, and though his tone remained calm, it carried the weight of an empire.
"I will grant you one chance," he continued. "Not for mercy—but for truth. Power bends only to those who understand consequence. Surrender your vessel and all aboard, and your punishment will be swift and clean. Resist…"
He paused, letting the silence hang heavy.
"…and you will bear witness to the Empire's unyielding will."
The hologram flickered, and behind him the endless formation of Imperial ships came into view—silent, gleaming, waiting.
The bridge of the Tartarusios was dead still.
No one spoke. No one moved.
They all just stared into the void—at the Emperor's fleet, at the impossible odds, and at the truth that this time, there might be no way out.