The word soon hung between them like a blade.
Youri did not move at first. His fingers were still curled into fists at his sides, nails biting into his palms hard enough to sting, but he barely felt it. His thoughts were already far away—light-years away—back on Volar. Back to dust-choked streets, low skies, and faces he had memorized because he was afraid one day memory would be all he had left.
"You're saying," Youri began slowly, his voice unnaturally calm, "that after everything… after six months of grinding myself down to bone… they're just going to erase it."
Barnaby did not answer immediately. He stepped further into the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a muted hiss. The hangar lights outside dimmed as evening settled over the base, casting long shadows across the spartan living quarters.
"They won't call it erasure," Barnaby said at last. "They'll call it containment. Strategic purification. A necessary calculation."
Youri let out a short, humorless laugh. "They always do."
Barnaby studied him closely. He had seen this look before—in mirrors, years ago. That hollow focus. That dangerous stillness that came right before someone decided they had nothing left to lose.
"The god units don't deploy lightly," Barnaby continued. "This isn't punishment. It's fear. Whatever's happening on Volar, the Empire believes it can't be controlled anymore."
Youri turned toward him sharply. "You knew this was coming."
Barnaby didn't deny it. "I knew it was a possibility."
"And you still pushed me through the academy," Youri said, his voice rising now. "You still let me believe—"
"I gave you a chance," Barnaby cut in, his tone firm. "The only chance you would ever have."
Youri stared at him. "A chance to watch my home die from a cockpit window?"
Barnaby stepped closer. "A chance to be a part of some thing."
Silence fell again, heavier than before.
Youri's breathing slowed. His thoughts, chaotic only moments ago, began to sharpen. Pieces aligned. The special unit. The God Unit. The timing.
"You said," Youri said quietly, "that the graduates would be each assigned to a certain Unit."
Barnaby nodded. "That's correct."
"And the God Unit's," Youri continued, "need a full pilot cadre to operate at peak output."
Barnaby didn't answer this time.
Youri stepped closer, close enough now that he could see the faint lines around Barnaby's eyes—the ones that hadn't been there years ago. "You didn't just bring me here to give me a future," Youri said. "You brought me here because you needed someone inside."
Barnaby exhaled slowly. "I brought you here because you're the only person I know who might choose to pull the trigger—or refuse to."
Youri recoiled slightly. "You think they'd let me near it?"
"They already have," Barnaby replied. "You just don't know it yet."
The transfer orders came the following week.
Youri head traveled back to Batauzane alongside Kess and Adin, a sealed military transport hovered at the edge of the base's inner runway. The insignia painted across its hull bore no unit designation—only a single symbol etched into black alloy: a circle bisected by a vertical line.
God Unit command.
Commander Varos stood before them, hands clasped behind his back. His expression was unreadable, but his voice carried a gravity that cut through the morning air.
"Kess Pert. Adin Roe. Youri Kronos," he said. "By decree of the Imperial High Command, you are hereby reassigned."
He paused, letting the moment settle.
"You will no longer answer to this academy. From this point forward, your training, your orders, and your lives belong to God Unit oversight."
Kess swallowed hard but remained steady. Adin's jaw tightened, eyes forward. Youri felt strangely detached—as if he were watching this unfold from somewhere outside his body.
"You will be briefed en route," Varos continued. "There will be no further communication with outside parties. No leave. No delay."
Barnaby stood off to the side, watching.
Varos stepped aside. "Board."
The transport doors opened.
As they climbed inside, Kess leaned close to Youri. "You knew this was coming, didn't you?"
Youri didn't look at him. "I hoped it wasn't."
Adin, walking ahead of them, said nothing—but his shoulders were tense, coiled like a spring.
The transport lifted smoothly, breaking free of the base and accelerating toward orbit. Through the narrow viewport, Terria shrank into a blue-green jewel below them.
Minutes passed in silence before the interior lights dimmed and a holographic display ignited at the front of the cabin.
A rotating image appeared.
The Altopereh.
Even as a projection, it was overwhelming.
"This," a synthesized voice announced, "is God Unit Altopereh."
Data scrolled alongside the image: output yields, energy thresholds, operational casualties.
Projected annihilation radius: planetary.
Kess whispered, "That thing… isn't a machine."
"No," Adin said quietly. "It's a monster."
The display shifted.
"Mission directive: Volar System."
Youri's pulse thundered in his ears.
"Objective: planetary inhalation."
His hands trembled.
"Estimated execution window: forty-eight standard hours."
The hologram faded.
Lights returned.
For a long moment, none of them spoke.
Finally, Adin broke the silence. "So this is it," he said. "They didn't choose the best pilots."
He looked at Youri.
"They chose the ones who could live with it."
Youri met his gaze. "Or die trying to stop it."
Kess looked between them. "You're talking like there's a choice."
Youri leaned back against the seat, eyes closing briefly. "There's always a choice," he said. "The problem is what it costs."
The God Unit facility was not a place.
It was a sphere shaped stronghold.
A colossal structure suspended beyond Terria's orbit, anchored to nothing visible, its surface absorbing light rather than reflecting it. The transport docked silently, magnetic clamps engaging with a soundless finality.
Inside, the air felt wrong—too clean, too still.
They were escorted through corridors of black alloy and soft white illumination, their footsteps echoing unnaturally. No banners. No insignia. No windows.
At the heart of the facility, they entered a vast chamber.
The Altopereh stood there.
Not dormant.
Waiting.
Youri felt it before he truly saw it—a pressure behind his eyes, a low vibration in his bones. The machine radiated power so dense it felt alive, aware.
A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
Tall. Slender. Draped in a high-command uniform marked with sigils Youri didn't recognize.
"I am Overseer Halvek," the figure said. "From this moment on, you belong to the God Unit."
His gaze fixed on Youri.
"Pilot Kronos," Halvek continued, "your neural profile shows… anomalies."
Youri said nothing.
Halvek smiled faintly. "Good. The Altopereh responds poorly to obedience. It prefers conviction."