Mercury's orbit.
The Scythian, Captain Manuel's ship, drifts in shadow—
a shadow so dense, it feels like total invisibility.
Around them: vast emptiness.
Space—black, silent, swallowing light without mercy.
As if the vacuum itself were a trap set by time.
"Excellent camouflage," Manuel says quietly.
His voice is calm, but razor-sharp.
A mind that sees not just screens—
but the threads of reality beneath them.
"The sensors are silent. We're invisible."
He pauses. His lips barely move.
"Only one thing bothers me.
They've replaced our Emma with a more 'advanced' control system."
Pietro, standing nearby, turns from the console.
His face is bathed in blue light, and within that glow—
a shadow of irony.
"Emma was outdated," he smirks,
"but with cloaking like this, we might as well be ghosts."
"Slip into battle, no one the wiser."
The tone is light, almost playful.
But his eyes—
his eyes are glass-hard with quiet dread.
He's joking because they're standing at the edge—
and once that edge gives way,
no one will know if salvation or destruction lies beneath.
Manuel turns to him.
His face remains composed, nearly still.
But his voice…
It strikes like prophecy carved in stone.
"Remember this, Pietro."
He lifts a single finger—
and time seems to halt around it.
"Our mission isn't war.
We came to save. Not to kill."
He looks to Maria, then back to Pietro.
His words fall like an oath before an ancient altar.
"We are not soldiers.
We are bearers of belief."
"We carry it like a flame through the dark.
And we will not—must not—become the darkness."
He steps back and gestures to the holographic orbit map.
"We follow a path of rescue.
We collect the capsules. We save the survivors."
"And even if battle erupts beside us—
there will be no rage in us."
"Only light."
"Spoken like a poet, Captain," Maria says softly.
Her voice is like cloth draped over a trembling world.
But within it—certainty.
Unshakable. Free of fear.
Pietro remains quiet.
Then, almost in a whisper:
"Captain. Maria.
We're still at the threshold.
There's a moment left…"
He swallows.
"Let's speak to Hanaris.
Let him guide us."
Manuel nods.
Not just agreement—
but a surrender from deep within.
He gestures—inviting, not commanding.
"To the circle."
They kneel on the floor.
Stillness—first outward, then inward.
Thoughts slow.
Breath deepens.
The body fades.
I'm not flesh. I am breath. I am presence.
Before them: a mental island.
Glass-like water. A sky without wind.
A bright sun, hanging like a promise.
"O Hanaris…" Maria is the first to speak.
Her voice is a fracture across ice—
splitting the silence in two.
"The battle draws near. The enemy is merciless.
How do we stand?
How do we endure?"
The answer doesn't come as sound.
It comes as light.
Soft. Embracing. Like the breath of their homeworld.
A voice—not spoken, but known.
Not heard, but felt.
Clarity incarnate.
"You have already endured.
Your strength is in faith.
Your light—in the commandments.
That is your weapon. That is your greatness."
Maria is still.
Something opens in her—
as if, for the first time, she sees not fear… but meaning.
But Pietro…
Pietro is the doubting warrior.
"But they…" he begins.
His voice is rough—gravel on teeth.
"They have weapons.
Steel. Lasers. Armor."
"And we?
Only faith…"
The voice returns.
Clearer now.
Surer.
"Do not fear death.
The fallen shall join me—
in the vault of Osari.
The living shall carry freedom forward.
And freedom… is mightier than any blade.
Because it cannot be taken—
only given."
No guarantees. No promises of safety.
Only freedom.
And a choice:
To burn—
or to illuminate the way.
Their minds merge.
Like drops in a single heart.
No more "I."
Only "we."
The light—shared.
The will—unified.
Fear evaporates.
Only the mission remains.
When they return to the physical world,
everything looks the same—
but something in every atom feels changed.
Maria silently embraces Manuel.
He doesn't flinch.
He receives it—
like the sun receives dawn.
Pietro rises and folds them both into his arms.
It's not a gesture.
It's a vow.
"To protect each other," Maria whispers.
Her voice is wind before a storm—
quiet, final, unstoppable.
"We promise," Manuel replies.
In his eyes:
diamond fire and solar warmth.
He doesn't see a crew anymore.
He sees a family.
The Scythian continues through orbit,
hidden in shadow—
a spark of hope before the dawn.
But no one on board doubts anymore:
Their path isn't only rescue.
It leads toward trial—
of faith,
of will,
and of love.