Mars did not see the ships arrive.
It felt them.
A pressure returned to the atmosphere—
not violent,
not sudden—
wrong.
High above the red clouds, space folded.
Blue light cut through the sky like a wound reopening.
Then the shouting began.
Not on Mars.
From the void.
Neptune war-vessels broke through orbit, massive and elegant, their hulls glowing with artificial runes and scientific sigils etched side by side. They were not stealth ships.
They wanted to be seen.
Loudspeakers activated before landing thrusters.
A voice echoed across the broken plains—
distorted, amplified, cruelly joyful.
"Mars civilization detected."
"Planetary collapse confirmed."
"Survivors identified."
A pause.
Then laughter.
"Look at them."
"They still breathe."
More ships followed.
Scientists.
Soldiers.
Observers.
They watched the ruins like spectators at a fallen empire.
Cameras deployed.
Drones descended.
Energy scans swept across continents.
"Half the planet destabilized," one scientist reported calmly.
"Mantle fractures visible."
"Gravity fluctuations remain."
Another leaned closer to the display.
"But the core—"
"It didn't rupture."
Confusion flickered across their faces.
"That's impossible."
Mars should have died.
The calculations said so.
The impact said so.
History demanded it.
Yet—
The planet lived.
THE WITCH WHO STOOD ALONE
Mother Telsa felt them before the first ship touched ground.
Her knees buckled.
She caught herself against her staff, breath sharp, vision swimming.
Magic around her was thin.
Frayed.
She had already broken a rule no witch should ever break.
She had not hidden herself.
She had hidden a planet.
Across the city, invisibility magic still held.
Buildings shimmered at the edges of reality.
People walked through streets that did not technically exist.
Children laughed in places sensors could not detect.
Mars was pretending.
And pretense required constant effort.
Telsa's fingers trembled.
Every second, the spell pulled energy from her bones, her memory, her lifespan.
She had no more miracles left.
And Neptune had come anyway.
A young guard approached, fear naked on his face.
"Mother," he whispered.
"They're laughing."
Telsa closed her eyes.
"I know."
She turned toward the horizon.
Toward the asteroid.
NEPTUNE DESCENDS
The first Neptune ship landed with deliberate force—
a calculated shockwave meant to intimidate.
Red dust erupted into the air.
Metal legs dug into Martian soil.
The hatch opened.
Soldiers emerged.
Their armor was unlike Mars'.
Smooth.
Angular.
Blue-white plating lined with glowing circuits.
Helmets sealed, faces hidden behind reflective visors.
They moved without urgency.
Victory had already been declared.
Behind them came the scientists.
No armor.
No weapons.
Only instruments.
Floating scanners orbited their shoulders, projecting data streams in real time.
One of them laughed softly.
"Primitive architecture," she said.
"They really thought magic would save them."
A soldier pointed toward the burning crater in the distance.
"Sir," he said.
"There's something there."
The asteroid.
Still smoking.
Still humming.
Still wrong.
THE ASTEROID
As the Neptune team approached, the air changed.
Sensors flickered.
Numbers stuttered.
A scientist frowned.
"Frequency mismatch."
Another adjusted his display.
"No—this isn't radiation."
"It's resonance."
The asteroid was not inert.
It was responding.
A deep vibration rolled through the ground.
Soldiers tightened their grips on weapons.
"Stay alert," the commander ordered.
Then—
They saw the child.
A small bundle near the asteroid's base.
Too small.
Too still.
A laugh broke the tension.
One soldier lowered his weapon.
"It's just a baby."
The commander hesitated.
Babies did not survive planetary collapse.
Scientists moved closer.
Scanning.
Analyzing.
Their expressions shifted.
Excitement replaced mockery.
"This child," one whispered,
"is alive because of the asteroid."
"No," another corrected.
"The asteroid is alive because of the child."
The markings around the baby's eyes glowed faintly.
Not hostile.
Not defensive.
Observing.
Recording.
A senior scientist stepped forward.
"This," he said slowly,
"is not magic."
Silence.
"This is translation."
The commander turned.
"Explain."
The scientist swallowed.
"Magic bends reality using existing rules," he said.
"Science rewrites the rules."
He looked at the child.
"This child does neither."
A smile crept across his face.
"He exists between."
The laughter returned.
Sharper.
Greedier.
"Congratulations," the commander said.
"We've found it."
The scientist nodded.
"A weapon."
THE PLANET VANISHES
Just as scanners locked on—
Everything disappeared.
The asteroid vanished.
The ground vanished.
The horizon folded inward.
Alarms screamed.
"What the—"
"Visual lost!"
"Coordinates failing!"
Neptune soldiers staggered.
Reality blinked.
Then returned.
But not correctly.
Half the landscape was gone.
Where a city should have been—
Nothing.
Empty red plains.
No ruins.
No bodies.
No life.
The scientist shouted.
"Invisibility field!"
"Planetary-scale!"
"That's impossible!"
"No witch can—"
His voice cut off.
Mother Telsa stood alone at the edge of the distortion.
Visible.
Deliberately.
Her staff embedded in the ground.
Her face pale.
Her eyes burning.
She looked ancient now.
And tired.
The commander raised his weapon.
Telsa lifted one finger.
The weapon died.
Not exploded.
Not jammed.
It forgot how to exist.
She spoke softly.
"You are not welcome here."
The commander swallowed.
"You're hiding something," he said.
Telsa nodded.
"Yes."
"And you think you can stop us?"
Her smile was thin.
"No."
She coughed.
Blood stained her lips.
"But I can delay you."
The ground trembled.
The invisibility field surged.
Cities faded deeper into unreality.
Neptune sensors screamed.
"We're losing lock!"
"Retreat?"
"No," the commander snapped.
"Mark the coordinates."
A scientist shouted back.
"We can't!"
The child's frequency—
it's interfering!"
The commander looked at Telsa.
"You're already dead, witch," he said.
Telsa met his gaze.
"So are you."
She slammed her staff down.
The spell collapsed inward.
Not outward.
Neptune ships were forced back by a spatial recoil.
Dust swallowed them.
When visibility returned—
Mars was quiet.
Half the planet gone.
Half hidden.
The asteroid invisible.
The child unreachable.
AFTERMATH
Aboard the Neptune flagship, silence ruled.
Data streamed across the main display.
A senior scientist broke it.
"That was not planetary magic."
The commander exhaled slowly.
"No."
"That witch didn't protect Mars," the scientist continued.
"She protected something else."
The commander nodded.
"Prepare Phase Two."
The scientist smiled.
"We'll take the planet later."
He zoomed in on residual data.
"But the child—"
His eyes gleamed.
"—will belong to Neptune."
MOTHER TELSA FALLS
Back on Mars, Telsa collapsed.
Guards caught her before she hit the ground.
The invisibility field flickered.
Held.
Barely.
She whispered to the wind.
"I bought you time."
Somewhere beyond sight—
The child's markings dimmed.
The asteroid hummed.
And the universe shifted its weight.
Mars had survived.
But the hunt—
Had begun.
END OF CHAPTER