The vastness of space stretched endlessly ahead, dotted with cold, distant stars. After the intense encounter at the center of Heaven's Bridge, the Verdalian fleet pushed forward with renewed urgency. They had started with 30 ships — proud, shining beacons of their mission. Now, only 29 ships remained.
One ship — the Valiant Crest — had been lost in the battle against the Vir Empire fleet. Its destruction left a heavy scar on the hearts of everyone aboard the remaining vessels.
Inside the lead ship, a somber silence had settled. Jason Amberdenk stood on the command deck, his hands clasped tightly behind his back. Around him were Captain Shin, Louis, Jigo, and Phill, their faces grim but composed.
"They fought bravely," Captain Shin finally said, breaking the silence. His voice was low, almost reverent.
"They gave their lives for the mission," added Louis, staring out the window into the black abyss. "For Verdalia... and for the countless lives in the Lilliput star system depending on us."
Jason gave a slow nod. "We honor them... by completing this mission."
Every crew member aboard every ship held a moment of silence. The names of the fallen crew of the Valiant Crest were displayed on the main monitors, each name flickering with a soft blue glow. Messages were sent across the fleet, reminding everyone that even amidst grief, their duty remained clear.
They had to move.
Swiftly adjusting their course, the 29 ships accelerated. Their engines blazed like twin suns behind them, ripping across the quiet folds of the universe. They needed to cover 25 more light-years to reach the Lilliput system.
Jason stood firm at the observation deck, watching the brilliant trails of starlight around them.
"Five more days," he thought, "five days until we begin the mission that could change everything."
Over the fleet's internal communication system, the navigator's calm voice echoed:
"Current status: Full speed maintained. Estimated time to reach Lilliput system: Five days. No new hostiles detected."
Phill, checking the long-range scans, gave a soft grunt of relief. "At least for now, it's quiet."
Jason turned back to his crew, his gaze steady but filled with unspoken determination.
"Prepare yourselves," he said. "Mourn, but don't lose focus. Every second we move forward, we honour those we lost."
The Verdalian fleet cut across space like arrows of light, carrying with them hope, loss, and the unshakable will to fulfill their mission.
Far away, over a thousand light-years from Verdalia's concerns, the fate of star systems trembled in the balance.
In the shattered skies of Vora's Remnant, two vast fleets stared each other down:
one carrying the hopes of countless free worlds,
the other—the oppressive force of imperial might.
At the heart of the rebellion fleet stood the colossal battlecruiser Freewind, a ship as old as the Rebellion's first wars.
There, wrapped in a flowing crimson cloak, stood Robinson Drewauge, the Third Rebellion King — a pink-skinned alien from the ancient Drewage species, now 191 years old.
He had witnessed civilizations fall and rise.
He had seen friends turned to dust.
Yet his spirit remained, unyielding as the blackened suns that circled this forgotten system.
Behind him stood the combined might of over 5000 rebellion clans — each with its own leaders and armies — all answering to Robinson's call.
Today, they stood united under a single banner: Freedom.
Across the void, glistening under the red glare of Vora's broken star, loomed the dreadnoughts of the Vir Empire — a juggernaut of power, led by a name feared across galaxies: Bright Adam.
Bright Adam, a towering human figure, was the scion of the Adam Clan — the family that ruled the Vir Empire with an iron will.
Now 222 years old, Bright Adam wore battle armor etched with ancient human symbols, his voice carrying the arrogance of a dynasty that believed itself born to rule.
A flicker on the comms line — and the two leaders faced each other across space.
"You empires," Robinson Drewauge's voice rumbled through the command deck, "have crossed every line.
Your hunger knows no bounds.
You tear through free worlds like a fire through dry leaves."
He pointed toward the enemy fleet.
"But we — the five thousand clans — still stand. You may claim systems. You may burn skies. But you will never conquer the will of the free."
On the other side, Bright Adam leaned forward lazily, his golden armor catching the light.
"The will of the free?" Bright sneered, his voice smooth and mocking. "Freedom is an illusion, Drewauge. Only the strong write the rules.
And the Adam Clan... writes the rules now."
He lifted a hand — a gesture of contempt — and the Vir Empire fleet's weapons systems flared to life.
Robinson, undaunted, raised his hand in silent response. His commanders knew what it meant: Hold fast. Fight with honor.
Above Vora's Remnant, engines roared to life, and thousands of ships prepared for war.
Two legends. Two civilizations.
And a battle that would mark the stars forever
five days passed in tense silence.
The Verdalian fleet—reduced now to 29 ships after their brutal encounter near the Heaven's Bridge—flew like needles through the fabric of space, racing toward their goal.
And finally, through the black velvet of deep space, it emerged before them:
The Lilliput Star System, a quiet, shining cradle tucked within the Vokar-17 Galaxy.
Jason Amberdunk stood in the observation deck of the Sovereign Spear, hands folded behind his back.
Ahead, the main planet Volkar-17 loomed—an emerald-blue world wreathed in white clouds, its three moons casting long shadows across its oceans.
It looked peaceful.
It was a lie.
The memory of the battle at the center of Heaven's Bridge burned quietly in everyone's minds.
But today… today they would forget all that.
Today, the real mission began.
Jason turned, facing his core team assembled around a massive holo-table:
Captain Shin, the steely and sharp-eyed fleet tactician.
Louis, the logistics master with a thousand calculations dancing in his mind.
Jigo, Jason's trusted right hand, sturdy as an ancient oak.
And Phill, the young communications officer, still carrying the heavy burden of sending the names of the lost back to Verdalia.
Jason's voice broke the silence, low and steady.
"We made it."
He paused, letting the weight of those words settle.
A small ripple of relief passed through the men gathered there.
"But now comes the harder part," Jason continued.
He tapped a control, and a star-map flared to life above the table, showing the ten habitable planets spread across the Lilliput system like jewels on a black sea.
"ten planets," Louis said, stepping forward. His voice was clipped, professional. "Each with multiple colonies—some still rebuilding after previous attacks.
We've calculated food needs based on colony size, recovery stage, and storage capacity."
He flicked his wrist and data filled the air: numbers, cargo quantities, planetary orbits.
Jigo leaned in, scanning the figures. "Some planets are more vulnerable than others. Vokar-17 and Gliese-8 are especially weak. Their defenses are minimal."
Phill looked worried. "We'll have to move fast, sir. Any delay and the Vir Empire could find us again."
Jason nodded.
"We split into four teams," Jason said. "Each team takes a designated group of planets. Minimal stops. No gatherings, no celebrations, no staying overnight."
He pointed at the star-map.
"Group One — led by Captain Shin — you handle Volkar-17 and Gliese-8. Group Two — Jigo, you take Sora Minor and Hepta 9."
He shifted his gaze.
"Group Three — Louis, you take Noora-4 and Pharos."
"And Group Four — Phill, you handle Volan's Reach and Keltoi."
Each group would carry food, medical supplies, water recyclers, and atmospheric rebalancers—all essentials for colonies struggling to breathe under the weight of imperial suppression.
"And me?" Phill asked quietly.
"You're also our emergency relay. If anything goes wrong," Jason said, tapping his chest, "you contact me directly."
The table went quiet.
Only the faint hum of the ship's core vibrated in the floor.
Jason let the plan settle in their minds.
Then he spoke again, softer now.
"I know what you're thinking."
The men stiffened.
"You're thinking about the ship we lost," Jason said.
"You're thinking about home. Verdalia. The families waiting.
The sons, the daughters, the parents, the ones who light the lanterns every night hoping we come back."
He looked at each of them in turn.
"We didn't come this far to survive," he said. "We came to deliver hope. To plant the seeds for something better."
He drew a slow breath.
"Today, we honor the fallen not by mourning, but by completing the mission they believed in."
Captain Shin stepped forward, crisp as ever. "We'll get it done, sir. No matter the cost."
The others murmured their agreement, determination burning in their eyes.
Jason smiled faintly.
"Good."
Another button pressed, and four icons representing their teams separated and arced across the star-map, each tracing a unique course through the system.
"We'll rendezvous back here at Vokar-17 in seven days," Jason instructed. "No matter what happens.
If you're compromised, abandon the mission and return.
But if you can… deliver every last crate, every last vial, every last hope."
He looked beyond the star-map now, beyond the steel walls of the ship, toward the cold stars.
"We're not Verdalia's army here," Jason whispered. "We're its soul."
The team saluted—slow, solemn.
The meeting ended, and each leader went to ready their crew.
Jason stayed behind for a moment, alone in the silent deck.
He stared once more at Volkar-17 slowly growing larger in the viewscreen.
A single world.
One mission.
Thousands of lives.
He touched the hilt of the short sword sheathed at his side — a ceremonial gift from King Jim — and breathed out slowly.
"Let's sow hope across the stars," he whispered to himself.
The engines of the Sovereign Spear flared to life, and the fleet split like rays of light shooting into the system.
Above them, the ancient stars watched in silence, their gaze cold and eternal.