On the landing platform, Lieutenant Kireak and five sentinels in dark armor awaited her. In silence, she followed them into the ship. The interior was stark, cold, illuminated by blue light strips embedded in the floor.
Arriving at the Elder's Seat
Heart Universal Guardians patrolled each section. Whenever they crossed paths with Ashera, they paused to perform a precise military salute. She ignored them.
The corridor led to a wide, soundless armored door that opened without a sound.
Her father's office lay beyond, vast and minimalist. Holograms floated before a large, dark chair where Rahman, Elder Asad, sat.
His blue-hued skin was adorned with subtle geometric patterns, his silver hair cut short, and he sported a well-trimmed goatee. His eyes remained fixed on the data he scrolled through with his fingertips, without a glance at his daughter.
"..."
"You know, without my intervention, you'd end up in a court-martial?"
"I answer only to the General and the Wardens."
"You used my authority to activate the Pulsar and destroy one of my galaxies. So stop with your reckless actions."
"Reckless actions? I tracked the most dangerous criminal in the universe. I brought crucial information to eliminate him. And—"
"Where is he?" Rahman interrupted.
"He..."
"Is he dead?"
"No."
"Perhaps neutralized? In prison?"
"No. But he won't cause any more trouble."
"That's what I thought. You're just obsessed with him, Ashera. Before you started hunting him, his appearances were sporadic. You're only stirring a sleeping monster."
"Are you listening to yourself, Elder Asad? You have no respect for the lives he's destroyed. Have you forgotten Nadir, your own right-hand man?"
Rahman looked away for a moment.
"His death affects me. That's why I want you to take his place by my side."
"Dream on!"
He slowly rose, taking a few steps closer.
"Listen to me, Ashera. I don't want a fourth war. I don't want you to die like your mother. Take this position. It's stable, influential. Find a husband. Make your old father proud."
Ashera clenched her fists.
She loved the freedom of missions, battles across galaxies, chases, unpredictable stakes. She wasn't made to stay on a planet playing a diplomatic and passive role.
"I know you're talented, but you don't need to prove it to me anymore. You can—"
"I was just passing through your planet. I won't stay a second longer."
She turned on her heel, crossed the door, and slammed it behind her without another word.
Rahman, still standing, slowly resumed his seat.
"We'll see," he murmured.
In the corridor leading to the exit, Ashera walked quickly, her face dark. She felt the weight of the sentinels' gaze on her but paid no attention to their presence. With each step, the accumulated tension threatened to explode. Upon reaching the elevator, she took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm raging within her.
The journey to her residence seemed interminable. As soon as she crossed the threshold, she locked the door behind her and collapsed into the nearest seat. Her mind raced. She had to make a decision: keep Zrahel under surveillance, try to neutralize him, or... hand him over to the Millennium, risking an even greater disaster.
"No, that's a bad idea... Arcana wouldn't remain inactive either..."
She stood up, took a few nervous steps, then stopped in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. The city stretched endlessly, dotted with cold lights and silently gliding vehicles. A sense of powerlessness overwhelmed her. But she couldn't afford to weaken.
A discreet beep sounded. She checked her terminal: an encrypted message from Unit Spade. A new anomaly had been detected in Sector Gamma-12 of the Nebula Quadrant. Initial patrol reports indicated an unprecedented gravitational distortion, accompanied by massive disappearances of resources transported through interplanetary passages.
Ashera hesitated for a moment. If she left alone, she risked losing his trail. If she took him with her, she endangered her life... and perhaps the universe itself.
She made her decision.
"First, let's change the atmosphere..."
She activated her communicator:
— "This is Commander Ashera Ibn Asad. Prepare Unit Spade, Gamma-12 mission in two days. Medium priority."
In the bedroom, Zrahel, dressed in an immaculate white ensemble, adjusted his sleeve while observing his reflection in the window. No change. Still the same pale, smooth, cold face. He tilted his head slightly, searching for a detail he might have missed. Nothing. He sighed, his tone flat:
"I'm starting to get bored."
The door slid open silently. Ashera entered, her stride authoritative and graceful. She wore a reinforced Commander's suit, arms crossed.
"We're moving."
Zrahel didn't respond immediately. He continued to stare at the window, his eyes almost expressionless, then nodded. Together, they left the room.
The ship awaited on the docking bay. It was matte black, without shine, with technical inscriptions engraved on its sides. Zrahel took a seat in the back, Ashera at the controls. As soon as they left the atmosphere, the cockpit filled with a bluish light. Ashera activated a distortion module.
[Opening the Glass Hole]
The energy field expanded, creating a rectilinear breach in space. The ship plunged inside. Destination: the Nebula Quadrant.
...
A day later, as the ship continued its straight-line journey, silence reigned aboard. The dining room, an aseptic white, was lit by cold light. Zrahel sat across from Ashera. He observed his plate without appetite.
"The food is cold," he said. "The number of anti-genes increases more and more every 0.3 seconds."
He lightly tapped the surface of his plate with his fork, the gesture repetitive, mechanical. Ashera looked up. She frowned, not hiding her annoyance.
"Do you want me to reheat it?"
"I wouldn't say no."
She extended a hand. A silver flame burst from her fingers and consumed the entire contents of the plate in an instant. Meat, vegetables, nutrient components—all were incinerated.
Zrahel crossed his arms.
"Hmm, I see."
"What?" she snapped, defensive.
"Are you bipolar, Ashera?"