The hangar of the derelict ship, the Aethel-Dawn, smelled of ancient ice and ozone. It was a cavernous space, filled with the skeletal remains of ships that looked like ancestors to Elias's own Vanguard. As the Sparrow's engines died, the silence that rushed in was absolute—a heavy, pressurized weight that made Elias's ears pop.
"Four hours of air," Elias said, checking his wrist-comm as they stepped onto the frost-covered deck. He kept his pistol raised, the beam of his tactical light cutting through the swirling nebula mist that had leaked into the bay. "We find fuel, we find oxygen, and we get out."
Lyra limped beside him, her weight shifting onto a makeshift crutch she'd fashioned from a piece of scrap metal. "And we find out who pulled us in. Gravity wells don't just activate themselves on ghost ships."
They moved deeper into the ship, their boots clanking rhythmically on the metal grating. The Aethel-Dawn was a Pre-Fracture vessel, a relic from a time when the sun hadn't been a wound and the stars weren't dying. Everywhere they looked, there were signs of a frantic exodus: abandoned suitcases, children's toys frozen in the vacuum, and—more disturbingly—skeletons slumped against the walls, still wearing the uniforms of Aethelgard's founding scientists.
"These aren't combat casualties," Lyra whispered, stopping to look at a cluster of remains near a sealed bulkhead. "They were waiting for something. A rescue that never came."
Elias paused at a set of heavy, reinforced doors marked Main Archive. "The gravity beam originated from behind these doors. Get ready."
He bypassed the lock with a sequence of pulses from his multi-tool. The doors slid open with a screech of rusted metal, revealing a room bathed in a soft, eerie blue glow. In the center of the room sat a massive holographic projector, its light flickering but steady.
As they stepped inside, a motion sensor tripped. The holograms flared to life.
"Welcome, Project Directors," a synthesized voice chimed, echoing through the hollow room. "Data log 9-9-4 is ready for review."
A map of their solar system appeared in the air, but it was wrong. The sun was healthy, gold and brilliant. Then, a simulation began. A series of orbital platforms—identical to the ones Elias's people still used today—began to fire concentrated beams of energy into the sun's core.
"What is that?" Lyra asked, her voice trembling. "They're... they're feeding it?"
"No," Elias said, his blood turning to ice. "They're destabilizing it."
A figure appeared in the hologram—a man in a high-ranking military uniform. Elias gasped. It was the First High Chancellor, the founder of their nation, a man worshipped as a god for 'saving' humanity after the sun broke.
"The experiment is a success," the holographic Chancellor stated coldly. "The sun's decay has been accelerated by 400%. By creating a controlled fracture, we will ensure total dependency on the Catalyst technology. The colonies will have no choice but to submit to the Citadel for light and heat. The 'Great Fracture' will be recorded as a natural disaster. We are the architects of the new world's necessity."
The room went silent. The hologram looped, the sun breaking over and over again in a beautiful, horrific dance of purple light.
Elias felt the foundations of his world crumble. His entire life—his service, his scars, his brother's death—it wasn't a tragedy of fate. It was a managed corporate asset.
"They broke the world on purpose," Lyra whispered, her silver eyes filling with tears of pure, unadulterated rage. "They turned us into enemies so we wouldn't look at them. They gave us a war so we wouldn't notice they'd stolen the sun."
Elias turned to her, his heart heavy with a grief so profound it felt like lead. "Lyra, I..."
Before he could speak, a monitor on the far wall flared red.
Tractor Beam Recalibrating. Target: High Command Dreadnought 'Iron Sovereign'. Distance: 10,000 Kilometers.
"The gravity well," Elias realized, his pulse quickening. "It didn't just pull us in. This ship is a beacon. It's programmed to pull in any ship with a Citadel signature. It's a trap... but it's also a homing signal."
"Elias," Lyra said, pointing at the long-range scanners. "The Dreadnought didn't lose us in the nebula. They followed the beacon. They're coming to finish what the Archive started."
Elias looked at the terminal. He could shut down the beacon, but it would take time. Time they didn't have. Or, he could download the data—the proof of the Chancellor's treason—and try to broadcast it.
But the Aethel-Dawn's power was failing. The blue light was dimming.
"The oxygen," Lyra reminded him, her voice faint. "The ship is venting."
A loud thud vibrated through the floorboards. Something had docked in the hangar. Something much larger than the Sparrow.
"They're here," Elias said, drawing his weapon. He looked at Lyra, and for the first time, he didn't see an enemy commander. He saw the only person in the universe who knew the truth.
He reached out, his hand cupping her cheek, his thumb brushing away a stray tear. The intimacy was sudden, desperate, and raw. "If we don't make it out of this room, the truth dies with us."
Lyra leaned into his touch, her eyes searching his. "Then let's make sure we aren't the only ones who die today."
The Archive doors began to hiss. Someone was cutting through from the other side.
To be continued.....