“Arter, you know their numbers are simply too great. The Macran will surely annihilate us—”

     

     “I know Boros… but I must do this. I must fulfill my destiny just as every Arcon has before me.” The Arcos Aldfather, Arter Angelus spoke with his back turned, fully transfixed on the image he beheld out the triangular window.

 

     Against the moonlit sky the Arco capital city Arcana was ablaze in the fires of revolution.

 

     “But you can survive and save the Arcaz bloodline—that of the Arcon. You could raise your children in the safety of ZANZABAR...” Boros continued, “You can still go to Gaïa and escape our doom, then return and exact you veng—”

 

     “No. I will not be moved in this Boros. But it will not be our doom. You will not share in it. You are to watch over my family in my absence. Take your family—your wife Mirdra, your daughters Mirra and Marosa, and your son Brendenel and go to ZANZABAR with my progeny, Andus, Arnora, and Arcus. Live out your lives and keep the hope alive for the few Arcos that survive this.”

 

     “What? You cannot be serious.”

 

     “I will not be moved Boros. Andus and Arnora are waiting for you downstairs and Arcus is already waiting with his Keepers, Jonnor and Kaylar at ZANZABAR’s launch site. I will remain here and meet this onslaught in our bastion. I alone will fight the Arcos’ last stand.”

 

     “But my lord, Arcus is but a child, a toddler. By our laws he must be raised and educated by his father at least until his tenth year.”

 

     “You are his father now Boros! Andus is old enough to watch over himself, and Arnora is wise beyond her twelve years, but they cannot raise Arcus, you must do this. Now go. Andus and Arnora will meet you in the hangar and accompany you to ZANZABAR.”

 

     “As… as you wish my lord. May father Arcaz grant you strength and honor, wisdom and resolve.”

 

     “Thank you Boros. Be good to them, they will be the last of the line of Arcaz, the last of the Arcon. The last of our people. Alle’ha’ye my good friend.” Arter concluded.

 

     With that Boros Ridondal, the Aldfather’s chief advisor and most trusted friend, turned his hulking figure and left the chamber of the Arcos Aldfather for the last time. He then proceeded down the ancient steps from the Arcon’s Overlook and made his way through the halls of the Temple of Arnathi toward the hangar. His armor clattered lightly as he descended and his sword belt patted his thigh to the cadence of his walk.  

 

     The temple halls were barren and the Arco sigils along its lengths seemed to fade from their normal vibrancy. It seemed as if the rooms had long-since emptied, though Boros knew it had only been two days since the first attacks.

 

     The Arcos had occupied the eons-old sanctuary for as long as their existence, but the unwavering onslaught of the Macran across the city and the continent had changed that. The Arcos ranks of the Temple of Arnathi had all been dispatched to combat the tide of revolution: its teachers, engineers, preachers, healers, keepers, students, lectors, guardsmen, and attendants no longer occupied its grand rooms and resplendent halls but had instead died fighting for their people. All that was left of them—no more than a score perhaps—had pulled back to the Temple of Arnathi in a seemingly futile effort to survive their inevitable doom as the Macran pushed their advance further into the Arco capital.

 

     We reap what we sow, Boros thought, still amazed that after such a long time and so many warnings the Arcos had always kept the Macran in servitude. The arrogance of the Council Fathers will be the doom of us all. It was just a matter of time before the Macran revolted... I almost wish it would have been sooner. At least then we could have made a real fight of it, back when we were warriors with resolve, not bureaucrats arguing over business.

 

     Boros approached the hangar door and sighed as it automatically opened as it always did when detecting his—or any other Arcos—presence. The door opened jarringly, exposing a moderately sized hangar containing two sleek black ships. Arter’s son and firstborn Andus greeted him with a silent nod as he entered the hangar.

 

     Andus was carrying several packs aboard one of the ships as his wife Kara carried their infant son. Arnora, Arter’s daughter and middle child, was assisting her older brother with a large crate. Andus stopped what he was doing long enough to search his father’s advisor’s face over for any clue to the Aldfather’s decision. 

 

     Boros answered with a curt shake of his head, before turning his attention toward the two sleek, arrowhead shaped ships that occupied the main space of the hangar. The two ships—the TIASALPA and TIASONDO—were near identical except for the fact that the TIASONDO was almost twice the size of the TIASALPA. Boros took in the sight of the all-but-deserted hangar for one last time before sighing again and beginning to walk toward the ships where several other Arcos—including his toddler son Brendenel—were making their final preparations before boarding the ships.

 

     Without warning, he saw a flash from the corner of his eye.

 

     A projectile whizzed through the air toward the ships and he heard a sudden shriek accompanied by a loud wailing cry, and he watched as Kara fell to the ground, Andus immediately running to her. A second later he saw another flash and watched as Andus crumpled to the floor over his young wife. Boros reacted quickly, unbuckling his firearm’s holster but stopped suddenly, feeling a projectile pierce his torso. He touched his gauntleted hand to his armored torso, removing it to see blood on his fingers. His armor had been pierced but he wasn’t too worried, it was merely a flesh wound; the blood would clot soon enough as Arco blood was prone to do.

 

     They’re here.

​

     Shots began to ring out and projectiles ricocheted and impacted everywhere throughout the hangar as the scene erupted in calamity.

 

     “Haleb!” Boros shouted to his tall, brawny, dusty-headed ward, “Get them on board! NOW!” he pointed toward Andus, and the girl Arnora who had ducked under cover with the distraught Brendenel.

     

     Shots continued to impact all around them as their attackers continued their assault. Boros drew forth a forearm length energy weapon that could blast a palm-size hole through light aircraft armor and began shooting back at his attackers to cover his ward and Arter’s children.

     

     Without a moment’s hesitation, Haleb dropped the equipment he was loading and loped over toward Arnora and Brendenel. Despite only being in his eleventh year, Haleb was taller than every lesser Arcos and had even rivaled some of the high born elites; his size and speed had led many to believe that he had elite lifeblood in his veins.

Boros watched as Arnora saw the dusty headed boy approaching and quickly broke cover, making for her older brother Andus who lay prostrate and exposed to attackers. In response, Haleb drew a large shield from a weapons container and activated its extending features, maximizing coverage. With his free hand he scooped up the toddler Brendenel and followed after Arnora to provide cover.

 

     As events unfolded Boros urged them on while providing covering fire, “Quickly! Get them aboard!”

 

     Once Haleb reached Arnora and her brother Andus he slammed the shield down into the ground to provide a more permanent cover. As the boy turned his attention to Arnora his heart sank with grief as he saw the bodies. Arnora kneeled over the dead bodies of her brother Andus and sister-in-law Kara, clutching her panicked infant nephew Andros. Andus had been four years older than Haleb, but the two of them had been friends and he was grief-stricken to see him like this; but the brawny ward was determined and did not dawdle. Still holding Brendenel in one arm, he used the shielded arm to grab hold of the grieving Arnora who held her nephew Andros. Haleb then looked to his guardian Boros and waited for his opportunity. 

 

     Boros nodded and broke cover to engage his enemy and again provide suppressing fire for Haleb and the others to get to safety.

 

     “Adda!” Brendenel called to his father amidst sobs as Haleb carried the toddler in his large arm and clutched Arnora with his shield arm. “Adda!” the toddler screamed again as Haleb sprinted toward TIASALPA, the closest ship, dragging Arnora along.    

 

     Nearly half-a-dozen Macran warriors now entered through the hangar’s main exit to join the remaining handful of intruders. Their numbers began to grow as they laid down a heavy suppressing fire on the ships and the would-be escapees.

 

     Boros steeled himself for the fight and drew from his scabbard a fierce looking Carconian steel cleaver; sharper than any other Arco metal and more than capable of piercing Macran armor. He shouted to Haleb again as the lumbering Arco rushed his son and Arter’s progeny aboard the smaller of the two ships, “Take them and get airborne, now!”

 

     “No!” A booming voice bellowed throughout the hangar, “I charged you to protect him!”

 

     Arter Angelus emerged into the hangar wearing his massive suit of Arcon power armor as yet more Macran attackers joined the initial shooters. Few at first, they slowly amassed until they numbered into the dozens and unleashed a hail of heated micro projectiles at Arter, Boros, and the two awaiting ships. Arco armor was thick, sturdy, and near impenetrable, but the mounting number of Macran was quickly becoming all the more threatening; the armor would not hold forever.

 

     “Boros, get aboard and lift off! I will cover you!” Arter shouted. His full form came into view and it was truly a sight to behold. He stood a full three meters tall in the bold angelic armor with a flaming sword and double barreled energy weapon, similar to the one Boros wielded. His body was fully encased in the gigantic suit of plate armor, save for his head—which his shoulder pauldrons dwarfed.

 

     Boros looked onto the worn, yet emboldened face of his Arcon Lord and Aldfather; the full ebony and grey beard on face seemed darker and his normal burnt copper complexion seemed void of its usual vigor. The Aldfather’s dreaded black hair was pulled back in a band, revealing patches of at his temples and elongating his face, showing off a gauntness never before seen in the leader. His hazel brown eyes glinted orange for a moment before fading and Boros saw the look of a dead man.

 

     “Alpa!” Boros shouted to the ship’s Alcori-construct through his wave-to-wave communicator located under his jawline, “Launch TIASALPA and fly into a low holding pattern to provide covering fire outside the hangar.” 

 

     “Commencing.” The shipboard AI construct Alpa calmly replied over an open channel, before TIASALPA slowly began to rise and pelt the trespassers with covering fire from its lateral mounted laser turrets. It moved out of the hangar bay and continued its suppressing fire, picking off Macran attackers in droves.

   

     Using TIASALPA’s movement as a diversion, Arter made his move. He flourished his firebrand over his head and leveled his firearm. “For Father Arcaz and the Arcos!” He shouted as he let off shot after shot bounding straight for the Macran enemies that now numbered close to fifty.

 

     Boros watched as countless Macran fell to Arter’s shots and the suppressing fire from TIASALPA, but their ranks were steadily resupplied and the efforts of the Arcos proved folly. The Macran had clearly overwhelmed the few remaining Arcos outside and made it through their final lines of defense.

 

     Suddenly, as if in response to the enemy’s growing numbers and the Arcos mounting desperation, a wave of blazing blue and orange fire surrounded Arter and engulfed him as he approached the growing horde of Macran, who now wielded many bladed and blunt weapons in addition to their firearms.

 

     “I am the fire of the Aldfather, heir of Arcaz Arnathi the First Born, and Supreme Arcon. I am the protector of the Arcos. Stand before me and face oblivion!”

 

     Boros heard the thrum of life emerge from TIASONDO’s engines and moved to step up its boarding ramp. He hesitated as he walked up the ramp and the ship lifted off the ground. Looking out the open ramp-way he couldn’t quite make out where the enemy’s ranks ended.

 

     How? How are their numbers so great? What devilry is this?

 

     Boros’ hand suddenly seized his chest as a spasm of pain ran through where he had been shot. He looked down at his wound, touching it he pulled his gauntlet away and noticed he was still bleeding. In grudging obeisance, he turned away from the firestorm that was forming around Arter and staggered up the boarding ramp of TIASONDO. 

 

     As Boros labored up the ramp and his ship lifted off, Arter continued his assault on the encroaching invaders.

 

     “You have no business sullying this temple with your presence!” He shouted as he lashed out with his firebrand, incinerating many Macran on contact. He worked his way through wave after wave, providing Boros and the others with cover for their escape, “Now Boros!”

 

     Arter watched as the boarding ramp sealed shut and TIASONDO proceeded out through the hangar trailing TIASALPA. As the ships departed the hangar, Arter’s armor began to crack and crumble from the enemy’s pressing onslaught. The Macran were by no means stronger or more advanced warriors than the Arco, often only standing two-thirds of their size; but their sheer numbers made up for any inefficiencies. Their numerical advantage, coupled with the speed and lethality of their attack, had been pivotal in their quick and decisive campaign against the Arcos. They now swarmed over Arter, punching, grabbing, hacking, kicking, shooting, and stabbing at him in pure, vile hatred.

 

     More Macran swarmed over him and Arter’s resolve faltered. He moved to lash out with his weapons but they were battered from his hands. His body was pierced in many places and was bleeding so profusely that his blood would not clot. He was dying. He now faced his end. But he would make it such an end.

His rage built in an instant for a final strike and in a blindingly fast flash he let the full fiery fury of his Ara erupt out of his body as the two ships departed from outside the hangar.

 

     The closest Macran were incinerated before they were even touched by flame while those further out caught fire and broke ranks, screaming for their lives as they abandoned the temple hangar. His attack succeeded in defeating the onrush of Macran. He successfully provided the last of his people with a safe escape. He had provided his offspring with a second chance. He’d won.

 

 

     “Angelusss…” A voice suddenly hissed over the dying cacophony of the fleeing Macran.

 

     “Angelusss.” It came again. “You did well to defeat such overwhelming odds. Clearly the Macran are no match for the full might of the almighty Arcon. It is a pity your will could never be mastered… No matter. You will die along with the rest of your people tonight. The Macran will slaughter the rest of them before they make it off planet and you, you will have the pleasure of dying by my hand. Your frail and broken body will be little match for me in this physical embodiment. Perhaps when I am done with you I shall feast upon the fleeting will of your children’s corpses?”

 

     “Show yourself demon!” Arter demanded, clearly recognizing the malicious and tainted presence of ZÏZ. But not the devilish god itself, clearly one of the dark god’s overzealous underlings.

 

     “I am no demon.” The voice replied as a shadowy figure emerged from the darkness, “I am merely a vessel for something greater. The Dark One selected me to carry out Its will, and I shall carry it out. I am but a Shadow of the Dark One, I am Crozïz. I am the Bane of the Arcos.”

 

     “You…” Arter managed, surprised to see the figure now standing in front of him. The Macran called Crozïz stood taller than most Macran and was sinewy, but he now looked gruesome and emaciated as well—though his figure was still menacing as he stood in stolen, defiled Arcon armor. His eyes were black and his face ashen and cracked, but despite his desiccated appearance, Arter recognized this particular Macran. He was the former Arco-Macran labor-liaison. Despite the subservience of the Macran, they had a working hierarchy and Crona—as he had been known before his corruption—was the head of the labor division for maintaining Arco dwellings within the major cities of Arcana. 

 

     “You are the one… who has led… the slaughter of my people?” Arter staggered out, showing distinct signs of weariness. 

 

     “I merely ushered them into the darkness that is to come. Do not worry, you shall soon share in their fate.” Crozïz smugly brandished a large black blade, wretched, demented, and menacing in appearance. “This blade was forged from the depths of the ruins of Shakrah; its core is as malevolent as its origin. Take a good look, Heir of Arcaz; it will claim you as it has claimed so many of your people.”

 

     “Never. Your blade shall claim no more Arcos on this night… or any other night.” Arter straightened out in defiance, wielding his firebrand as it began to burn a fiery, blood red. He quickly lunged at Crozïz and unleashed a flurry of strikes.

 

     Crozïz easily parried the rush of attacks and laughed wickedly as he taunted his foe, “Why do you persist? The Arcos are a dying race. You will perish and the Solus Hexus will be free for the Dark One to conquer.”

 

     “I will never give up! As long as I still draw breath you will stand opposed.” He swung swiftly and violently at Crozïz who was now requiring more effort to dodge Arter’s attacks. “And as long as you stand opposed, victory will never be yours!” Finishing his retort, Arter lashed out with renewed energy and confidence, despite his wounds. He landed several blows on his foe, whose armored body flared and crackled with every slash and cut.

 

     Each time Crozïz was struck a new crack appeared in his stolen armor, exposing virulent orange blood laced with blackish gore. Arter’s confidence was brimming with every stroke as his foe began to recoil further toward defeat.

 

     Out of the hangar doors, Arter could see the disappearing twinkles of Boros’ ships and it inspired a feeling of success in him. He couldn’t fully appreciate that however, as he was beginning to wear from his ceaseless attack. His slashes and cuts began to slow and lose power. His lifeblood was draining from him and he could feel his strength fading.

 

     No. I won’t give up.

 

     But his efforts were dragging and his movements slowing; Arter missed a parry and Crozïz caught him unawares, slashing across the gauntlet on his left arm and then stabbing into him, piercing the armor on his side. Arter’s vision clouded and he paused for a moment, seeing flashing images of his enemy standing triumphant over him; vanquished.

 

     Arter envisioned every last Arcos die around him, his entire race decimated before his very eyes, “No… by AÏA’s light no!” he blurted as he struck out with his firebrand.

 

     “Yesss!” Crozïz slithered as he parried Arter’s latest strike before kicking him backward. Then effortlessly stabbing him straight through his chest.

 

     Arter fell forward into Crozïz’ arms and blood spilled from his mouth. Arter’s massive form slumped over Crozïz and the fiendish warrior now embraced him almost as a son would hug his father standing over him.

 

     “The Darkness is upon you Arter. It welcomes you. Will you finally submit to it?” Crozïz smiled in satisfaction.

 

     “I will… ” Arter’s thoughts were clouded. All goodness, positivity, and light had disappeared, quickly replaced with emptiness and darkness. “I will sub… I will submit to…”

 

     Andus. Arnora. Arcus. Before darkness completely took him he thought of his children.

 

     “Nev… never!” Arter said through gritted teeth as he drew forth the knife sheathed upon his lower back and embedded it in Crozïz’s neck. “I will never submit to the darkness, for I am the Arcon, the Light of the Arcos!”

Arter’s fury peaked as Crozïz reeled in pain from the stinging wound and in a sudden fiery flash, far greater and powerful than the previous explosion that cleared the hangar, Arter unleashed the final full force of his Ara and incinerated everything in the surrounding area.

 

***

 

Arnora Angelus silently watched from the bridge of the TIASALPA, clutching her infant nephew Andros who had since cried himself to sleep after the jarring death of his parents. Arnora observed the scene of the burning capital of Arcana, anxious now to reach ZANZABAR’s secure launch site and her younger brother Arcus so that they could leave this madness.

     

     “Alpa,” Haleb said to the shipboard Alcori Construct, “How much further to ZANZABAR?”

 

     “We should be there in approximately two—wait! Contacts bearing in from our right flank, fast. Engaging with turret defense system.” Alpa replied hastily before she continued, “they’re engaging TIASONDO as well!”

 

     Macran forces had somehow managed to commandeer several Arco fighter jets and had engaged the two fleeing Arco ships with full rigor after they’d left the temple. The majority of their attackers were now focusing their efforts on the larger of the two ships, TIASONDO.

 

     “TIASONDO’s engines have been hit. Boros is going down!” Alpa called out in distress.

 

     “Arnora!” Boros’ labored voice cut in over their ship-to-ship transmitter. “Arnora, you must reach ZANZABAR! Haleb will be your guardian now. Take him, your nephew, and your brother Arcus and go to Gaïa. You will be safe there. Do not worry about me!”

 

     Arnora stood bewildered, anxious about the situation. She was still reeling from leaving her father and losing her elder brother and his wife. Now her father’s friend—one of her own mentors and one of the final ties to her race—was leaving her. She thought about Boros’ family, Mirdra and her childhood friends Mirra and Marosa, and all the other Arcos currently in danger of being killed.  

 

     No! I won’t lose any more of them.

 

     “Turn around Alpa! We have to save them!” She shouted in response.

 

     “Arnora, do not defy me! Your father named me your guardian and protector and you must do as I say. Now go, leave me! Get to ZANZABAR and leave this doomed world!”

 

     “We will not leave you Boros. Alpa, engage those fighters head on!” Arnora yelled, tears welling in her eyes as she pressed Andros closer to her chest. Her infant nephew cried out as several explosions rang out against TIASALPA’s hull.

 

     “Arnora! Do not forsake yourself for—” the transmission cut out as more explosions sounded throughout the ship.

 

     “Communications and engines have taken heavy hits!” Haleb cried out. He was now at the helm of TIASALPA trying to aid Alpa in keeping them in the air.

 

     “Communications are down! Structural integrity critical. Those shots hit key lateral sections.” Alpa shouted, distress clear in the construct’s voice. “I can’t keep us stable. We’re losing altitude!”

Arnora’s conviction shattered in an instant. Nothing was going to save her. She was doomed to her and Boros and the rest of her people’s fate. Her mind drifted as she held her infant nephew close to her and she thought of her brother. Arcus…

 

     “Alpa,” she said flatly as they plummeted toward the surface, the gravity of the situation making everything seeming a little slower and quieter to her, “contact my brother’s Keeper, Jonnor. Tell him to take off. We won’t be making it.” She concluded as a single tear ran down her cheek.

 

     Goodbye Arcus. May father Arcaz give you strength and honor, wisdom and resolve.

 

     “Affirmative.” Alpa replied, before returning to the situation, “I can’t keep it steady! Haleb, try and compensate!”

 

     “I’m trying!” Haleb stressed, his young sinewy arms straining on the control yolk to keep them level despite their imminent crash.

 

     Arnora stared at her crying nephew as the ground imminently approached and sirens blared throughout the ship. Her entire world had been torn apart, ripped asunder, shattered entirely all in mere days; her father, her older brother and his wife, her mentor, her race, and now herself and her nephew too; no one would remain but her brother… Arcus, avenge us all. 

 

     All went suddenly and violently black as TIASALPA crashed on the outskirts of the Arco capital city of Arcana and Arnora’s world came to an end.

 

***

 

Sirens blared and lights flashed as ZANZABAR exited the warp and returned to the Solus Realm. Jonnor Jaharas, attendant to Arter Angelus, Keeper of the last Arcon of the legendary Arcaz lineage and pilot of ZANZABAR, immediately came to and realized his plight.

   

     In their haste, he and his wife Kaylar left their own Lord behind. They’d left his elder children Andus and Arnora behind. They left his key advisor and what remained of his family. They intended on going after them before departing, but Andus and the others had been harangued on their way, meanwhile Jonnor and his minimal crew had been ambushed at their secure launch pad and forced to leave without them.

 

     They left their planet and everything they’d known to die. But with the intent to live on, or at least for the last Arcon to live. Jonnor and Kaylar were the boy’s Keepers now, and his life was sacred to them.

 

     Jonnor quickly assessed his surroundings and espied a blue and green planet in the distance and briefly inspected its beauty. The planet sat perched in the blackness of space with divine elegance; a testament to the majesty of life against the frozen wastes of the black void. His admiration for the planet was short lived as he took grasp of his situation. They were now approaching the planet at a rapid pace after completing the jump from Arco in remarkable haste.

 

     “Jon!” a young man’s voice broke over the ship board communication network. It was Talorn Avandi from back in the engineering bay.

 

     Talorn was the ship’s Facilitarian but was currently the standing Mechanicos as well after a calamitous eruption within killed the actual engineer Sevriel, before they’d departed into the Warporal Realm – the space between space that the Arcos used for quickened travel between worlds and realms.

 

     The ship must have sustained serious damage before we jumped. I wish that blasted Construct was online, Jonnor thought to himself.

 

     “Jonnor, I can’t hold this together! We have to power down or we’re going to overload the reactor! Can you get that Construct ‘Zanza’ online?”

 

     The planet ahead loomed closer as ZANZABAR fell into its gravitational pull. Jonnor began making landing calculations before another explosion shook through the interior of the ship.

 

     “Not while I’m trying to—ZÏZ claim it!” He cursed in reply.

 

     They lurched forward and began veering off the course he’d been plotting. Jonnor surveyed his instruments and consoles and realized they’d lost several primary and secondary maneuvering capabilities and were now approaching the planet in an uncontrolled plummet with little he could do to slow them down, as they would ultimately have to power down the primary reactor core to avoid a catastrophic explosion mid-atmosphere. Yet again Jonnor wished the ship-board Alcori Construct Zanza was active. She certainly could have helped with their current predicament.

 

     Those mongoloid Macran better not have gotten to the Alcori facilities on Lunos. He briefly thought in frustration.

     

     As they continued their descent down to the surface Jonnor grasped the controls in tense desperation, realizing they hadn’t yet heard from the Gaïos. Strange. The view ahead turned from the blue and green initially framed by the black of space, to new shades of brown, yellow, and white framed by blue and green.

 

     “Jon! I have to power us down!” Talorn repeated.

 

     “What can you leave me with?” He grudgingly asked, knowing full well that what power they’d be left with would not be enough to get them safely to the planet’s surface under the circumstances.

 

     The surrounding view was beginning to show shades of orange and red as they met the atmosphere. Their time was rapidly diminishing.

 

     “Not much! We’re not going to be much better off than a falling rock.”

 

     Jonnor waited a moment in thought before responding, “Kaylar, Talorn, get to the Zieru, you’ll need to abandon the ship before we reach the surface.”

 

     From in the infirmary Kaylar clicked on her comlink and replied, “We’ll see you there.”

 

     Kaylar picked up the toddler Arcus and wrapped him in her arms as she prepared to go. Arcus had finally stopped crying after they initially left Arco but he passed out just after exiting the Warp, thus she had moved him safely within the medical bay. She watched over him as her mandate as a Keeper and wondered how she and Jonnor would raise the last born Arcon but her thoughts quickly diverted to the current situation as she quickly plotted her course to the Zieru in her mind’s eye—she still had a duty to perform. She quickly left the medical room knowing that every second mattered, now more than ever.

 

     ZANZABAR was beginning to break through the atmosphere and orange and red flames licked at the viewports. Despite being aflame Jonnor was able to take in the view of the blue planet awaiting them. He had mere moments of power left to set up their final approach to the surface, though he began questioning just what surface he was approaching.

 

     He didn’t recognize the terrain or any of the identifying features of Gaïa. And he was more than familiar with the world’s geography to note that he wasn’t currently looking at its surface.

What is this place? Surely this is not Gaïos. His thoughts promptly returned to his wife and the situation at hand.

 

     “Do not wait for me.” Jonnor called over the link, “I must stay aboard the ship to keep it steady while you launch. Without the Construct we have to rely on an actual pilot. I’ll make for an Azintra once you’ve safely left the ship.”

 

     “What good can you do for us in this hulk?” Kaylar spoke over her own com device, “The most good you can do is make for the Zieru and escape with us, we must fulfill our duties as Arcus’ Keepers!”

 

     “Whatever we’re going to do we have to do it now!” Talorn interjected. “We don’t have much time!”

 

     Kaylar struggled with all her might toward the flight deck where she could board the Zieru and await her crewmate and husband before leaving their doomed spacecraft; despite the advanced gravitational systems aboard the ship that provided for increased crew mobility and accessibility during flight, carrying the toddler amidst their jarring and explosive descent was proving quite difficult.

 

     ZANZABAR’s flight deck was above the medical bay but she had to head forward along the main corridor to then turn around and get above and aft to the flight deck. She stopped at the junction staircase leading up to the flight deck just as the ship lurched violently downward, hitting a pocket of gas as it passed through the planet’s atmosphere.

 

     Kaylar was violently thrown from her feet. She’d been holding onto Arcus and therefore wasn’t able to use her arms to brace herself as she hit the bulkhead, resulting in fatal trauma to her head. Her lifeless body immediately fell back to the corridor floor.

 

     Arcus was flung from her grasp as they felt the effects of the lurch in midair and he jolted awake after colliding with the floor.  

 

     “Kay? Kay what happened!? Kaylar? Talorn, get to the flight deck now! Find her, find Arcus!”

 

     “Jon the react…” Talorn’s response was cut off as the reactor redlined and set off small detonations within the engineering bay. Unknown to Jonnor that would be his last interaction with Talorn. Shrapnel from the explosions riddled his head and chest with piercing cuts and had severed the central artery in his neck—even though Arcos blood quickly clotted he could not stem the bleeding in time and would ultimately bleed out trying to crawl out of engineering, helpless and hopeless.

 

     “Talorn?!” Jonnor shouted hopelessly. “ZÏZ claim it all, this isn’t happening!”

 

     Looking out the bridge port Jonnor could make out the form of a large mountain directly in front of them growing larger by the instant.

 

     We’re doomed. Escape one fate only to face another. The Arcos truly are finished.

 

     Realizing his imminent demise, yet unrelenting in his duty, he unstrapped the harness holding him to the pilot’s chair, “I’m coming back to the launch bay to meet you and Arcus! Meet me there if you can!” He shouted to the others—whether they could hear him or not.

 

     He got up hastily from his chair just as ZANZABAR encountered yet another rough patch of disorienting turbulence, throwing him directly into one of the consoles positioned on either side of the bridge. Dazed for a moment, he got up and instinctively grabbed his head and his hand came away wet with warmth. He was bleeding.

Jonnor pulled himself to his feet and willed himself to go further but his vision and balance were failing him. He stooped to the floor just in front of the hatchway, bracing himself against one of the extra crew chairs on the bridge.

 

     “Arter,” he whispered as the mountain loomed ever closer each second.

 

     It won’t be long now.

​

     “Art… Arter, I’m sorry… I couldn’t…” He looked down toward the deck, saw blood drip to the floor and realized his vision was coming back, albeit blurred and unreliable.

 

     Jonnor brought his head up and looking down the main corridor, could see smoke and fire coming from a wall-mounted circuit. Amidst the smoke and fire his eyes made out the blurred vision of a figure small in stature. His head swirled as he tried to remember everything that’d happened up to that point, all the while ZANZABAR continued its uncontrolled plummet to the great mountain before it; the mountain had now doubled in size. Rapidly it became all that could be seen, if anyone had been looking. Jonnor sat transfixed on the tiny figure in the corridor, as the figure did the same.

 

     Where is Kaylar? Jonnor suddenly thought just before remembering everything up to that point: his planet, his life, his love. Their species, their leaders, their Supreme Arcon. The mission. Arcus.

 

     Seconds before impact, Jonnor’s hands instinctively reached for the recorder Arter had given him to pass on to Arcus in case of the worst. He drew it from the pocket he’d carried it in just as ZANZABAR broke through the lowest clouds wreathing the mountain.

 

     “Arc—”

 

     His word was cut short by the destructive and jarring collision of the damaged spaceship into the side of the massive mountain. His body crashed against the hull with sudden and fatal force. Everything Jonnor knew ended as ZANZABAR crashed into the mountainside, gouging its way down its surface until it crunched to an icy halt midway up the mountainside.

 

     In immediate response to the massive and calamitous impact, the mountain roared in pain and instantly loosed a fearsome avalanche from its precipice, burying the signs of ZANZABAR’s landing and entombing the ship and its lifeless crew in a grave of snow.