A Celestial Vow
The crackling firelight painted long, flickering shadows on the stone walls of the ancient Observatory of Tyraxa-9, perched atop a jagged crimson mountain. Beneath a velvety sky filled with twin moons and a galaxy that spiraled in colors unseen on Earth, Ilvar Kane brushed dust off his weathered uniform that bore no insignia. The man was tall, his broad shoulders encased in fractured armor that seemed ancient yet futuristic. Chestnut hair, streaked with silver like battle scars, draped to his chin, and his eyes—one a pale blue, the other a burning ember—seemed to pierce through time. He adjusted the display embedded in his vambrace, its holographic glow casting a ghostly light across his face.
Ilvar's attire was both utilitarian and ceremonial, a melding of function and purpose from an era where humanity had not only conquered Earth but extended its daring reach to the farthest stars. His interwoven tunic, threadbare at the edges, showed hints of once-lustrous gold embroidery—symbols of a now-fractured galactic league. He wore an obsidian cloak clasped by a crescent sigil, tattered at the ends, whispering tales of countless battles fought beneath an endless sky.
He wasn’t alone in the Observatory. The cavernous hall, lined with star charts and glowing astrolabes, echoed softly with the raspy breaths of his companion, Serka Darn, a stocky engineer with oil-streaked hands and an irreverent sense of humor. Yet tonight, Serka was solemn, checking the gears of a weapon that hummed with a disconcerting energy. His face, round and perpetually flushed, was scarred with burns—a testament to battles with machines that thought themselves gods.
The Mission They Never Asked For
“You sure about this, Ilvar?” Serka muttered, only half-looking in his direction. “I mean, taking on the Aldrion Ascendancy is one thing…but this? This could make the stars themselves go dark.”
Ilvar’s lips tugged into a grim smile. “If dawn comes only after the longest night, then so be it. This cosmos has suffered under their tyranny long enough.”
Serka grunted but said nothing more. He adjusted his exogalvanic rifle, its barrel pulsing faintly as if alive, and turned toward the vast glass dome above them. “This videlog—are you sure it’s real?”
Ilvar nodded, his fingers brushing the small sphere mounted in the center of the room. It projected a holographic image of an artificer drone orbiting the ravaged planet of Proxima IV. The recording, crackling but clear, replayed over and over. Celestial armadas floated in formation, starcraft brimming with luminescent energy. In their wake, an ominous obelisk spun in orbit—a weapon so vast it could snuff out fleets with a single strike.
“Cosmos 2553,” Ilvar said gravely. “And that obelisk? That’s what they call Horizon's Maw. It feeds on planetary energy cycles, rendering worlds into husks.” He clenched his fist, emotions surging behind his stoic demeanor. “Serka, we’ve seen what the Ascendancy does. If we don’t act now—”
“I know.” Serka lowered his gaze. “But there’s something worse about all this. You haven’t told me.”
The Weight of the Past
Ilvar hesitated. His mind wandered back to a memory, burned into his soul. Twelve years earlier, he had stood on another scarred planet, rubble and ash coating the air like snow. As buildings toppled and skies burned, a single Ascendancy emissary had delivered an ultimatum to Ilvar’s fleet. Surrender or perish. He remembered how the screams of his men had drowned out the silence of space when the Ascendancy made good on their promise. He knew who had pressed the button on that day of reckoning—knew it all too well, because the man was his brother.
“It’s personal, yes,” Ilvar admitted, voice thick with barely restrained pain. “But that’s not the reason we’re doing this.” He swiped at his vambrace until a new projection illuminated the halls: billions of innocent lives enslaved across planetary systems, their psionic energy syphoned to power the Ascendancy’s fleet. “If Cosmos 2553 deploys Horizon's Maw tomorrow as scheduled, this galaxy will become a graveyard. I’ve already failed once. Serka, I can’t fail again.”
Serka exhaled through his nose and clapped Ilvar on the back, a gesture almost paternal in nature. “Well, Commander, if this is our last night alive, guess I’ll finally admit you don’t always annoy me.” He grinned, and Ilvar shook his head with the faintest hint of a chuckle.
The Final Confrontation
By the time they reached the cosmos’ terminus, the battle had already begun. Their ship glided silently among debris fields that sparkled like jagged diamonds against the void. The Ascendancy’s fleet glimmered ahead, a fortress of terrible beauty—curved ships resembling predatory sea creatures, each brimming with alien might. Ilvar stood at the viewport, dressed now in a black tactical suit armored with radiant alloy—designed to protect but also to inspire.
Serka grumbled beside him. “Right. So the plan is to infiltrate that...unholy death-squid armada, shut down Horizon’s Maw, and avoid dying horribly. No big deal.”
Ilvar smirked. “Exactly.”
Their small, stealth-enhanced craft slipped past the outer defenses like a shadow. Ilvar led the way into the heart of Cosmos 2553—through winding, pulsating corridors that seemed almost alive. The deeper they pushed, the clearer the stakes became. The device at the core of the station was no mere engine of destruction; it thrummed with power stolen from dying stars themselves.
Within the central chamber, flanked by Ascendancy guards, stood Ilvar’s brother, Magnus Kane. Magnus was a mirror image of Ilvar but colder, sharper, a storm where Ilvar was tempered steel. His cape shimmered with voidlight, and a circlet of thin black metal adorned his head—marking him as a High Executor of the Ascendancy.
“Brother,” Magnus said, his voice like frost. “You should not have come. This galaxy will bow to destiny, whether you fight or not.”
Ilvar stepped forward, his voice steady despite the tempest raging inside him. “I don’t fight for destiny. I fight for the people you’ve forgotten. I fight for freedom.”
The Final Hour
The ensuing battle was chaos incarnate. Blades of light clashed and hummed, projectiles ricocheted off walls, and the room shook as if the station itself were alive. Serka managed to dismantle Horizon’s Maw’s energy core, triggering a devastating chain reaction, even as Ilvar faced Magnus in a duel that was as much physical as it was a battle of wills.
In the end, it was not power but conviction that won the day. Ilvar disarmed Magnus and, gripping his brother tightly, whispered, “It’s never too late to choose the light.” Magnus froze, and for a fleeting moment, there was clarity in his eyes. But the station began to collapse, and Magnus shoved Ilvar away, choosing to stay behind—to perish with the empire he had built.
A Universe Reborn
From the safety of their escaping ship, Ilvar and Serka watched as Cosmos 2553 ignited in radiant flames, scattering fragments across the heavens. The Ascendancy fleet scattered, its power left orphaned without its keystone. For the first time in decades, the galaxy heaved with a collective sigh of relief.
Ilvar stood at the ship's helm, staring out into the endless void. His armor was battered, his flesh bruised, but a flicker of hope danced in his dual-colored eyes. There were still battles to fight, but tonight, at least, the cosmos felt a little freer.
“So,” Serka said, sliding into the seat beside him, “what do you think? Drinks and a toast when we’re back on Tyraxa-9?”
Ilvar smiled faintly. “Sure. But first, let’s chart our course for tomorrow.”
And with that, the ship sped off into the stars, the ink-black curtain of space stretching wide before them—an unwritten story waiting to begin.
Genre: Science Fiction/Space Epic
The Source...check out the great article that inspired this amazing short story: "Putin's Mysterious Space Weapon: Kremlin's Cosmos 2553 Satellite with 'Dummy Warhead' Could Devastate Rival Spacecraft and Earth"
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