"We will not think defensively, Vatha. We will let them believe they are winning." Veyrath said to Zaneath, rotating the holographic map between his fingers.
"What do you mean, Veyrath?" Zaneath asked.
"Phantom Grid." Veyrath's eyes remained fixed on the map. "Synthetic energy signatures scattered across the entire orbit — false bases, phantom cities, fabricated power sources. The enemy will read them as real. They will strike them. And the moment they do — EMP burst. Their systems go completely dark for one single instant."
"And in that instant?" Zaneath asked.
"In that instant, we let them pass far enough in to feel comfortable. Then the Raxo Spine activates. An energy shield connected directly to the planet's core — invisible from the outside, triggered from within. Whatever crosses the atmosphere will not find its way back out."
Zaneath was quiet for a long moment. Then, softly — "This will work."
"It will work," Veyrath confirmed.
"We trust you completely, Veyrath. You are my son, yet you carry a wisdom that already surpasses mine. One day you will stand as Higher Commander of this planet and protect it better than I ever could."
The door opened before the words could settle.
A soldier stepped in quickly, breathless, arm raised in salute —
"Sir Zaneath, the system has detected several airships. They are attempting to breach Raxorath's perimeter."
A beat of silence filled the room.
Zaneath reached for his coat.
"I will go, Vatha." Veyrath said.
Zaneath paused.
Veyrath stepped in front of him. "I will go."
Zaneath studied his son's face — those eyes that carried his own reflection, that stubborn jaw inherited from his mother.
"Veyrath —"
"You are needed here. The planet needs you here. Let me go."
Zaneath said nothing. He placed one hand on Veyrath's shoulder — held it there for two seconds. Then withdrew it.
That was enough.
Veyrath boarded the airship. The engines roared to life. Raxorath's atmosphere fell away behind him — and ahead, suspended in the vast darkness, two unidentified airships waited. Silent. Still.
He opened a channel.
"Who are you? What do you want?"
Silence.
"Respond. Now."
Silence.
Veyrath's hands tightened around the controls.
"If you will not speak — I will answer for you."
Silence.
He was ready to fire. For Veyrath, nothing in existence outweighed his planet.
"Find out who is aboard first. Do not fire blindly." Zaneath's voice came through the ship's comm link.
"No, Vatha. If destroying it right now is what it takes to protect this planet — I will not step back." That single difference in thinking was everything that separated Veyrath from Zaneath.
Then — the second airship fired.
Veyrath, whose entire focus had been locked on the other vessel, wrenched his ship into a hard left roll to save himself — the laser burst grazed past his right wing by barely an inch, damaging a portion of the hull.
Alarm systems screamed to life.
"So that is how it is."
He slammed the lever forward and drove straight toward the enemy — counter-intuitive, deliberate.
The enemy unleashed its heavy cannons. A shell tore through the upper section of Veyrath's ship. The entire cabin shuddered violently. Warning lights erupted in red and a dangerous alarm began to wail.
Veyrath did not cry out. He silenced the alarm. The sound died, but the smoke did not.
He grabbed a cable fastened to the engine lever and yanked it hard with his foot. The ship pitched sharply downward. The enemy's second volley cut through empty air.
Veyrath spun the wheel with full force. The ship turned so violently his bones seemed to crack under the force. He was now positioned directly beneath the enemy vessel — deep in their blind spot.
"Now my turn," Veyrath muttered.
He locked the steering, pushed out of his seat, and ran toward the main gun mounted at the rear. He seized the handle, fitted it into the firing mount, and trained his aim directly on the enemy's main fuel tank.
"Either you go — or we both do," Veyrath said through clenched teeth, and pulled the trigger.
BOOM.
The recoil was so violent that the enemy ship lurched backward, thrown off balance.
Veyrath collapsed back into his seat. His ship was still trembling, the engine making sounds it was never meant to make.
The enemy airship's engine detonated. The vessel began to spiral — Raxorath's gravity pulling it down. Downward. Fast.
Veyrath watched it fall for one second.
"No."
He pushed his ship into a dive — full speed — and positioned himself beneath the spiraling enemy vessel. He activated the magnetic hold systems.
Clunk.
Lock.
The enemy ship stabilized. Veyrath's ship was now carrying it — both of them together, slowly, descending toward Raxorath.
"Astra Ovilious Raxo — I am bringing in one unidentified airship. Clear the landing pad. Have the scan team standing by. I need everything — metal composition, fuel source, navigation logs, life signs — everything."
"Yes, soldier."
Veyrath leaned back in his seat. His hands were trembling slightly — the adrenaline was beginning to drain away. He looked at them. Then placed them back on the controls.
The enemy ship was below. Raxorath was above.
He secured the vessel in the building and made his way home.
Several hours later, a voice reached Veyrath from just outside the house.
"Vatha."
Veyrath looked up.
Zaneath stood in the doorway — positioned in that particular way of his that announced whatever was coming was not ordinary.
"You accomplished something significant today. You showed real courage. But Veyrath — there are times when we must try to understand others first, make them understand us. What you did today was right. But if that ship had not belonged to our enemies — would you still have attacked it? I am not saying you were wrong. I am saying — learn to consider another person's perspective first. Try to make them understand your side."
"And if the other person simply refuses to understand?"
Zaneath took a moment. "Then you first try to understand why they refuse. More often than not, it is fear. A wound of some kind."
"And if that wound cannot be healed?"
"Then we bring them along anyway. Wound and all."
Veyrath said nothing.
After that conversation, Zaneath tried to remind Veyrath of something else entirely.
"Veyrath."
"Yes?"
"You remember — who is coming today?"
A beat.
Then —
Something entered Veyrath's eyes that rarely found its way there — that particular brightness — not excitement — anticipation. "Mother. And him."
"Yes."
"When?"
"Two hours."
Veyrath set his gun down — cleanly, deliberately. As though his body had already decided the gun was secondary now.
"I am ready to receive them."
Zaneath smiled — that particular smile parents carry when something is entirely expected and still feels completely perfect. "Two hours still. Eat something first."
"I am not hungry."
"You will be in two hours."
Veyrath considered this for a moment. "Perhaps. When they arrive."
Two hours and exactly three minutes later —
The door opened.
Veyrath was standing directly in front of it — clearly he had been waiting.
His mother stepped inside.
One second — just one second — Veyrath said nothing. Then he moved toward her — held her — tight — that particular tightness that does not come from force. It comes from love.
"Mother. It has been so long," he said — no complaint in his voice. Just the simple truth of it.
"Yes." She held him back. "Far too long."
Then from behind —
A voice. "Vathen."
Veyrath turned.
Krytharion stood there — two years younger — still at that age where laughter is fully meant and tears are fully meant — arms raised. A gesture that said everything clearly — *me too. I am here too. I want this too.*
Veyrath took one second.
Then he pulled Krytharion into a firm embrace.
Krytharion was satisfied. Immediately. As though this was precisely what was needed and now it had arrived.
"We are meeting for the first time," Veyrath said, and felt the warmth rise behind his eyes.
"Yes. But I will be with you now."
Zaneath watched them both — from a distance — and said nothing. There was no need.
Later that night —
Dinner was done. Krytharion had retired to his room — technically to sleep — practically because exhaustion had made the decision for him.
Zaneath, his wife, and Veyrath sat together.
"Tomorrow —" Zaneath began.
Veyrath looked at him.
"Tomorrow is a very significant day. For both of you."
"For both?" his wife asked.
"Yes." Zaneath paused. "But before that —" he stopped himself. "I want you to know — whatever happens — whatever has happened — whatever comes next — there is one thing that will not change."
Veyrath was listening.
"We are a family. Krytharion too. You too. This —" Zaneath gestured toward the house — "this is also real. And so is this."
His wife took his hand.
Veyrath said nothing. But inside — inside there was warmth. The kind he never brought to the surface. But it was there.
"Alright," he said. Quietly.
"Be ready tomorrow," Zaneath said — and now there was something else in his voice — that particular weight that settles in when something important is drawing near. "You and Krytharion both. A great day awaits you."
Veyrath nodded.
Inside —
A thought. Quiet. Certain.
" Tomorrow I become Commander. And then I will do whatever it takes — everything — for my people" .
The thought sat comfortably. Familiarly. As though it had lived there for a long time already.
Tomorrow, everything changes
Astra Ovilious Raxo building.
Different from the Zyphoros one — larger — belonging to Raxorath — it was filled today.
People were there. Every important person who needed to be present had come.
Veyrath walked in.
A friend raised a hand — "Veyrath — congratulations in advance."
Another said — "We all know. You are the worthy choice."
A third said nothing with words — just that particular nod — the kind that carries more than language ever could.
Veyrath smiled — that controlled smile of his — but inside, the brightness from the morning was still there. The one that belonged to *tomorrow everything changes.*
Krytharion was nearby — not entirely grasping what was about to happen — but understanding enough to know that today mattered — and he had decided that important occasions called for seriousness. So he was serious. Approximately.
Zaneath was at the stage — or moving toward it — and Veyrath noticed —
From a distance. Through the crowd.
The Leader.
He was there. Standing just ahead of Zaneath — with a particular expression. Technically a smile. But not the kind that originates from within.
Veyrath observed him for one second.
Then brought his attention back. Today was the day. Today everything was fine.
Zaneath began.
"Raxorath and Zyphoros —" he said — and those words arrived carrying a particular gravity — "— two planets. Separate. Yet they were never meant to be. Incomplete without each other."
The crowd listened.
"For a long time — we have been divided. We think differently. We decide differently. But what connects these two planets — what has always connected them — that exists. And the time has come for that connection to be formally recognised."
Veyrath tightened his hand — barely — anticipation alive in him. Saying internally — yes. Continue. Say the name.
"We need a Commander. Someone who can hold the balance between both planets. Someone who understands the weight of both. And today we have found that person. Today they stand among us. And I would like to call them to this stage now —"
Veyrath began to rise — as though his body already knew its moment had arrived.
"— Krytharion."
One second.
That particular stillness settled across the room — the kind that only arrives when something is entirely unexpected.
Veyrath stood — automatically — his body reacting before his mind could — then stopped.
On the stage —
Krytharion was there — visibly stunned — he had clearly not anticipated this — but what moved across his face was something that slowly, gradually, became joy.
Krytharion walked to the stage.
Zaneath looked at him — then across to Veyrath —
Veyrath was smiling.
That controlled smile. That practiced smile. The smile positioned perfectly — clearly composed — telling no one anything
Zaneath paused for one second.
Then turned back toward the crowd.
Veyrath was no longer there when the announcement concluded.
The Leader noticed.
He stepped out from the crowd — moved away — found Veyrath standing to one side — alone — hands in his pockets — looking outward.
"What happened?"
Veyrath turned. "Nothing."
"You did not approve of Zaneath's decision?"
"It is not that." Veyrath's voice was flat. "What Father decided — I accept it."
The Leader took a moment.
"Veyrath."
"Yes."
"There are times —" the Leader said quietly — with that particular quietness that comes just before something important is spoken — "— when we must stand for ourselves. And for that — sometimes — we must be willing to stand against even those we love."
Veyrath said nothing.
The Leader looked at him for one second — then walked back inside.
Veyrath remained where he was.
Hands in his pockets.
Looking outward.
He eventually returned and took his seat.
"And following the appointment of Higher Commander — we require an Executive Velkor. And our next Executive Velkor will be Veyrath."
Veyrath heard it. But even after hearing it, no joy arrived — because he understood. Every significant decision would pass through his hands — yet he would still require the approval of Krytharion, his younger brother, before any of it could move forward.
That night —
Zaneath came to the room where Veyrath and Krytharion were.
Veyrath looked at him.
"You know —" Zaneath began — "— that the decision was not an easy one."
"I know."
"And you also know —"
"Vatha." There was no edge in Veyrath's voice. Only — tiredness. The kind that does not come from force. "Everything is fine."
"It is not." Zaneath said directly. "And I want you to know — this was never about you. Never about your capability. For the sake of the relations between both planets — a specific choice had to be made — and that choice was Krytharion."
Veyrath nodded.
Zaneath studied him — the way parents study their children when they want to know if they are truly alright — and cannot quite reach far enough to be certain.
Then Krytharion entered.
He had been there. He had been listening. Processing it with slightly more depth than his age required — and yet still at that stage where heavy decisions belonged to the future — where what was ahead had not yet arrived.
He placed his hand on Veyrath's shoulder.
"My Executive Velkor —" he said — with that particular tone that came genuinely from happiness — "— welcome."
Veyrath looked at him.
And smiled.
That smile — the one he was performing — the one that did not quite originate from the inside.
But within —
Something existed. Something that had not yet taken shape. Something that was not yet anything at all. A feeling — quiet — unknown to everyone — not yet fully known even to Veyrath himself —
Still only a seed.
But Veyrath accepted this position as his own and began working alongside Krytharion — and neither of them knew that a day was coming when everything would change. And that day was now very close.