(Rayen’s POV)

  The ventilation shaft overhead rattled with every faint gust, carrying the scent of metal and dust through the winding tunnels of Volara. Beneath the colony’s polished corridors, hidden in its neglected veins, five figures waited in the cold gloom.

  Rayen crouched closest to Kaelen, studying the old man carefully. The others — Tarek, Lira, and Mako — kept silent watch along the dimly lit passage.

  "You didn’t bring us here just for more drills," Rayen said quietly.

  "No," Kaelen rasped. His voice, always gravelly, sounded thinner today — brittle, like a blade worn too thin to strike. "Today, you earn something more dangerous than muscle."

  The mentor pulled a battered device from inside his coat — a small, worn communicator, ancient in design but still functional. Alongside it, he produced a slim encrypted chip.

  Rayen raised an eyebrow. He understood instinctively: these were tools for escape, not survival.

  "You’ll need to use these soon," Kaelen said. "You’ll need allies."

  He coughed violently into a cloth, wiping at lips stained with blood. Still, when he looked up, his gaze was fierce.

  "There’s a man you must contact. Lin Fang," Kaelen said. "A name you don’t know, but must trust."

  Rayen leaned in, listening intently as Kaelen continued.

  "Lin Fang serves with the Godoran Intelligence Network now — one of their fleet reconnaissance captains. But his blood… it carries the spirit of rebellion."

  Kaelen’s eyes dimmed, memories surfacing. "His father once fought beside me. A brother-in-arms, during the uprising the stars forgot."

  Tarek shifted where he knelt, sensing the weight of the story about to unfold.

  Kaelen pressed on, voice low and rough:

  "After the Zoans crushed us, they did worse than kill. They spread a virus... something slow, corrosive. They made us examples. I was captured. His father too."

  "But fate… spared Lin Fang’s bloodline. A Godoran merchant, wounded in a pirate raid, was saved by Lin Fang’s father — a slave saving his master's life. The merchant repaid him with freedom."

  Rayen’s heart hammered against his ribs. Pieces of history — brutal, hidden pieces — began slotting together.

  "Lin Fang grew up free under Godoran skies," Kaelen said, his voice like ash and regret. "But the fire of Earth’s old rebellion never left his family."

  Kaelen placed the communicator into Rayen’s hands.

  "Use this, and reach him. You’ll find in him a hidden sword — quiet, but sharp."

  Rayen curled his fingers around the device, feeling its cold weight. It wasn’t just a machine. It was a lifeline.

  "You’re preparing us to leave," Rayen whispered.

  Kaelen smiled thinly. "I’m preparing you to begin."

  Far above them, unseen stars whispered through the void.

  And in the black lungs of Volara, a silent vow was made.

  POV: Earth (Location: Subterranean Astrological Enclave, Himalayas)

  The enclave lay buried beneath layers of stone and silence. Once a spiritual monastery, it had been transformed into a haven of astrological and ancient knowledge, hidden away from Zoan surveillance. Here, star maps weren’t just scientific relics — they were coded memories of hope.

  Flickering holoprojectors cast swirling constellations on the ceiling of the stone chamber, and the scent of aged incense lingered in the stale air. Around a circular obsidian table sat twelve astrologers — cloaked, weathered, and tired. Yet in their eyes burned the last embers of Earth's

  mysticism.

  At the head sat Elder Pramukh, his fingers tracing celestial alignments projected above his palm.

  “The signs have aligned again,” he murmured, his voice dry like paper. “After seventy-two cycles, the Scorching Comet has passed through the Ring of Titans — just as the old codes said it would.”

  A younger astrologer, Mira, leaned forward, skeptical. “You believe it’s time?”

  Another elder raised a data slate, tapping a flashing glyph.

  “Not just time,” she said, “It is the time.”

  Elder Pramukh nodded solemnly. “Then let the words be spoken.”

  A hush fell across the chamber as an ancient rhythm was recited in unison — their voices rising like echoes from a buried temple.

  The Prophecy of the Fallen Star

  From ash and silence, the sky shall weep,

  As chains grow roots and planets sleep.

  But in the dusk, a light shall spark,

  A fallen star to pierce the dark.

  He bears no crown, no home, no name,

  Yet from his pain shall rise a flame.

  With broken ones, his voice shall rise,

  And teach the bound to claim the skies.

  Steel and soul, in him entwine,

  A wrath unyielding, yet by design.

  The stars shall whisper, old foes shall cower,

  For none shall halt the rising power.

  He comes not for glory, nor banner unfurled,

  But to set the fire that frees the world.

  — Rise of the Fallen Star

  Silence followed the final line. Only the gentle hum of stellar mapping remained.

  Mira whispered, almost in disbelief, “We don’t even know if he’s real…”

  Elder Pramukh’s eyes narrowed, focused on a pulsating coordinate marked red in their star chart.

  “He is real,” he said. “And I believe he is already moving.”.

  POV: Rayen (Location: Volara Mining Colony, Sublevel 17 – Kaelen’s Private Alcove)

  The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  The dim lights flickered in the rusted alcove Kaelen called his den. A pile of makeshift circuit boards, scavenged modules, and hacked relays surrounded a narrow terminal etched with years of clandestine labor. The air was metallic, damp with the quiet hum of danger.

  Rayen sat across from Kaelen, shoulders still dusted with grime from the drills. But his eyes — sharp, clear — hadn’t looked this awake in weeks.

  Kaelen coughed again, deeper this time. Blood tinged the rag he wiped his mouth with, though he hid it quickly beneath a panel. Rayen noticed but said nothing.

  The old strategist tapped into the console, fingers still precise despite the tremors.

  “We don’t have much time,” Kaelen rasped. “The Zoans have begun rerouting traffic in the outer sectors. If we don’t move soon, we’ll never get off this rock.”

  Rayen leaned forward. “What are you planning?”

  Kaelen looked at him — not as a student now, but something closer to an equal. He reached beneath the console and placed a sealed case on the table. Inside was a compact interstellar communicator — old, powerful, outlawed.

  “This is a Phoenix-Class uplink,” Kaelen explained. “Encrypted. Scrambled across ten million bands. Can punch through most Zoan jammers for about two minutes.”

  Rayen ran his hand over it in awe. “Who’s on the other side?”

  Kaelen smiled faintly. “An old friend. Or rather… the son of one.”

  He began typing commands, feeding in a cipher Rayen had never seen — elegant and sharp, like the strokes of a long-dead language. Static whirred, then sharpened. A voice answered on the other end, filtered through layers of security.

  “This is Linfang. Designation GRN-79. Identify and confirm.”

  Kaelen straightened. “This is Strategist K. Codeword: Templefall.”

  A pause.

  Then a sharper, warmer voice replied:

  “I never thought I’d hear that name again.”

  Kaelen looked at Rayen, gesturing for him to speak. Rayen stepped forward.

  “I’m Rayen. Kaelen says you may be able to help us escape.”

  There was a pause on the other end. Then, Linfang spoke again — clear, confident, and tinged with a faint Chinese accent.

  “My father spoke of Kaelen often. Said he once lit a flame the Zoans couldn’t contain. That same fire still burns, I see.”

  Kaelen coughed again, and this time he didn’t bother hiding it.

  “Linfang… this boy… he’s more than I was. He’s our chance.”

  “You believe he’s the one from the old prophecy?” Linfang asked.

  Kaelen nodded. “He won’t accept that title, but he carries its weight already.”

  A short silence.

  Then Linfang’s voice returned.

  “I’ll need coordinates, signal relay, and time. If we do this, it has to be precise.”

  Kaelen glanced at Rayen.

  “He has the spark. You give him the map — he’ll find the way.”

  Linfang responded. “Understood. Sending encrypted channel now. I’ll allocate a ghost ship in the Iridium Belt, flagged as a mining vessel. No heat. If he and the others can make it to orbit — we’ll catch them in the veil.”

  Rayen’s mind raced — Iridium Belt? Escape?

  “What do I call you?” he asked Linfang.

  A pause. Then a soft chuckle.

  “You can call me what my enemies do — Ghost Fang.”

  The line dropped, leaving only silence.

  Kaelen slumped slightly, sweat beading on his brow.

  “You’ll lead them now, Rayen. You’re not ready — but neither was I, when it began.”

  Rayen clenched his fists.

  “Then I’ll get ready. I’ll lead them out.”

  Kaelen reached into his jacket and handed over a slim chip drive.

  “There’s 279 teras in stored crypto. Emergency fund. Use it wisely.”

  Rayen held it tight, eyes firm.

  He didn’t know what would come next.

  But he knew the stars had just shifted in his favor.

  Rayen moved with purpose through the narrow corridors of Sublevel 17, the communicator chip and credit drive secure in his sleeve. The mechanical clatter of machines masked his footsteps, but his thoughts roared louder than any turbine.

  He slipped through the mess hall unnoticed — a place where fatigue outnumbered suspicion. Past the rusted lockers and damp concrete, he reached the shadowed alcove where Mako waited.

  “Is it happening?” Mako asked quietly.

  Rayen nodded, eyes sharp. “It’s time. We have a contact — a smuggler ship will pass near Volara’s orbit in four cycles. The window will be small.”

  Mako inhaled sharply, jaw tight. “Does Kaelen know?”

  “He initiated it,” Rayen said. “He gave us a fund. A communicator. He’s… not going to make it much longer.”

  Mako looked down. “Then we do it for him.”

  They moved fast. Wordless. Each knew their part.

  Rayen and Mako crossed the corridors, dodging guards, avoiding surveillance, speaking only in gestures. Their next stop was Lira.

  They found her near the molten core shafts, gripping a damaged oxygen modulator with oily hands. She raised an eyebrow when she saw them.

  “If you’re here with that look,” she said, “I assume something’s burning.”

  Rayen gave a thin smile. “It’s time. We’ll brief Tarek next.”

  Lira wiped her hands and stood, nodding once. “Good. I’m tired of breathing metal.”

  They found Tarek in the training ducts, quietly sparring with a punching dummy fashioned from scrap.

  Rayen didn’t speak. He just looked him in the eyes.

  Tarek gave a slow, knowing nod. His knuckles bled — a wound he didn’t even notice.

  In the tool room, they gathered around the stolen schematic Mako had once decrypted from a guard’s pad. The ventilation layout. Docking lifts. Fuel routes.

  “There’s a service tunnel beneath Refinery Bay 4,” Mako explained. “Mostly unused. It leads to a decommissioned shaft, which, by Kaelen’s logs, connects to an old orbital maintenance lift.”

  “We get on that lift,” Lira said, “and hope it still works.”

  “It’ll work,” Rayen said. “Because we’ll make it work.”

  A moment of silence passed between them. The unspoken truth weighed heavy — if they were caught, execution was guaranteed. And worse, Kaelen’s entire operation would collapse.

  Tarek finally spoke. “When?”

  Rayen looked at the chronometer Kaelen had modified.

  “Four days. The window will last less than thirty seconds.”

  Lira whistled. “You’re cutting it fine.”

  Rayen turned toward the rusted ceiling, as if he could already see the stars beyond.

  “We’ve lived in chains for years. We can endure four more days.”

  Then they placed their hands in the center — not in ceremony, but in unity.

  A pact.

  A beginning.

  Rayen’s voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of something greater:

  “For Kaelen. For Earth. For freedom.”

  The clank of the last patrol faded into silence. The shadows in the lower engineering bay grew long and still, broken only by the faint hum of dormant machinery and the breath of two men.

  Rayen stood leaning against a rust-stained panel, arms crossed, waiting. Kaelen sat opposite him on an overturned crate, his body sagging with a weariness far deeper than age. He held something in his hands — the small communicator, polished smooth by years of use, and an old identification tag, its edges worn. A quiet passed between them.

  Kaelen finally spoke.

  “Do you know what hope costs, Rayen?”

  Rayen shook his head slowly.

  “Everything,” Kaelen said, his voice barely more than gravel. “It costs everything you are… and often, everyone you love.”

  There was no bitterness in his tone. Only truth.

  “You’ve asked me before… why I’m still here. Why I bother teaching you, training you. Why I hack into Zoan systems and speak in riddles while coughing blood.”

  He chuckled, dry and hollow. Then looked up — eyes sharp, not with anger, but with memory.

  “Because I failed once. And I swore I never would again.”

  Rayen didn’t interrupt.

  “I was there when the first spark of rebellion ignited. We were a handful — dreamers, soldiers, outlaws. Some were brilliant. Some were broken. But we believed. We thought we could outmaneuver the Zoans. Strike fast, fade away. We called ourselves the Ember Pact. We fought for three years before it all burned.”

  A long pause.

  “I was captured during the last stand. Most of us were. A few… escaped. One of them was a man who’d stood beside me for a hundred battles. His name was Zheng Li-Fang.”

  Rayen’s eyes narrowed slightly. The name sounded… familiar.

  “His son is the one you've spoken to. Lin Fang. I told you I had contacts. I never said how deep the roots went.”

  Kaelen's cough returned — harsh, rattling. Rayen moved as if to help, but Kaelen waved him off.

  “It’s a virus,” he admitted. “One engineered by the Zoans during interrogation cycles. They called it a fail-safe — to break leaders slowly, make examples of them. They used it on all Ember Pact commanders they captured. Some died within weeks. I… lasted longer.”

  Rayen’s fists clenched.

  “Why didn’t you tell anyone?” he asked.

  Kaelen smiled — weary, but proud.

  “Because I had to use what time I had left to find someone who could do what I couldn’t.”

  He placed the communicator and a data chip into Rayen’s palm.

  “There are 279 Teras encoded in this chip. It’s not much in the galaxy, but it’s enough to start movement. Bribes. Equipment. Smuggling routes.”

  “And this,” he gestured to the communicator, “is your voice now. It links only to Lin Fang through encrypted Godoran lines. I’ve already briefed him. He believes in you.”

  Rayen stared at the objects in his hands — heavier than any chain.

  “Why me?” he whispered. “Why place all of this on someone you barely knew months ago?”

  Kaelen’s eyes softened. In them, for a flicker of a moment, was something close to paternal warmth.

  “Because when I look at you… I see the fire that once lit the hearts of all of us. But brighter. Controlled.”

  “I see the Rise of the Fallen Star — the prophecy whispered by exiles and slaves, those who still believe that the sky itself will bleed before freedom returns.”

  “And more than anything,” Kaelen said, voice low, “I see someone who listens. Who learns. Who questions. You’re not blinded by rage, Rayen. That’s why you’ll win.”

  Silence again.

  Rayen knelt before him and whispered, “I won’t let you down.”

  Kaelen reached forward, placing a shaking hand on his shoulder.

  “Then listen, carefully.”

  He pulled Rayen closer, his voice fading to a whisper, barely audible over the soft thrum of the colony above — sharing the final details of the escape plan, the contacts to reach, the timing, the paths to avoid, the last fragments of resistance encrypted in data paths and forgotten corners of the system.

  Outside, the stars moved silently above Volara — unaware of the storm that was beginning to rise.

  And below, in the half-dark, the last general of a fallen rebellion passed his fire to the one who would carry it forward.