VALERIA, PRIMORIA – JULY 15, 1987
Kairo Voss sat in the back of the canvas-covered transport truck, rifle resting between his knees. The metal felt cool against his palms despite the muggy heat seeping through the flaps. The engine growled low as the convoy rattled along a cracked highway on the city's outskirts. Dust swirled in the headlights, turning the dusk into a hazy amber.
They were headed to link up with another division after a routine scout—checking perimeter reports of "unusual readings" near an abandoned industrial site. Nothing special. Just another wait for HQ orders that never came quick enough.
Mara Kane, who was sitting at the passenger seat, leaned toward the opened window, staring outside as if watching the city slide past. Outside, 1987 still pulsed with life: distant jazz horns spilling from open windows, neon signs flickering like dying stars, the mingled smells of diesel, grilled street meat, and river mud drifting in on the breeze.
Inside the truck, silence reigned except for the low radio hum and the slow breathing of six people who had seen too much. Tired lines etched every face.
Sergeant Lena, still gazing at the city lights, broke the silence. "Damn. Sure would be nice to have some real toast right about now."
Corporal Reyes, fiddling with the radio dial in search of anything but static, snorted. "Toast? I'd settle for coffee that doesn't taste like motor oil."
Private Harlan kept glancing at the crate of "containment gear" strapped between the benches—sealed boxes marked with 'The Reverent symbol'. "Still no word from Command?"
Reyes shook his head. "Nothing. Just interference. Like someone's jamming us on purpose."
Specialist Mara Kane, riding shotgun up front, turned halfway in her seat. "Must be the city. I heard the government erected those relay towers to track etheric waves whenever the ore stones start to vibrate."
Private Jax Torren, hands steady on the wheel, called back without taking his eyes off the road. "We'll hit the outskirts soon. Five minutes, tops."
Harlan lifted her head, voice edging into a whine. "Why are we even meeting up with Republic soldiers? We just came off a patrol. Can't we get a damn break?"
She made a sad face and stared across at Lena, who sat opposite her.
"Damn," Harlan muttered again. "I really would like some toast too."
Lena's reply came calm, almost gentle. "We're delivering the containment gear to them. Then we stay attached until HQ says otherwise."
The truck began to slow, gears grinding.
"Looks like we're here," Mara said quietly.
"Finally…" Harlan exhaled.
Kairo didn't look up. Not once. His fingers traced the melted edge of his father's dog tags through his shirt. They had been warm once—pressed into his small hand under a burning bridge when he was five. Now they were just cold metal, like everything else in this war.
The truck rolled to a full stop.
Mara hopped down first and walked toward two older trucks already parked at the rendezvous—faded canvas tents pitched between them, regular soldiers milling around campfires and supply stacks. A tall, light-skinned man in crisp fatigues approached and saluted. He stood a head above Mara's average height, scanning the newcomers behind her.
"So I'm guessing you're the 5th Terminal division?" he asked.
Sergeant Lena stepped forward. "5th Terminal Division. Doomstar Squad."
Two mounted machine guns sat unmanned in the beds of the parked trucks, barrels pointed toward the darkening treeline. Camping tents sagged under the weight of humidity.
"Where's the rest of the unit we're supposed to meet?" Lena asked.
The man—Captain Ken, according to his tag—gestured toward the largest tent. "Inside. Briefing's about to start."
As they approached, Reyes's radio crackled to life.
"Come in, Doomstar. Come in. HQ to Doomstar, do you copy?"
Reyes hurried over and thumbed the mic. "Corporal Reyes to HQ."
"Have you reached your destination?"
Reyes glanced at Lena. She gave a small wave: "You handle it.
"Doomstar has reached the outskirts and is currently linking with the 11th Revenant Division," Reyes reported.
"Good. Hand over the package and await further orders. Over and out."
Mara glanced back at Kairo, still leaning against the truck door, his face unreadable. Something sad flickered in her eyes.
Soon the entire squad filed into the main tent. The other soldiers barely looked up—busy cleaning weapons, checking maps, or staring into coffee mugs as if answers might rise from the dregs.
Lena led Jax and Kairo to a corner stacked with crates. "Set the containment gear here," she said. They lowered the heavy boxes among the others with dull thuds.
Mara scanned the tent. "I get it's trying times, but everyone seems a little too… busy. Did something happen?"
Captain Ken overheard and motioned them toward a smaller side tent. "Come with me."
Inside, two officers stood over a large map spread across a folding table, fingers jabbing at marked zones. Ken joined them; Lena and Jax followed close behind.
(Jax had only been with Doomstar seven months, but his cool head under fire had caught Lena's eye early. Rumors said she'd personally pulled strings to get him transferred in—and she rarely let him out of her sight.)
Mara lingered in the entrance, taking in the walls: dozens of maps pinned up like faded wallpaper—old city grids overlaid with red hazard zones, etheric ley lines, and blacked-out industrial sites.
Outside, she found Kairo sitting on a crate, scratching lines into the rocky ground with a small stone. She crouched beside him.
"What you doingggg?" she asked, drawing out the word like a tease.
Kairo looked up with the expression of a boy interrupted mid-game. "Wasn't writing anything…" He glanced toward the officers' tent. "I just don't like waiting long."
Mara opened her mouth. "Well, you cou—"
"Heyyyy!" Jax's voice cut through from across the camp.
They turned. He waved. "Lena wants us all inside."
The three officers stood at the head of the table, faces grim under the hanging lantern. At this time all members of the Doomstar squad were present and seated.
"We've got word from HQ on our mission," Captain Ken announced.
Reyes quickly reconnected the communicator so everyone could hear the relay.
The briefing was short and sharp:
"Unstable energy readings at Site 47. Possible contamination from the new ore deposits. Secure the perimeter, contain any anomalies, and wait for extraction."
They all knew what "anomalies" meant. Blue glows pulsing behind warehouse walls. Heat spikes that melted asphalt in winter. Whispers in empty rooms that spoke your name. The Dominion called it "experimental power research." The soldiers on the ground called it something far older—and far less polite.
Harlan broke the heavy silence. "You think it's real this time? Like… one of them?"
Lena snorted, but there was no humor in it. "If it is, we shoot it. Same as always."
Kairo said nothing. He had read the classified reports. Small rifts tearing open in basements. Shadows that moved against the light. Men who vanished for hours and returned… wrong. Wrong in ways that made your skin crawl even after they'd been cremated.
The continental war had dragged on for years—cold standoffs, hot skirmishes, then cold again—but lately the blasts felt different. Hotter. Hungrier. As if something on the other side had finally noticed them.
To be continued…