The Rooftop
This is not the beginning of what happened at Lorig.
It is what remained.
Mattriks Academy
Cadet Barracks
A steady series of tones pulse from Asaris’s wrist resting on his bed. The display on his tetrum increases brightness.
Alert
Kurukshetra response confirmed
Alpha Fighter inbound
Asaris opens his eyes.
He lies motionless as the tones continue. Slowly, he sits up, the sheets rustling.
The dark barracks no longer hum, illuminated only by the light filtering through transom windows.
The alert pulses against his wrist.
He brings his arm up, resting it on his thigh. The screen holds his gaze. The tones repeat. He drops his arm back to the bed.
Asaris stands, dirt and blood coating his hands, face, and uniform.
The terminal on the desk sits dark. The chair pushed in.
He takes a step and winces, a hand tightening against his solar plexus.
Then continues his shuffle out of the silent, tidy room, leaving everything behind.
Academy Halls
The Academy corridor opens wide before him—cavernous, silent.
Asaris drags himself through the lifeless hall.
Heavy footsteps reverberate as daylight spills in through high windows. His shadow stretches on the smooth floor.
The hall stretches on without interruption.
Communal tables line the concourse, orderly and unused.
Screens display the last echoes of the Academy’s life.
Condition 1
All cadets and personnel to active-duty status
The message repeats.
Doors along the corridor are closed.
The commissary sits dark. No movement inside.
A lift is jammed open by a duffel bag with more gear piled nearby—unclaimed.
Asaris stops.
He slides sideways through the open doors and pushes the bag out into the hallway.
The doors slide close.
Club Room
Doors slide open.
The dormant room opens onto a space of light and glass.
Asaris steps out, the red carpet muting his steps.
He moves wearily through the room, nudging aside a bottle with his boot and pushing past a chair with a jacket draped over it.
He keeps moving towards the panoramic windows. He looks out into the bright sky beyond the forest and treetops.
Obzen smokes in the distance.
The shards of the Kij’bel warship rise up from the cityscape like barbs.
Above it all, the Kurukshetra hangs in the sky—immense. Unmoving.
Asaris pushes open a glass door. Wind rushes into the room, scattering loose objects.
He steps out onto the balcony and stands for a moment overlooking the compound.
Beyond the Academy walls, a distant sparkle over the forest catches Asaris’s eye.
He squints, trying to focus on the object, shading his eyes with a dirty hand.
It continues to sparkle as it gains altitude.
He crosses the balcony into the shade of an awning and climbs a ladder.
The Rooftop
Asaris’s head rises above the rooftop ledge as he climbs.
He steps onto the massive square platform, boots grinding over a thin layer of ash.
He stands tall.
Heat radiates up from the surface of the roof.
Wind pulls at his hair. The sun overhead.
He squints, tracking movement against the sky.
The sound reaches him first. A distant whine grows, steady and unhurried. The Alpha Fighter approaches.
The fighter cuts across the sun, circling once before settling over the rooftop.
It holds position overhead.
Asaris stands motionless. Only his eyes follow the fighter as it descends, ash lifting beneath it.
A long ramp releases from the keel, lowering steadily until it impacts the roof with a deep, metallic rumble before settling.
Asaris’s eyes fix on the dark interior of the fighter.
He waits.
Admiral Delentis emerges from the darkness.
He descends the ramp, stopping short of the roof.
“Congratulations,” Delentis says.
A pause.
“Agent Asaris.”
Delentis pivots, extending his arm up the ramp.
The gesture hangs.
Asaris’s brow furrows. His head tilts. His lips part.
He doesn’t respond.
Asaris turns away from the ramp and looks back across the landscape.
Obzen burns.
Structures stand where they always did—scarred. Blackened.
The Academy grounds lie silent.
Facility 17 smokes on the mountain’s shoulder.
The clearing on the ridge.
Iaro.
Asaris’s gaze lingers.
His brow furrows deeper.
The moment stretches.
Slowly, he turns his head.
He turns toward the fighter, reluctantly.
Delentis’s gesture still hangs.
Asaris starts towards him, each step measured, ash scraping underfoot.
One heavy footstep falls on the ramp.
He stops.
Blood darkens the toe of his boot.
He looks down.
The moment holds.
He starts back up the ramp.
His steps drag. His arms hang loose by his sides.
Delentis doesn’t move. Only his eyes track Asaris as he passes.
A faint smirk settles on his face.
He lowers his arm and follows, unhurried, finishing the climb.
They disappear inside the fighter.
The ramp closes. Metal seals against metal.
The engines spooled.
Ash and debris lift from the rooftop.
The fighter climbs away from the Academy.
Above Obzen, the Kurukshetra waits.
The sun set. Darkness crept over the city, the forest, and the Academy. The sun rose again. The ship was gone.
Obzen still burns.
Mattriks lies broken and quiet.
The rooftop stands empty.
