“My beloved… Please, take care. I’m sorry I couldn’t be enough for you.”

The words lingered in the air, fragile and heartbreaking, reverberating through the endless sea of fog that stretched out before Saiphee. The mist curled around him like a suffocating shroud, swallowing up the world he knew. The voice, soft and full of sorrow, cut through the silence, each syllable a painful reminder of everything he had failed to be.

As the wind began to pick up, the voice drifted further away, growing softer, as though the one speaking was slipping beyond his reach. With each gust, the words became fainter, their warmth evaporating like dew under the scorching sun.

“No..! Wait…!” Saiphee shouted, his voice cracking with the desperate urgency that surged within him. He took a step forward, his heart racing, but the wind howled in response, a violent force that swept him off balance, pulling him backward, away from the fading presence. He staggered, arms outstretched, trying to close the growing distance, but each step he took seemed to push him further into the void. The sand beneath his feet shifted, unstable, as if it too were trying to drag him away, its grains slipping through his fingers like the precious moments he had taken for granted.

“Come back..! Please!” His voice trembled, torn between pleading and despair. He wanted to run, to chase after the one he loved with every ounce of his being, but the wind kept tearing at him, relentless, like the weight of his regrets pulling him further into the storm. The figure, barely visible through the thickening fog, became even more distant, its outline blurring as if it were made of smoke or dreams. With each passing moment, it seemed to dissipate into the mist, fading, vanishing before his eyes. The harder he tried to move, the more the wind fought him, pushing him back, dragging him farther away from what he longed for.

“No, please… don’t leave me. I need you…” The words escaped in a broken sob, his chest tightening with every breath. It felt like his heart was being torn out, each beat a painful reminder of his failure to keep them by his side. The warmth, the comfort, the love he had once felt—gone, slipping through his fingers like water.

He was powerless. Helpless.

With every desperate plea, every step forward, the distance between them grew impossibly wide, as if the very world itself was conspiring to keep them apart. The voice that had once filled him with warmth now seemed so far, so unreachable, swallowed by the relentless howling of the wind. And then, with a final gust, the figure was gone. Vanished into the fog, leaving nothing but the echo of their final words. 

"Take care of yourself, my son... my dear Saiphee."

The words were heavy, laden with a deep, unwavering tenderness that seemed to echo through the very air. Each syllable felt like it carried the weight of years, of memories both shared and lost. There was a quiet sorrow in the way the name “Saiphee” left their lips, as if it held the sum of all their hopes, their fears, and their love. 

Saiphee awoke from his slumber in a disoriented haze, his body drenched in a cold sweat, heart still racing from the remnants of the dream. His breaths came in shallow gasps as he slowly raised his head, feeling the weight of exhaustion pressing down on him. He was slumped against his lab bench, papers and vials scattered around him in disarray. The faint hum of the lab’s lights and the distant sound of ticking clocks were the only things grounding him to reality.

“It’s that same dream again…” Saiphee muttered under his breath, rubbing his eyes with the heel of his hand. His voice cracked slightly, as if even speaking the words was an effort. The dream had become a relentless cycle, repeating itself night after night, pulling him into its foggy, disorienting grip. It was always the same: the thick, swirling fog, so dense it swallowed everything around him, and the sensation of being caught in a violent sandstorm, as if the very earth was ripping itself apart. He couldn’t escape it, no matter how much he tried. 

A sense of unease settled over him as he sat there, staring at the cluttered lab around him. The sterile white walls and the familiar, orderly chaos of his workbench did little to comfort him. He felt... disconnected. Distant. The weight of the dream hung on his chest, suffocating him with its intensity. The memories of that impossible storm, the ghostly voice calling to him from somewhere within the fog, echoed in his mind. It was becoming harder to ignore, harder to push it away. Saiphee looked around the lab, his eyes scanning the empty space. The familiar hum of machinery was muted, the air too still. He was alone. The usual buzz of activity that he had come to expect was absent. No one else had been here, not since last night. The solitude only added to the strange sense of isolation that had been creeping over him, both in his waking moments and in his dreams. He couldn’t shake the feeling that something was slipping away from him, something important, and he was powerless to stop it.

The dream felt like more than just a figment of his subconscious; it felt like a warning, a message he couldn’t quite grasp. Every time it ended, the lingering sense of dread stayed with him, gnawing at his insides. He sighed deeply, leaning back in his chair, trying to steady his mind. But the more he thought about it, the more it consumed him. He knew he wouldn’t be able to focus on his work today—not with that haunting, unshakable feeling still clinging to him. The dream had become his only reality, its pull stronger than anything else in his life.

And it wasn’t just a dream anymore. It was something more. Something that he was afraid to understand. 

“I suppose I should get moving too…” he sighed, a sense of disappointment settling over him. He couldn’t shake the feeling that he had wasted the time, that he had spent more time asleep than actually making progress on his work. As he tidied up and cleaned all his laboratory equipment, he was gone in a blink. As Saiphee hurried out of the building, he found the space station buzzing with activity. It was a busy week at Aquila Space Station, his home—and the home of countless others. He tried to make his way toward someone he recognized, but as he walked, it suddenly hit him why everyone seemed so preoccupied.

“Oh right, how could I forget? It’s almost the Founding Anniversary of Madam Ilya and the other founders of this station,” he muttered to himself, a sense of realization washing over him. “How did I forget that?” He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in mild frustration. But before he could dwell on it any longer, the person he had been looking for appeared in front of him.

“Well, well! Look who it is!” the person exclaimed cheerfully, slinging his arm over Saiphee’s shoulder. “It’s been forever since I saw you out and about! What’s the beloved scientist doing outside the space station today?”

“It has been a while, Zyren,” Saiphee replied, glancing up at Zyren’s assistants who were busy hanging bright lights on the high ceilings of the station.

“Zyren? When did you start calling me that? You always call me ‘Zy!!!’” Zyren complained, his tone playful as he clung to Saiphee’s side. “Don’t tell me you’ve stopped considering me your friend just because Madam Ilya adores you now!” he pouted dramatically, pulling Saiphee closer with a teasing grin. 

Saiphee shot Zyren an incredulous look, disbelief written all over his face. “Seriously, man? I haven’t stepped outside in forever. I’ve been cooped up in that lab for so long I didn’t even realize the Founding Anniversary was coming up,” he said, shaking his head in exasperation.

Zyren let out a loud laugh, clearly enjoying himself. “Hahaha! I was just messing with you!” he said, reaching up to pinch Saiphee’s cheek playfully. As they walked through the bustling space station, Zyren enthusiastically shared his designs for the upcoming anniversary celebration. He was constantly pulling Saiphee closer, throwing his arm over his shoulder or tugging him by the sleeve, but Saiphee didn’t mind. It was just how Zyren was—clingly, energetic, and warm with those he considered close friends. It wasn’t unusual for him to act this way, and Saiphee had long since grown accustomed to it. The two of them moved through the station, laughing and chatting about the anniversary plans, when they finally approached the finishing touches of the decorations. Just as Zyren began to talk about his final design for the event, they were suddenly interrupted by a sharp, pointed cough.

“Ahem,” came a voice from behind them, thick with mock impatience. “I suppose you two are done clinging onto each other in front of me, right?”

Both Saiphee and Zyren turned to see none other than the Madams' Secretary, Quartz Vireo, standing with his arms crossed. His long, wavy pink hair cascaded messily over his shoulder, and he looked utterly disheveled.

Saiphee couldn’t help but raise an eyebrow. “Looks like someone’s been working hard,” he thought to himself, taking in the sight of Quartz. His usually pristine appearance was now ruffled, his hair tangled in a way that suggested he'd been working non-stop. The way he carried himself—his slightly hunched posture and the exhaustion in his eyes—made it clear that he was far from his usual composed self. In short, Quartz looked like a complete mess.

Zyren immediately pulled away from his usual clingy behavior, straightening up and shaking off the playful affection he'd been showing Saiphee. He composed himself with a dramatic sigh before walking toward Quartz, his tall frame towering over the shorter pink-haired man.

“You got a problem with that?” Zyren asked, his voice dripping with teasing confidence. “If you’re feeling left out, you could always join us, you know,” he added, winking suggestively. Quartz didn’t even flinch. He stood tall, his face as unreadable as ever. Without a hint of humor, he locked eyes with Zyren for a brief moment before turning his gaze toward Saiphee. His expression hardened, his features showing a distinct air of professionalism—something that contrasted sharply with the carefree energy Zyren had just displayed.

“Madam Ilya wants to see you,” Quartz said, his voice sharp and purposeful. The words hung in the air, filled with a quiet authority that made Saiphee pause. A flicker of concern crossed his mind—could it be that Madam Ilya had somehow caught him dozing off in the lab earlier? Or maybe there was something else she needed? He didn’t know, but despite the uncertainty, he felt a deep sense of respect and familiarity toward Madam Ilya. She had been a mentor of sorts to him, guiding him ever since he arrived at the station. With a nod of acknowledgment, Saiphee accepted the summons, trusting that whatever the Madam needed, it was important. Quartz, as usual, gave no further explanation and left in an instant, vanishing without a word, as if he had never been there.

“Such a strange guy, don’t you think?” Zyren asked with a curious tilt of his head, his eyes following Quartz’s swift departure. 

Saiphee couldn’t help but let out a small chuckle at Zyren’s comment, though he knew the truth behind it. “He’s the Secretary for all Ten Madams. With that kind of responsibility, it’s no wonder he’s so… serious,” Saiphee replied thoughtfully. He understood the weight Quartz carried, even if his stoic nature made him come across as distant and somewhat abrasive.

Zyren smirked, clearly amused. “Yeah, he’s got that ‘too serious for his own good’ vibe going on,” he said, but his tone softened slightly, acknowledging the gravity of Quartz’s role. 

Saiphee gave his friend a quick goodbye, feeling the familiar pull of curiosity gnawing at him as he turned to follow the guards who had been waiting nearby. The soft clink of their shield echoed through the hall as they escorted him toward the homes of the Madams, their steps in sync, as if they had done this countless times before. As he walked, Saiphee found his thoughts drifting. What could Madam Ilya possibly need from him? He had no idea, but a part of him felt eager to find out. Whether it was a simple request or something more significant, he trusted Madam Ilya's judgment. She had always been there for him, and the thought of her seeking him out made his chest tighten with anticipation. As Saiphee approached the entrance, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of the air shift. Standing before him were several imposing figures—guardians who had been personally blessed by Madam Ilya herself. Their presence was as powerful as it was foreboding. With each step he took, the anticipation grew heavier, until at last, he crossed the threshold into the room.

“Madam Ilya,” Saiphee murmured, dropping to one knee in a show of utmost respect. His eyes stayed firmly on the floor, never daring to raise his gaze to meet the powerful woman he had come to serve. "I heard you called for me."

A smooth, deep voice echoed through the space, sending a chill down his spine. "Ah, Saiphee! There you are." The sound of heels clicking steadily against the floor grew louder, each step deliberate and measured. Madam Ilya was moving toward him. "Yes, indeed, I was looking for you," she continued, her voice carrying a subtle edge of command.

With a single motion, Madam Ilya reached out and gently cupped Saiphee’s chin, lifting his face to meet hers. Her touch, though seemingly soft, held an undeniable strength.

Madam Ilya was a figure of legend, the very first human to establish the Aquila Space Station. Her past was shrouded in mystery, and her power, whispers of it spreading like wildfire, was said to be derived from the heart of the Solar System itself, the Sun. No one knew the full extent of her abilities, but rumors swirled, each more fantastical than the last. What was certain, however, was her formidable presence. She was both intimidating and awe-inspiring, a woman whose very existence exuded an aura of power that no one dared to challenge.

Her passion for the study of alien anatomy was well known. In fact, it was said that her obsession with understanding the biology of extraterrestrial species was what had driven her to such extreme lengths—both in her work and in the creation of the space station itself. Her thirst for knowledge, and her ability to wield it with a terrifying precision, made her both respected and feared throughout the station. Those who crossed her path knew that Madam Ilya was not someone to be trifled with. She wasn’t just a leader—she was a force of nature, one whose every move was calculated, every word imbued with an almost otherworldly weight.