The tunnel stretched forward in silence, the stone beneath their boots oddly smooth compared to the jagged terrain behind them. The air had changed—dry, metallic, and humming faintly with some buried tension. It wasn’t just air anymore. It felt… watched.

Then came the shimmer.

They didn’t see it so much as feel it—a ripple in the air, like static rolling across their skin. No sound. No flash. Just the thinnest veil, brushing past like a curtain drawn across a memory.

“What the hell was that?” Jarek hissed, scanning the tunnel with a raised blaster.

Pepe floated past him, his sensors spinning wildly. “No energy spike. No radiation. That ripple didn’t come from tech—it came from space.”

“Spatial distortion?” Brinn asked.

“Subtle,” Sai muttered. “But deliberate.”

“Great,” Ramm said. “We just walked through an invisible mood swing.”

Whatever it was, it passed. They kept moving, the tunnel widening into a subtle slope. The walls became more refined. Metal replaced stone—interlocking panels and lightless conduits carved like veins through architecture older than anything they'd seen so far.

Minutes passed in silence.

And then the tunnel ended.

The cavern that unfolded before them wasn’t just massive—it was civilization-scale. It stretched into an enormous chamber, vault-like and humming with mechanical life. Soft red lighting blinked on across the ceiling, like the eyes of a sleeping giant finally cracking open.

Rows upon rows of spacecraft lined the polished black floor—sleek, predatory designs that gleamed under the artificial light. They ranged in size from single-pilot interceptors to multi-crew assault carriers. Sharp angles, cloaking panels, gunports that glinted with weaponized promise.

And between them—troops.

Hundreds of Weavers moved with uncanny precision, filing into formation, unloading crates of munitions, calibrating armor. Some were clearly human. Others weren’t. Augmented silhouettes. Mechanized limbs. AI-controlled drones fluttering overhead like metallic crows.

“This… isn’t a graveyard,” Brinn said softly. “This is a war machine.”

“It’s a city,” Ramm whispered, eyes wide. “A floating damn city.”

Pepe hovered down toward one of the catwalks overlooking the hangar. “I don’t think we were supposed to see this.”

The team crouched near a column of stacked storage crates as patrols moved past. The Weavers wore high-collared black uniforms with shimmering triangular sigils. There was no chaos. No yelling. Just silent, efficient preparation.

Sai’s voice was low. “They’re not preparing for war.”

Jarek glanced at him. “No?”

“They’re ready for one. This is staging. Maintenance. They’re done building.”

Brinn’s jaw clenched. “Then the countdown already started.”

As they watched, a platform in the center of the hangar descended with a low rumble. It carried four small ships onto a second tier—launch-ready. Beneath it, a vertical shaft descended into pure blackness.

“Is that... a lift for the ships?” Ramm asked.

Pepe zoomed over to scan it, keeping to shadows. “Yup. Massive vertical chute, probably leads to a surface breach gate or orbital catapult. Designed for rapid deployment.”

Jarek studied the movement of the patrols. “We need to get out. Now. If we’re seen—”

“We’re not leaving yet,” Sai interrupted, his tone uncharacteristically sharp.

Jarek looked at him. “We’re not?”

“We’re documenting it,” Sai said. “If this launches, we don’t just lose Ashalara—we lose everything.”

Pepe projected a small holo-feed. “Recording. Mapping. And updating the number of ways we’re all going to die.”

They moved slowly through the shadows—keeping to high catwalks, ducking through cargo lines, listening to fragments of overheard conversations. Most were code-locked, encrypted. But one thing was clear:

This fleet wasn’t meant for this planet.

It was meant to leave.

Jarek whispered, “What the hell is out there that they need this much firepower for?”

“Or who,” Sai said.

Ramm knelt near a fallen badge someone had dropped. It read: “Project Echo: Theta-7.”

“Is that what this is called?” Ramm muttered. “What does that even mean?”

Pepe floated next to him. “No idea. But if this is Theta-7, there are likely six others.”

A chill ran through all of them.

Then suddenly—

A faint chime echoed through the chamber. Patrols paused. Lights dimmed.

From far across the hangar, another elevator rose.

A new figure stepped off.

Tall. Cloaked. Armored in black with silver trim. Face obscured by a helmet carved into the visage of a calm expression—mouth closed, eyes narrow.

Pepe’s scans went wild. “That’s not a commander.”

“Who then?” Jarek asked.

“Someone higher.”

The figure walked through the troops. Not a word was spoken. But the Weavers around him shifted, subtly, almost instinctively—like prey trying not to anger the predator in their midst.

Sai whispered, “We need to go. Now.”

Brinn nodded. “Before someone senses we’re here.”

They retreated quickly but carefully, back into the tunnel from which they came.

As they passed through the shimmer again, Sai paused.

Behind them, deep in the hangar, the cloaked figure turned ever so slightly—toward the tunnel.

He raised one hand to the side of his helmet.

“Begin phase two. The vault is compromised.”

Then silence.

On the other side of the ripple, Jarek spoke low, his eyes dark.

“We can’t just report this. We stop it. Or no one else will.”

Pepe’s voice, barely a whisper now, drifted behind them.

“Then we’d better hurry.”