Chapter One Title: The Alarm
Coain opened his eyes.
The cracked ceiling above him, stained with years of silent struggle, greeted him like an old enemy—familiar, unchanging, and heavy with judgment. Morning light struggled to pierce the grime on the windowpane, casting dim shadows across a room that reeked of forgotten dreams and spilled solder. His bones ached—not from age, but from a life of carrying burdens no one ever saw. Even gravity felt heavier in this room, as if the world conspired to hold him down.
Then, the silence broke.
His communicator buzzed sharp, military, and unmistakable.
"Coain Xal, report to Launch Deck 09. You've been drafted for the Taiquim Protocol."
His breath caught.
Taiquim. The name itself rippled with dread. An alien force whispered of in secret chambers and sealed files. A destroyer. A king of void and fire, ready to descend with a ship the size of a city and turn Earth into ash.
And they wanted him.
He sat up. The rusted springs beneath his bed groaned like the gears of a forgotten machine. Around him, clutter ruled blueprints, scrap metal, ramen packets, discarded tools, old dreams. But this morning, even the mess seemed to pause. This morning, the dust itself seemed to watch him.
Coain's fingers trembled as he reached for his glasses cracked on one lens, smudged with the fingerprints of someone never invited to greatness. He wiped them on the edge of his shirt, smearing the dirt into clearer shapes. When he slid them onto his face, the world sharpened not into clarity, but into reality.
He stood.
Each step over the cold concrete floor was like dragging chains from another life. A wrench clattered beneath his foot, a tool he'd fallen asleep working with the night before. Even in slumber, Coain tried to matter.
There was no time to bathe. No time to eat. No time to wonder why.
Just time to obey.
He threw on his jacket patched at the elbows, stained by grease and snatched his comm from the pile of worn schematics by the door. His boots were mismatched, the soles worn thin from pacing corridors where legends walked past him like he was air.
Outside, the wind greeted him like it always did—sharp and dismissive. The city's spires, rusted and towering, pierced the gray morning like forgotten swords plunged into the earth. This was the Underdistrict. The part of the world people in power pretended didn't exist.
As he walked, he passed broken screens blinking old headlines:
"Taiquim Rumors Denied by Council."
"Alien Threats Are Fear Tactics, Says Defense Spokesman."
"Earth's Skies Are Secure."
But he knew better now.
The call hadn't been a dream.
A sky ship was waiting.
And something ancient, something monstrous, was moving across the void to claim the Earth.
Five hours earlier…
At Orbital Launch Base 09, a shadow fell across the hangar as the Earthsky opened revealing the prototype of humanity's last hope:
Project Zephyr.
Faster than light.
Built from alloys harvested near the moons of Heliox.
Guided by the minds of Earth's elite engineers… and one rookie Coain.
Only no one knew his name.
Not really. He was just "Hey, you!"
The one who fetched wires.
Carried coffee.
Silently fixed what others broke.
But one man had noticed.
General Aldros Vahn.
"Get me the boy," Vahn had ordered before dawn, his scarred fingers tapping the holographic blueprint where Coain's subtle, radical design for an engine stabilizer had been implemented without credit.
Now, back in the present…
Coain reached the shuttle station.
The shuttle hissed as it docked.
Steel doors slid open with a mechanical sigh, revealing the massive structure of Orbital Station Axis—a place where the fate of Earth was being stitched together piece by piece, wire by wire, breath by breath.
Coain stepped out.
The station pulsed with urgency. Sirens flashed a muted amber hue across the high ceilings. Technicians rushed with datapads, sparks danced from welding torches, engines roared as if growling at the coming storm. Orders barked across comms. Screens blinked with encrypted briefings. Gravity hummed low, like the whole facility was holding its breath.
It was chaos.
Controlled chaos.
Coain didn't hesitate.
He scanned his ID badge at the checkpoint, the way he always had. The blue light blinked, accepted him. No salutes. No greetings. Just the indifferent beep of a machine that didn't care if he lived or died.
He walked through the main corridor toward Launch Deck 09, his boots echoing alongside thunderous machinery and hurried footsteps. All around him, people worked—soldiers, pilots, engineers, analysts. They had purpose, urgency. For once, so did he.
But no one noticed.
Just another shadow passing through.
At Launch Deck 09, a woman in a dark uniform shoved a datapad into his hands.
"You're with Squad Delta-Z. Mission briefing already in progress. Suit up. Move."
No time for questions. No time to ask why he was even on this list.
He rushed into the locker room, heart pounding.
The suit waited for him—sleek, dark silver, with the Zephyr emblem carved into the chest: wings wrapped in stars. It looked like it belonged to someone more important. Someone braver. Someone stronger.
Still, he stepped into it.
Piece by piece, he sealed it over his fragile body.
And for the first time… it felt like armor.
As he emerged onto the boarding platform, he paused.
The ship was colossal.
Zephyr-X—Earth's fastest, most advanced space vessel. It sat beneath him like a sleeping titan, surrounded by cranes, engineers, weapon carts, and glowing panels. Lights ran along its surface like veins. It looked alive. Born not just from technology—but desperation.
And it was beautiful.
Then came the voices.
"Hey, look who finally made it. The coffee courier."
"Errand boy's going to space with us? What's he gonna do, organize our socks?"
"Bet he forgets our extra ammo. Again."
His crew.
Squad Delta-Z.
A team of elite engineers, scientists, and pilots handpicked for the Taiquim Protocol. And every one of them saw Coain the same way they always had:
The joke.
The nobody.
"Here," one of them smirked, tossing a duffel at his chest. "Pack our gear. Don't forget the plasma rifles. We don't want to die because you forgot the guns this time."
Another added, "And bring snacks this time, huh? Last launch, you didn't even bring hot water."
Laughter. Sneering. Mock applause.
Coain didn't reply. He bent down and started packing—each weapon heavier than the last. The rifles. The bags. The scanners. The shield modules. Every piece weighed like a reminder of what they thought he was. What they believed he'd always be.
He hoisted it all. His arms ached. His legs burned. But he didn't complain.
Because while they mocked him, he knew something they didn't:
He had been called.
Not by accident. Not by pity. But for a reason.
Even if he didn't understand it yet.
He followed them into the Zephyr-X, head bowed, carrying everything like a silent soldier.
Inside, the engines began to whine. The ship's core spun up, humming with energy that rattled the walls. Lights flickered from red to green. Pilots strapped in. Systems checked green. The countdown began to echo across the station.
"All crew aboard Zephyr-X. Initiating pre-launch sequence. Countdown: T-minus 3 minutes."
Coain strapped himself into the final seat near the rear.
Still no one looked at him.