The rhythmic hum of solar drives faded behind Solas Nomura as his shuttle cut through Earth's atmosphere. He had just returned from a solo recon on the outer rim of the Ceres sector.
Another successful mission. Another hollow victory. He sat in silence in the cockpit, watching the curvature of Earth shimmer against the shielded glass. Cities floated in the sky now—vast orbital platforms tethered to Earth like lanterns.
The blue planet below was wounded but still beautiful. He was home. And yet, he felt more distant than ever. The landing platform on Cape Solaris buzzed with military personnel. Drones hovered, scanning arrivals. Uniformed soldiers greeted each other with nods and casual salutes.
Solas barely acknowledged them. His expression stayed calm, cold—unreadable. He descended the ramp, his black boots echoing softly. Waiting at the end was his father, Mandla Nomura.
Clad in a dark green officer's coat, Mandla exuded quiet strength. His salt-and-pepper hair curled tightly against his scalp, his eyes behind frameless glasses sharp and alert. "You're back early," Mandla said with a smirk, pulling Solas into a tight, one-armed hug. "Guess I trained you too well."
Solas gave the smallest of smiles. "Ceres was dead quiet. Just like the last two recon zones." "Well, let's get you home. The family's gathered. Your cousins have been trash-talking your last VR sparring scores again." That made Solas chuckle faintly.
The smallest spark in the fog. Home was a glass-paneled estate overlooking the African savanna, built with levitating solar pads and sustainable tech. A fusion of ancient Zulu design and hypermodern elegance. The Nomuras were both brilliant and grounded.
His mother, Ayame Nomura, was a genius agricultural scientist responsible for reviving dead biomes in post-war Asia. She met Mandla during a UN Solar Peace mission in 2130.
Together, they had raised three children: Solas, the eldest at 18; Liko, his bold and mischievous 14-year-old sister; and Teko, the playful 9-year-old brother who was obsessed with nanobot dinosaurs.
Then there were the cousins: Zian, Solas's confident, competitive cousin—same age, and practically his shadow growing up.
Then Amara, the 21-year-old cousin who studied planetary law and treated everyone like younger siblings.
And a swarm of other relatives from both the Nomura and Tanaka clans: Aunt Bongi, always dancing; Uncle Koji, always overcooked the meat; and Granny Sawa, who claimed she taught Mandela how to braid.
The family hall was alive with laughter, music, and teasing.
"Ahh! The prodigal soldier returns!" Zian announced, slinging an arm around Solas.
"C'mon, man. Tell me you at least bruised something on that mission. You're making us civvies look bad."
"Yeah!" Liko added.
"You're lucky I wasn't there. I would've finished it in half the time."
Teko ran up, holding a hovering triceratops the size of a basketball. "Big bro! I made this guy eat my homework!"
Ayame appeared from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a smart-cloth towel.
"Solas, eat. Then you're helping me with the irrigation schematics. Your father thinks he's a better coder than me."
Mandla passed behind her, grinning. "I am." They all laughed.
The kind of laugh that filled rooms and hearts. It felt warm. Human. It felt like something Solas didn't deserve—but needed.
Later that night, he sat alone on the rooftop. The sky was a canvas of satellites, constellations, and artificial moons. A holographic chessboard hovered beside him, pieces mid-game. He hadn't moved for twenty minutes.
Zian joined him, flopping onto a cushion. "You ever smile for real, cousin?"
Solas shrugged. "Smiling wastes energy."
Zian smirked. "Bro, you're allowed to be happy. Not everyone has to carry the galaxy on their back."
"I'm not."
"You are. You just don't see it."
Solas didn't answer.
Inside, something flickered. Emptiness wrapped in purpose. A heart that kept beating out of obligation, not passion.
He had thought about ending it once. Space made it easy. One disengaged suit latch. One step off a platform.
But then he'd think of Teko. Of his mother's laugh. Of Zian's annoying grin. Of his father. So he stayed alive. He stayed strong. He stayed silent.
The next day, alarms woke them. An emergency ping spread across all military channels. Red-level breach. Cosmic anomaly detected near Jupiter. Then Mars. Then Venus.
No response from several colonies. Then the solar barrier ruptured—a defense built after the Great Terraforming War—shattered like glass.
Solas was the first to suit up. His father beside him, both wearing armored exo-frames.
"What is it?" Solas asked, loading pulse cartridges.
"We don't know." Mandla's face was pale. "But it's not human."
"Should Mom and the others evacuate?"
"There's nowhere to go."
The sky darkened unnaturally. Not night. Something worse. Swirling waves of spatial collapse consumed the horizon. One by one, orbital cities went silent.
Earth's defense grid crumbled as the anomaly accelerated. Teko screamed. A flash tore across the skyline—Ayame, standing in the doorway—disintegrated before she could turn.
"No!!" Solas lunged forward, Mandla restraining him.
The entire homestead began to break apart.
Liko tried to shield Teko. Zian grabbed Solas's arm, screaming something.
Amara activated her gravity boots and pushed several children away just before a second wave swallowed them. Mandla shoved Solas toward the escape rig.
"You must survive."Solas grabbed his father's hand, eyes wild.
"No, I won't make the same mistake twice. Not again!"
"You will. You're the future."
"I'm not ready—"
"You never are. Go!"
A final push.
Solas stumbled into the pod.
Glass sealed shut.
He screamed, fists pounding.
Outside, his father turned. Faced the oncoming storm like a titan.
And was gone.
Silence.
When Solas woke up, he was on a broken cliff, surrounded by red skies and dust.
Alone. No tech. No signal. No Earth.
Only one thought echoed: Why me?
His journey had begun.