SURVIVOR of The SAND

Location: Meridi Axis – Ascendancy Council Chamber

The Council chamber descended into disarray.

Voices overlapped, translators struggled to keep pace, and warning glyphs pulsed across the gilded walls. The destruction of the Grounx escort fleet and the total loss of communication with the cadet expedition had thrown the Ascendancy's highest legislative body into procedural collapse.

"The relay beacons were synchronized!"

"All three Academy vessels are silent—how is that possible?"

"That system was declared low-threat!"

"The entire fleet?"

"They didn't even see it coming!"

Delegates from across the Reach hurled questions, accusations, and desperate conjectures across the tiers. Factions that rarely spoke directly now snapped at each other without restraint. Emergency protocols flickered across private displays—too many alerts to silence, too little clarity to act.

The Grounx bloc—known for stoic silence and iron discipline—fractured before the chamber's eyes. Some of their officers whispered urgently with clenched jaws, while others remained motionless, as if refusing to admit the scale of what had occurred.

The loss of Admiral Threx—officially unconfirmed, but widely understood—left a visible vacuum in the power structure. He had led one of the most experienced war formations in recent cycles. Now, there was nothing left of his command but a scrambled data core and secondhand distress calls.

Reports were still being compiled. No full statement had been issued.

Only one certainty remained: silence—from the fleet, from the excavation team, from the planet itself.

Then the atmosphere shifted.

A subtle change. Ambient volume dipped. Glyph-lights along the speaker tier recalibrated. Translation fields re-synced. The Council chamber adapted as it always did—for one.

Chancellor Yvith Korr entered the hall.

No announcement. No gesture.

She crossed the floor alone, flanked by two aides who remained several paces behind. She wore no ceremonial robe, no planetary crest—only the neutral black of command garb, fastened tightly against her frame. Her wings were folded close, her posture tall but fluid.

Her expression did not shift, even as every voice in the chamber fell away.

She stepped onto the central platform, activating the council-grade projection field with a single motion. Her voice was calm—measured, clipped, without affect.

"As of this cycle," she began, "we have lost primary contact with the Academy's excavation fleet."

The silence deepened.

"Communication has been severed across orbital and surface channels. Backup protocols failed. Emergency signals were not received."

She let that land before continuing.

"The Grounx escort fleet, assigned to protect the operation, was engaged by an unknown vessel. Based on confirmed telemetry, eighty percent of their formation was destroyed."

A ripple passed through the delegates. Some sank back into their seats. Others whispered across table lines, eyes narrowing in disbelief.

Yvith raised her hand.

A display unfolded mid-air, forming a clean arc across the central space. Telemetry fragments, corrupted emergency bursts, a scroll of names redacted by damage protocols. Partial battlefield overlays. Scrambled heat signatures. There was no sound. No clear visual confirmation of an enemy.

Then the static gave way to a grainy outline—low-resolution, distorted by interference, half-concealed by magnetic wash. A shape.

Triangular. Massive. Fixed in low orbit above the excavation site.

Not moving.

Not firing.

Just… present.

"This vessel is not recognized by any Council archive," Yvith said. "It bears no known military designation. It transmits no identifier. There are no transponder signals. No propulsion markers. No heat emission trail. It did not communicate."

She turned toward the Grounx delegation.

"There is no evidence of multiple hostiles. All available data points to a single object. One engagement. No opposing fleet was detected."

The Grounx did not speak. Several of their representatives sat perfectly still—clenched, yet unmoving, as if their very presence had been called into question.

Yvith's voice did not change.

"We have no information on its origin, no data on its creators, no alignment markers, and no evidence of intent."

She paused.

Then, clearly:

"I submit a formal motion. The Ascendancy Council shall enter a state of strategic war readiness. Classification: threat unknown."

It was not a dramatic statement. It was a procedural one. But the weight behind it reverberated more than any alarm.

The chamber didn't erupt—it froze.

Because every delegate in the room understood what that status implied.

Wartime authority. Suspension of intersystem diplomacy. Redistribution of military assets. Reserve fleet activation. Strategic intelligence oversight. Martial law—if required.

Then, deliberately, a voice rose.

"Chancellor, if I may."

Counselor Routhi stood from the upper delegation tier, his silver-trimmed crest reflecting the steady light. He was not military. He was not even political by traditional means. He represented the Vrile Syndicate, the largest financial conglomerate in the Reach.

He spoke not for territory, but for infrastructure.

"With the highest respect to your office and to the Grounx command," he said smoothly, "I must raise immediate concern regarding the scope and impact of the proposal."

His voice carried easily—elegant and practiced.

"A strategic war declaration, even in a limited form, will destabilize markets across seven major sectors. Border security contracts will default. Intersystem trade will halt. Planetary credits tied to Academy deployment will lose liquidity overnight."

He stepped forward slightly.

"There is a viable alternative. A more controlled one."

The chamber did not interrupt. They listened.

"The Council can authorize the use of third-party forces—contracted groups with no formal ties to Council defense. Private fleets. Trade protection guilds. Even pirate enclaves, should terms be favorable. Let them test this threat. Probe it. Observe from a distance."

He gestured calmly.

"If this vessel—whatever it is—is capable of communication, we can later assert that rogue actors engaged without Council authorization. That gives us flexibility. It gives us room to negotiate."

Murmurs broke out again. Quiet. Uneasy.

Routhi continued, sensing traction.

"I understand the gravity of what occurred. But I also understand this: not all weapons are meant to be challenged. Some are meant to be studied. And if this object is truly as powerful as you suggest, Chancellor—then the worst possible mistake we could make… is to treat it like an enemy before we understand what it wants."

He bowed slightly.

"Let others take the first step. We learn. We prepare. And if the object proves hostile, the damage falls to those who accepted the risk—freely, and at cost."

He returned to his seat.

All eyes returned to Yvith.

She did not acknowledge the applause from several economic-tier delegates.

She simply stepped forward.

"Your concerns are noted, Counselor."

Her voice remained level.

"But what struck the Grounx fleet did so without declaration. Without recognition. Without hesitation. Eight of ten ships were lost before they could reposition. One of our most experienced admirals is unaccounted for."

She rotated the projection—showing the orbital loss charts. Dozens of red-marked positions. Empty space. No debris.

"These are not the tactics of opportunists. They are not the methods of rebels or smugglers."

She turned slowly.

"This was not a negotiation. This was an elimination."

She paused.

"I have reviewed the suggestion to use independent fleets. The logic is familiar. Use pawns first. Limit exposure. Test the field."

She raised one brow faintly.

"And what, Counselor, if those pawns trigger something we cannot contain? What message do we send, then? That the Ascendancy is too uncertain to speak for itself? That we would rather hide behind mercenaries than lead?"

The silence returned.

Yvith's voice sharpened, just slightly.

"This was not an accident. It was a demonstration. We do not know what this vessel is. We do not know what it wants. We do not know if it even has a concept of diplomacy."

She stepped back to center.

"But I will not delay our response while cadets remain missing and warships are reduced to fragments. Strategic readiness begins with clarity. Not confusion. Not hesitation."

She turned to the administrative tier.

"Open the vote."

Voting panels activated across the chamber. Delegates stared at them—some hesitant, others certain. Hands hovered above confirmation glyphs. A few whispered back and forth, visibly shaken.

Then—

A tone rang out.

"Chancellor—live feed incoming," said an aide. "Source: Grounx vessel Varkesh. Presumed lost. Emergency channel authenticates."

Yvith didn't move.

"Display it."

The lights dimmed.

The room fell completely silent.

The projection filled the space.

The bridge of the Varkesh was in collapse. Emergency lights spun red across fractured glass and sparking terminals. Smoke drifted in low arcs across the ceiling. Grounx officers moved through chaos, their shouts inaudible through static.

The image shook. Tilted.

Then the camera turned.

And the warship filled the screen.

Massive. Triangular. Silent.

No sound. No signal. No motion.

Just presence.

Its form extended beyond the edges of the feed. There were no visible seams. No visible weapons. No external ports. It drifted without propulsion. Space itself bent slightly along its edges.

For a moment, no one in the Council breathed.

Then, without sound, a blinding beam of white light split the screen.

The transmission collapsed.

Static.

Then black.

The chamber lights returned.

No one spoke.

Not the Grounx. Not the diplomats. Not the economic blocs. Not the military observers.

They simply stared forward, many pale, many still.

Chancellor Yvith stood perfectly still.

She turned slowly to face them all.

"That," she said, "is the enemy we face."

Her voice did not rise. It did not harden.

It simply cut through the silence like a blade.

"We do not know what it is. We do not know how it arrived. We do not know if more will follow."

She stepped back to the center of the platform.

"But the Council must decide how we respond."

The vote resumed.