Kael waited outside the door with the other guards and the delegates’ personal security.
Time stretched—minutes bleeding into more—while everyone waited for the meeting to conclude.
Only the hum of the ship and the quiet rhythm of breathing filled the corridor.
Footsteps eventually echoed down the hallway.
Captain Maeric and Commander Soren approached. The guards straightened instantly and saluted.
Soren returned the gesture with a practiced flick of his hand, sending everyone back to rest positions.
Maeric nodded once before speaking.
“Lieutenant. Is the meeting proceeding well?”
Kael kept his posture firm.
“Yes, Captain. We’re just waiting for everything to—”
A pressure spike hit them like a physical wave. Everyone stiffened.
A heartbeat later, a table slammed from inside the chamber.
Kael moved first.
The door slid open—and the corridor froze as the full weight of the pressure rolled out of the room.
For a breathless moment, no one moved.
Then training took over. Guards surged forward, weapons half-raised, caution overriding instinct.
Maeric and Soren entered right behind them.
Kael stopped at the threshold, unable to take another step.
A single word filled his mind, cold and sharp:
Regret.
As they entered, a rising fear took hold.
Each guard detail moved into position around their delegate.
Then they froze—every one of them—staring at the source of the pressure and dread.
A single man in a jumpsuit, sitting at the far end of the table.
The room was silent and still.
Only the drifting particles of dust moved—slow, weightless streams flowing through the air.
Every instinct, every survival reflex, every shred of adrenaline pointed to one place.
Survivor.
He sat in the chair, still and motionless.
His eyes fixed on them, distant and cold—like staring into an endless void.
Lyssandra tried to move, to speak, to intervene—but her body refused.
Every part of her screamed to run.
Ilya was frozen as well, but tears slid silently down her face.
Even the delegates were locked in place.
Harkon’s face was grim.
Celine searched desperately for words.
Lucen sat rigid, waiting for whatever came next.
The aides trembled— unsure whether to flee or kneel
No one spoke. Even the hum of the Solomon was gone.
until one finally whispered:
“What in the forge… is that?”
Eyes shifted around the room.
And then they saw it.
Areas of space hung still—dust suspended in frozen patches, motionless in midair.
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Shapes stood around Survivor.
Spectators.
Shadows.
Ghosts answering an ancient call.
The guards’ instincts kicked in.
Several tried to raise their weapons—only to find them frozen mid-air.
A few let go entirely, watching in horror as their rifles simply hung there, suspended by nothing.
Maeric and Soren moved to stop them but halted instantly, stunned at what was unfolding.
Kael tried to step forward, but something caught him—something invisible gripping his arms and chest, holding him back.
A warning without words.
At the same moment, the ghostly shapes turned toward the guards.
Everyone felt it—
fear rising with each passing second.
The sense of an ending.
Of their ending.
Death.
“Stop.”
A voice rang out—hollow, distant, echoing from somewhere far beyond the room.
All eyes snapped back to the source of the voice.
Survivor spoke—flat, distant, commanding.
“All units, return to stations.”
The frozen patches of space softened, the suspended dust beginning to drift again.
The ghostly silhouettes dissolved one by one.
The invisible restraints lifted.
Weapons clattered to the floor.
Kael felt the unseen hand release him.
He moved immediately, stepping forward to shield Lyssandra.
“Lyssandra… are you okay?”
His voice was low, meant only for her.
She didn’t answer.
Realization instead washed over her, hollow and cold.
“What have I done…?” she whispered, staring at Survivor.
Kael’s face tightened.
His eyes closed for a moment—just long enough to show he understood exactly what happened.
No one spoke.
The tension hung thick and unmoving.
Survivor, still distant, still calm, said quietly:
“Sorry. They acted under threat. It won’t happen again.”
Silence held the room.
And in that silence, everyone shared the same instinct:
Don’t move.
Don’t breathe.
Don’t do anything.
The delegates processed what they were looking at.
Celine saw an anomaly.
Harkon saw a bomb moments from detonation.
Lucen saw a threat to the entire galaxy.
Then something flickered into existence — small, hovering, appearing from thin air in front of Survivor.
“Survivor, your vitals are critically low,” ZI said as he de-cloaked.
Life returned, faintly, to Survivor’s eyes.
“ZI… what are you doing? You’re not supposed to show yourself.”
“Scans indicate mental collapse,” ZI replied.
Survivor blinked, confused. “What do you mean? I’m fine.”
“You are not fine,” ZI shot back immediately.
Survivor’s expression shifted — defensive, overwhelmed.
“Hey now— I was just talk—”
Then he saw it.
The room.
The guards.
The delegates.
Frozen in fear.
Maeric and Soren looking stunned.
Ilya crying silently.
Kael shielding Lyssandra.
Lyssandra’s hand covered her mouth as she whispered an apology to him.
Kael turned away, unable to look at him, regret etched across his face.
“ZI…” Survivor asked quietly, “Did I do something wrong again?”
ZI hesitated — then answered honestly.
“Yes.”
Survivor rose slowly, eyes taking in the fear and anxiety aimed in his direction.
Several of the aides flinched in fear of his movements, some of the guards took a step back, some reaching or trying to readied weapons.
Survivor avoided their gaze, a quiet breath slipping from him.
“I… I’m sorry. I should go.”
Light slowly gathered around him.
Then he vanished from the room.
The tension evaporated —
but no one moved.
No one breathed.
They stood frozen, trapped in the aftermath.
Thanks for reading
Please give a comment, review if you want.I would love to see how you guys view the story. Even like to hear your critique, if willing.
If worried about the AI assist, I use it for polish and grammar checks, but am learning to write without the polish.
