CHAPTER 374: FROM THE GREY’S

With that, she turned and walked away, leaving Pierce standing alone in the corridor, his face pale and his hands trembling.

She worked briskly to her office, not remorse at all for the words that left her lips.

She sat down and glanced around her office. She’d only been in here today and for the first time she was thankful to be back here.

Cassandra’s office was a study in organized efficiency—tactical manuals arranged by subject, mission reports filed with a sort of obsessive compulsive rhythm.

A single photo of her graduating class from the academy years ago was on the table. She settled into her chair fully, her injured arm throbbing as she reviewed the day’s events.

The mission had been successful by any reasonable metric, but the questions it raised were troubling. The Purge’s capabilities, Kruel’s industrial organization, the implications of SSS-rank soldiers—all of it pointed toward a war that was evolving faster than anyone had anticipated.

A knock at her door interrupted her thoughts. "Enter," she called.

A young corporal stepped inside, his expression nervous. "Commander, I have a confidential message for delivery to Lucas Grey. Orders were to deliver it to his unit commander."

He handed her a sealed envelope, and Cassandra’s blood ran cold as she saw the insignia pressed into the wax seal—a lightning bolt surrounded by storm clouds.

The Grey family crest.

She dismissed the corporal and stared at the envelope for a long moment. The Grey family was one of the oldest and most powerful military dynasties in human history. They were also completely insane.

"What do those maniacs want with him?" she muttered, sliding the envelope into her desk drawer. Whatever it was, it could wait until Lucas was ready to handle it.

Outside her office, the station continued its routine operations. But Cassandra couldn’t shake the feeling that they were all standing on the edge of something much larger than they understood.

---

The base lounge buzzed with the quiet conversations of soldiers trying to process the events of the past week. Pathfinder Team 7 had claimed their usual table near the large viewport, though the mood was subdued despite their successful mission.

Noah sat close to Sophie, their hands intertwined as they watched the stars wheel past. Lucas cradled a mug of coffee, his eyes distant as he processed the weight of command that had settled on his shoulders. Diana sat near Lyra, studiously avoiding Kelvin’s gaze while the tech specialist remained absorbed in her tablet.

And then there was Kelvin himself, his new cybernetic arms gleaming under the lounge’s soft lighting. He looked around the room, taking in the somber expressions of his fellow recruits—teenagers and young adults who had signed up to be heroes and discovered that heroism came with a price measured in blood and trauma.

"Alright," he said, standing up suddenly. "Why the long faces?"

The question drew attention from nearby tables. Kelvin grinned, his natural charisma cutting through the gloom like a blade.

"I mean, seriously. Look around." He gestured to the lounge. "You’d think we lost the war instead of saving two hundred thousand people."

He climbed onto his table, his cybernetic arms glinting as he spread them wide. "Ladies and gentlemen, can I have your attention?"

The lounge fell silent, all eyes turning to the young soldier with the mechanical arms and the infectious smile.

"I know we’ve all been through hell," he began, his voice carrying clearly through the room. "I know we’ve lost friends, seen things that will haunt our dreams, and faced enemies that seemed impossible to defeat."

He held up his cybernetic arms, flexing the mechanical fingers. "Hell, I lost these beauties to a Harbinger’s claws. But you know what? I got better ones!"

A few chuckles rippled through the crowd.

"And you know what else? We won." His voice grew stronger, more confident. "Two hundred thousand civilians are alive today because of what we did. Families are reunited. Children are safe. An entire star system is free from Harbinger control."

He looked around the room, meeting the eyes of soldiers who had been ready to give up hope.

"We did that. All of us. We looked at impossible odds and said ’not today.’ We stared down a four-horn Harbinger and lived to tell about it. We saved the day, and we’re still here to celebrate it."

The room was completely silent now, hanging on his every word.

"Which is why," he continued, his grin becoming absolutely wicked, "with special permission from Commander Volkov—"

"—we’re throwing a party tonight! Real music, real drinks, real dancing! Because if we’re going to risk our lives fighting monsters, we might as well live like heroes when we’re not!"

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Volkov never approved recreational activities.

The lounge erupted in cheers. Soldiers who had been staring into their drinks were suddenly animated, talking excitedly about the first real celebration they would have in a month.

Diana smiled despite herself, but when Kelvin looked her way, she turned away shyly, her cheeks flushing.

"That’s our Kelvin," Lucas said, shaking his head with a smile. "Leave it to him to find the bright side of everything."

"Someone has to," Sophie said, squeezing Noah’s hand. "We need people like him."

Noah nodded, but his expression remained troubled. Kelvin’s optimism was infectious, but it couldn’t erase the weight of what they’d experienced.

As the day progressed, the team dispersed to their various activities. Lucas headed to the training bays, working off his frustration with intensive combat drills. Lyra made her way to the tech labs, burying herself in research and analysis. Kelvin dove into party planning with the same enthusiasm he brought to everything else.

He had to order drinks from earth amongst other things.

Diana retreated to her quarters, exhaustion finally catching up with her. The adrenaline of the mission had worn off, leaving behind the bone-deep fatigue that came from sustained combat stress.

Noah and Sophie walked the station’s corridors hand in hand, their footsteps echoing in the quiet spaces between the busier sections.

"How are you doing?" Sophie asked, her voice soft with concern. "Really?"

Noah was quiet for a long moment, gathering his thoughts. "I’m pretty shaken up," he admitted. "I keep thinking about Kelvin’s arms. About how if I’d been with him, maybe that wouldn’t have happened."

Sophie stopped walking, turning to face him. "Noah, if you hadn’t sent Storm to rescue him, Kelvin would be dead. That explosion he started would have killed him if Storm hadn’t gotten him out of there."

"But his arms—"

"Are the reason he’s still alive," Sophie said firmly. "You had the intuition to send your bonded creature across space to save your friend. That’s not something to feel guilty about."

Noah looked down at their joined hands. "It’s not just that. Storm is in my domain right now, barely conscious, trying to recover from the fight with Kruel. And that’s my fault too."

"Storm is what saved Cassandra," Sophie reminded him. "If your wyvern hadn’t arrived when he did, who could have held off Kruel long enough for the rest of us to regroup?"

Noah considered this, but his expression remained troubled. "Theoretically, Storm made everything worse. When I last saw Kruel, after the Harbinger widow captured me, he was a three-horn. The fight with Storm pushed him to evolve into a four-horn."

Sophie didn’t know what to say to that. The logic was sound, but it ignored the fact that without Storm’s intervention, they would all be dead.

"We should rest," she said finally. "They announced indefinite downtime for now. Later, we can visit your domain and see how Storm and Nyx are doing."

Noah nodded, but she could see the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. He was becoming the soldier humanity needed, but the cost was becoming clear.

---

Meanwhile, somewhere else on the base, a different kind of conversation was being held.

Commander Pierce’s quarters were spartanly furnished—regulation furniture, regulation decorations, everything precisely arranged according to military standards. But the man himself was anything but regulation as he sat at his desk, a secure communication device glowing softly in front of him.

"The operation was a success," he said quietly, his voice carrying none of the uncertainty he’d shown in the briefing room. "The Harbinger is in your custody."

The response came through encrypted channels, distorted beyond recognition. But the words were clear enough.

"Excellent work, Commander. Your positioning of the recruits was perfect. They performed exactly as predicted."

Pierce’s expression was calm, calculating. "The Eclipse boy is becoming more powerful than anticipated. His void manipulation abilities are approaching dangerous levels."

"All according to plan. Continue monitoring. Your next assignment will come through the usual channels."

"Understood." Pierce leaned back in his chair, his hand moving to a small pendant hanging around his neck—a stylized symbol that would have been recognizable to any Purge operative.

"No greater calling than evolution," he said quietly.

The voice on the other end responded with the traditional reply: "Live for Purge, die for Purge."

The connection ended, leaving Pierce alone in his quarters. He smiled then, a expression that held no warmth, no humanity—only the cold satisfaction of a plan falling into place.

Outside his window, the lights of the Vanguard Station twinkled like stars, carrying within them the hopes and dreams of humanity’s defenders. But Pierce saw only pieces on a board, moves in a game that was far larger than any of them understood.

The real war was just beginning.