Amidst the darkened, ashen sky

  The thunderous roar of powerful engines reverberated, filling the heavens with a cacophony of sound. The Antares aircraft of Gra Valkas, alongside a fleet of bombers, cut through the air in unwavering formation, heading towards their target.

  "All units, report in. Weather conditions are shifting—rain is imminent," the voice crackled over the radio.

  "Roger that. We'll brace for the adverse weather," a calm yet determined reply came through.

  Suddenly, the radio bred with urgency, "Alert! Enemy aircraft approaching. Prepare for engagement!"

  "Report! The enemy is fielding Vanadis-5 aircraft—state-of-the-art jets without propellers. All units, exercise extreme caution!"

  The escort fighters of Gra Valkas dispersed into defensive patterns. Despite their ck of jet technology, the Valkans weren’t disheartened. Even facing the superior Vanadis-5 fighters of the Holy Kain Empire, the Gra Valkans were prepared to strike with fierce determination. While technologically inferior, their numbers and battlefield experience made them formidable adversaries. The skies would witness their resolve.

  "We've lost two-fifths of our forces to the Gra Valkans! This battle is turning into their grand dispy!" a Kain pilot excimed, panic creeping into his voice.

  "Shut up and focus! Just do your job and deal with them!" came the sharp retort from another pilot.

  "Squad Two, destroy the Gra Valkan fighters! Squad Three, intercept their bombers before they reach allied territory!" The command was cold, precise, and unwavering.

  "Don’t let them near! Eliminate every st one of those fighters!" roared the commander of the 157th Gra Valkan Air Squadron. His voice pierced through the storm of chaos that had now engulfed both sides.

  Rain began to pour down as the formations cshed. The sky was now a tangled battlefield of twisting aircraft, smoke, and gunfire. Despite the growing disorder, the Gra Valkan bombers continued their strategic march toward the city looming ahead.

  Leading the charge was the Guti’muan heavy bomber, a massive six-engine beast that dominated the sky. With a wingspan of 54 meters and a length of 47 meters, it was a flying fortress armed with devastating payloads—built to bring terror to the cities of Yggdrasil. Its dark, ominous form sailed through enemy fire like an unstoppable force of destruction.

  Vanadis fighters, with their superior speed, quickly unched attacks on the bombers. "Alert! The right-wing engines are on fire!" The voice on the radio was tense but controlled.

  "All Valkans, prepare to release all bombs. Swear to your homend—we shall deliver this city to Hades!" shouted the commander of the 67th bomber squadron, his voice filled with both pride and grim resolve. Their insignia—a jaguar—stood as a reminder of their ferocity.

  Ahead, the enemy city emerged, its towering buildings silhouetted against a sky filled with sirens and explosions. Anti-aircraft fire peppered the sky as the bombers pressed forward, undeterred.

  But then, out of nowhere, thick clouds materialized. They came without warning, disrupting the already chaotic air battle. The clouds' density increased, causing confusion among the pilots.

  "Valkans! What the hell is happening?!" A panicked voice cut through the static.

  "We’ve lost contact with—"

  "The clouds! They're not—"

  The radio transmissions faded as the pilots struggled to make sense of the bizarre weather phenomenon. The rain, once relentless, began to taper off. And then, in an instant, the entire ndscape changed. The skies cleared, and they found themselves flying in an otherworldly calm, except for the massive, unnatural cloud looming overhead.

  "What the—what just happened?! Everything is covered by clouds!" one pilot shouted in disbelief.

  In the eerie quiet that followed, the hum of the Vanadis fighters’ engines was the only sound. The squadron formed a tight V-shape, led by their commander. The once-formidable fleet of propeller pnes had been decimated, leaving only five advanced Vanadis-5 fighters.

  "67th Squadron, report your status immediately!" the flight commander barked.

  "This is Fa’ng. No issues with my Vanadis," came the quick response.

  "Howl’er, all systems are functional."

  "Wa’sp here. We’ve lost contact with the interceptor squadron."

  The mighty roar of engines drowned out further conversation as the Vanadis fighters turned their attention to the remaining Gra Valkan bombers, which were now cruising at 34,650 feet, having just emerged from the mysterious cloud.

  "No matter where they are, those Gra Valkans won't escape us. All units, engage!" The Vanadis-5 commander’s voice surged with renewed vigor, rallying his comrades for the next strike.

  The five Vanadis-5 fighters climbed higher, setting their sights on the strategic bombers. But from above, the Antares fighters of Gra Valkas dove down with a hail of 20mm cannon fire, aiming directly at the Vanadis formation.

  "Enemy attack! All units, prepare for full engagement!" the commander bellowed.

  The Vanadis-5s split apart, each pilot maneuvering with deadly precision. These were no ordinary pilots; they were aces, trained for this exact scenario. They moved with confidence, knowing they could overpower their opponents.

  A group of 13 Antares fighters fanned out, attacking the Vanadis fighters in swarms. The sky was soon filled with the relentless sound of gunfire.

  "Protect the bombers at all costs! We’ve sworn to defend our homend—prove it! Those jets will sink into the sea!" Gra Valkan pilots shouted over the radio, encouraging one another to press on.

  Despite their superior speed, the Vanadis-5 pilots found themselves in a difficult situation. The Gra Valkan forces, though technologically outcssed, fought with tenacity.

  "This is Wa’sp. I’ll bait the Gra Valkans—just hit them with everything when they least expect it. We can wipe them out in one sweep."

  "That’s too risky, brother!"

  "No worries. Our target is Gra Valkas."

  Wa’sp’s Vanadis-5 dove into the fray, drawing the Antares fighters into pursuit. The Gra Valkans unleashed a torrent of gunfire, riddling Wa’sp’s pne with bullets. The sky, once teeming with aircraft, had thinned. Only a few stragglers remained, ready to meet their fate.

  "Now’s the time—everyone, open fire!"

  The remaining four Vanadis-5 fighters responded in unison, unleashing a barrage of 23mm shells. The precision strikes hit their mark, with one Antares fighter breaking apart mid-air, its smoking wreckage spiraling into the ocean. The Vanadis-5s then turned their sights on the surviving Gra Valkan aircraft.

  Wa’sp, now dodging relentless fire, found himself in a desperate situation. His Vanadis-5 was heavily damaged, the once-pristine craft now scarred by enemy rounds.

  Meanwhile, the rest of the Vanadis-5s pursued the Antares fighters, swiftly dispatching them one by one. The sky was theirs once more.

  "Change targets to the Guti’muan bombers! Form a V-formation!" the commander ordered, his voice steely with resolve.

  As they regrouped, the commander realized something was wrong. "Wa’sp isn’t responding. Howl’er, check on Wa’sp."

  "Understood, commander. I’m moving in."

  Howl’er maneuvered his Vanadis-5, cautiously approaching Wa’sp’s damaged craft. As he drew closer, the sight before him left him cold.

  "…"

  "Howl’er, report!"

  "Commander… Wa’sp is dead," Howl’er’s voice cracked with sorrow. His comrade’s cockpit was riddled with bullet holes, the pilot's body barely recognizable, blood streaming from his lifeless form.

  The squad mourned their fallen brother, but the battle was far from over. The commander, suppressing his grief, issued one final order. "Howl’er, let him go… let Wa’sp continue his final journey."

  With heavy hearts, the Vanadis-5s regrouped, leaving Wa’sp’s pne to drift aimlessly, a lone warrior continuing a silent, eternal flight.

  The commander clenched his fists as he looked toward the enemy bombers in the distance. "Damn it! The Guti’muan have gained too much distance. All units, accelerate!"

  All four Vanadis-5s pushed their engines to the limit, reaching speeds of 1,202 kph, far beyond the safe threshold. Their target was now 136 kilometers away, and they were determined to catch the enemy before they could unleash their devastation.

  As they neared the enemy, an isnd appeared on the horizon, dotted with cities. It wasn’t an allied territory, but the Vanadis-5 pilots would not let the enemy sughter innocents.

  "We’re still too far. Fire everything! Even the smallest chance is a chance we must take!"

  The Vanadis-5s opened fire, their 20mm rounds spraying toward the distant bombers. But their efforts seemed futile against the fortress-like Guti’muans.

  Then, from seemingly nowhere, a series of massive, curved clouds appeared, enveloping the Guti’muan bombers.

  Boom! The sky erupted in a series of explosions.

  The mighty Guti’muan bombers, once thought indestructible, were torn apart mid-flight. The sound of the shockwaves echoed through the heavens as the massive aircraft disintegrated into fiery debris, crashing into the ocean below.

  The Vanadis pilots stared in disbelief. Who—or what—had unleashed such devastating power?

  The commander scanned the clouds for any sign of an expnation. But there was none.

  For now, the battle was over. The Vanadis-5s had survived. But the sky remained eerily silent, as if waiting for the next chapter of the war to unfold.

  "Unidentified aircraft, you are entering Hawaiian airspace belonging to the United States of America," the calm but firm voice came over the radio inside the Vanadis-5. The pilots aboard the state-of-the-art fighters were well-versed in this nguage. They knew their radio frequency had been intercepted, but at this moment, they had far more pressing concerns.

  The pilots tensed up. "How should we respond, Commander?" one asked, his voice betraying his anxiety.

  "One wrong move, and even these advanced Vanadis-5 jets will end up in fmes like the Guti’muan bombers," Fa'ng's voice was cautious, heavy with the weight of what he had witnessed earlier. His words served as a stark warning to their leader about the precarious situation they now faced.

  The commanding pilot remained collected, speaking into the radio with diplomatic precision. "We are members of the Holy Kain Empire's Air Force. We do not have hostile intentions toward the United States of America," he said, choosing his words carefully.

  Silence. The ck of response from the other side only deepened the growing unease among the Kain pilots. The tension in the cockpits was palpable, a cold sweat beginning to form on their brows.

  "Look to your sides," the voice on the radio finally replied, terse and cryptic.

  The entire squadron instinctively gnced around the sky. Nothing. It was as if they were alone in the vast expanse of the Pacific sky. Then, a new sound pierced the air—one that none of them had ever encountered. It wasn’t the familiar hum of any known aircraft.

  A powerful, thunderous roar grew louder, closer. Howl'er turned his head to the left, and his heart nearly stopped. There, alongside his Vanadis-5, was an aircraft unlike anything he had ever seen before. Sleek, futuristic, with a commanding presence that dwarfed even the technologically advanced Vanadis. The pilot inside gave him a small, almost casual wave.

  It was an F-22 Raptor, the crown jewel of the United States Air Force, a fifth-generation fighter that exuded power and lethality. The Kain pilots were stunned. In comparison, their Vanadis-5—impressive by their standards—seemed outdated, almost primitive.

  "By the gods, this is the most beautiful thing I've ever seen!" Tri'on, one of the younger pilots, couldn’t help but excim.

  Another F-22 appeared on their right fnk, its presence equally intimidating. The pilot's voice crackled over the radio once more, firm but not aggressive: "We will escort you to a designated airfield. Follow us."

  There was no room for negotiation. The Vanadis-5 squadron had no choice but to comply. In formation, they followed the two Raptors, cutting through the sky toward the distant isnd below. As they approached, the skyline of the city came into view. The architecture was unlike anything they had ever seen on Yggdrasil—clean lines, towering gss structures that gleamed in the sunlight, an industrial and technological marvel.

  The American pilots' voices came over the radio again, this time less formal. "You are cleared to nd."

  One by one, the Vanadis-5 jets deployed their nding gear and descended toward the runway. The sound of rubber meeting tarmac was soon accompanied by the low hum of engines winding down. The Kain pilots slowly taxied to their assigned positions, their eyes scanning the unfamiliar surroundings. Civilian airliners—Boeing 747s—were parked nearby, their enormous frames casting shadows across the tarmac.

  "Are those civilian pnes?" Howl’er asked, incredulous. "They look bigger up close than I thought."

  "I swear, they’re as big as bombers back home," another pilot murmured, still in disbelief.

  A pair of armored JLTVs approached the Vanadis jets, followed by a sleek bck Cadilc. From the vehicle stepped a man in a bck suit, accompanied by an assistant holding a ptop. Behind them, soldiers in camoufge stood at attention, rifles slung over their shoulders, ready but not aggressive. The atmosphere was tense, professional, the power dynamics unmistakable.

  The man in the suit spoke first, his voice measured but direct. "Gentlemen, I apologize for the abruptness, but I have a few questions for you."

  The Kain commander straightened, his gaze sharp as he replied. "Go ahead, sir, speak pinly."

  The man’s assistant quickly opened a ptop, dispying a detailed world map. He gnced at the Kain pilots. "Which nation do you represent?"

  "We are part of the Holy Kain Empire," the commander responded, his tone unwavering.

  The assistant zoomed in on a region of the map and handed the ptop to the commander. "Can you point out your nation on this map?"

  The commander studied the map carefully, but his eyes betrayed his confusion. This world was foreign to him. None of the nations he was familiar with were represented here—except for one. His eyes narrowed as he spotted the Gra Valkan Empire, their long-standing rival.

  With deliberate precision, he pointed to a random country on the map, attempting to mask his uncertainty. The man in the suit raised an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced.

  "I'm quite certain that’s not your homend," he said, his voice now tinged with suspicion.

  The Kain commander’s face hardened, sensing the tightening noose around him. He raised his voice, more forceful now. "The Holy Kain Empire is our homend."

  The man exchanged a gnce with his assistant before responding calmly, "That nation has been in contact with Brazil. We’ll make sure to get you back to your homend. But know this: you're in our world now, and things work differently here."

  The air grew heavier with the weight of unspoken consequences. The Kain pilots stood silently, realizing the gravity of their situation. They were not just in unfamiliar territory; they were outmatched, outcssed, and under scrutiny. The politics of this new world were quickly becoming apparent, and they were at the mercy of forces far beyond their control.

  June 2rd, 2023, Rothera Research Station, Antarctica

  The frozen desert stretched endlessly across the continent, a nd so inhospitable that life simply could not thrive. Yet, scattered across this desote ndscape were the few beacons of human existence—the international research stations. Among them, the British outpost at Rothera stood firm, battling the harsh environment as snowstorms raged overhead.

  In the midst of one such brutal storm, a lone snowcat vehicle struggled up the treacherous slopes, making its perilous return to the base. The steep terrain was notorious—so dangerous that even the Chilean Air Force had deemed the Adeide Isnds unsuitable for safe ndings, forcing the base to rely on helicopters and supply ships for their needs.

  Although they were stranded in what felt like a world apart, the advanced Tes communication systems allowed them to maintain a fragile link with the outside world. However, even this lifeline wasn’t foolproof; at times, they found themselves cut off, victims of disrupted Starlink connections that left them scrambling for essential supplies from other regions.

  Now, however, the situation was deteriorating, not just here at Rothera, but for research teams across the entire Antarctic region.

  The sky was a wall of white, obscured by snow and darkness, save for the faint glow of the base and the headlights of the snowcat. Attached to the vehicle was a cargo trailer, oddly carrying several penguins, their bodies huddled together for warmth.

  After a grueling journey through the unforgiving storm, the snowcat finally arrived at the base. A man wrapped in thick, insuted clothing emerged from the vehicle, bracing himself against the biting wind. He rushed into the facility, practically throwing the door open and smming it shut behind him, shivering violently. With practiced ease, he shed his specialized Antarctic gear, revealing the face of Welis, a seasoned field researcher.

  Inside, two other figures were waiting—George, a scientist cd in a bck coat, and Andrew, who was tending to the base’s kitchen. George, raising an eyebrow, asked, “Find anything useful out there? We're running low on fuel, Welis."

  Welis shook his head, his frustration barely concealed. “This week’s hunt was worse than usual. We only managed to catch four penguins—far fewer than we’d hoped for.”

  Andrew, with a sigh of exasperation, chimed in, “Another month of eating nothing but penguin meat… this is getting unbearable.”

  “Ever since we ran out of real food, it’s been penguins and fish,” George muttered. “We’ve been stuck in this new world for so long, and it’s clear the government has no real pn to help us.”

  Welis chuckled bitterly. “Ever since that Leviathan-css creature snatched up a whale like it was a mere snack, I’ve given up on waiting for help. If anything, I hope they’ve got some other strategy in mind. Anyway, we’ll still have to clear the sor panels of snow tomorrow.”

  Andrew ughed dryly, though his voice was ced with cynicism. “It’s a cycle, isn’t it? We follow government orders every day, conducting research, barely surviving without their help. At least the pay is steady, though—like an endless stream.”

  “Fat lot of good that’ll do us if we’re dead before we can spend it,” Andrew quipped, though there was a hint of nervousness in his ughter.

  Welis, shaking his head, replied, “Survive first, greed ter. I’m getting back to work. Good luck.” With that, he left the room.

  Andrew headed back to his kitchen duties, while George returned to his desk, settling in for yet another long day of research. As he gnced at his monitor, a series of new messages caught his eye—updates from other Antarctic bases.

  “We just received supplies dropped from a gray aircraft. Have you guys gotten anything?”

  “Same here. The supply crate had markings we’ve never seen before—definitely not in any nguage I know.”

  “Wasn’t the C-130 from that base grounded? How are they getting supplies?”

  “Not just that—this aircraft doesn’t match any model I’ve ever seen.”

  George felt a jolt of surprise. The government had mentioned rumors of contact with a highly advanced civilization beyond their known territories, but this? It felt like something more. His mind raced with possibilities. Could these mysterious aircraft be from some unidentified power, not part of the UN or any known base?

  His train of thought was interrupted by the unmistakable roar of jet engines overhead. Heart pounding, George grabbed his jacket and rushed outside. The snowstorm had subsided somewhat, though the sky remained ominously gray.

  Peering through the thick fog, he caught sight of a faint light in the distance, accompanied by the unmistakable growl of heavy engines. His pulse quickened. The source of the noise emerged from the clouds, and what he saw left him stunned.

  It was a massive cargo pne, gray and sleek, with six jet engines mounted along its wings. But something was off—there was no cockpit, and the design was unlike any aircraft he had ever encountered in any air force. As it flew past, George noticed a strange emblem embzoned on its side—an unfamiliar symbol of wings.

  The pne continued on its course, dropping a rge supply crate before disappearing into the storm once again, leaving George in awe.

  The rest of the base crew rushed outside, drawn by the commotion. They carefully approached the crate, cautious but curious. It appeared to be made from a composite material, part pstic and part metal.

  A soldier dressed in white camo stepped forward. “Step back. I’m opening it,” he announced.

  “Wait! That’s too risky—there has to be another way!” someone objected, but it was too

  te. The soldier had already pried the crate open, his movements swift and decisive. Everyone held their breath, half-expecting a disaster, but nothing happened. No explosion, no deadly trap—just the quiet creak of the crate’s lid swinging open.

  Inside, they found stacks of canned food and drink supplies. George reached in, picking up one of the cans for closer inspection. The can was a deep green, marked with faint yellow lettering in a nguage that was utterly foreign—nothing he had ever seen from any known country or civilization. He twisted off the lid and was surprised to find something familiar inside: spam.

  They all stared at the contents, their expressions a mixture of shock and relief. It was food—real food—but from an unknown source. Without wasting a moment, they pulled the crate into the base for further inspection.

  As they gathered around the crate inside, the conversation turned to heated specution.

  “Who the hell sent this?” someone murmured, awe and confusion cing their voice.

  “This isn’t from any government I know of,” George mused aloud, still turning the strange can in his hands.

  The soldier who had opened the crate frowned. “Whoever they are, they know where we are, and they’re willing to help us survive. That’s... unsettling.”

  The rest of the group exchanged uneasy gnces. The food was a blessing, no doubt, but the implications were far more concerning. They was powerful enough to deliver supplies to a pce as remote as Antarctica, using technology far beyond anything the world superpowers cimed? And why were they helping?

  "We need to report this," George said firmly. "Whatever's happening, the world needs to know we’re not alone here."

  As they prepared to send the message, an unspoken tension filled the room. The Antarctic expedition was no longer just about survival—it had become a geopolitical and military enigma. Unknown powers were moving in ways none of them could fully comprehend, and Rothera Station had just become part of a much rger, more dangerous game.

  Somewhere 100km Southeast of Runepolis, Holy Mirishial

  "Driver, have we arrived yet?" Livio Gutil, Chief of Staff of the Ministry of Defense, barked impatiently from the back seat.

  Unfazed by the sharp tone, the driver responded calmly, “We’re almost there, sir. We should arrive just before sundown.”

  They drove through dense pine forests, navigating a dirt road that seemed to snake endlessly through the wilderness. The oppressive atmosphere enveloped the vehicle, with storm clouds looming overhead, threatening rain at any moment. The car’s headlights flickered on, illuminating the path as they crossed an ancient, crumbling brick bridge.

  Ahead, a wall of fog rose, signaling that their destination was near. The car pressed on, and after some time, they finally arrived at the pce Gutil had requested. It was a modest wooden cottage, rge enough to accommodate a family, but to Livio, it was more than adequate for a man seeking solitude in his ter years.

  “Drop me here,” Gutil ordered, pointing to a rustic wooden fence where a weathered metal rooster spun zily in the wind, catching the first drops of the coming rain.

  “Yes, sir,” the driver replied, slowing the car and bringing it to a halt.

  Gutil stepped out, his bck hat perched on his head, holding an umbrel in one hand and a briefcase in the other. With a formal nod, he tipped his hat in a polite farewell to the driver and began walking toward the cabin.

  As Gutil’s back turned, the driver slowly reached for something concealed, a sleek, bck object that glinted in the dim light. It was unmistakably a pistol, equipped with a silencer, aimed directly at the back of the Defense Minister’s head.

  Thud!

  The muffled shot pierced the stillness of the forest, sending birds scattering from the trees, cawing into the sky. Nearby animals bolted, sensing the sudden violence in their midst. Livio Gutil colpsed immediately, the single, expertly pced shot ending his life in an instant. His eyes remained open, staring lifelessly as the rain began to pour harder, soaking his still-warm body as it y motionless on the cold earth.

  Without hesitation, the driver restarted the engine, casually driving away from the scene, leaving the lifeless body of one of the nation’s most powerful men in the forest. As the car disappeared into the mist, questions began to swirl, carried by the storm—who had ordered the assassination of such a high-ranking government official, and leave the