[Oliver’s POV]

  “Pyro and his crew are ready to depart,” Thalos reported.

  “Good. Load some ore into the cargo bay, and a few of the older mechs. We need to keep up appearances. Make it look like this trip was to make a pitch to megacorps.” Oliver explained.

  “The Naustes are already assisting with the loading,” Thalos replied.

  "I brought a gift. Took it from the vault," Thalos said, extending his hand toward Oliver. When he opened his fingers, a reddish crystal fell into Oliver’s palm.

  Oliver’s eyes widened for a moment before turning to his gauntlet. He pressed the buttons on the side, opening it to set the new crystal.

  He exhaled slowly. “I didn’t think the first time I’d use this Armor would be like this.”

  Thalos tilted his head, the faint whir of his optical sensors audible as he turned to look at him.

  Oliver gave a humorless smile. “I thought it would be more… ceremonial.”

  “There’s no way around it. It’s this one or the Black. You can’t use the Green. As for the Blue, you’re the person with the highest recorded synchronicity. If they use the sensors on you, it’ll at the very least draw attention,” Thalos said.

  Oliver grimaced. “Right.”

  He closed the Gauntlet with a metallic snap. “All right, then. Prep a squad of Hoplites for ground engagement and three Hippeus. If any of the mercenary ships try to retreat, they’re cleared to engage and use the mechs to block their escape.”

  “Understood,” Thalos said, already transmitting commands through his internal network.

  The hangar around them was almost chaotic. Engineers and soldiers moved in coordination. Maintenance drones hovered over the mechs, sealing armor plates and calibrating weapon systems. Rows of soldiers, Hoplites, Naustes, and Hippeus, moved to their positions.

  The Hoplites were the backbone of Aquarius’s military, ground specialists trained for both planetary combat and zero-gravity boarding operations.

  The Naustes were air and space operatives, pilots, and technicians who thrived in the chaos of aerial engagements.

  Finally, the Hippeus were the elite mech pilots. Their towering machines lined the far end of the hangar. Each one was a masterpiece of engineering.

  “Yes, Governor,” Thalos confirmed, his voice crisp as he transmitted the final deployment codes through the network.

  The two of them strode quickly through the base as they approached the departing hangar.

  Rows of Aquarius soldiers were boarding the smaller cargo and transport vessels that would carry them to orbit. Engineers and drones scurried between the ships, performing last-minute checks.

  One by one, the transports lifted from the deck.

  The smaller vessels rose through the hangar’s magnetic launch bay, their thrusters igniting in synchronized bursts. Each craft trembled as it fought free of the planet’s pull, engines roaring until the sound faded into the silence of space.

  And there, waiting beyond the clouds, hung the Red Citadel.

  It was less a ship and more a fortress, an enormous war machine, its hull the color of dark iron and blood. Massive reactor ran along its spine, glowing faintly like veins of molten fire. Thousands of lights dotted its surface, marking the positions of defense turrets, docking ports, and observation decks.

  As the transports approached, hangar bays along the Citadel’s flanks opened like the jaws of a beast, swallowing the smaller ships one after another.

  Inside, the gravity stabilizers hummed softly as Oliver stepped out of his craft. He was greeted immediately by the ship’s commanding officer: Pyro, Thalos’s brother.

  “Governor,” Pyro said, bowing his head slightly in acknowledgment. “We’re ready. The fleet’s on standby.”

  “The jump needs to take us far enough that we’ll have to approach with thrusters only,” Oliver said. “The first impression must be that we’re just arriving, not knowing about the attack. A coincidence.”

  Pyro’s eyes flickered as he processed the data. “Even then, some will suspect. You know how the Great Houses operate. Nothing escapes their scrutiny.”

  “I know,” Oliver admitted, his tone weary but resolute. “But doubt is better than certainty. If they think this is a rescue, we lose everything. If they think it’s an accident, they might just leave it alone long enough for Four to finish.”

  As they discussed the details of the attack, they hurried toward the top of the Citadel, where the ship’s command center was.

  Officers moved between their stations in a controlled frenzy. Holographic displays floated in the air. They had everything from maps of Jupiter’s orbit, energy readouts, to trajectories of dozens of smaller ships preparing for launch. The faint vibration of the ship’s reactor thrummed through the floor, a heartbeat of power that shook in every wall.

  Oliver and Thalos stepped onto the raised platform at the center of the command deck. From here, the view was breathtaking: the great expanse of space stretched out beyond the panoramic viewport, streaked with the faint glow of distant stars. Below, hundreds of officers coordinated the fleet.

  “Governor, all cargo secured,” one of the communications officers reported. “We’re ready for departure.”

  “Initiate launch sequence,” Pyro commanded, his deep voice cutting through the noise. He stood at the helm. “Engage thrusters first. In sixty seconds, prepare for jump. Tros is currently near Jupiter. We’ll calibrate the jump to drop on the other side of the planet. From there, we’ll use conventional propulsion to approach the station.”

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  “Thrusters online,” another officer called out, his hands flying across the console.

  “Jump drive charging. Countdown at sixty.”

  The sound of systems powering up filled the chamber. Red warning lights pulsed along the walls.

  Oliver leaned forward in his chair, pressing the comm switch embedded in the armrest. His voice carried through the entire ship, calm and commanding.

  “Jump in sixty. All hands to your stations. Secure yourselves.”

  The officers responded in unison, their voices echoing through the deck.

  Then came the vibration. The entire ship began to tremble as the Red Crystal Reactors reached full output. The deep, thrumming pulse of raw Energy filled the air, a sound that was felt more than heard.

  Outside the viewport, space itself seemed to twist.

  The stars elongated into streaks of light, bending under the gravitational distortion of the jump drive. The air grew heavy, pressing down on their lungs as if the universe itself were resisting their movement.

  Reality shattered.

  The sensation hit like a physical blow. It wasn’t the clean, instantaneous transition of teleportation; it was violent, wrenching. Every atom in their bodies screamed as the Red Citadel was torn from one point in space and hurled through the folds of reality.

  For an instant, everything went white.

  Then came the impact of re-entry.

  The deck lurched violently, throwing a few officers against their restraints. The lights flickered, alarms blaring as gravity reasserted itself.

  Oliver exhaled hard, forcing his stomach to settle. Even veterans struggled with the aftereffects of Jumps. The nausea, the vertigo, the lingering sense that their bodies hadn’t fully caught up with their souls.

  Behind him, one of the Naustes muffled a groan, clutching his helmet. Another officer turned pale, swallowing hard as he fought the urge to vomit.

  “We’re in Jupiter’s shadow,” one of the officers announced.

  “Engaging full propulsion,” another officer confirmed, his hands moving deftly across the console.

  “We’ll reach visual range in ten minutes,” came the following report.

  “Ready the assault mechs and strike craft,” Pyro commanded, his voice calm but heavy with authority.

  The order rippled through the command deck. Officers moved swiftly between stations, technicians relayed commands to the lower decks, and the alarms signaled the mecha bays coming online.

  Every eye turned toward the main viewport. Beyond it, the darkness of space stretched like an ocean.

  Minutes crawled by, the silence heavy with anticipation.

  “Target sighted! Transmitting visuals now!”

  The holographic display at the center of the command deck flickered to life, expanding into a massive projection that filled the room. The image sharpened, zooming in across the void until it focused on a colossal structure suspended in the black.

  Tros Station.

  Even from this distance, it was breathtaking.

  A vast ring of metal and light, spinning slowly against the backdrop of stars. Kilometers in diameter, it was more a city in orbit than a station. Through the translucent barrier of its atmospheric shield, they could glimpse the faint outlines of towers, roads, and transport lines.

  The Dardanus Great House had no planet to call their own. This was their world, their throne, their fortress.

  But now it was under siege.

  “Zoom in,” Pyro ordered.

  The image tightened, revealing the chaos surrounding the station. Three massive cruisers circled Tros like predators. They fired volleys of missiles and concentrated laser fire into the station’s shields.

  Each impact rippled across the barrier, bending it inward like waves against a glass surface. The energy field shimmered under the strain, flashes of white and blue lighting up the void.

  “They’re hammering the shield generators,” Pyro observed. “If they keep this up, the defense grid won’t hold.”

  Oliver leaned forward, his eyes locked on the projection. “Whose ships are those?”

  “No clear identification,” one of the officers replied. “Transponder signals are scrambled. But their weapon signatures… they match mercenary-grade hardware.”

  “Mercenaries,” Oliver muttered. “Same as Four reported.”

  Pyro’s hands tightened on the railing. “They’re not just mercenaries. Look—”

  The hologram shifted again, focusing on the deployment patterns. Swarms of smaller ships darted between the cruisers; strike craft, gunboats, and boarding pods. Coordinated. Precise.

  “They’re organized,” Pyro explained. “Too organized for hired guns.”

  Oliver’s gaze hardened. “Someone’s paying them well.”

  Below them, Tros Station continued to fight back.

  Defense turrets along the outer ring blazed to life, spitting streaks of plasma. Fighter squadrons launched from its docking bays, darting like hornets toward the cruisers. But the enemy’s numerical advantage was overwhelming.

  “They won’t last long,” Pyro warned.

  “They dropped their guard. They thought being in Imperial territory meant they were safe,” Oliver realized. “Prepare to engage. Launch the assault craft.”

  The order rippled through the Red Citadel.

  Pilots scrambled into their stations, the hangar decks erupting with motion as rows of assault ships detached from their clamps and drifted into space.

  “Keep formation tight,” Pyro barked, his voice amplified across the comms. “Stay close to the Citadel until we’re in range of the cruisers.”

  “Prepare the laser batteries!”

  The gunnery officers moved in synchrony. The ship’s massive cannons rotated into position, their barrels glowing faintly as Energy built within.

  “I want the main weapon focused on the cruisers,” Pyro continued, his tone sharp and commanding. “Any ship that tries to run. Destroy it.”

  On the monitors, the enemy formation loomed closer. Their shields flickered under the strain of the ongoing battle, their attention fixed entirely on their prey.

  They never saw the Red Citadel coming.

  The first volley hit before they could react.

  A single beam of crimson light lanced through the void, striking one cruiser. For a heartbeat, there was silence. Then the ship exploded in a blinding flash of fire and debris, scattering molten fragments across the starfield.

  “Direct hit! Target eliminated!” a gunner reported.

  The remaining two cruisers panicked, veering wildly as they tried to reposition. One turned toward the Citadel, its cannons firing in desperation. The shots flared harmlessly against the Citadel’s shields.

  The other cruiser attempted to flee, engines flaring as it broke formation.

  “Lock on,” Pyro ordered. “No survivors.”

  “Prepare the teleportation grid. Deploy the assault team,” Oliver commanded, rising from his chair. His voice was steady, resolute. “Hoplites, ready for drop.”

  Oliver turned to Pyro. “Commander, you have the bridge. I’m going to the teleport chamber.”

  Pyro nodded. “Understood, Governor. Good hunting.”

  Oliver didn’t wait for a reply. He strode from the command deck, the doors sliding open before him with a hiss.

  As he ran for the teleport chamber, he activated his armor.

  In his rush, he didn’t have time to look closely. Yet as he passed by the glasses, he caught a glimpse of the gleam of his Red Ranger Armor.

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