POV 1: REINA MORALES – SOUTHERN COMMAND HUB, USHUAIA

The operations chamber had never been so quiet. After hours of alarms and frantic commands, silence now pressed on Reina Morales’s ears harder than any siren ever could. The screens showed little but static haze where the Second Gate churned in the Pacific, its light warping sensors, bending satellites blind. Yet one thing cut through the interference: the Oblivion constructs—shadows given form—emerging in regimented waves.

“Strike Team Indigo is inside the perimeter,” reported an aide, his voice raw from shouting. “Telemetry is sporadic. Their uplinks keep cutting.”

Reina leaned over the table, fingers braced on the steel. She could feel the sweat between her knuckles, the tremor in her chest. She forced it still. A commander cannot falter where soldiers bleed.

“Patch me through,” she ordered. Static hissed, then broke into fractured voices.

“…This is Indigo-Three—contact! They’re not—damn it, they’re everywhere—”

Gunfire rattled through the comms, a scream cut short, then silence. The channel fizzed to nothing.

Reina swallowed the lump in her throat. Around her, admirals and generals traded grim looks, some ready to call it, to abandon the strike. She raised her chin, cold as iron.

“No withdrawals. Not yet. If we lose that Gate, humanity drowns anyway. Keep feeding them support—drones, satellites, anything still flying.”

Inwardly, she prayed. Indigo, hold. Please, just hold.

POV 2: STRIKE TEAM INDIGO – EDGE OF THE GATE

Corporal Anders ran until his lungs were knives. The sea had become a field of corpses—human, elf, machine—and between them writhed the Oblivion things, bodies blacker than the void, limbs too many, too few, reshaping as they killed.

“Charges planted!” Sergeant Vega shouted over the comms, her exo-armor scorched, visor cracked. “We detonate when we breach the Gate’s anchor.”

Anders risked a glance back. Half their squad was gone—some swallowed, some shredded, others simply erased, as though never born. But the anchor loomed before them: a spire of silver crystal, veins pulsing with lunar light. The core that fed the Gate.

“Cover me!” Vega roared, sprinting forward with the last of her grenades.

Then the sky broke open. A silver-winged figure descended with thunder.

POV 3: DYUG VON FORESTIA – ABOVE THE WAVES

Dyug’s wings cut through smoke and ash, their lunar glow defying even the radioactive haze. He saw the humans swarming toward the anchor, planting their bombs. He felt his pulse quicken. This was it—the battle that would decide whether his mother’s Gate endured.

His voice carried across the battlefield, amplified by runes: “You dare lay hands on the Moon’s threshold?”

He dove, spear first. His weapon split a drone in two, the blast wave toppling soldiers. One human raised a launcher—Dyug’s silver wings shielded him, absorbing the missile before it struck his chest. Pain lanced through him, but he endured. He had to endure.

The faces below were young, desperate, resolute. They reminded him of Mary’s stories of humanity’s stubborn courage. And for the first time, he hesitated.

“Fall back!” Sergeant Vega barked to her squad. “Don’t engage—complete the mission!”

Dyug’s spear lashed out, shattering her weapon before she could fire.

POV 4: MARY – THE ROYAL KNIGHT CORPS

Mary stood on a broken carrier’s deck, her spear raised, her Knights arrayed in tattered formation. She watched Dyug descend into battle, a comet of silver fury. Her chest clenched—not in fear of his safety, but at the sight of what he was forced to do.

“These humans fight like cornered wolves,” said Sir Alaric, one of her lieutenants. His armor dripped with seawater and blood. “Even the Leviathans fell to them.”

Mary did not look away from Dyug. “Wolves do not yield their throats, even to gods.”

The words chilled her. For all her faith in Luna, for all her duty to Queen Elara, a part of her whispered that Dyug was not meant to be here—pitted against mortals who deserved more than annihilation.

“Form ranks,” she ordered. “If he falters, we move. If he bleeds, we shield him. No human lays low our prince.”

And yet, in her heart, she prayed those humans survived long enough to remind them all what they were fighting for.

POV 5: QUEEN ELARA – THE THRONE OF MOONLIGHT

Far from the carnage, aboard her floating citadel, Elara reclined on her throne of crystal. The Gate’s runes pulsed in rhythm with her heartbeat, their power hers to command. Priestesses chanted around her, feeding their life-force into the flow. Each Oblivion construct was her child, her weapon, her decree.

“They resist still,” she murmured, watching as Dyug clashed with the strike team. A ripple of annoyance crossed her lips. “Stubborn creatures.”

One priestess dared to speak. “My Queen, shall we release the Second Choir? The full might of the Gate waits only your word.”

Elara’s eyes narrowed. Images of mushroom clouds replayed in her mind—fire that even Forestia’s oldest wards had never faced. Humanity’s power was no longer laughable.

“No,” she said coldly. “Not yet. If Dyug and the Corps cannot hold against mortals, then they are not worthy of the Moon.”

But inside her silver gaze flickered a shadow. Not doubt—never doubt—but a recognition. That this world was not one she could crush easily. That perhaps Luna’s test was sharper than she had foreseen.

POV 6: REINA MORALES – SOUTHERN COMMAND HUB

“Gate anchor confirmed,” an analyst cried. “Strike Team Indigo has visual—wait—contact with Dyug!”

Reina’s heart clenched. The screens lit with fractured images—Dyug’s silver form striking down Indigo’s forward units, Mary’s Knights circling like vultures. For a moment, all seemed lost.

“Ma’am,” Admiral Suresh said quietly, “we can order them to fall back. Save what’s left.”

Reina’s lips pressed into a hard line. She thought of the Gate swallowing the Pacific, of Leviathans rising again, of the world burning. No fallback would save them.

Her voice was ice. “Tell Indigo: complete the mission. No matter the cost.”

POV 7: STRIKE TEAM INDIGO – AT THE ANCHOR

Sergeant Vega bled from a dozen cuts, her armor cracked. Dyug loomed above, radiant, untouchable. But behind her, Anders finished arming the charges. The timer blinked red—five minutes.

“We hold him here,” Vega snarled. “Even if it kills us.”

Dyug’s eyes met hers. For a heartbeat, neither moved. He saw the steel in her gaze, the refusal to kneel. It reminded him too much of himself, standing before Elara’s endless expectations.

“You could have lived,” he told her softly.

She spat blood at his feet. “So could you.”

Then they clashed.

POV 8: MARY – BETWEEN TWO FIRES

Mary could see the charges flashing red against the anchor’s base. Her chest seized. She knew what would happen if they detonated—the Gate would shatter, her Queen’s fury would fall, Dyug’s chance to prove himself would die with it.

But she also saw Vega standing against Dyug, outmatched yet unyielding. And for the first time, Mary asked herself: Is this courage, or madness?

Her Knights looked to her, waiting for the command.

“Hold the perimeter,” she whispered, voice breaking. “Do not let the humans through.”

But her hands shook on the spear.

POV 9: ELARA – THE WATCHER

Elara felt the tremor in the Gate’s anchor. Her eyes narrowed. “They’ve planted something.”

Her fingers danced over runes. With a thought, the Oblivion constructs surged toward the anchor, cutting off Indigo’s retreat. “If they wish to die, let them.”

She leaned back, silver hair cascading like a waterfall. In her heart, she willed Dyug to triumph—not for love of him, but because his failure would prove her gamble flawed. And she never gambled wrong.

POV 10: REINA MORALES – LAST COMMAND

The room held its breath as telemetry blinked down. Indigo’s vitals flatlined one by one. Only Anders’s beacon still pulsed, moving closer to the anchor. Reina’s nails dug into her palms, blood welling where she clenched her fists.

“Do it,” she whispered into the comm, as though her voice alone could reach him. “For all of us.”

CLOSING SCENE – THE SPARK

Corporal Anders dragged himself across the shattered deck, his leg gone, his armor sparking. The timer blinked: 00:12. Dyug loomed above, spear raised. Mary shouted his name, torn between command and conscience.

Anders looked up at the prince, at the moonlit angel come to kill him, and grinned through the blood. “Not today.”

He slammed his hand on the trigger.

A blinding light erupted at the Gate’s base. The sea roared. Elara’s eyes widened. Reina’s command center shook. Mary reached for Dyug, screaming his name.

And the Pacific burned once more.