With a strangled sound that was part-gasp, part-whimper, Lyra didn't just leave. She evaporated. One second she was a statue of flaming embarrassment, the next she was a blur of motion, transforming into a veritable crimson mist that streaked past Rex and vanished down the hallway without a single backward glance.

A profound, ringing silence descended upon the living room, broken only by the soft hum of the ship's systems.

Rex stood frozen in the doorway, one eyebrow creeping slowly upward. He looked from the empty space where Lyra had been, to Nyra, who had brought a hand to her forehead, her shoulders shaking with silent laughter she couldn't contain, and finally to his son.

Michael looked up at his father, all traces of his earlier cleverness replaced by the guileless confusion of a five-year-old who had just launched a social torpedo and watched it hit its mark with devastating effect.

Rex's deep voice cut through the quiet, laced with pure, unadulterated bewilderment.

"...Did I miss something?"

Little Michael drew a breath, ready to unveil the whole, hilarious truth, but Nyra's hand was a gentle, swift cage over his mouth. She met Rex's puzzled gaze, her own eyes glittering with laughter she could barely contain. A cute chuckle escaped her lips, it sounded so soft and musical.

"Nope," she manages to answer, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter. "Nothing for you to worry about. We just... teased her a little too much, that's all." She was fighting a losing battle against her own amusement, and the sight of it was more reassuring to Rex than any stern report.

Rex, ever the gentleman he prided himself on being, gave a slow, deliberate nod. He would navigate this particular mystery another time. "Very well," he rumbled, his focus shifting to the weightier matter at hand. "In that case, I assume you've all seen Cleo's notification. We're leaving."

His eyes settled on Michael, and his voice took on a harder, more resonant edge. "Get ready, son. It's sooner than I expected, but war waits for no one. It will be good for you to start learning this from an early age." He turned to leave, a figure of imposing purpose, but paused at the threshold.

He glanced back over his shoulder, his gaze finding his son one last time. The hardness in his eyes melted into something quieter, more profound. "I'm sorry," he said, the words so quiet they were almost stolen by the hum of the ship. Then he was gone.

Two hours later, the family's sleek, luxury cruiser lifted from the planet's surface with a roar that split the sky. It carved a silent, brilliant scar through the atmosphere before vanishing into the star-dusted black.

The only one who marked its passing was the Planetary Champion, standing at the vast window of his orbital office. He watched the ship's trail dissipate, a knowing, weary smile touching his lips. He knew exactly what they had done at the college; he had ensured the reports were buried himself.

"Have a good journey, my friend," he murmured to the empty room, the words a final benediction. Then, with a sigh, he turned back to the relentless glow of his terminal, surrendering once more to the infernal paperwork that was a tyrant in its own right.

[Outer World Pharax - Under Nexum Dynamic Control, Day 1]

Dawn on Pharax was not a sunrise, but a slow, sickly greying of the perpetual smog that choked the hive city. In the slums, a kilometer below the upper spires where the corporate spires pierced the gloom, the air was a thick, gritty soup of recycled exhaust, chemical decay, and the collective breath of millions living on top of one another. It was air you could taste, a metallic tang of despair that coated the tongue.

Vance moved through the crowded, dripping under-streets with the weary rhythm of a metronome, his boots scuffing through stagnant puddles that shimmered with iridescent oil. His body already ached with a deep-seated fatigue that was as much a part of him as his own shadow, a constant, heavy companion.

Work, home, sleep. It was an interminable, grinding circle, the only dance he knew in the grim, relentless ballet of survival. To dream of something more, of living instead of just enduring, was a luxury priced so far beyond his reach it was a fairy tale.

"Hey Vance! What are you doing, still walking? We're going to be late! We'll lose half our weekly pay!" A voice, sharp with a panic that was all too common down here, cut through the din of machinery and distant traffic. Jax appeared at his side, breathless, his face already covered with a nervous sweat. Without waiting for an answer, he started pushing at Vance's back.

"Hey, hey, relax! Don't push," Vance grumbled, shrugging him off with a tired sigh. The last thing he needed was Jax's amplified anxiety.

"We're not late. The time just changed, remember? It's that one day of the year we get an extra hour. The one little gift this rotten rock gives us for free." To prove his point, he tapped the worn, scuffed device strapped to his forearm, expecting the screen to glow with the official, corporation-mandated chrono-readout.

But the screen didn't glow with neat, reassuring digits.

It was a mess of frantic, skittering static, like a chaotic, grayish-white swarm trapped behind the glass.

"Mmm?" Vance frowned, his weariness momentarily replaced by a spike of annoyance. He lifted his arm closer to his face, peering at the malfunctioning tech. "This is weird. Did it finally give out on me?" He gave the casing a few firm, hopeful taps, then a harder smack with the heel of his hand, since that was the universal solution for all malfunctioning tech in the undercity. But the static persisted, a silent, frantic digital scream.

"Tsk, tsk, tsk," Jax clucked, his initial panic morphing into a grim, I told you so vindication. He crossed his arms with a smug look on his face. "That's why I told you not to buy it from that shady vendor in the Rust-Market! See!? I was right, you got scammed, dude! Totally scammed! Probably filled with recycled parts from a scrap heap."

But Vance wasn't listening anymore. The complaint faded into the background hum of the city. He was staring into the chaotic, swirling patterns on the screen, and a cold, unfamiliar knot was tightening in his gut. This felt different from a simple power failure or a burnt-out component. The static felt… aggressive. Intentional.

It felt less like a malfunction, and more like an omen of the city holding its breath, and his cheap device was the first to gasp.

And just as the static on his screen seemed to seep into his very bones, the world erupted.

The slightly dark, smog-choked sky didn't just light up; it screamed. A silent, brutal flower of fire bloomed in the high atmosphere, followed by the terrifying, slow-motion spectacle of a defense frigate, a vessel larger than their entire sector, fell down broken in two.

The sound hit them a second later, a deafening, metallic roar that shook the ground beneath their feet and rained dust and debris from the towering structures around them. This wasn't an attack; it was an execution.

"RUN!" Vance didn't just shout the word; he launched himself at Jax, shoving his friend forward with a desperate strength. They stumbled, scrambled, and sprinted as the shadow of a dying corvette blotted out the artificial sky, its hull screaming in its death throes.

The ground leaped beneath them as the ship carved a canyon of fire and twisted metal through the slums exactly where they had stood. The subsequent explosion was a physical force, a heatwave that blistered their backs and sent them sprawling.

They crawled, coughing on acrid smoke, as the sky continued to fall. Chunks of starships, some as big as buildings, smashed into the hive city's spires, shearing them in half in showers of glittering glass and steel.

It was only then, as the world ended around them, that the city's assault alarms finally wailed to life like a pathetic, sluggish siren against the symphony of annihilation. Far above, a faint, shimmering energy barrier began to stutter into existence, too little, too late.

"What the hell is happening!? Are those pirates!?" Jax screamed, his voice raw with a terror Vance had never heard.

Vance forced air into his burning lungs, his legs screaming in protest. "I-I don't think so!" he gasped, wiping soot and blood from his lips. "Pirates don't have the firepower to... to erase a fleet from orbit!"

They looked up, their eyes stinging from the smoke. The few defensive fighters that scrambled from the upper hive were like gnats against hawks. Sleek, predatory craft in gleaming white and gold moved with an impossible, graceful lethality, painting the sky with the crimson bursts of their dying defenders.

"We don't even have a chance..." Jax whispered, the fight draining from him as he witnessed the one-sided slaughter. It was a truth that needed no military training to understand.

Then, a new light bloomed. Every screen, every public holo-ad, every personal device, including Vance's, which now flickered to life was hijacked. The static resolved into the image of a man so perfectly handsome he seemed less a person and more a sculpture. And behind him, a pair of massive, pristine white wings seemed to absorb the light. His eyes, a cool, pitiless gray, looked out upon them all.

"Attention, people of Pharax. We are the Kaelzar Fleet. Your defensive forces have been neutralized." His voice was calm, melodic, and utterly devoid of emotion. "You now have a choice. Surrender unconditionally, or fight to the bitter end. We will await your answer for one imperial hour. After that, the invasion will begin."

The transmission ended, leaving the city in a silence more terrifying than the explosions.