Jarkon's head trembled slightly as he forced the words out through clenched teeth. "You already know… my Seventh Light Fleet was ordered—by you all—to station near the closest star system to the Holy Region. We were tasked with observing and confirming whether there was anything truly unusual about the Forbidden Zone... and if so, to enter and secure the entire region."
He paused, chest heaving, voice strained with pain and anger. "And that's exactly what we did. We waited for months—until it happened. I've already submitted the preliminary report."
He coughed harshly, blood staining his lips. Still, he pushed on. "The mana storm had just begun to weaken. Space was stabilizing. All our sensors indicated it would take about a galactic day for the storm to fully dissipate. So we entered low-alert formation—assuming the star system was secure. We didn't expect a surprise attack. No one should've been able to reach us without being detected."
His voice dropped into a hoarse whisper, filled with disbelief.
"That's when it happened. A fleet—barely a thousand ships—suddenly appeared at the system's edge. We detected them too late. They didn't come from any known vector or hyperspace corridor."
He looked directly at his grandfather, eyes wide with haunted memory. "They came... from within the Holy Region. Or so our systems reported."
A heavy silence fell.
Even the flames in the torch brackets seemed to pause, the very air in the chamber holding its breath.
"…From within?" the Third Elder echoed, voice barely audible.
"That's impossible," said the Seventh Elder, shaking his head in disbelief. "Nothing enters the Holy Region and comes back out... not unless—"
"—Not unless they originated there," the Ninth Elder cut in, stunned.
The Second Elder, usually the most composed among them, now showed visible unease."Do you even realize what you're saying, Jarkon? Think it through... Are you certain of this?"
Jarkon nodded firmly, despite the trembling in his limbs. He looked the Second Elder in the eye and replied:
"I have thought it through. Every system confirmed it. Our scanners, long-range probes, even the spatial echoes—all of them said the same thing. They came from within the Holy Region. Our systems don't lie."
Gasps and murmurs rippled through the circle of Elders.
"How could that be…?" came the collective question, echoed by almost every voice.
"According to every record we have," muttered the Third Elder, "the Holy Region is supposed to be desolate. Dead space. No habitable planets, no active stations…"
But their thoughts were interrupted as Jarkon, ignoring the blood on his lips and the pain in his chest, continued narrating.
"As sudden as they appeared… they struck. Without warning. No transmission. No demands. Nothing."
He clenched his fists. His voice was low and haunted.
"They opened fire immediately—with weapons we couldn't identify. Weapons far superior to ours."
He stopped for a moment, hesitating. He thought of the enormous silhouette he'd glimpsed in the distance—a massive vessel, something so impossibly vast and alien that just the sight of it had paralyzed him. A ship that exuded such pressure it distorted his senses and made him question reality itself.
But he didn't speak of it. Not yet. Even I'm not sure if it was real or just an illusion…
Instead, he pressed on."When they attacked… we were unprepared. Our fleet was in low-alert formation. Most of our escort ships had their shields down, undergoing system recalibration. And then—"
His voice broke slightly. He forced it steady.
"—Then came the first volley. A single strike... and half my fleet was gone. Gone."
The chamber fell into stunned silence.
Even among the proud, battle-hardened Minotaur Elders—warriors who had witnessed planetary bombardments and crusades across galaxies—this was something else entirely.
"…How many ships did you have with you?" asked the Fifth Elder, his tone uncharacteristically gentle.
Jarkon's expression tightened. "Roughly ten thousand. Perhaps a few more."
"…Less than fifty made it out with my flagship—the Taurus Prime, along with the Minotaur Fang and Minotaur Pride," Jarkon said bitterly. "Most of our frigates and corvette-class ships were obliterated in the opening barrage."
His jaw clenched as the memory continued to play behind his eyes.
"And that fleet didn't stop there… they kept coming. Relentless."
He paused, chest heaving. Then, in a low voice heavy with rage and disbelief, he went on.
"I watched my left and right flanks collapse. Both Minotaur Flash and Minotaur Resolve—vessels I've fought beside for decades—were obliterated. Not by conventional weapons… but by strange mechs and fighters we'd never seen before. Sleek, unnerving, inhuman. They tore through our formation like wolves in a slaughterhouse, their weapons precise and devastating."
Jarkon's eyes darkened, and his fists trembled at his sides.
"So I did the only thing left to do—I authorized the use of Taurus Prime's ultimate weapon. I activated the Gigisol Annihilation Cannon."
Gasps echoed in the chamber. That was a weapon of last resort.
"I thought… I hoped… even if I couldn't win, I could take a chunk of them down with me. But—"
He stopped, his voice cracking with disbelief.
"—But my most powerful strike was countered. A white beam of energy, launched from one of their seven capital ships, neutralized the annihilation cannon. It didn't just block it… it erased it."
The elders leaned forward, stunned.
"And then… it didn't stop. That white beam kept coming. It pierced our defenses and struck the Taurus Prime. I felt it coming. My instincts screamed at me—Move. Defend. Or die. So I poured everything I had into a final defense. Tapped into my bloodline power. Conjured a protective barrier using my life force."
He looked down, bitter.
"I survived. Barely. But Taurus Prime was crippled. Systems offline. Engines gutted. Weapons useless."
He closed his eyes briefly.
"That unknown fleet… they didn't waste time. They finished what was left. The battlefield became a graveyard. They hunted down our survivors. Even as I watched from the bridge, I saw our strongest warriors—our elite Minotaur shock troops—being slaughtered. By enemies half their size, draped in strange black exosuits… they moved like ghosts. Efficient. Precise. Merciless."
He looked up, face contorted with rage and disbelief.
"And then… then they boarded Taurus Prime."
The chamber grew impossibly silent.
"They entered the command room… and what I saw next shattered me. The one leading them—the one who defeated me, who put me in this state…"
He paused, eyes burning.
"…Was a human. Yes. That backwater, primitive race. Human."
"And not just any soldier. He was a commander. A force of nature. He looked me in the eyes—not with hatred, not with cruelty—but with pity. He spoke to me. Calmly. With authority. And then…"
Jarkon touched the deep scar across his chest.
"Humans?" one of the elders muttered, stunned. "That backwater race?"
Another scoffed under his breath, though uncertainty colored his voice."How could they possess such power… enough to counter and dismantle our Seventh Light Fleet? That was one of our elite forces... a fleet worthy of the Minotaur name."
Despite their pride, despite the disbelief—they all felt the weight of the loss. The Seventh Fleet wasn't just any armada. It was a symbol of strength, tradition, and blood-earned honor.
The First Elder, silent until now, finally leaned forward.
"Jarkon… my grandson. Why didn't you teleport out sooner? If you had fled earlier, you might've returned in better shape. Yes, it would've been a bitter shame—but it would've been better than this. Why did you wait?"
Jarkon looked up, ashamed, yet defiant. His voice was soft, broken, but resolute.
"I wanted to, Grandfather. But I didn't want to vanish in disgrace… not after all I've bled to earn the glory that clung to my name. I couldn't fade into the shadows—not without knowing who we were up against."
"I knew I had lost. But I still hoped I could learn more about our enemy. So I stayed. I tried to provoke that… that man in every way I could. But he didn't flinch. He didn't even react."
His voice turned bitter.
"Instead… he toyed with me. Not with words. With pressure. With that overwhelming gravity field—a force so crushing I could barely breathe. He wanted me to feel how outmatched I was."
Jarkon coughed again, but this time, his lips curled in grim satisfaction.
"Only then did I realize—there was nothing left to gain. So I used the teleportation scroll. But not before I gave them a warning…"
He raised his gaze, eyes burning with vengeance.
"I told them I would return. That I would have my revenge."
The First Elder narrowed his eyes."…Did you learn anything, Jarkon?"
Then Jarkon gave a slow, solemn nod.
The elders leaned in.
"What is it?" the First Elder asked quietly.
Jarkon's voice dropped to a whisper, as if the truth itself carried weight.
"They weren't just powerful. They were… confident. That man… that commander… he spoke as if their power wasn't theirs by nature, but inherited. I believe—no, I'm certain—they've uncovered the legacy of an Ancient Race. One that once ruled or lived within the Holy Region."