Prologue – The Silence Before
Achios
Holy Light Calendar Year 10,476
Imperial Record: Class-3 Agri-World, Sector Helion, Segmentum Aurelius
---
In the far corners of the Imperium, there were still places that remembered peace.
Achios was one of them.
It was a garden-world, known for strawberries that grew fat on silver dew and wheat that whispered with the wind. There were no trenches on Achios. No bombed-out hives. No orbital shipyards blackening the skies. It fed millions of people across a dozen systems, yet few on Terra could even place it on a map.
It was clean. Ordered. Loyal.
And utterly unprepared.
---
Above it, in orbit, a ring of satellites hummed quietly—outdated but sufficient. They blinked with old Imperial code, scanning the void for pirates, smugglers, warp anomalies. Nothing unusual had happened in centuries.
Until now.
> "Sensor Ping: Deep Drift Mass Detected."
"Source: Extragalactic Fringe."
"Vector: Non-relativistic. Silent burn. Mass composition: organic."
"Query: Xeno classification… failed."
"Signal repeat: NULL."
No alarms sounded. No fleet was dispatched. No orders were given.
Achios kept breathing.
Down below, children played in flowered courtyards. Priests sang under stained glass domes. Farmers bowed to the soil and whispered blessings over their harvests.
No one noticed that, in the deepest void between galaxies, something had changed direction.
---
It came not in flame or declaration.
It drifted.
Wrapped in bio-metal vines and seed pods the size of fortresses. It bore no engines, no flags, no words. But it knew hunger. It had waited for centuries. It had devoured entire stars before this.
It had seen Achios.
And it was coming.
---
But on the surface, in a city called Mikri Poli, a little girl was sitting on a park bench with a bouquet of lilies in her lap and the sun on her face.
She didn't know what a drop pod was.
She didn't know what it meant when scanners stopped responding.
She only knew that the lilies were blooming today.
And that her parents were both home.
***
Mikri Poli always smelled like flowers.
Lili thought that was the best thing in the whole world. Better than ice cream, better than toys, even better than when her mother let her wear her big sunhat and pretend to be a flower herself. Today, the white lilies were blooming along the walkways, and the sun made their petals glow like glass. Lili had picked five—carefully, gently, the way Mama taught her—and was sitting on her favorite bench in the central park, swinging her legs and humming a song she half remembered.
Her father sat nearby, reading something on his datapad. He was always reading things. Important things, probably. Her mother was next to him, laughing softly about something Lili didn't hear, brushing a strand of blonde hair behind her ear.
Lili smiled, holding one of the flowers to her nose.
> This is a perfect day, she thought.
The air was warm, filled with the hum of transit cars and the soft chatter of people going about their lives. Children ran near the edge of the fountain, their laughter mixing with the sound of splashing water. The white towers surrounding the park shimmered under the midday sun, their tops blooming open like petals to let light into the upper greenhouses.
This was Lili's world.
She didn't know words like "Imperium" or "agri-export quota." She only knew that Mama grew the best strawberries in the district and that Daddy could lift her up so high she could almost touch the sky.
And she knew the flowers always bloomed for her.
---
Somewhere in the distance, a low chime sounded—a shift change bell, soft and musical. Adults stood, dusted off uniforms, and children were called back to their homes or schools.
But not Lili.
Today, her parents were both off work.
She had them all to herself.
"Look!" she said, holding up her bouquet. "This one has a double petal!"
Her mother leaned forward with a smile. "So it does, my little blossom. You've got a good eye."
Her father glanced up and ruffled her hair. "Make sure not to crush them, Lily-pad."
She giggled at the nickname.
Everything was golden.
---
And then the first warning ping sounded.
It was small, soft—just a notification tone from her father's datapad.
But then it happened again.
And again.
All around the park, adults paused. Devices buzzed. Holograms blinked to life. Lili looked up in confusion as her father's face changed—his brows furrowing, his jaw tightening.
"Darius?" her mother asked, softly.
He stood up without answering.
Lili clutched her flowers, the warmth around her chest turning suddenly strange. Tight. She didn't know why, but something inside her didn't like the way the shadows had shifted.
Then her mother stood too, slowly this time.
"Lili, come here."
---
Lili obeyed, sliding off the bench, the flowers still in her small hands.
Above them, the sky was still blue… but something was wrong. A strange color crept into the light, like smoke curling at the edge of a candle. A green tint. A shadow.
Her father turned to look east—toward the capital.
In the far distance, something was blooming in the upper sky. Not clouds. Not storm fronts.
Something else.
---
And with that… the world began to change.
---
The air changed.
One second, it smelled like flowers. The next—it didn't. It smelled… wrong. Like metal and smoke and wet stone after a storm.
Then came the alarms.
Lili flinched as a sharp, blaring siren erupted from every streetlight and speaker across Mikri Poli. People around her froze—some looked to the sky, others grabbed their children. Lili's parents didn't hesitate. Her father grabbed her up in his arms, lifting her with strength that felt different this time—tight, not playful.
"Hold on, Lily-pad. Don't let go."
She didn't understand.
"What's happening? Why's the sky funny? Is it gonna rain?" she asked, clutching her flowers to her chest.
No answer.
Her mother ran beside them, heels clicking against the smooth pavement. Her eyes were wide, lips tight, one hand on her comm-bead, the other clenched into a fist.
Above them, the sky continued to twist. The blue was gone now, swallowed by a vast, swirling green mist that descended like a living thing. The sun still shone—but it looked sick. Pale. Flickering.
Lili buried her face into her father's shoulder.
All around them, the city changed.
---
The towers sealed themselves, gleaming glass shutters snapping closed. The gentle hiss of hidden turrets rising echoed across the park. From beneath the streets, metallic panels unfolded, forming barricades and guiding fleeing citizens toward the spaceport.
Lili peeked out.
Soldiers poured from hidden bunkers—gas-masked, faceless, uniforms green like the leaves of home, but now terrifying in their stillness. They marched in perfect lines, rifles held close, voices crackling over short-range vox as they took positions around the city perimeter.
Lili had never seen them before. Not like this.
They didn't smile. They didn't talk.
They just moved.
---
And then came the sound.
Boom.
Not from the ground—from the sky. A deep, distant thud that vibrated through her chest. Then another. Then a ripple of light across the horizon, far away near the capital, as if a star had exploded behind the clouds.
Screams now. Real ones.
People pushing.
Crowds forming.
And still her father ran—dodging through the shifting tide of bodies like a man who had done it before. Lili clung tighter. The bouquet in her hands had begun to wilt. Or maybe it was just her shaking.
Above, the green mist began to fall.
It wasn't rain. It wasn't snow.
It drifted like pollen—but thicker. Heavier.
People who breathed it began to cough.
---
"Darius—!" her mother shouted, pointing toward a sealed checkpoint. "There! The Metro ramp!"
He nodded, changing course, feet slamming onto the emergency slide-path that led to the Metro's upper platform.
Lili heard more screaming now. Saw people scratching at their skin. One woman was bleeding from her eyes, her mouth open in a silent, mad laugh.
Why is everyone laughing? she thought.
The thought made her stomach twist.
---
As they neared the Metro gates, the first of the infected began to drop. A man collapsed near a food stall, convulsing, green foam bubbling from his lips. Others tripped over him, falling into each other like dominoes. Lili's mother barely dodged a man who spun in circles before collapsing, eyes wide and empty.
The gates to the Metro sealed.
Lili screamed. "No! No! We need to get in!"
But her father didn't stop. He turned sharply, ducking into a narrow alley near the side of the checkpoint—one she remembered walking through once, during a festival, where musicians used to play.
There were no musicians now.
Only the sound of rifles.
And people laughing where they should be dying.
---
Then something wet hit her cheek.
A green flake.
Like snow.
It melted on contact—and burned.
She yelped, clutching her face. A strange heat surged down her arm. But then—just as suddenly—it stopped.
A soft warmth pulsed from within her chest, like a second heartbeat.
And the burning faded.
The flake was gone.
She looked at her hand. Perfect. Untouched.
---
"Hold on, Lili," her father grunted. "We're almost there."
"I'm scared," she whispered.
"I know. Be brave."
---
The alley spilled out into a market square, where chaos reigned.
Bodies fell like wheat before the scythe.
And the green snow kept falling.
---
The market square was chaos.
People pressed together in a sea of voices—murmuring, crying, shouting, whispering prayers that made no sense. The ground trembled every few seconds, like the sky itself was angry. Smoke curled from the spires above, and all of Mikri Poli's beauty felt… wrong now. Like a dream she'd woken up from too quickly.
Lili clung to her father's shoulder as he slowed.
They had reached a momentary clearing between two tall food stalls. Her mother leaned against the side of a building, breathless, her cheeks red from running.
For the first time since the sirens began, they stopped moving.
Lili peeked up.
Her father was checking his wrist-vox. Muttering something under his breath. Her mother was watching the crowd—eyes wide, searching for something, or someone.
Lili turned her eyes to the sky.
The mist had covered the sun completely now. The green hue in the air made everything look sick. Even the flowers in her hand looked pale and tired, their petals sagging.
> "Why is the sky like this?" she whispered, mostly to herself.
---
Her father noticed. Looked down. His face was pale, jaw clenched, eyes sharper than she'd ever seen.
But still—he smiled.
It was small, tired, forced.
He brushed some hair from her forehead and tucked a flower behind her ear.
> "So even if the world forgets what beauty is," he said softly, "it'll remember you wore it."
Lili didn't know what that meant. Not yet. But it made her throat tighten.
---
She looked around again.
Families huddled together. Soldiers were forming defensive lines at the far end of the square. A wounded man stumbled through the crowd, one arm slick with something green, calling out names that didn't belong to anyone.
Somewhere behind them, someone began to sing.
Not a real song. Not like the ones from festivals.
It was broken. Wrong. A melody that dipped where it should rise, and rose where it should fall.
She didn't like it.
---
"Darius," her mother whispered. "The crowd's not moving."
"I know," he replied.
They both looked toward the giant ramp leading up into the spaceport—a long metal path that stretched like a bridge between buildings. The security checkpoint at its base was choked with people. A few guards held the line, but barely.
"They're not letting anyone through," her mother said. "Not fast enough."
"They will. Just… need time." He looked down at Lili again. "She okay?"
"I think so," her mother replied. "She's strong."
Lili smiled faintly. She didn't feel strong. Her arms were tired. Her legs ached. Her flowers were wilting.
But she wanted to be brave.
Because they were being brave.
---
And for a moment… nothing happened.
Just the sound of breathing.
Just the whispers.
Just the quiet before it all broke.
---
The first scream was sharp, loud, and close.
Lili flinched. Her father immediately crouched low, shielding her. Her mother pressed closer. All around them, heads turned—people craning to see the source.
It came from near the base of the spaceport ramp. A woman. Pale. Shaking.
She was scratching at her neck, hard—clawing, even. Her fingers moved like she was trying to dig something out. Her skin was flushed and blotchy. Then her hands froze.
A lump swelled on her jawline. Then another on her cheek. Green, shiny, pulsing like something alive.
She opened her mouth—to scream again maybe, or cry for help.
Instead, she laughed.
Not like a person. Not even like a madwoman.
Like something trying to mimic laughter, but getting it wrong.
---
More screams followed.
Everywhere.
People began to collapse in the crowd, coughing, clawing at themselves, their faces twisted in confusion and pain.
"Darius," her mother gasped. "It's happening. Oh Light, it's already started."
He didn't respond.
He just moved.
---
They turned back down the alleyway, trying to avoid the worst of the chaos—but it was spreading too fast.
The green snow was falling heavier now. Lili saw it coating the shoulders of people's jackets, melting into skin. One man convulsed mid-step, then collapsed with a horrible crunch of bone. Another woman just stood still, smiling through tears, her eyes rolling back in her head as veins turned black beneath her skin.
Someone near Lili laughed. Then another. Then dozens.
It became a chorus.
---
A man in a noble coat staggered toward a soldier at the ramp checkpoint.
"You there—cough—you have to let me through! I—I'm important, I'm—I am…"
He froze mid-sentence.
"I am…" he said again, softer.
Then: "Who… who are you?"
The soldier raised his rifle but didn't fire. The nobleman blinked.
"I… I forgot…"
He fell.
Not dead. But changing.
---
Then dozens fell.
Lili screamed. Her father held her tight, pushing through the shifting crowd as bodies dropped all around them like marionettes with cut strings.
Her mother cried out as a woman collapsed nearby, pustules bursting across her arms, spraying green ichor.
Lili felt it land on her dress. Her cheek.
It burned—but only for a second. Her chest pulsed with light, and the sickness vanished like it had never been.
She didn't understand. She just held on tighter.
---
Then something even worse.
Bodies began to move again.
Not like people. Not like the sick.
They twitched. Jerked. Staggered to their feet with wide, open-mouthed smiles—too wide. Teeth bared. Eyes full of tears.
> They're crying, Lili realized. But they're smiling.
And then they started laughing again.
And running.
---
The crowd broke.
People screamed, pushing in every direction.
One infected slammed into a guard, tearing off his helmet. Another grabbed a woman and bit her neck, laughing even as blood sprayed. A child cried out for his mother before being pulled into the swarm.
The world had become noise—screams, gunfire, the wet sound of tearing flesh, the awful chorus of laughter that wouldn't stop.
---
Lili's father turned sharply, cutting into a narrow side street.
"Emergency route!" he shouted. "We can get around to the west ramp!"
But then he stumbled.
Her mother screamed.
Lili looked—and saw it.
A pustule. On the back of her father's neck.
It pulsed.
Then it burst.
Green fluid sprayed her.
"No! Father, stop it!" she cried.
But he didn't stop. He just kept walking—slower now. Breathing heavier.
Her mother stopped too.
And Lili saw the same sickness—spreading on her skin.
They looked at each other.
Confused. Distant.
"Who are you?" her mother asked, voice trembling.
"I… I don't know," her father whispered, looking down at the girl in his arms.
"Who… is she?"
---
Lili's world fell apart.
She felt her father's grip loosen.
Then she was falling.
She hit the ground hard—dirt, blood, and green ichor coating her knees.
"Father?" she whimpered.
But he just stared at her, smiling that same awful smile, the one that didn't belong to him.
Then he laughed.
---
All around her, the infected were rising.
And she was alone.
---
Lili couldn't breathe.
The green flakes clung to her hair, her skin, her dress—melting like ice, but wrong, wrong, wrong. Her little hands scraped at her cheeks as she tried to wipe it off, but it was everywhere.
All around her, people screamed.
And laughed.
And changed.
Her parents stood above her, side by side, smiling like they were watching a puppet show. But it wasn't them. Not anymore.
"Run, Lili!" her mother gasped suddenly, her voice cracking through the madness. "Run—run!"
Lili turned and ran.
Her feet slapped against the blood-slick stone, shoes slipping as she ducked beneath outstretched arms and kicked over a fallen ration crate. She didn't know where she was going. She only knew away.
The market square was a massacre.
Dozens—no, hundreds—of bodies were on the ground, some twitching, some rising. Their mouths opened in joyous screams. Their skin cracked and peeled, bones tearing through muscle, eyes rolling back as they danced to that awful, impossible laughter.
Don't look. Don't look. Don't look.
She ran past the fountain. Past a flower stall. Past a soldier who was no longer a soldier—his armor twisted with growths, his face a mask of bone.
A woman grabbed at her.
Lili screamed and ducked beneath her clawed arms.
She didn't stop. She didn't slow.
Her breath came in ragged sobs.
Her lungs burned.
Her legs were on fire.
But she didn't stop.
The tall glass doors of the market hall loomed ahead. She knew this place—it was where Mama bought the strawberries, where Daddy got her the little flower ring for her birthday.
It was safe.
It had to be.
She shoved through the door—barely able to reach the panel—and collapsed inside.
The hall was silent.
Empty.
The overhead lights flickered, casting long shadows over the aisles. Shelves were overturned. Glass was shattered.
And outside—
They came.
Dozens of them.
Their bodies twisted. Their eyes crying. Their mouths grinning.
They pressed up against the glass.
One reached out and placed a hand—deformed and trembling—against the door.
The glass began to crack.
Lili screamed.
She ran, small legs pumping, past the fruit stands and stacked crates, deeper into the green section. She dove into a pile of strawberries—soft, cold, sweet—and buried herself beneath them.
The smell comforted her. Familiar. But she still shook, still sobbed.
Outside, the laughter rose again.
And then—glass shattered.
She pressed her face into the fruit, trying not to make a sound.
Booted feet stomped inside.
But not infected feet.
Gunfire ripped through the silence—lasbolts and flamers and barking commands.
"Hold the entrance!" someone shouted. "Purge the laughing ones!"
Screams followed.
Screams that weren't human anymore.
The fire hissed.
The infected shrieked.
Lili stayed hidden.
Something collapsed near her.
A body. Burned. Twisted.
Then silence.
She didn't move.
Not for minutes. Maybe hours.
The city was gone.
Her parents were gone.
Her name was Lili.
And she was alone.
Lili didn't know how long she had stayed beneath the strawberries.
Long enough that her tears had dried into sticky trails on her cheeks. Long enough that the lights had stopped flickering. Long enough that the silence was almost worse than the screaming.
Her tiny hands clutched what was left of her bouquet—three crushed white flowers. The others had been lost in the flight, or smeared in the juice of the fruit she now hid under.
Her breath was shallow. Controlled. She didn't cry anymore. There was nothing left to cry.
Just... stillness.
Until—
Footsteps.
Not the broken shuffle of the infected. Not the joyous skipping of the mad.
These were measured. Heavy. Steel.
Lili held her breath.
Something clinked. A weapon.
Someone was here.
A man's voice, low and sharp, cut through the quiet: "Clear left. Check the stalls. Anything moves, shoot."
Another voice—calmer, older: "Should've burned the place. Too many hiding spots."
"No signs of contact. Possible civvies? Not sure."
Lili dared a peek through the strawberries. Her heart leapt into her throat.
Soldiers.
But not like the ones from the early attack.
These ones were different.
Worn. Scarred. Their armor scratched, patchwork. Helmets dented. Gas masks fogged from breath. They moved like ghosts—not parade-ground perfect, but dangerous, alert.
And leading them—
A tall figure in a long coat over body armor, helmet off, silver hair cut short and jagged. A jagged scar crossed one temple. His eyes were cold. Calculating.
He wasn't scanning the shelves. He was watching the floor. Listening.
Like a hunter.
She tried to pull back.
But a single strawberry rolled from the pile.
It bounced once. Twice.
Stopped near his boot.
His head turned.
The soldier nearest him raised his rifle.
Lili gasped.
And then—the strawberries exploded.
She screamed, flailing as arms grabbed her, dragging her from the pile.
"Got something!" the soldier shouted.
Lili kicked. Bit. Screamed.
"Stop moving!"
"Wait—hold on—it's just a kid!"
The cold-eyed man stepped forward. "Mask off."
"But sir—"
"Do it."
The soldier removed his gas mask, revealing a rough face and a scarred lip. His eyes softened as he looked at her.
Lili stared, trembling, eyes wide with terror.
She tried to speak, but her voice cracked. "P-please... don't laugh..."
The man knelt.
Not the one who grabbed her. The other—the one with the silver hair. The one who hadn't blinked the whole time.
He crouched low, meeting her gaze.
And said nothing.
After a moment, he reached into his coat. Pulled something out. A piece of cloth. A canteen.
He poured water on the cloth and held it toward her.
She didn't move.
He set it beside her.
Then, softly—gruffly—he spoke:
"You're not infected. Good."
He stood again.
"But you're filthy. That'll kill you faster than the plague."
He turned to the others.
"Put a uniform on her. Mask and helmet too. She's coming with us."
"What? She's just a—"
"Every soldier needs a weapon."
He pulled a combat knife from his belt.
It gleamed in the low light.
He crouched again and pressed it into her hands.
It was heavy. Cold. Almost as long as her forearm.
She stared at it.
Then up at him.
He didn't smile.
"Survive, kid. That's your first mission."
And just like that—
She was a soldier.