The mountain loomed above him as the hikers disappeared into the distance. His gaze remained fixed on the jagged peaks, but his mind was already far below, deep within the earth where something ancient and powerful slumbered. A ship. The thought echoed in his mind. It wasn't a faint guess, nor a vague intuition—his enhanced senses had felt it, a massive structure buried beneath layers of rock and time. It called to him.
He took a breath and activated his enhanced vision, eyes glowing faintly as he peered through the stone. The world peeled away in layers, revealing the true structure beneath. At first, he saw only rock, dense and unyielding. But then, deeper, his vision caught the unmistakable glint of metal — vast, interconnected chambers hidden beneath the mountain's surface.
A dreadnought-class ship, at least 15 kilometers long.
How long has this been here? He didn't have the answer, but he knew one thing: it was old. Older than anything on the surface. He pushed off the ground, hovering effortlessly as he moved toward the mountain's base. His senses guided him to an entrance, a concealed hatch buried beneath centuries of dirt and stone. It responded to his presence as if recognizing him, the metal door sliding open silently, revealing a long, dimly lit corridor that stretched deep into the heart of the mountain.
He stepped inside, the air cool and sterile, and the door sealed behind him with a soft hiss. The hum of the ship's power core vibrated through the walls, steady and strong. This place is operational. The realization sent a thrill down his spine.
He walked deeper, his enhanced vision scanning the layout of the ship. Rooms upon rooms, corridors leading to various sections, all interconnected in a seamless design. It was a fortress, a city unto itself, buried beneath the earth for who knew how long. Why here? Why now?
The first room he came across was the Command Center. The doors slid open with a quiet swoosh, revealing a massive circular chamber filled with consoles and screens that flickered to life as he entered. The walls were lined with holographic displays showing star maps, planetary systems, and tactical grids. At the center of the room was a raised platform with a large command chair facing a panoramic viewport — except instead of space, it showed the rock of the mountain above.
He ran his hand over one of the consoles, the interface responding instantly to his touch. He didn't need to think about how to use it; it was as if the ship's systems recognized him, feeding him information through subtle streams of data. The ship's logs, navigation systems, and combat capabilities were all at his fingertips. The dreadnought had been built for exploration and conquest, a Frontier-class vessel designed to venture into unknown territories, engage hostile forces, and establish control.
The Command Center's purpose was clear: to command vast fleets, manage planetary invasions, and direct the ship's operations with absolute precision. Every tool here was optimized for war. Was I meant to command this?
Leaving the Command Center behind, he made his way to the Crew Quarters. The corridors were lined with rooms — small, functional spaces designed for long-term habitation. Each room was simple but efficient, with a sleeping pod, a workstation, and storage lockers. The walls were sleek and metallic, with a subtle glow emanating from embedded lights. It felt strangely empty, as if the crew had simply vanished, leaving everything in perfect condition.
Further down the hall, he found the Medical Bay. The doors opened into a pristine, sterile environment. Rows of medical pods lined the walls, each equipped with advanced biokinetic scanners and healing technologies. He approached one of the pods, examining the interface. It was designed to treat injuries instantly, from minor wounds to near-fatal trauma. The biokinetic capabilities extended beyond basic healing — the system could enhance, augment, and even alter genetic structures. A tool for creating stronger soldiers, perhaps? The Valorian potential for biokinesis was ingrained here — in its technology, in its purpose.
He continued down a long corridor to the Science Lab. The lab was filled with holographic displays and rows of equipment for research and experimentation. Everything in the room was hyper-advanced, clearly built for analyzing alien biology, energy sources, and unknown phenomena. Test tubes lined one of the walls, along with containment units designed for live specimens. The lab's purpose was unmistakable: research and weaponize anything the crew encountered on their travels. The ship wasn't just about conquest—it was about discovery, about expanding Valorian dominance.
Next was the Engineering and Factory Bay. This section of the ship hummed with activity. Though no one was present, the automated systems were running at full capacity. Massive machines whirred as they built and repaired ship components, from weapons systems to energy reactors. There were assembly lines for everything from drones to mechs, each piece constructed with cold efficiency. It was self-sustaining — the ship could repair itself, build new technology, and produce whatever it needed for war.
In the center of the ship was the Power Core. The walls vibrated as he entered, the sound of raw energy coursing through the ship's veins. The core pulsed with radiant light, a swirling mass of energy encased in a containment field. His body resonated with its power as if it were alive, feeding the ship's systems and, perhaps, feeding him. It absorbed and redirected energy from various sources — radiation, cosmic particles, even dark matter — fueling the ship's endless operations. Was this why I was drawn to this place?
From there, he moved to the Armory, a vast chamber filled with weapons, armor, and combat gear. Rows of advanced rifles, bladed weapons, and even exoskeleton suits lined the walls. He picked up one of the rifles, its weight familiar in his hands. The ship's armory wasn't just for basic defense—it was a stockpile for planetary invasions. The technology here far surpassed anything humanity could imagine.
He inspected the gauntlets and wrist blades that matched his own, stored neatly in display cases. This gear was made for Valorian warriors. For me.
The last section he entered was the Hangar Bay. Massive doors loomed over him as he stepped inside, revealing rows of sleek fighters and dropships, ready for deployment. The hangar stretched out before him, large enough to launch an entire invasion force. Everything was perfectly maintained, as if waiting for orders.
And then there was the Habitation Section — the living, breathing core of the ship. It was designed not only for survival but for thriving in deep space, with food production systems, climate control, and recreational areas. The habitat was a self-sustaining ecosystem, allowing the crew to live indefinitely aboard the ship. Every detail was planned, optimized, and made to ensure Valorian dominance.
He stood in the middle of the hangar, his mind racing as he pieced together what he had found. This was no ordinary vessel — this ship had been built for conquest, for colonizing new worlds and crushing resistance.
But why had it been hidden here for so long? And why was he waking up now, in this moment, when the world above had no idea what lay beneath?
The voice from earlier echoed in his head again, faint but unmistakable: Protect the planet. Conquest is coming.
He wasn't sure what the future held, but one thing was certain: this ship had a purpose. And so did he.