The Three Portals of Helheim 74B
The three portals of Helheim were, for most of the inhabitants of the citadel, as much a mystery as their very own origins. Fourth-generation refugees, the residents of Helheim 74B were the unwanted outcasts of the human conglomerate, discarded by solar systems that viewed them as little more than dead weight. 74B, a planet on the fringes of the known universe, served as a dumping ground for crushed dreams. Here, technology wasn't synonymous with comfort. It was the invisible hand that ruled with brutality.
The portals were Helheim's only connection to the rest of the universe. They operated on precise schedules, opening only to planets with similar conditions. No one knew how to control them anymore; the knowledge had been lost with earlier generations. To most, the portals were both salvation and threat.
On Tuesdays and Fridays, the portal near Tyrin's house would open. As the family's secondary provider, he was forced to traverse it, risking lawless territories in search of sustenance. But that day, luck seemed to smile upon him.
"Mother, I'm home. I brought a surprise."
The dwelling, a ten-square-meter cubicle, reeked of a thin broth boiling in an old cauldron. His mother, her face marked by the years, stirred the soup with slow, deliberate motions.
"Hi, son. Dinner is almost ready."
"Mom, look what I brought to mix in!"
He revealed a large piece of meat. The reaction was immediate:
"Where did this come from? You know we don't have money. Are you stealing, Tyrin?"
"Mom, relax. I got lucky this week. I made a good profit through the portal. We've got enough food for the whole month."
She sighed in relief.
"Your father would be proud of what you do for us."
From the corner, a thin voice called out:
"Brother, what did you bring? Is there something sweet?"
It was Frida, his younger sister. Her pink wheelchair gleamed even in the dim environment, a symbol of Tyrin's sacrifices. He smiled.
"Do you think I'd forget about you?"
From his tattered backpack, he pulled out a caramel apple.
"Do you like it? I made it myself. It took some tricky bartering."
Before he could explain further, Frida rushed forward, her chair bumping into his ankle.
"Give it to me already! It looks delicious!"
To an outsider, their interaction might seem ordinary, but in 74B, moments like this were rare. Happiness was a luxury.
74B was no place for bonds. Here, men rarely lived past 40, summoned by the Federation to fight in a distant war no one understood. It was a fate that Tyrin's father had also faced. Before leaving, he had taught his son the essentials: "Always be prepared."
Since then, Tyrin carried the burden of his family's survival. The hostile environment allowed no respite. Metal creaked, pipes groaned, and the cold seeped into his very bones. Nights brought him only restless memories of his father's words.
The next morning, the dim light in the corridor announced the start of a new day. He was preparing to face the portal once again.
"Mother, today is different. The portal is configured for a noble's planet in the Alpha system. They say it's the first time in decades we'll interact with a place like that."
She nodded, worried.
"Be careful, son. The unknown is never trustworthy."
"Don't worry."
The central hall of the citadel was massive, spanning two square kilometers. The portal at its center stood like a monument from a legend: a circle adorned with glimmering stones, its surface rippling like living water.
The crowd gathered, watching as the Pioneers—the explorers tasked with braving the unknown—prepared to cross. Their dirty uniforms and rudimentary weapons betrayed the citadel's desperate state.
"Make way! The Pioneers are coming through!"
Tyrin watched from amidst the throng. The portal activated with a brilliant glow, its connection to another world taking shape. However, before any human could pass through, protocol was clear.
"Corporal, send it."
A soldier held a small dog. The animal wagged its tail, but the man's gaze was cold. Without hesitation, he injected a substance into the dog's neck.
The dog whimpered but was pushed into the portal. Its crossing served as the ultimate test of the destination's safety.
The hall fell silent. Everyone waited, tense, for the implanted sensor's feedback. The glow flickered momentarily, and murmurs began to spread.
Tyrin didn't look away. To him, this was more than a spectacle. It was a glimpse of something that could either change his life—or end it.
The portals of 74B were a bridge to the unknown, but also symbols of despair and survival. For Tyrin, their significance was clear. A medium-sized planet connected to the portal represented a unique opportunity, but he knew the situation was dire. The commotion in the hall made that evident. Hours dragged on, and the news was grim: no one sent through returned from the other side.
As the hall emptied, Tyrin remained vigilant. In a closed room on one of the citadel's upper levels, a high-ranking meeting was underway, invisible to the public. Few had access, but the discussions within could decide Helheim's future.
"Major," began the colonel, his voice heavy with frustration, "are you telling me we've lost a medium-sized planet in the Alpha quadrant? In Centurion Alpha? That's never happened before."
"Sir, we sent seven men. Only the test subject returned. No one else is willing to cross."
The colonel leaned forward, his eyes blazing with anger. "Then we send more. As many as it takes. I won't accept losing a planet like this."
One of the officers hesitated before suggesting, "We could send an Astra."
The mention of the Astras brought silence to the room. They were the Federation's ultimate warriors, raised from birth in hostile environments, trained to survive and fight in any situation. But deploying an Astra was a delicate decision. They were rare, feared even by their own commanders, and many believed their loyalty was conditional at best.
"Astra Yank," another officer proposed. "He's older, past his prime for high-impact missions. But he's still stronger and more experienced than anyone here."
The colonel nodded. "Bring Yank. Now."
The Last Astra
It didn't take long for the imposing figure of Yank to enter the room. Standing over 2.1 meters tall, with white hair and a scar splitting his face, he was the embodiment of war. Despite his missing arm and battered armor, the respect he commanded was palpable. At his side, a giant wolf standing 1.7 meters tall moved with calm, reflecting the Astra's serenity.
"Corporal Yank, Astra 2-D, reporting. What do you need?"
Yank's voice was firm and direct, as if each word were a calculated strike.
"We need you to cross the portal and retrieve the energy stone from quadrant 32," the colonel explained. "This mission is top priority. No deviations."
"I understand. And if there are survivors?"
"Secondary missions are unnecessary. Obstacles are to be ignored. Focus on the stone."
"Understood, sir." Yank gave a slight nod and turned to leave.
As he exited, silence filled the room. Everyone knew sending an Astra was an extreme measure. And everyone knew that, despite his state, Yank was still their best chance.
For Tyrin, the portals represented possibilities: rare goods, perhaps a chance to improve his life and that of his family. But that day, something different hung in the air of the central hall.
Rumors had spread like wildfire: an Astra was being sent.
Tyrin had never seen an Astra in person, but he knew the stories. Almost legendary warriors, created to be stronger, faster, and smarter than any ordinary human. The mere presence of an Astra in the citadel was enough to draw a crowd.
Yank entered the hall with steady steps. Standing over 2.1 meters tall, with white hair and visibly worn armor, he was impossible to ignore. At his side, a wolf of equally impressive proportions moved calmly, its gray fur gleaming under the dim light.
Tyrin's eyes locked onto him immediately.
"So this is an Astra," he thought. There was something different about him beyond the height and the scar dividing his face—it was the tranquility. Yank didn't seem to carry the aggression always associated with Federation warriors.
As Yank passed, his eyes briefly met Tyrin's. It was just an instant, but it was enough for Tyrin to feel something strange: not aggression, hatred, or even anger, but understanding.
He noticed the weapon in the Astra's hand—a massive pistol that seemed heavier than Tyrin could even lift. Without an arm, Yank no longer wielded the iconic Astra rifle, yet his presence still radiated authority.
The wolf beside the giant turned its head, looking directly at Tyrin. For a moment, he thought the animal might growl, but it didn't. Instead, the wolf tilted its head slightly, as if assessing him.
Tyrin smiled nervously.
"Clearly, they're not risking giving this guy a new suit of armor," he thought, trying to mask his unease.
When Yank reached the center of the hall, he knelt beside the wolf and murmured something. The words weren't meant for anyone but his companion, yet the entire hall fell silent.
"May the strength bind me and you, my dear friend."
Tyrin was surprised. He had never imagined an Astra saying something like that, so... human.
Before he could process what he had heard, the portal began to glow. Yank stood, gave the hall one last look, and stepped firmly into the light.
The hall remained silent until he disappeared. Only then did the murmurs and conversations resume.
Tyrin stayed where he was, thinking about what he had just witnessed. Yank's presence, the wolf's calmness, the unexpected phrase... It felt as though something much larger was about to unfold.