May 20th, 2069 (Military Calendar)

  Colorado Springs, Colorado, United States

  North America, Earth

  *****

  Natilite stared at the red-and-white basket filled with burgers and fries. Her eyes widened at the sheer size of the meal—and the overwhelming number of ingredients.

  What baffled the Valkyrie more was that, when she glanced at the rest of her party, they had even bigger meals. Ryder had extra bacon. Ford's beef patties dripped with grease and cheese. Forest had cheese oozing from his French dip. The others had similarly oversized meals she didn’t recognize but looked just as desirable. Everyone from Comanche was pigging out after months of rations on Alagore.

  She couldn’t help but compare it to the meager barley cakes and dried meat they rationed during the siege.

  "How can you eat so much?" Natilite asked.

  "This is nothing," Ford said. "Back in my teens, I could eat two of these."

  "I had a twenty-slice pizza once," Forest added. "Mom always said I was half the family meal budget."

  "Nat," Ryder said, grinning. "You say that like you've never seen food before."

  "It is…" Natilite hesitated, searching for the word. "Rare to see so much food on one plate outside the noble courts."

  "I am loving it!" Fraeya said cheerfully.

  "I’m sorry," Wallace interjected. "You don’t count right now."

  "Why is that?" Fraeya asked, frowning.

  "What he’s saying," Barrett said, "is that you could’ve ordered anything with substance, and you picked a garden burger."

  "It sounded good," Fraeya replied.

  "That’s a crime against humanity," Barrios said. "First real meal in the country, and that’s what you order? At least Wings got some meat on hers."

  "You didn’t even put bacon on it," Gonzales added.

  Fraeya glanced toward Ford’s tray. As he set it down, she swiftly snatched a slice of bacon and slid it into her sandwich before taking an exaggerated, satisfied bite.

  The table erupted in laughter, and Ford wore a look of exaggerated betrayal. Even amid the jokes, Natilite sensed the undercurrent—the shared knowledge that this was their last night on Earth. No one said it aloud, but it lingered in every smile and bite.

  “Fraeya, Natilite,” Wallace said as he held his beer bottle. “I have a question for you two.”

  The Angelic Warrior glanced at the bulky American, noticing his slight smirk. With how he framed his question and waited for a response, she could already tell there was a hidden motive behind his words.

  As their Elg girl friend was about to respond, Barrett interrupted. “Don’t answer the question. It’s a trap, and I don’t want to hear that debate again.”

  “Seconded,” Higgins added. “There’s enough nonsense in this war as is.”

  “What do you mean?” Fraeya asked, puzzled.

  “What my intellectual friend means,” Barrios explained, “is—how do you two feel about being the first aliens to visit Earth?”

  “Have we not had this conversation before?” Natilite asked. “And I am certain Fraeya was the first.”

  “My father and I came through the Bridge first,” Fraeya confirmed. “From what I understand, we were the first non-Altaerrie in your people’s history.”

  Wallace chuckled, leaning back and lacing his hands behind his head. “See, Marcos? Even Fraeya thinks you’re wrong.”

  Marcos Gonzales took a long sip of his beer and set the empty bottle on the table. “The Bridge doesn’t prove aliens didn’t crash at Roswell.”

  “After everything we’ve been through,” Barrett said, “you still believe in that?”

  “The Feds never disproved it,” Gonzales replied. “And why not? It’s more practical than an ancient portal device in a British warehouse, and the activation key on Mars.”

  “Keep it quiet,” Ryder warned calmly as he continued his meal with his daughter.

  “At least it’s not Ben’s conspiracy,” Gonzales added. “An asteroid? Come on.”

  “All I said was that it was possible,” Ford said. When Fraeya inquired with a curious glance, he relented. “There’s this asteroid called ‘Oumuamua. It acted strangely when we first observed it. It’s possible it was a probe.”

  “That’s pretty silly,” King commented. “First interstellar object we detect, and we assume it’s aliens? What are the odds?”

  “I just said it was possible,” Ford replied. “And honestly, after everything we’ve seen on Alagore—and considering eighty percent of my fantasy manga turned out to be real—I think it’s healthy to assume that some crazy conspiracy might hold water.”

  As the conversation spiraled into increasingly bizarre theories about first contact, Natilite leaned toward Ryder. “Your people are weird.”

  Ryder couldn’t help but chuckle. “You’re just figuring that out?”

  “It might be a good thing our worlds met,” she said thoughtfully. “You people have a strange obsession with imagining… everything. Maybe you needed to meet other species.”

  “Sounds like a date,” Ryder replied with a smirk.

  The comment caught the Templar off guard. She leaned away, slightly blushing. She knew it was a joke, but couldn’t help herself.

  As Comanche returned to their own conversations, the group split into smaller clusters. Forest had brought his wife along for the night, and the two chatted quietly with Wallace and Barrios—who had shifted their focus to a nearby table of women. Ford and Gonzales were pressuring Fraeya to do a magic trick. She relented, taking two glasses of water and manipulating the liquid until they formed dancing humanoid shapes.

  A shadow loomed over the table. Natilite looked up as a man with a prosthetic leg approached, his stride steady but metallic. His cybernetic limb glinted under the restaurant lighting—similar in make to Forest’s mechanical hand.

  "I hope everything was tasty for you all—especially for my ladies," he said warmly. "You can call me Jerry. This place is mine—built it after I got out."

  The bar owner asked about the food, prompting everyone to chime in enthusiastically. He then waved off their gratitude and told them the meals were on the house, thanking them for their service.

  "Excuse me," Fraeya said, polite but curious. "Not to be rude, but why are you being so nice?"

  Jerry chuckled. "I see we haven’t shown our best. But you can’t fault people. I’ve heard of all your deeds."

  He went on to explain their accomplishments: the Princess sowing the flag and handing out flowers to newly arrived American soldiers; Fraeya, the one who opened the Bridge and helped forge the alliance in search of her father; and Natilite, who had saved hundreds on the battlefield and at Aid Stations.

  The Valkyrie was stunned. This was common knowledge on Alagore, but the Americans had tightly controlled communication across the Bridge. The only reason the final battle around Salva became known at all was due to the scale of the engagement.

  "How do you know this?" Natilite asked.

  Jerry gave another small chuckle. "I might be out of the game, but I still have my connections. I knew something was going on back in March."

  "And what are your thoughts?" Ford asked.

  Jerry paused, collecting his thoughts. "My first reaction? Why can’t we just mind our own business? But… that’s not how the world works. We wouldn’t have this country if everyone stayed in Europe, head down. If we’re reaching for the stars… I just hope we do it right."

  After a few more friendly exchanges, Jerry excused himself. The team continued enjoying themselves as they finished their meals. Once done, they stood from the table and stepped outside.

  "That was fun," Barrett said. "I’m heading out."

  "Come on, old-timer," Wallace said, pointing to himself and Barrios. "We’re going to try another place."

  "Be careful," King warned. "I don’t want to hear you two have little monsters running around nine months from now."

  "Hey," Barrios shot back, "someone’s gotta boost the numbers of the next generation."

  Natilite chuckled, finding the cockiness endearing. As most of Comanche dispersed, she turned to the Captain.

  "Thank you for getting us permission to come off base."

  "Oh," Ryder said with a smirk. "We’re not done yet. You wanted to have some fun—Kurt’s wife found a place. Let’s go."

  Natilite followed, the glow of city lights bouncing off her visor. One more night. One more moment before everything changed.

  Seeing her friend take his daughter's hand as they walked down the street, Natilite turned to Fraeya in confusion. She hoped the Elf Girl would have answers, but this time, she looked just as clueless. Captain Forest’s family and Ford also followed the Captain.

  Hearing Ryder call her name, the Valkyrie quickly joined the group, followed by the Elf Girl. She rushed to Ryder’s side, slightly trailing behind, thrilled to finally have a chance to walk through the city and experience what this world had to offer.

  As they ventured a few blocks deeper into the city, Natilite’s eyes glowed with amazement. She had thought the military was obsessed with screens—but this was something else entirely. The brick-paved streets and old-world buildings had an almost nostalgic charm, but they were layered with glowing signage, animated billboards, and synchronized projection strips that slid across rooftops. Drones flitted between lamp posts, while robots with painted faces handed out samples or guided tourists.

  It wasn’t just technology. It was theater.

  Outside of all the non-magical devices Altaerrie cherished, the gathering place had a strangely warm and inviting energy. The tavern—or bar, as the Americans called this social venue—was the only lodging in the area. Its architecture was rugged and militaristic, clearly influenced by its proximity to Fort Carson. The layout reminded her of an underground bunker, albeit with a stylistic twist. Female servers wore attractive, World War II pinup-inspired uniforms, while the men were dressed as warrior figures from American media.

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  “Daddy!” Assiaya exclaimed. “It is us!”

  “Us?” Ryder asked, turning to the building’s television.

  Multiple screens above the bar booths played various channels, but everyone’s attention focused on one in particular: a panel of five men engaged in a lively debate—a format Americans called a podcast.

  On a massive screen attached to a nearby shopping center, an orange-haired anime girl dressed in a Revolutionary War outfit appeared, commenting on the war. The footage showed a large group of Americans and people of Salva gathered in a courtyard. The Princess stood atop a vehicle, the handcrafted US and Salva flags waving behind her, all chanting [FIGHT].

  Two more avatars joined her—one an exaggerated, muscular warrior reminiscent of Achilles, the other a punk-styled teenage Neko with green fur. The trio began discussing the recent battles and the victory at Salva.

  “Natilite,” Fraeya whispered.

  “Yes?”

  “What is Altaerrie’s obsession with Nekos—cat people?”

  The only conclusion the Templar could imagine was that humans on Earth were a single species, so they fantasized about other kinds—races they didn’t have, but longed to imagine. “I have no idea,” she said, “but they surely love them.”

  A short but heated debate unfolded on the podcast about the ethics of deploying troops to an alien world. The Revolutionary Girl avatar said she had been firmly against the war when the President first revealed the existence of Alagore—especially the idea of fighting religious communists on another planet. She’d wanted the Bridge destroyed. But the trials, the footage from Salva, and the patriotism of its people had changed her mind.

  The Neko avatar agreed. She thought the captured Unity prisoners had seemed “totally brainwashed,” but what hooked her wasn’t politics—it was the Princess’s journey. A royal on a battlefield, standing with her people? That was the kind of story that sold her.

  The Greek warrior avatar had started as the most cynical of the group. He’d hated the entire idea of off-world war—thought it was just another distraction. But the terrorist attacks on US soil changed everything. “They brought the fight here,” he said. “That’s all I needed to know.” The feed cut to footage of the Princess placing flowers at the attack memorial, flanked by soldiers and officials.

  The hosts grew increasingly optimistic about the new alliance. Clips followed, showing Army Rangers, Minutemen, and 4th ID infantry working alongside local militias. The Revolutionary Girl highlighted the winged women treating the wounded. The Neko avatar praised the efforts to end food shortages, which were shown being addressed as crates of chickens were delivered to grateful townsfolk.

  It wasn’t just a war anymore. It was becoming a myth in real time, filtered through screens and avatars.

  “Natilite!” Assiaya exclaimed again. “There you are!”

  At first, the Templar was confused—then surprised. The footage, clearly recorded by a soldier during one of the city’s assaults, showed a Valkyrie sheathing her sword and removing her helmet. The woman knelt next to a wounded soldier, helping treat his injuries.

  “Hey, Fraeya,” Ford said. “There’s you.”

  Natilite turned back to the screen, where the hosts now spotlighted Fraeya working with damage control units. The Comanche Elf Girl wielded her hydromancy to extinguish flames after a bombardment, then used geomancy to shift rubble and free trapped civilians. The segment launched a new debate: was magic real?

  For the Angelic Warrior, the shock was finally wearing off. The assassination attempt by the Unity—targeting both American politicians and the Princess of Salva—had killed hundreds of civilians. It had cemented American hatred for the Unity. But Natilite believed the goodwill built in recent months had laid the groundwork. Without that bond, those attacks might have frightened the Americans enough to destroy the Bridge—dooming Alagore forever.

  “We’d better keep going,” Ryder said. “Otherwise, we’ll miss our window.”

  The group continued their journey through the city, walking a few more blocks until they reached their destination: a massive, four-story brick building. Like many others in the city, it was framed with glowing screens and colorful advertising strips. But this one stood out for another reason—characters were everywhere.

  Robots stood outside the doors, dressed as figures from some unknown Altaerrie fiction. One had fox ears and a wand. Another wore a metallic cloak and wielded an oversized sword. Music pulsed faintly through the air, along with the sweet, synthetic smell of some processed snack food.

  “Daddy…,” Assiaya said, speaking more fluidly now—though still hesitantly. Forest’s daughter, Ellen, gave her a thumbs-up and whispered for her to sound more feminine. “What is this place?”

  Ryder glanced over and chuckled. “It’s called a fan store.”

  “My wife found it a few months ago,” Forest said. “It’s a social hub. Video games. Nerd stuff. Karaoke. VR. Beer.”

  “It’s an all-in-one fun stop,” Ford added. “I went to these all the time before I enlisted.”

  “Are you sure?” Natilite asked, eyeing the crowd warily. “People might notice my wings.”

  “I wouldn’t worry,” Ford said. “You look like a professional cosplayer.”

  “That’s why Assiaya and Ellen are wearing backpack wings,” Forest explained.

  “And me!” Fraeya chimed in, drawing a round of chuckles.

  “Most of the staff are dressed as anime or comic book characters,” Ford said. “You two should fit right in. Just don’t flap them.”

  “And no magic,” Ryder ordered.

  When everyone went inside, the first floor was a store—a blend of toys for children and adults, many of them infused with technology. There were hundreds of books ranging from traditional hardcovers to comics and manga. Behind glass-stacked cases stood finely detailed statues: warriors from history, superheroes, fantasy knights. Those, Natilite could understand. The rest—strange dolls, brightly colored gadgets, and miniature robots—were alien to her. But the one thing she grasped clearly was the overwhelming variety of human goods.

  Loud noises echoed from the second floor, drawing the group's attention. As they ascended, Natilite stood in awe.

  Dozens of people were scattered throughout a room packed with activity. Loud machines hummed and flashed. Video game terminals filled one side, while tables hosted board games, card matches, and domino tournaments.

  At one table, six players huddled over miniature armies, the sign above them reading [StarLord]. Another group, ten people strong, wore virtual reality headsets—ones Natilite recognized from seeing them used by U.S. soldiers. Screens above displayed players locked in a stylized martial arts contest.

  Some booths focused on trading cards of various difficulty levels. Others offered pool tables, air hockey, and arcade cabinets. On the far end, a U-shaped bar pulsed with color. Each game station had a robot assigned to manage it, while servers in elaborate costumes served food and drinks.

  The Templar wandered through the space, her curiosity barely contained. At one tabletop game booth, she stumbled to a halt. A digital map projected on the surface showed figurines—troops, bunkers, vehicles. She recognized the human side easily, but their enemy, the Orc Horde, stunned her. Unlike the tusked warriors of Alagore, these were massive, green-skinned monsters, dripping with exaggerated savagery.

  Fraeya’s eyes sparkled like a child seeing snow for the first time. Grabbing Ford’s arm, she dashed away toward a dance booth, hopping onto a platform synced to music and animated visuals.

  Forest laughed. “God, I love this country. You forget the small stuff until you come home.”

  Natilite scanned the crowd—mostly young men, with a few families scattered in. Some wore casual clothes printed with colorful artwork. Others sported basic military uniforms unfamiliar to her.

  “Last time I saw so many men having this much fun,” Natilite commented, “was in a brothel.”

  Forest chuckled but was cut off by a nudge from his wife, who gave him a look. They laughed and took their kids toward a row of game machines.

  “Nat,” Ryder called. “You coming?”

  “Oh. Okay,” Natilite said, stepping forward.

  As she followed her captain and the Princess through the crowd, the Templar kept looking around, taking in the energy. The air buzzed with sound and light, excitement rolling through her like a wave. She had rarely felt anything like this during the long, grim war with the Unity.

  They stopped at an air hockey table. Natilite examined the glowing surface with confusion. Ryder guided her onto a stool and handed her a paddle.

  The game began, and she quickly realized it used some form of aeromancy—air jets allowed the puck to glide smoothly. By the third round, she was into it. Competitive instincts kicked in.

  “You’re getting good,” Ryder said, impressed.

  Natilite grinned. “Sweety, can I play your father?”

  “Okay,” Assaiya replied, then turned to her dad. “Can I go play the VR fishing game with Ellen?”

  “Go ahead.”

  Ryder took the opposite side. Natilite felt confident—she had decades of battlefield experience. But she lost the first three rounds. Ryder’s trick? Geometry. He used the table’s walls to ricochet the puck at unexpected angles. A mistake she didn’t make twice.

  They kept playing until the score tied at 8–8. Ryder smacked the puck, it curved left, bounced back to him. With long arms, he launched it again, aiming for her right. She blocked. Countered. He struck once more—fast, sharp—but she shifted, her paddle tilting just enough to shoot the puck wide to his left.

  His arm hesitated. That fraction of a second cost him. The puck struck the wall and rolled clean into his goal.

  Natilite raised both arms in victory, wings instinctively flexing. That caught attention.

  “Damn, those wings look real!” someone nearby said. “You must be a professional cosplayer with serious money.”

  Natilite remembered she had agreed to pretend to be a cosplayer outside the hotel—something about dressing as powerful or attractive characters. She still didn’t fully understand the practice. “Yes, I am,” she replied.

  She noticed more people gathering—young men, some in uniforms.

  “How do you get them to flap like that?” another asked.

  Blank expression. She had no idea how to answer. Ryder stepped in. “It’s just the way she moves—wings aren't real. Just a prop.”

  No one bought it. A man reached forward to poke one. Natilite’s body reacted instinctively, muscles tensing. The contact alone convinced them.

  “Holy bacon! You’re that flying alien woman who saved that store!”

  A woman stepped closer. “Two-colored eyes... You’re the Princess from the livestreams!”

  “I saw her at the bombing site!” someone shouted.

  “Aliens?”

  “Are they enemies?”

  “They’re not aliens,” Ryder snapped. “That’s my daughter, ma’am.”

  Tension built fast. Natilite spotted the confusion, the fear spreading across the crowd. Fraeya stepped beside her, equally unsettled.

  Then a man with a robotic leg and a fresh scar pushed through. Young, battered, and commanding presence. “Hello, Princess Assaiya. Templar Natilite. Battle Mage Fraeya.”

  “You know us?” Fraeya asked.

  “Of course. Sergeant Patrick, 5th Ranger.”

  The name struck Natilite. The 5th Rangers—the first U.S. expedition to her world. Fought in the Hiplose Woods. Defended Salva.

  He held up a clear plastic card. Inside was a flattened red flower. “The Princess gave this to me after the bombing. Weird at the time, but it stuck with me. We weren’t defending aliens—we were defending our home.”

  Patrick’s story turned the mood. He talked about their bravery. How Natilite had saved hundreds of soldiers. How Fraeya had prevented the force from being overrun.

  He didn’t mention that the Bridge had been damaged—something Ryder had quietly kept from the civilians. But it didn’t matter.

  Patriotism took hold. Excitement surged. People dispersed, energized and grateful.

  “I apologize for disturbing your fun,” Natilite said. “I only wished to see your world.”

  “No problem,” Patrick smiled. “Friends call me Berry.”

  “And I apologize for calling you aliens. It’s just… a lot right now.”

  “Trust me, my fellow warrior,” Natilite said. “We’ve all felt that, no matter where we’re born.”

  Berry leaned closer. “You look pretty damn good. Can I buy you a drink?”

  Natilite flushed, caught off guard. Templars weren’t often flirted with—certainly not back home.

  But what interested her more was Ryder’s sudden shift. His gray eyes narrowed, clearly irritated.

  “Thank you,” she said, “but I’m here with my friends.”

  Berry grinned. “I’ll call you when I get deployed, baby.”

  Ryder stepped between them.

  “You said deployed?” Ford asked.

  “You guys are in the military?” Fraeya added.

  “We’re all celebrating our last night of freedom,” Berry explained. “Most of us ship out tomorrow.”

  “It’s called ‘basic,’” Ford said. “Don’t call it ‘boot camp.’ Drill sergeants hate that.”

  Natilite nodded. “Thank you for pausing your lives to assist us. My Mother will be gracious.”

  The group reconvened. Ryder turned to Patrick. “Thanks for the assist.”

  Patrick saluted. Ryder returned it.

  “We’ve been through hell,” the Ranger said. “Your people welcomed us on Alagore. We should return the favor.”

  “Thank you,” Fraeya said. “I love your country.”

  “I’m sorry about your leg,” Assaiya added. “Thank you for defending my city.”

  Patrick held out a fist. “Pugna.”

  Assaiya smiled, returning the salute across her chest.

  As he rejoined his family, Natilite chuckled. “Seems you made quite the impression.”

  “I didn’t know Altaerrie warriors liked me so much,” Assaiya said.

  “I’m just glad our worlds are becoming friends,” Fraeya added.

  Then Natilite’s ears caught something: music—unpolished but heartfelt. A voice sang nearby. She turned and saw a small karaoke stage.

  “What’s that?” she asked.

  Ryder grinned. “Karaoke. Wanna try?”

  “Oh no, I don’t want to ruin anyone’s good time.”

  “Nonsense. Didn’t you say you were once going to be a village dancer?”

  “That was a long time ago,” she replied.

  “Bull.”

  He took her arm and guided her forward—gently, never forceful. She could’ve resisted, but didn’t.

  Standing on stage, fear gripped her. She’d been trained to sing back home, but not here. Not in front of strangers.

  “I believe in you,” Ryder said. “Show them a little love from your world.”

  Natilite closed her eyes. Took a breath. Raised the mic—and began to sing To Take Wing: a ritual poem about a young Valkyrie spreading their wings and taking flight for the third time alone.

  When she finished, silence held. Then Ryder clapped. Others joined.

  Natilite blushed, overwhelmed—but happy. She bowed to the crowd.

  *****

  Upon the Crest of Mother's Crown,

  Where sky first kissed the land,

  A youngling stood in woven steel,

  With sun and wind at hand.

  No name is given ‘til the leap,

  No wings are known until they rise,

  For even sons of vaulted air,

  Must fall to touch the skies.

  “Tekali sees,” the elders say,

  “She weighs thy soul mid-flight.”

  So step with fear, yet step with faith,

  For courage births the right.

  The mountain weeps with morning gold,

  His feathers drawn with song—

  And he must leap, though bones may shake,

  To prove his spirit strong.

  O Mother, Weaver of the Wind,

  Who etched the stars in flame,

  She watches from Her clouded veil,

  And whispers each one's name.

  So downward fell the fledgling son,

  As all must fall at start,

  But in that hush, Her breath arrived—

  A gale to stir the heart.

  Then rose his wings—then came the sky—

  The weightless path, the open dome.

  And through the veil of breaking dawn,

  He soared, no longer lone.

  His eyes beheld the world unveiled,

  The rivers bright, the endless trees,

  For only those who leave the earth,

  May read the sky-born seas.

  No longer chained to fear or stone,

  He flew where few had known—

  A Valkyrie by rite and right,

  By feather, flesh, and bone.

  And Tekali smiled across the wind,

  Her blessing bold and keen—

  “Fly well, my son—my sky-touched kin,

  And keep the heavens clean.”