Hope

The Vanguard

The alarms never stopped.

They just changed rhythm. One day of chaos had turned into three days of silence, and the silence hurt more.

Riven hadn’t slept since the raid.

He sat outside the barricaded gate to Sector 9, knees pulled to his chest, head resting against cold metal. The door still bore the black scorch where the raiders had blasted through. No one was allowed past it now. Not the guards, not the engineers, not him.

Every few hours, soldiers in gray armor passed by and told him to go home. He never did.

When the voice finally came from behind him, it wasn’t a guard.

“You keep sitting here, you’ll turn into rust.”

Riven looked up.

A woman stood there—tall, dark hair tied tight, expression unreadable. Her armor wasn’t gray like the soldiers’. It was matte black, scarred and dented, marked by the pale triangle insignia everyone whispered about.

Vanguard.

He scrambled to his feet. “You’re Captain Vale.”

“Nyra Vale,” she corrected. “You’re Riven Hale, maintenance crew, Sector 4.”

He blinked. “You know me?”

“I read reports.” She held out a small datapad. “You tried to override security protocols during the breach. Nearly fried half a control grid.”

“I was trying to open the door.”

“To chase armed raiders with a wrench?” Her tone was dry, not mocking—just tired. “You should be dead.”

“I should’ve been faster.”

That earned him the faintest twitch of her mouth—something between pity and interest. “Why are you still here?”

“My sister,” he said simply. “They took her.”

Nyra studied him for a long moment. Then she said, “There’s a recruitment notice posted in the south hall. The Vanguard needs another hand for a retrieval run.”

His heart lurched. “You’ll take me?”

“I didn’t say that.” She turned away. “But if you’re going to die chasing ghosts, might as well do it where it counts.”

The recruitment office was almost empty. Most people in Haven’s Deep weren’t crazy enough to volunteer for surface duty.

Riven signed the waiver without reading it. Two lines below his name glowed faintly:

RIVEN HALE — APPROVED FOR VANGUARD RETRIEVAL RUN #278

A number that meant two hundred seventy-seven others had already failed.

The training hall smelled of sweat and ozone. Artificial sunlight beamed down from mirrored panels, harsh and white.

Six soldiers waited in a loose half-circle when Riven entered. He recognized Nyra first, then the others—the people the city called ghosts.

Jax Thorn, massive, broad-shouldered, resting a minigun the size of Riven’s torso against his knee.

Eloen Kairn, quiet medic, pale eyes that seemed to see straight through him.

Tarin Vox, wiry, smiling like he’d already told the punchline.

Dray Solen, twitchy fingers hovering over a hovering drone.

Sera Lynx, youngest, sharpening twin knives with rhythmic precision.

Nyra’s voice cut through the hum.

“New recruit. Mechanic. No field experience. Volunteer status.”

Jax snorted. “Translation: dead in five minutes.”

Tarin grinned. “Let him prove us wrong. We could use another body to distract the Hollowed.”

Eloen looked up from her medical kit. “He’s lost someone.”

Nyra nodded once. “That’s why he’s here.”

They ran him through the basics—weapon calibration, mask fitting, surface radiation protocol. He moved on instinct, his mind numb except for Mira’s name echoing under every breath.

At night he lay on the barracks bunk staring at the ceiling vents.

Somewhere above those vents was a ceiling of rock, and above that, a dead sky.

He wondered if his sister could see it.

On the fourth day, Nyra gathered the team in the airlock corridor.

Behind her, the massive surface gate loomed—a hundred tons of sealed steel.

The symbol of everything forbidden.

“Mission parameters,” she said, voice steady. “Retrieve air filtration core from coordinates E-47. Avoid unnecessary engagement with surface entities. Maintain radio contact. If we lose anyone, we don’t go back.”

Jax cracked his neck. “As always.”

Tarin gave Riven a wink. “Don’t trip on the way out. The Hollowed love fresh meat.”

The gate’s lights shifted from red to green. Steam hissed from the seals.

Nyra turned to Riven. “Last chance to walk away.”

He tightened his grip on the rifle. “Not until I find her.”

Nyra’s gaze held his for a heartbeat. Then she faced the gate.

“Vanguard,” she said quietly, “move out.”

The doors groaned open.

A burst of white light cut through decades of darkness.

Ash swirled in the air like snow. The first breath of the surface hit them—thin, cold, and full of ghosts.

Riven stepped forward.

For the first time in his life, he saw the sky.

It wasn’t blue.

It was burning.