Chapter 6: Victory and Mourning

All the officials kneel. The Governor lowers his eyes, looks skyward, and shouts, “Shoot down the Sage!”

---

Hayes, while no one’s watching, opens a wormhole in the floor and slips out of the warship. Traveling in his own tunnel, he notices something—an invisible airflow, visible as ripples along the walls. The so-called cosmic wind is a fluctuation in the Higgs field—usually syrupy, now moving fast.

Hayes is overjoyed, shouting silently, italics, The Sage is truly something, able to summon the cosmic wind—more than any tech.

Then he thinks, “No, he’s an astronomer. He used no machines—he must have seen the signs and timed the east wind. Brilliant!”

At the same time, the commander and chief of staff stand on the mothership, watching the fleet advance, full of confidence. A flagship captain bursts in, frantic. “Commander, bad news—a storm’s coming from the eastern sector!” Alarms blare, warning lights strobing.

“What storm?”

“Cosmic wind, speed thirteen knots, at NGC 850—fifteen minutes to impact.”

The chief panics, “Commander, we’ve been duped!”

“Don’t panic!” The commander tries to sound calm, but inside he’s reeling. “Call the experts—find a fix!” He curses under his breath, slamming the console.

“Too late, sir—we must retreat now.”

“Is this wind really that strong?” His voice thins, the words barely audible.

An expert explains, “The wind is invisible—ordinary matter isn’t affected. But if it hits a dense Higgs field, it creates massive drag, like a current catching a net.”

The chief rages, “Why didn’t astronomy report this?”

A trembling astronomer steps up, “We were about to report the expansion—wanted to run a probe. If we’d started earlier, we could’ve predicted it. But the commander didn’t want to hear—”

“Drag him out and execute him!”

The commander, still fuming, addresses the experts, “Whoever finds a fix lives. Otherwise, you’re all done.”

Silence. The flagship captain reports again, “Commander, the wind has hit. Should we order the fleet to retreat?”

“Retreat!”

At the edge of the cluster, ninety thousand ships scatter like ants, but it’s a layered trap. The sticky field locks them in place. A captain shouts, “Damn, we got combo’d!” The invisible web acts as a sail, bulging westward.

The ships strain, but can’t break free—instead, they’re stuck. Under the wind, the web acts like a sail, bulging westward. The fleet is slowly dragged to the center, about to be wrapped up—self-wrapped in a cocoon.

Ships collide, explosions light up the void, flames burning. Since the web is invisible, the destruction looks like a giant claw crushing them in an instant.

He stares, hollowed out, his legacy destroyed, stunned, until the chief shouts, “Commander, we have to go—the web’s coming!”

The commander watches, his legacy destroyed, numb, as a hollow ringing fills his ears. The chief grabs his arm, dragging him toward the escape pods. The dream is over.

---

Ironridge broadcasts the enemy’s defeat. The people cheer, the noise swelling. The Governor wipes away tears, feeling joy like never before. His weak knees, suddenly strong, carry him upright as he stares at the screen. A real, honest smile breaks across his face.

Hayes emerges from the wormhole, greets the cheers, and runs to the Governor, shouting, “Governor! Governor! I’m back!”

The Governor drops all reserve, runs forward, and they shake hands, hug, and check each other’s faces—Hayes’s beard is bushier, the Governor’s face thinner. Both burst into tears, grateful to be alive.

Then Hayes pulls away and asks, “Where’s the Star Sage?”

The Governor lowers his gaze, looking away, not daring to meet Hayes’s eyes. Hayes asks again, “Governor, where is he? I want to thank him myself.”

No one speaks, until a general in on the plan says, “The Sage was shot down by the guards—he died for us all.”

Hayes can’t believe it. He grabs an official’s collar and shouts, “Guards? Whose guards? Why shoot?”

He grabs more, but all are silent. Then he realizes, and looks at the Governor’s back, seeing stooped shoulders and older eyes—sensing he’s changed.

Days later, the enemy retreats for good. Ironridge celebrates, but the whole outpost mourns. The Governor climbs the altar, bows to the heavens, then, in tears, ascends the tower and writes a somber ‘Ode to the Outer Reaches.’ This battle will be remembered in the galaxy’s history because of the Supreme Sage. Coffee and sacrifice echo through the memorial, a motif for what’s been lost.

What the Star Sage meant by sacrificing a beloved general was, in truth, sacrificing himself—Colonel Hayes was saved, the Sage was lost.

The lesson lingers—sometimes, the greatest victory comes at the highest price. And somewhere, far beyond the edge of the Milky Way, the wind carries the memory of a Sage who saw the storm coming, and gave everything to turn its tide. In the darkness, a new vengeance stirs—one day, the Empire will remember this defeat.