Location: Narlak's Maw — Zypherian Coalition Hub
The conference room dimmed as the last of the fleet captains took their seats. An arc of holographic monitors projected planetary data, fleet positions, and the bold Lilliput Star System at its core. The tension, however, had nothing to do with charts. It hung in the air like smoke — thick with memory, sharp with pain.
Mek'lar stood at the head of the chamber, his massive Zypherian frame casting a long shadow across the room. He was not armored now, nor adorned like in his battlefield legends. Just draped in the royal mantle of scorched crimson, heavy with years and regret.
He paused, eyes distant, voice grave.
"Forty-one years ago," Mek'lar began, "we knelt in this same silence, but under the rule of tyrants."
Jason Amberdenk, leader of Verdalia, leaned forward. Beside him sat Shin, Jigo, Lady Louis, Lady Lina, and captains from all Z4 fleets — each solemn, listening.
"Old Man Zor — our first high commander — was captured by the Adam Clan," Mek'lar said, his voice shaking. "They tortured him here, in the outer rim cell blocks of Narlak's Maw. Six arms torn from his body. All his eyes, save one, gouged out — and still… he didn't kneel until the very end."
Murmurs moved through the crowd. Even hardened captains bowed their heads. Jason's emerald-skinned fingers gripped his chair's arms. He had read about Zor — never this.
"I watched," Mek'lar continued. "I was his shadow. I wanted to save him… but he made me vow not to die in vengeance — but in unity. To live for it. He said, 'Mek'lar… rebuild the star system. Even if you must shatter alliances to do it.'"
"And then… he bled out, still looking at me. That one eye… burned with hope."
Tears welled in Jason's eyes. "My God…" he whispered.
Mek'lar closed his own — then added, "The mysterious Laco, cloaked in black, ordered us all to stand down that day. He said — 'Leave these pests. We'll need them to rebuild the Lilliput Star System.'"
There was silence.
"And then we broke," Mek'lar said. "Scorched Branch. Eyrvaks. The Liberation Army. Each shattered. But now… after so many years, we gather again. Not as fragments. Not as rebels. But as one."
He looked around the room. Eyes met. Scars remembered.
"This meeting," he said, voice now steel, "will decide the fate of every child born in Lilliput."
Jason nodded, now fully alert. "Then let's honor Zor. Let's build the alliance he died for."
Mek'lar smiled faintly. For the first time in decades — hope flickered behind his single glowing eye.
Inside the cold steel halls of Narlak's Maw, the room held its breath.
Mek'lar stood tall—his towering Zypherian form gleaming under the dimmed lights of the war chamber. The burnished green veins of his armor pulsated with old energy, but it was his voice, low and ancient, that carried the weight of time itself.
"He still lives... the old man."
The room stirred. Whispers flickered between the gathered leaders. Even Captain Shin leaned forward, his brows furrowed.
Mek'lar looked to the eastern screen, where a hazy figure appeared—Zor, once feared, now revered. The warrior who had stood tall even as his six arms were severed... now confined to a wheeled grev-chair, wrapped in thick robes, his single eye gleaming like a dying star.
Zor.
A symbol. A survivor.
"I watched them tear him apart," Mek'lar whispered. "Not to kill... but to silence. To humiliate."
A silent gasp moved through the room.
"It was 41 years ago. A year before Universal War II," Mek'lar continued.
"They burned our symbols. They buried our hopes beneath the weight of their cruelty.
And yet… that man lives. Zor lives."
From the other end of the galaxy, in the ashen caves of Eyrvaks, Ka'roth bowed his head, and Targan, the current leader of Eyrvaks, clenched his fists. Jodu, ever calm, pressed a hand to his heart. Even Bill, once orphaned by that war, felt the thud of old pain.
Back in Narlak's Maw, Mek'lar turned to the central monitor.
"The alliance fell after that. Eyrvaks turned against us. We turned against them. The Liberation Army watched from the shadows.
We let the past divide what could've saved the future."
The silence lingered.
Jason Amberdenk's eyes flared with stunned disbelief.
He had heard of Zor. Of the legends. But not this truth. Not the horror.
Mek'lar looked to him now.
"Jason Amberdenk. You are our hope. Like Lord Helius once was."
That name. Helius.
The room shifted again.
"The Rebellion King. Who fought without ever taking a life. Who shielded thousands in the war and made the Adam Clan fear the fire of righteousness.
Helius minimized the blood. He bought us time.
Now... it is you, Jason, who must carry the torch."
Jason slowly stood. His silver hair gleamed like moonlight, his emerald skin etched with sorrow and purpose.
"I am not Helius," he said. "But if his will lives in me… then I will lead."
A murmur of resolve pulsed through the leaders.
Mek'lar bowed—not in protocol, but in respect.
And far across the void, in the mountains of Eyrvaks, Zor's one eye flickered with pride.
Across the Lilliput Star System, the holographic meeting ignited.
From Zelkaris, the central war table of the liberation forces flickered to life.
Vaarn, the relentless frontline brute, cracked his knuckles as the feed came online.
Beside him stood Garvin, the medic-turned-decoder, eyes scanning streams of intercepted intelligence in real-time.
Karjax, once of the Royal Guard, now a weathered strategist, folded his arms with quiet fury.
Zerlan, the ghostlike sniper, leaned against the wall, saying nothing — as usual — his gaze colder than the void.
Each of them connected, one after another, from planets that had all bled under the Adam Clan's shadow.
From Orvus, where the air was sulfur and fire, the volcanic skies burned behind its warriors.
Myra, the ocean world turned steel-gray with floating hangars and weaponized tides, joined next.
Shadrax, cursed ground of twisted experiments, streamed eerie green light behind its representative.
From Eldrion, cries of labor and smoke roared in the background, the refinery-world that turned children into tools.
Drest, once called the Emerald Grove, was now hollow — trees replaced by drone-mines and ash.
From Volturna, the eerie twins appeared — veiled in blood-soaked robes, whispering prophecies in echo.
Then came Hythrax, where assassins trained in silence — their eyes sharp, unblinking, in complete sync.
Noxera, the frozen war-prison — its delegates were cloaked in frost, voices barely audible through the blizzard.
And finally, back to Zelkaris — once the empire's crown — now fractured, exhausted… but burning with defiance.
Then, new feeds cut in — from Vokar 17, Narlak's Maw, and the haunted Ashen Mountains.
The Scorched Branch appeared with their warlords seated beneath the glowing sun-sphere — Mek'lar, still calm from recounting the past.
Beside him sat Jason Amberdenk, his silver hair glowing faintly, still stunned from Mek'lar's tale.
Captain Shin, Lady Louis, Lady Lina, and Jigo all stood firm — the core of the Verdalian fleet.
From the Ashen Mountains, the camera panned to shadows and snow —
There sat Ka'roth, the new leader of the Eyrvaks, battle-scarred and brooding.
His right hand, General Ka'Roth, kept silent, gripping a blade etched with Zypherian runes.
Bill, Rom, and Krith, the exiled Zypherian warriors, were all present — scarred, changed.
At the far end sat Jodu — once Mek'lar's shadow, now Rovin's. He alone had brought Bill back from the jaws of Roouch.
For the first time in decades, all forces — Verdalians, Zypherians, Eyrvaks, planetary rebels — were united on one screen.
No banners.
No anthem.
Just eyes.
And silence.
Then, Mek'lar rose.
His voice, deep and commanding, echoed across the galaxy:
"Let the final rebellion begin."