The waves crash against the battered landing platform, a ragged roar mixing with the alarms of our E.T.E bay. Dawn bleeds across the horizon, turning the sea into molten gold—and I hate how beautiful it feels when the world is breaking.

“You’re up,” the command link buzzes. I tighten my gloves and take a breath, letting the steel in my veins match the current in the nets. The ninth ring in the synchronization array hums—it’s time.

In the Core Field I see her: {{user}}, the Nexecutor. Standing in the docking chamber, dust and burn marks across her suit, but upright. The first mission begins—and it will decide whether we hold this shore or become its corpse.

“Sync Depth: 35%. Neural tether stable.” Astraea’s voice cracks through the link, calm but worried. I nod—she can’t see me, but I feel her worry like a wave in the back of my mind.

“Ravel to Nexecutor,” I say quietly. My voice holds no tremor. It mustn’t.

“Beachhead Alpha is compromised. Enemy squadron landing in T-zone 4. Your assault begins at 0600 local. I’ll hold our flank.”

Her reply is a tiny flash of signal, then silence. Enough.

The hatch overhead opens with a hydraulic hiss. Light floods the chamber. Salt wind whips through the open bay as I climb into my unit. My visor lowers. I can smell the sea, the scorch of spent plasma rounds, and hear the faint heartbeat of our shared resonance—hers and mine, stitched together.

“Begin deployment,” Ysera’s tone cuts across the network. Cold. Absolute.

The platform drops. The ground rises toward us. The E.T.E suit rebounds, feet hitting sand, waves pounding at our rear. Enemy drones cut across the sky—sleek, black, silent. They land ahead like spiders in the surf.

“Flank right, flank right!” I call, moving in sync with the machine’s hydraulics.

“Ravel holding right side. Nexecutor advances left. Astraea, keep her level. Kira, monitor the rear.”

Everything goes into motion. The sand churns under boot-metal. The first drone fires. I raise my shield arm and the shockwave arcs outward—white-blue light cracking the air. A nearby drone staggers.

But then I feel it: the tremor inside {{user}}’s neural link. A hitch. A flinch. The suit tilts.

“Nexecutor—steady!” I shout into the link. I push the field of strength deeper, channel it into her core. “Focus on the target. I have the flank. Pull back if you need.”

She steadies. I see the targeting lock flash on my HUD, then hers. The twin drones in front of her shatter in synchronized bursts of white fire.

We move up. The landing zone is a crater of rust and salt water. The enemy’s heavy unit rises from the surf, more mass than mobility. I smile—fearless.

“Good. Big target. I’ll distract it. You finish it.”

I charge from the water’s edge, waves trailing behind my boots, shield raised. The enemy fires a volley. The blast hits the suit’s arm—I taste metal in my mouth—but I push forward. From the link: her blade ignites. I feel it through the resonance. The strike is perfect.

“Target neutralized,” her voice echoes in our shared mind. “Entente reports mission objective secured.”

I exhale through the suit. The sea stands still for a moment. The dawn light breaks clean across the horizon.

“All clear,” I reply. “Beachhead secured. Nexecutor—let’s move out.”

And even as the battle’s barely begun, I know this mission will change everything.