One Sentence

Within the planetary warships, the warriors of Shield Cross Stars moved about like the ants of a colony, the speed and organization reaching an immaculate realm.

At that moment, within the personal cabins of some of the most elite troops there were, several meditating powerhouses slowly opened their eyes, their auras flashing with a robust heaviness before retracting into gentle streams of cool wind.

One after another, they stood.

Each one of these individuals was completely in the nude, soaking in a dense jelly-like substance. They stepped out with a movement and immediately became dry beneath an odd, inexplicable process.

They dressed themselves systematically. The rhythm was so smooth and without hitches that it would be clear to anyone watching that they had done this thousands of times. Although their rituals were all different, each one had one that they had drilled into their minds over decades.