Prologue

That night Jacob got up and took his two wives, his two female servants and his eleven sons and crossed the ford of the Jabbok. After he had sent them across the stream, he sent over all his possessions. So Jacob was left alone, and a man wrestled with him till daybreak. When the man saw that he could not overpower him, he touched the socket of Jacob's hip so that his hip was wrenched as he wrestled with the man. Then the man said, "Let me go, for it is daybreak."

But Jacob replied, "I will not let you go unless you bless me."

The man asked him, "What is your name?"

"Jacob," he answered.

Then the man said, "Your name will no longer be Jacob, but Israel, because you have struggled with God and with humans and have overcome."

Jacob said, "Please tell me your name."

But he replied, "Why do you ask my name?" Then he blessed him there.

Genesis 32:22-29

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In the vast emptiness of space, a colossal station trembles, its very foundations quaking with dread. It's no longer alone.

Inside, panic reigns. Scientists and researchers scramble through corridors, their screams echoing off metal walls as they're caught in the crossfire between invaders and security units. Chaos and death dance in equal measure.

Amidst this mayhem, one figure remains an island of calm. They ride an elevator upwards, fingers dancing over invisible strings, playing a violin that exists only in their mind. Warning lights flash, ignored and unheeded.

An explosion rocks the lift, shattering the illusion. Red emergency lights bathe the small space in a hellish glow.

"It seems like I came at a bad time," they mutter, voice dry as dust. It's a colossal understatement, given the carnage unfolding around them.

A holographic screen flickers to life, a disembodied female voice responding with eerie nonchalance. "No no. I think you couldn't have timed it better."

The elevator doors part with a hiss of escaping air. The figure steps out into a cavernous chamber, the hologram trailing behind like a ghostly companion.

Crimson hair cascades down her back in a messy ponytail, two rebellious strands framing sharp features. A white dress shirt leaves her shoulders bare, a black jacket draped carelessly over her frame. A silver butterfly pin winks from her lapel. Dark glasses perch atop her head, revealing eyes the color of aged wine.

"Will we need to engage the Legion?" she asks, her gaze sweeping the neon-lit room. Flashes of light and distant screams filter in from beyond.

"Elio didn't mention it, so it's irrelevant," the hologram replies dismissively.

"I'm taking control of the operation now. My apologies, Silver Wolf, but your fun will have to wait. We're only tasked with placing the target this time." The woman retrieves a specialized data drive from an inner pocket, thumb tracing the smooth metal casing. Her eyes lose focus as she examines it closely.

Silver Wolf's response is a theatrical sigh, but she doesn't challenge the orders.

With a final glance around the chamber, the woman tucks the drive away and draws a pair of submachine guns from concealed shoulder holsters.

The next room she enters dwarfs the previous one. It's also occupied. Dozens of Reavers, twisted hollow knights of the Anti-matter Legion, turn as one when she enters. For a heartbeat, they regard each other through the gloom.

She opens fire. Metal tears and shrieks as she rips through the beasts with a storm of lightning and lead. Those that survive the initial onslaught perish in a shower of sparks moments later.

She steps over the twitching, sparking remains. A blur of movement catches her eye. A lone Reaver, somehow still functioning, lunges from the shadows. Before she can react, a burst of electric blue energy slams into the creature, sending it crashing to the ground in a heap of twisted metal.

A petite young woman steps out from behind a pillar, lowering her outstretched hand. She wears a short, black coat over a crop top, silver hair tied back in a ponytail with a bow. Purple neon glasses rest atop her head.

"You're welcome, Kafka," she says, smirking.

Kafka rolls her eyes but nods in grudging appreciation. "Have you located the Stellaron?" she asks, impatience coloring her tone.

Silver Wolf ignores Kafka's brusqueness. "It should be in a nearby command center, just a few rooms from here," she replies, gesturing down the corridor.

"Good," Kafka says, already moving. "Let's go."

They tear through the station, leaving a trail of destroyed Reavers in their wake. Kafka's guns flash in the dim light, while Silver Wolf's digital manipulations rend enemies from the inside out. They move with deadly precision, an unstoppable force.

At last, they reach the command center. Silver Wolf approaches a holographic console, fingers dancing over ethereal keys. The wall before them begins to glitch and distort, pixels cascading down like digital waterfalls. A portal forms, its edges flickering and unstable.

Kafka barely spares the anomaly a glance before stepping through. She emerges into a circular room that seems to exist outside normal space. Metal floors, cold beneath her boots, surround a glowing console. Atop it hovers a pulsing yellow orb.

Kafka approaches slowly, mesmerized by its glow. It calls to her very soul.

"Are you ready?" Silver Wolf's voice breaks the spell.

Kafka blinks, shaking her head to clear the cobwebs. She nods, a determined grunt escaping her lips. Reaching into her jacket, she retrieves the specialized data drive. She holds it out to Silver Wolf, her gaze pointedly averted from the device. "Here, take it."

Silver Wolf accepts the drive, moving to insert it into a small console adjacent to the central one. As she inputs a command, Kafka reaches out and grasps the pulsing yellow orb - the Stellaron. Its warmth seeps through her gloves, unsettling and strange.

"And... done," Silver Wolf announces, stepping back.

The space beside the central console flickers and distorts. Holograms dance and weave, coalescing into the form of a man. He appears unconscious, features slack and peaceful.

Kafka studies him, committing his appearance to memory one last time. He's tall, with a frame that speaks of raw power and agility. Tanned skin stretches over corded muscles, and rich dark hair falls across his forehead. A sleek, well-tailored black suit fits him like a second skin, jacket buttoned over a crisp white shirt and black tie. A black vest hugs his torso, adding sophistication. Even his hands are covered in refined black gloves, matching the rest of his ensemble.

She steps closer, Stellaron still clutched in her hands. Slowly, almost reluctantly, she lowers the orb to the man's chest.

"Time to wake up, Xander," she murmurs, voice tinged with melancholy. With gentle pressure, she presses the Stellaron against his chest.

The orb sinks into him, disappearing beneath his skin. For a moment, nothing happens. Then, his chest rises and falls with a deep breath, life returning to his body. Yet, he remains unconscious, oblivious to the world around him.

Kafka turns to Silver Wolf, a question in her eyes. "Did Elio mention anything about what's to happen to him?"

Silver Wolf hesitates, uncharacteristic uncertainty clouding her expression. "He didn't," she admits quietly. "For once, neither we nor Elio know what the future holds. It's... unsettling."

They both look back at the man resting peacefully, unaware of the destiny that will soon be thrust upon his shoulders. The fate of the universe may very well rest in his hands when he awakens.

But for now, in this moment, he sleeps.