The massive spaceship hovered silently above the dark, alien world. From its underbelly, glowing lights shone down, cutting through the endless night and bathing the planet's surface in ghostly silver beams. Through the wide, circular observation windows, hundreds of humans pressed shoulder to shoulder, faces nearly plastered to the glass.
Eyes wide. Mouths parted. Hearts pounding.
They gazed down at a land untouched—towering trees with violet leaves, glistening lakes that shimmered like polished obsidian, and vast ocean that reflected the light of the ship like a mirror stretching across the world.
But what truly marked it as foreign—were the two enormous blue moons suspended high in the black sky.
No one spoke. They didn't need to. Joy, hope, disbelief—it was all written in their faces. Some wept. Others laughed softly. A few simply stared, hands trembling.
And then, a soft chime echoed through the chamber.
All eyes turned to the central platform that rose above the crowd. A man stepped onto it—the Captain. Tall, proud, with a uniform too crisp to be worn comfortably. His gray hair was slicked back, but his eyes were gentle as they swept across the crowd.
He raised a hand.
Silence fell like snow.
"After centuries adrift among the stars," he began, his voice steady and full of emotion, "after generations born and raised within steel walls… we've finally found it."
He looked out the window behind him, then back to them.
"A new world. A new home. And with it, a second chance to rebuild everything we lost."
A murmur of excitement swept through the crowd. The captain let it simmer before continuing.
"But this wouldn't be possible... without them."
A soft hiss echoed through the chamber as a large side door opened.
Seven figures stepped in.
Not dressed like the others.
While the humans aboard wore sleek, clean fabrics of the new age—white coats, layered tunics, polished boots—these seven were clad in armor.
Strange, mismatched, worn-down armor.
One walked in metal so smooth and silver it looked poured on.
Another had long, layered robes that whispered as he moved.
Another still wore scorched plate armor, dark and chipped, stained with something no one dared name.
Their faces were hidden—helmets, hoods, masks.
They did not stand like survivors. They stood like soldiers.
"If not for their help and guidance," the captain said, "we would still be lost."
A thunder of cheers erupted.
People clapped, cried, shouted their names—though no one actually knew them.
Hope had a face now.
And it wore a mask.
But in the midst of all that celebration—above the noise and the joy and the trembling hearts—a voice whispered.
No one saw who said it. But it cut through the cheers like a blade through cloth.
"...Can we really trust them?"