Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

When the People of Stargate Command, and Homeworld left Earth, and the greater Galaxy behind, they took with them most of other Advanced Races, other Species such as the Klingons, Vulcans even the Borg have manage to grow and develop Faster than light travel, and grow beyond their solar systems, now that the Goa’uld, or Ori are no longer around to suppress them, or the other advanced Races to guide them. Alliances are made wars are fought and Earth in the end joined them too after they discover Warp drive. They Formed the United Federation of Planets. Next thing you know 300 years have passed and with the Stargate network bas become mostly lost and forgotten, the Galaxy now looking different than it did when it was much younger.

Atlantis Deep in the Pegasus Galaxy

Jessica O’Neill stepped into the spacious office across from the control room in Atlantis’s central spire, her sharp military uniform adorned with the insignia of Supreme General of the Lantean Defense Forces. From the massive windows, she could see the sprawling city of Atlantis — the heart of their civilization — surrounded by the crystal-blue waters of Lantea. Over 300 years had passed since they abandoned Earth during the Eugenics Wars, and now the Lanteans, descendants of the Tau’ri, thrived in the Pegasus Galaxy.

The civilization had grown far beyond what her ancestors could have ever imagined. Over 10 million Lanteans now lived on five major worlds, each anchored by a city-ship: Atlantis on Lantea, Lumeria on Lumera, Borealis, Baia, and Shangri-La. These city-ships served as centers of government, culture, and defense, each planet flourishing under Lantean guidance. In orbit of Lantea, the Arcadia Shipyards worked tirelessly to produce fleets of advanced Valkyrie-class BC-306 battleships, while the formidable Europa Defense Station stood as a bastion of protection.

Jessica’s parents, General Jack O’Neill and his wife Rebekah Mikaelson, now lived comfortably in Lumeria, about 12,000 light-years from Atlantis. The Promethean Shipyards and the Olympus Defense Station protected their world, allowing Lumeria to remain a beacon of peace. Jessica had taken over her father's role as Supreme General 150 years ago, overseeing all military operations across their worlds. Thanks to Dr. Cassie Fraiser’s genetic engineering and Ancient technology, the average Lantean lifespan now approached nearly a thousand years.

Today, however, Jessica’s mind was preoccupied with a different concern — the fate of the Emergency Medical Hologram (EMH) from the starship Voyager. Over 300 years ago, a temporal anomaly caused the ship to crash into the ocean of Earth, with only the EMH surviving. They had managed to recover the hologram, and they brought him with them, but now the Council needed to decide whether to return him to his ship and possibly make full contact with Earth and the United Federation of Planets.

Jessica’s cousin, Hope, the High Counselor of the Lantean High Council, was already seated when she entered the chamber. Hope shared their family’s strong features and commanding presence, her long brunette hair tied in an elaborate braid. As High Counselor, Hope was the political voice of their civilization, while Jessica served as its military backbone.

"Jessica," Hope greeted warmly. "I was just about to summon you. We need to make a decision about the EMH. His time of departure approaches, and the Council remains divided on how to proceed."

Jessica exhaled slowly and approached the grand table. "I assume the concern is whether we open contact with Earth and the Federation or simply send him back without revealing ourselves."

Hope nodded. "Exactly. If we reveal ourselves now, we risk altering the timeline — but if we don't, we miss a chance to reconnect with our ancestral home. The question is: are we or they ready for that?"

Jessica looked out toward the ocean. Earth had been their home once, but after the destruction caused by Khan and his genetically engineered super soldiers, they had no choice but to flee. Millions had perished in the Eugenics Wars and World War III, forcing the Tau’ri to abandon their homeworld and start anew in Pegasus. They had built a thriving civilization, but Earth had become a ghost of the past — a painful memory most wished to forget.

"Do we even know what state Earth is in now?" Jessica asked.

Hope leaned back. "Not precisely. We've maintained radio silence since we left, but we've monitored subspace transmissions from the Federation. Earth seems to have recovered. They’ve unified under a new government and are now part of an interstellar alliance called the United Federation of Planets. They have starships capable of exploring beyond their solar system, but their technology is still far behind ours. And they appear to be engrossed in a war in part of the galaxy, our satellites and the Milky-way research station are observing it."

Jessica considered this. "If we make contact, we risk contamination. They might not be ready for what we've become. And we have our own obligations here. Our population is over ten million now — we can’t just abandon everything."

Hope smiled slightly. "I doubt anyone is suggesting we return. But perhaps establishing a peaceful dialogue could be beneficial."

Jessica exhaled. "I'll speak to the EMH. Maybe he can give us insight into his time and the Federation. Then we can make a better decision."

Hope agreed. "Good. But if we do decide to establish contact, I think you should be the one to lead the delegation. You still have the legacy of Earth in your veins. Your father was the one who built our military. You can bridge the gap."

Jessica turned to her cousin, a heavy weight settling on her shoulders. "Then I suppose I’ll have to prepare myself. If Earth is anything like it was when we left... this will be complicated."

Hope paused for a moment before reaching for her communications device on her collar. "Bring the Emergency Medical Hologram to my office," she ordered. "I think it’s time he had a conversation with us."

A few moments later, the door slid open, and the EMH stepped inside. He appeared as a middle-aged man with short brown hair, his Starfleet uniform crisp despite the circumstances. His eyes flicked between the two women, a mixture of curiosity and apprehension on his face.

"You wished to see me?" the EMH asked cautiously.

Hope gestured to the seat across from them. "Yes, Doctor. Please have a seat. There are some things we need to discuss — regarding your ship, your crew, and the Federation."

And somewhere deep within Atlantis, the future of two civilizations hung in the balance.

The EMH hesitated, then sat down, his posture rigid but his eyes scanning the room with a mix of professionalism and wariness. "I’m not sure what you’re expecting to learn from me that you haven’t in the last 300 years, but I’ll answer any questions you have."

Jessica leaned forward, her expression softening just slightly. "We need to know more about your mission, Doctor. And more importantly, what does the Federation have to do with Earth’s fate now that so much time has passed?"

Hope exchanged a glance with Jessica before responding, her tone measured yet firm. "We’ve had our fair share of battles, Doctor. The Lanteans who left Earth, are no longer the people that your federation would recognize. But there’s still a connection there, and that’s what we need to understand. You might hold the key to bridging the future and the past."

The EMH’s brow furrowed as he processed their words. He was clearly struggling to grasp the enormity of the situation. "I… I can’t speak for the Federation as a whole. My mission was simple: protect my crew. But it seems that mission has become far more complicated." His eyes shifted to Jessica. "You’ve all changed. And from what I understand, there’s currently a war going on at home, one that you could end."

Jessica’s face tightened, the weight of history pressing down on her. "That’s putting it mildly. We need to know more of what happened to Earth after we left. And, more importantly, if the Federation is ready for our return."

The EMH exhaled sharply, looking like he was about to speak, but then he hesitated. "I think the first step is understanding where we’re standing, and what’s left of the Federation’s influence." He glanced back at the door, as if sensing something lingering just beyond. "I’ll tell you everything I know, but it won’t be easy to hear. What happened to Earth... and to humanity... is a long story."

Hope's expression remained steady, though her mind was clearly racing with the possibilities. She nodded. "We’re prepared for the truth, Doctor. But the reality is, we may not have much time. The situation we’re facing... it's critical. The future of not just Earth, but possibly multiple worlds, rests on what you can tell us."

Jessica leaned back in her chair, her gaze never leaving the EMH. "So start from the beginning, Doctor. What happened to Earth after we left? What went wrong?"

The EMH's face darkened, and for the first time, a hint of weariness crept into his voice. "After your departure, Earth was left to fend for itself. Internal strife, political instability, and war ravaged your world. A lot of what I know is based on the fragmented data we were able to gather, when we went to rebuild after WWIII."

He paused, his fingers drumming nervously on the edge of the table as if contemplating how much to reveal. "The Eugenics Wars escalated far beyond what was anticipated. Those of your people who survived… well, they became the Lanteans. Those who remained on Earth… tried to rebuild, but there were forces at play that no one could control. Power struggles, revolutions, and eventually, a new world government order formed and Earth took its first steps and is now part of the Federation of Planets."

Jessica clenched her fists, her heart pounding in her chest. "And the Federation? Will they accept us?”

The EMH shook his head slowly. "Not in the way you’re hoping. I’m hoping however that you would agree to help the Federation win this war they are fighting and maybe return Voyager to Earth they still have 60 years of travel to reach home and one of your ships could have us there in less than a day”

Jessica looks at Hope and Says “I’ll Have the EMH report to the Ares” which is the new Ares class warship that is an improved version of the aurora class. “I’ll return him to Voyager and possibly return Voyager to earth”

Hope “Agreed however don’t forget you need to take at least 4 of the Valkyrie class as escorts I can’t send the Supreme General and a member of the high council with a single ship and no escorts”

Jessica nodded, the weight of the decision pressing heavily on her. "Understood. I’ll take the necessary precautions." She turned her attention to the EMH. "Prepare yourself, Doctor. You’ll be reporting to the Ares. We’ll see what we can do to help the Federation, but don’t mistake this for a simple alliance. If we’re going back to Earth, it’s on our terms."

The EMH straightened, his earlier wariness now replaced by a sense of urgency. "I understand. I don’t expect this to be easy, but if there’s a chance we can get Voyager home and help the Federation at the same time, then I’m willing to do whatever it takes."

Hope glanced at Jessica, her voice calm but insistent. "Remember, Jessica, the stakes are higher than just one ship. The Federation is on the brink, and if they fail, it could mean the fall of everything. You’re not just going to help Voyager. You’re going to decide the future of the Federation, possibly even the galaxy."

Jessica gave a sharp nod, her jaw set. "I know. I’ll do what’s necessary." She looked back at the EMH. "Let’s get to work. I’ll make arrangements to meet with the command staff on the Ares, and I’ll make sure we have the escorts we need. We’ll need the Valkyrie-class ships ready for immediate departure."

Hope stood, her face composed but her eyes filled with resolve. "I’ll handle the Valkyries. You focus on the Ares and Voyager. Time is of the essence."

With that, Jessica turned toward the door, her mind already racing with the implications of the mission ahead. The EMH fell in step behind her, and as the two exited the room, the future of both the Federation and the Lanteans rested on the choices they would make in the coming hours.

Ares

Jessica stepped onto the bridge of the Ares, her boots clicking against the polished floor as she took in the sleek design of the warship. The bridge was alive with activity, the crew moving swiftly to prepare for the mission ahead. The massive two-story glass window in front of her offered an awe-inspiring view of the stars, the Lantean ships in orbit, and the vastness of space stretching beyond. Her gaze locked on the horizon; her mind already focused on the task ahead.

She straightened her back, her command presence settling into place. "All ships, prepare to leave orbit," she ordered, her voice carrying across the bridge with authority. "The Ares and her escorts are about to head for the Milky Way. Athena, Hera, Poseidon, Zeus—you're to form up on us and ensure we have a clear path."

The crew responded swiftly, each officer moving with practiced precision. A crew member at the tactical station confirmed, "Acknowledged, Supreme General. The Valkyrie-class ships are in position, ready for departure."

Jessica glanced over at the helm officer. "Engage at full speed. We'll need to move quickly if we're going to reach the Milky Way in time. Get us into hyperspace. We don’t want to waste any more time."

"Aye, Supreme General," the officer replied, fingers flying over the controls as the ship began to hum with power.

Through the large window, Jessica watched as the Athena, Hera, Poseidon, and Zeus formed up around the Ares, their sleek shapes aligning in perfect synchronization. These ships, each named after the great gods of ancient myth, were formidable in their own right, and their presence would ensure a safe passage through any obstacles that lay ahead.

As the Ares began its slow drift away from the Lantean orbit, Jessica's mind was consumed with the complexity of the mission. The Ares would be her flagship, but it was more than just a ship to her. It was a symbol of her leadership, of the Lantean resolve to protect their future. And the stakes were higher than ever.

With a final glance toward the view of the stars, Jessica nodded to herself. The journey ahead would be dangerous, and they would face challenges unlike any they had before. But they were Lanteans, descendants of the Tau'ri, and they had survived much worse.

"Let’s move," Jessica said under her breath, more to herself than anyone else.

The Ares surged forward, the escorts following close behind as they left the safety of Lantea’s orbit and prepared to traverse the vast distances of space. Their destination: the Milky Way. The fate of two civilizations hung in the balance. The Ships disappeared into the purple blue clouds of hyperspace it would take them about 12 hours to reach the area of space where Voyager currently traveling through.

Chapter Text

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat in her ready room, gazing out the viewport at the streaking stars as Voyager traveled at warp six. Four hours had passed since they lost contact with the Doctor’s shuttle, and tension weighed heavily on her mind. They were en route to the shuttle’s last known location, but with every passing minute, the sinking feeling in her chest deepened.

Five years. Five long years they had been traveling through what Starfleet referred to as the Delta Quadrant, trying to find their way home. They were still an estimated sixty years from Federation space, and while hope was a constant fuel for her crew, moments like this threatened to extinguish it.

The Doctor’s mission was supposed to be simple. A quick medical supply transfer to a stranded Nacene vessel a few light-years away. Instead, the shuttle had gone dark without warning, and every attempt to hail it had been met with silence. Janeway knew the Doctor was capable of handling himself in most situations, but without his mobile emitter, he was entirely reliant on the shuttle’s systems. If something had happened… she shook the thought from her mind.

The chime at her door broke her reverie. “Come,” she called, turning away from the stars.

Chakotay stepped inside, his expression a mixture of concern and determination. “We’re approaching the shuttle’s last known coordinates. No sign of it on long-range sensors, but we’re still scanning.”

Janeway rose from her seat, smoothing her uniform. “Any nearby vessels or anomalies?”

“Nothing so far, but Tuvok’s increasing sensor resolution. If the shuttle’s out there, we’ll find it.”

Janeway nodded, grateful for her first officer’s steady presence. “I’ll be on the bridge.”

Moments later, she stepped onto the bridge, her eyes immediately scanning the viewscreen. Stars streaked by in a blur, but beyond them was only the emptiness of space. The air on the bridge was thick with the crew’s unspoken concern.

“Report,” she ordered, moving to her command chair.

Tuvok turned from his station. “We are within scanning range of the shuttle’s last known coordinates. No readings of debris or ion trails consistent with the shuttle’s warp signature. However—” he hesitated briefly. “I am detecting an energy fluctuation approximately 0.3 light-years from this location.”

“Nature of the fluctuation?” Janeway asked, leaning forward.

“Uncertain. The signature does not match any known phenomenon catalogued by Starfleet. However, the disturbance seems to be stationary and fading like a closing rift.”

Janeway exchanged a glance with Chakotay. “Helm, alter course to intercept the source of that fluctuation. Full impulse.”

“Aye, Captain.” Tom Paris adjusted their heading, and the ship smoothly altered its course.

Minutes passed like hours. As they neared the disturbance, a visible shimmer appeared in space—a rift, pulsating with hues of blue and green. The bridge crew fell silent as they approached.

“I’m reading residual warp signatures consistent with the Doctor’s shuttle,” Tuvok confirmed. “The trail appears to lead directly into the anomaly.”

Janeway’s gut tightened. “Is it stable?”

Tuvok ran a quick diagnostic. “Marginally. However, any vessel entering would likely suffer power fluctuations or damage to critical systems.”

Chakotay stepped closer to her. “The Doctor’s shuttle didn’t have shields capable of handling that kind of turbulence.”

Janeway didn’t hesitate. “We’re not leaving him behind." Just before she could give the order to enter, a different blue-purple rift appeared 50,000 kilometers from Voyager. The sudden eruption of energy sent a brief surge through Voyager’s sensors, forcing the crew to adjust their readings.

Out of the rift emerged a massive ship, easily dwarfing Voyager. Measuring 5,000 meters in length, its sleek and angular design radiated power and advanced technology. It was flanked by four smaller ships, each measuring roughly 1,000 meters in length, with hull markings that read BC-306. Their hulls shimmered with unknown alloys, and their movements were precise and coordinated.

“Captain, five ships have just emerged from the rift,” Harry Kim reported, his voice laced with disbelief. “The largest ship is over fifteen times our size, and the other four appear to be heavily armed warships.”

“Red alert,” Janeway ordered, rising from her chair. “Hail them.”

“No response, Captain,” Kim said. “But they don’t appear to be powering weapons.”

Janeway’s gaze locked onto the imposing vessel. “Tuvok, tactical analysis.”

“The large vessel appears to have energy shielding far exceeding our own, with advanced weaponry capable of destroying us in a single barrage,” Tuvok reported calmly. “The four escort ships are similarly equipped.”

Before Janeway could respond, a faint shimmer appeared on the bridge in front of her. In a matter of seconds, a woman materialized — a hologram, projected from the unknown vessel. She was human, but with a commanding presence. Long, blonde hair and piercing blue eyes marked her as someone who had seen battle, even though physically she looks to be no older than 30. She wore a uniform unlike any Starfleet design Janeway had seen, with an insignia resembling ancient Earth mythology, on her collar is 6 silver stars with a gold smaller star in the middle of the the silver one.

“This is General Jessica O’Neill Supreme Commander of the Lantean fleet and Captain of the Lantean Vesel Ares,” the hologram declared, her voice clear and authoritative. “We have your EMH Doctor aboard and would like to return him to you.”

Janeway stared at the hologram of General Jessica O’Neill, processing the words and the imposing presence of the figure before her. The mention of the Emergency Medical Hologram was startling, but the sheer power and confidence radiating from the woman were far more alarming.

"General O’Neill, you say you have our Doctor aboard?" Janeway asked, her voice steady but tinged with suspicion. "And you're just offering him back?"

The hologram’s eyes met hers, unwavering. “I understand your skepticism, Captain. However, our intention is simple: to return your crew member safely. He has spent the last 300 years, waiting to return to you and your crew.” The hologram gestured slightly as if to emphasize the gravity of her words. “We’re not your enemies, were not even from this galaxy. Your Doctor has even requested that we return you to Federation space.”

Janeway’s brow furrowed. “Not of our galaxy?” Her mind raced through the possibilities. A time anomaly, perhaps? Or something more exotic than that? "And you are from where, exactly?"

“We are from the Pegasus galaxy, about 3 million light years from our current location.” Jessica replied, her voice unwavering. “Our civilizations, yours and ours, share deep ties, though you are unaware of us — for now. The Doctor’s retrieval was... necessary for reasons you will understand in time.”

Tuvok’s voice cut in. "Captain, I have analyzed the energy signature of the ships. They are of a design unknown to any records in Federation archives, and their power levels far exceed anything we have encountered. Their shields alone suggest technology capable of surviving in deep space for extended periods."

Janeway nodded, her attention still fixed on the hologram. "What exactly do your intentions, General?"

Jessica’s expression softened, but her stance remained as commanding as ever. “We simpily want to return your Doctor and are willing to take you home, Captain, afterwards if you don’t want any contact with us, we will leave and you’ll never hear from us again.

The tension in the air was palpable. Janeway felt the weight of the moment—who were these people? What was the true nature of their mission, and how did they come to know so much about Voyager’s crew and its struggles?

"Return the Doctor to us," Janeway said, her tone firm. "Then we can talk about what comes next."

Jessica’s hologram nodded slowly. “Understood. Stand by Captain.” She gave a final glance, her piercing blue eyes locking onto Janeway’s. “He’ll see you soon.”

As the hologram dissipated, Janeway exchanged a glance with her senior officers. It was clear that the stakes had just been raised. Something far larger than they had anticipated was unfolding.

There is a screeching noise and a white light on the Bridge when the light dissipates the Doctor is left behind on the Bridge, next to Janeway.

“Captain it’s Good to see you, its taken me 300 years to get back to you, my shuttle was destroyed by the rift I fell through and the 2 ensigns that were with me died we crashed into the ocean on Earth 300 years ago. Captain, you should know that the Lanteans are from Earth, they were leaving the planet as my shuttle crashed. You should also be made aware thar General O’Neill on the Ares is over 300 years old. Also if you are wandering how I’m here without any form of holographic projection system, is because the Lanteans gave me a physical boy in the form of an Asuran Replicator.”

Janeway’s eyes widened as the Doctor spoke, her mind racing to process the flood of new information. The situation was becoming even more surreal by the second. She took a step closer to the Doctor, her voice measured but full of concern. Janeway and the Doctor go into the privacy of her Ready room to discuss things.

"Doctor, you've been gone for 300 years? And you were given a physical body by the Lanteans?" Her mind whirled as she tried to make sense of his words. How is this possible?

Janeway's thoughts were racing, trying to wrap her mind around the full scope of the Doctor’s ordeal. 300 years... a physical body... the Lanteans were there on Earth... It was as if the universe itself was pulling at the fabric of time and space, and she was now at the center of it.

“So General O'Neill, on the Ares, is over 300 years old?” Janeway repeated, her voice incredulous. She needed to confirm the facts, to ground herself in this bizarre reality. “But how is that possible?”

The Doctor’s expression shifted slightly, a mixture of explanation and concern. “The Lanteans are far more advanced than anything we know, Captain. Their technology is millions of years more advanced than ours. General O’Neill and the others from their fleet... they’ve aged, but in a way that doesn’t match our understanding of time.” He sighed, looking down at his new body, a gesture that seemed almost reflective. "I was there when they first left Earth. They were preparing for a great exodus, moving beyond our home planet. Their departure was... bittersweet, knowing that they tried and failed to stop Khan and the war."

Janeway’s mind was still trying to process the scale of this. The Lanteans were from Earth? The pieces were slowly coming together, but it didn’t make sense. How could they have been there 300 years ago and yet disappeared? There was never any record of them in the historical archive. And more importantly, what did it mean for them now?

“Doctor,” Janeway said, her voice firm but with a hint of worry. “You said the Lanteans were leaving Earth when you crashed. Where did they go? And how does all of this fit into what they want from us now?”

The Doctor turned to face her, his eyes revealing the deep weight of the knowledge he carried. “They left for the Pegasus Galaxy, Captain. In a massive City-ship, they’ve been living there ever since, isolated from us, but keeping an eye on Earth and a few isolated worlds, that they and the Asgard call the Protected planets. They want to offer you their assistance in getting home, but there’s more to it, the Federation is at war, I’m not sure if they are willing to help us with the war in the Alpha quadrant. But I believe that our civilization’s survival depends on their cooperation. And the sooner you understand that the better.”

Janeway felt her stomach tighten at the gravity of the situation. It wasn’t just a random encounter or a meeting of new species. The Lanteans had known this was coming, and they had plans — plans that involved the crew of Voyager and the Federation, plans that could alter the course of history itself.

“Doctor, how much do they know? About us... about the Federation?” Janeway asked, her voice low but full of resolve.

“They know everything, Captain,” the Doctor replied. “They’ve been watching from afar for centuries. They understand your people better than you realize.”

Janeway’s heart sank. This was bigger than anything she had anticipated, and yet, it was just beginning. The future of the Federation, of Earth, of the galaxy itself, was suddenly more uncertain than ever.

"Captain," the Doctor continued, “the Lanteans are willing to offer you away home. They haven’t decided yet if they should interfere in the Federations war and I fear that the only thing that could bring them into the war is if the Dominion and Cardassian’s attack one of the Protected planets.

Janeway squared her shoulders, determination setting into her bones. "Then we’ll work together. But I’ll need more information before I can make any decisions. No one is going to use my crew as pawns, Doctor."

He gave a sharp nod. “Of course, Captain. I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

As Janeway turned back to return to the bridge, she knew that this encounter was only the beginning. The stakes had just been raised in ways she couldn’t yet fully comprehend, but she had the crew of Voyager by her side — and they were ready to face whatever came next.

Earth

Admiral Paris stared at the holographic display before him, the aftermath of the Breen attack still fresh in his mind. His fingers tapped rhythmically on the edge of the console, his mind racing through the reports that had been coming in from all corners of Earth.

The Breen had struck hard. Several Federation ships were either destroyed or heavily damaged, and the scars from the battle could still be seen in the debris fields surrounding Earth. But it was the strange anomaly that had caught his attention. The Breen weapons had hit an area just outside of Colorado Springs, and despite the intensity of the blast, something had shielded it. The initial reports were hazy, but a clear pattern was beginning to emerge. The shield had failed, but something had appeared in its place—a military base that wasn't in any of Earth's databases. Something that didn’t belong.

"Commander, any updates from the team monitoring the site?" Paris asked as he looked at his aide, who stood at attention.

"Nothing definitive yet, sir," the officer replied. "The shield failure seems to have triggered some kind of cloaking field. Whatever’s there doesn’t appear on any known scans. We’re still trying to get a clear read."

Paris sighed, feeling a knot tighten in his stomach. This was far from normal. The Federation had done extensive scans of Earth’s surface; there shouldn't be any surprises. "I want Picard and the Enterprise on this immediately," he ordered. "We need to know what’s going on there. And I want this handled with the utmost discretion. If this is what I think it might be...we don’t want the wrong people finding out."

The aide nodded, "Understood, Admiral. I'll relay the orders to Captain Picard right away."

Paris turned to the display again, his mind already turning to the possibilities. A cloaked base, hidden from the Federation’s watchful eye, and now seemingly revealed by the Breen's attacks. Was this a remnant of an old project? Or was it something new, something potentially dangerous?

"I don’t like this," Paris muttered to himself, but he knew the only way to find out what lay beyond the strange reports was to send in one of the best. And the Enterprise was more than capable of uncovering whatever secrets lay in the shadows of Colorado Springs.

Cimmeria

Cimmeria, a lush, heavily populated world situated just outside Federation space in the Beta Quadrant, had been quietly thriving for centuries. Its people, humans that the Asgard planted here, had carved out a peaceful existence, isolated from the constant turmoil of galactic politics. Its location near the Bajoran and Cardassian border made it an unlikely target, but that didn’t stop the Dominion.

In the shadow of the Cardassian and Bajoran conflicts, the Dominion had been looking for new ways to expand their empire, especially after losing much of their labor force, when they gave up Bajor. Cimmeria, with its rich resources and dense human population, quickly became a prime target. The Dominion, ever opportunistic, saw the perfect chance to seize control and begin the process of enslaving the planet's people to continue the work on their war machines and empire-building.

The attack was swift and brutal. The Dominion’s forces, including Jem’Hadar soldiers and Breen warships, descended upon the planet with frightening precision. With little warning, Cimmeria's defenses were overwhelmed, and the once-peaceful world was thrust into chaos. The human inhabitants were captured, and many were forced into labor camps to work on various Dominion projects.

However, the Dominion had made a grave miscalculation. They hadn't accounted for the planet's hidden defenses—specifically, a cloaked satellite in orbit, designed to monitor for any significant threats to Cimmeria's security. The satellite had been a precautionary measure for the last few centuries, built by an ancient race that had supposedly long since vanished. It was programmed to remain hidden and undetected, blending perfectly with the rest of the surrounding space debris.

The Dominion forces had secured their foothold on Cimmeria, beginning their ruthless occupation of the world. The planet’s resources were being exploited, and the inhabitants were being rounded up, their fates sealed as slave labor for the Dominion's ever-expanding empire. However, the cloaked satellite, its sensors dormant during the invasion, had quietly observed every moment of the attack, the transmission of data a silent witness to the chaos unfolding below.

As the Dominion began to establish their hold on the world, the satellite’s long-hidden systems hummed to life. The satellite’s cloaking mechanism deactivated, and a powerful subspace relay activated, sending the collected data across the galaxy to the edge of known space—directly to the Milky-Way Research Station, a seemingly forgotten installation once used for deep space analysis.

The station's main control room buzzed with activity as technicians worked on various scientific projects. The aging facility, now operating as a low-priority outpost. Yet, its systems remained operational, overseen by a small team of a hundred people led by Colonel Janis Holbrook, a seasoned officer who had been in command for several years. Holbrook had grown accustomed to the quiet, isolated nature of the station, but even he knew that something unusual was happening as the encrypted data flooded into the station’s mainframe.

The Colonel stood at the command console, staring at the large holographic display of incoming information. The techs were running preliminary diagnostics on the data, their faces filled with confusion and disbelief.

"Colonel," one of the technicians called out. "You need to see this."

Holbrook approached the console, and the data began to unfurl. Images of the Dominion attack on Cimmeria flooded the screen, including detailed communications between Dominion units and the coordination of their forces. There were even hidden snippets of the Dominion's plans to enslave the planet's population.

Holbrook's eyes narrowed. "This is an attack on an Asgard Protected planet.”

He stood still for a moment, considering the gravity of the situation. The Lanteans or Asgard couldn’t afford to ignore something like this. The high-ranking officials in the Pegasus would want to see this data immediately. And there was one place he knew where they could be contacted in short order, the one place with the resources to deal with the Dominion’s growing threat: Atlantis.

Without hesitation, Holbrook turned to his second-in-command, Lieutenant Davis. “Dial the Gate. We need to get this information to Atlantis, now. The High Council will want to see this.”

Davis blinked in surprise but immediately complied. The Stargate was still operational at the station, despite its remoteness, and the technology was more than capable of handling the data transfer. He quickly tapped a few commands on the console, and with a low hum, the Gate activated, a swirling vortex of energy forming in the center of the room.

Holbrook stepped forward and addressed his team. “This is critical. The situation on Cimmeria might be the first domino to fall in a larger Dominion strategy. We’ll have an answer quickly. We may be dealing with a much larger threat than we anticipated.”

As the vortex of the Gate stabilized, Holbrook sent one final, urgent message before stepping through: “Get this data to Atlantis. We’ve got work to do.”

The Colonel stepped into the shimmering blue light, the swirling energy around him pulling him into the unknown, toward Atlantis. The High Council needed to know. The Dominion might have just made their first misstep in what could bring the Lanteans to end their war and threat to the galaxy.

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise NCC-1701 E

Captain Jean-Luc Picard stood resolute on the bridge of the newly commissioned Enterprise-E, the sleek starship now orbiting Earth. The aftermath of the Breen attack on Earth still lingered in the atmosphere, tensions thick in the air as the Federation worked to rebuild. It was a time of both healing and uncertainty, but Picard knew that Starfleet's mission to explore, understand, and protect the galaxy must continue unabated.

His fingers hovered over the console as the communication from Admiral Paris crackled to life, the stern voice cutting through the bridge's quiet hum.

"Captain Picard," Admiral Paris began, "we’ve detected an anomaly in Colorado Springs. There's a cloaked military base, one that doesn't appear on any of our records. Starfleet Intelligence suspects it could be a remnant of pre-Federation technology or a hidden facility from the last war. Your orders are to investigate."

Picard nodded, absorbing the information. A mystery hidden under the very ground of Earth itself? This mission promised to be far from ordinary. He turned to his First Officer.

"Commander Riker, assemble an away team. Prepare to beam down."

Riker, ever calm but always ready for a challenge, gave a sharp nod. "Aye, Captain. I’ll select the team right away."

As Riker moved to organize the details, Picard lingered for a moment, staring out at the blue planet below. Earth, the cradle of humanity, had survived wars, invasions, and countless challenges. Yet this new discovery promised something unknown, something hidden in the shadows of history. Picard had seen the Federation overcome the darkness, but this… this was something else.

The bridge crew worked swiftly, preparing the Enterprise for any contingencies. Soon, Riker returned with a group of officers, including Lieutenant Commander Data, Worf, and a few engineers.

"Captain," Riker reported, "we are ready to go. The team’s been assembled, and our sensors are scanning for any surprises."

"Excellent," Picard replied. "Beam down when ready. But keep your wits about you. There’s no telling what we might uncover."

As the away team prepared to leave the confines of the Enterprise, Picard could feel the weight of history pressing down on them. Whatever this base was, it was buried deep, and the questions surrounding it would no doubt reshape the understanding of Earth's past.

Colorado Springs Chyenne Mountain

In the depths of Cheyenne Mountain, nestled under the imposing granite face of the Rockies, the NORAD base stood silent—its once bustling halls now empty, save for the remnants of a long-forgotten legacy. The ancient Stargate had been hidden away beneath the mountain for over three centuries, its existence known only to a select few. The base, with all its classified secrets, had become a shadow of its former self, safeguarded by a powerful naquadah-based shield and cloak designed to keep Earth’s most dangerous technologies hidden from the prying eyes of the universe.

That is, until the recent Breen attack.

When the Breen had launched their devastating strike on Earth, the high-energy weapons fire had slammed into the shield protecting the base, sending shockwaves across the planet’s surface. The shield had held, but barely. The blast caused significant damage to the naquadah generator that powered both the shield and the cloak. Though the generator absorbed the majority of the attack, its systems were pushed to their limits. In the wake of the assault, the generator failed. The shield dropped, and the cloaking technology that had hidden the base for centuries flickered and died.

For the first time in three hundred years, the secrets of Cheyenne Mountain—and the Stargate it housed, were exposed to the world.

Above Earth, the Enterprise-E hovered in orbit, its sensors probing the planet below, detecting energy readings near Cheyenne Mountain. The faint flicker of the shield's collapse had registered like a blip on their sensors, a faint yet undeniable signal that something significant had just been revealed. With a soft hum of anticipation, the crew of the Enterprise awaited the next steps.

On the planet's surface, Commander Riker and his away team stood in a high-tech transport room, preparing to beam down. The faintest tremor of excitement rippled through him as he glanced at the other officers. They all knew this mission held weight—not just for Starfleet, but for Earth itself.

"Transporter room, ready to beam us down," Riker said, his voice calm but with a hint of urgency.

"Acknowledged, Commander," the officer replied from the console, fingers dancing across the controls. "Transporter lock established."

Within moments, the away team was gone, leaving the Enterprise behind to begin its own analysis of the strange readings.

Down in Cheyenne Mountain, the atmosphere was thick with a tension that hadn’t been felt in centuries. The away team materialized in a large, dimly lit chamber. The walls were covered with technological equipment, some of it still functioning despite its age. However, it was clear that time had not been kind. Dust had accumulated across consoles, and the air felt thick with the weight of the past.

"Welcome to the past," Riker muttered under his breath, his eyes scanning the area.

Lieutenant Commander Data took a step forward, his optical sensors adjusting to the dim lighting. "The energy readings we are detecting suggest the presence of some kind of power source, Commander. It appears to be coming from deeper within the mountain."

Worf stepped forward, his usual stoic expression unwavering. "The energy surge we detected could be the result of the Breen weapons fire. If that is the case, the base could likely be unstable."

"We need to proceed with caution," Riker ordered, his hand resting on the phaser at his side. "Let's find the source of that energy and determine what this place is."

As the team ventured deeper into the complex, they passed corridors lined with relics of Earth's military past—equipment long since obsolete, systems that had served to protect the planet but now stood as ghostly reminders of a time of war. Yet, amid the desolation, there was something more.

Ahead, the unmistakable shape of the Stargate loomed, its once-pristine surface now tarnished by the ravages of time. The symbols etched into the stone seemed almost alive, pulsating with residual energy.

"Data," Riker said, his voice laced with awe, "what can you tell us?"

The android moved closer, his hands gently brushing over the surface of the Stargate. "It appears to be in a dormant state. However, the power readings I’m receiving suggest that the the core systems remain intact. Whatever power generator they had could still be operating at a minimal level, which is likely the cause of the residual energy we're detecting."

Riker frowned. "So, it's still functional, but just barely."

"Correct," Data confirmed. "It is likely that the Breen's weapons fire destabilized the power systems, but not to the point of total failure. The base has simply gone dormant."

Worf glanced around, his eyes narrowing. "If this facility was hidden for so long, then why reveal itself now?"

Riker considered the question. "Maybe it was always meant to be found—perhaps the shield's failure is not a coincidence."

As the away team moved cautiously through the darkened corridors of Cheyenne Mountain, the faint glow of emergency lighting cast long shadows on the walls. Their footsteps echoed softly in the silence, the hum of the old base a constant presence beneath their boots.

Commander Riker led the way, scanning the area with suspicion. The energy readings were fluctuating wildly, and it was clear that the ancient systems were still struggling to maintain stability after the Breen's attack.

Then, they reached a large door, one that had been sealed for centuries. As they stepped across the threshold, the room within suddenly came alive.

A pedestal sat in the center of the chamber, its surface covered in dust, but still standing proudly as though waiting for someone to approach. As soon as the away team entered, the pedestal hummed to life. Energy coursed through the chamber as a low, rhythmic pulse filled the air.

Riker’s eyes narrowed. "What the hell?"

Before anyone could react further, the air around the pedestal shimmered, and a projection sprang to life. The image was flickering at first, but it quickly stabilized into a holographic projection of a middle-aged man, dressed in a U.S. Air Force uniform. His hair was grey at the temples, and his eyes held a certain weariness, the kind that only someone who had seen too much of the world—and the universe—could possess.

The hologram straightened, taking a breath as if preparing to speak. Then, in a voice that was both familiar and commanding, the figure began:

"I am General Jack O'Neill. If you're seeing this, then it means the bases systems have failed and you have now discovered what we have hidden for so long."

Riker, Data, and the rest of the team froze.

The hologram of General O'Neill continued, his tone even, but tinged with what could only be described as fatigue.

"By now, you’ve likely uncovered the Stargate hidden in sub-level 28. It’s been buried for a long time... Too long. The events that led us to this point are… complicated. When the Stargate was first discovered, it became a vital part of Earth's defense. However, as the decades passed, we realized that the knowledge contained here had to be protected—hidden away. Too much was at stake. We couldn’t allow Khan to find it. But if you’ve found this, that means things have changed. The shield, the cloak—it was all designed to protect this base and its secrets. Now… now that it's failed, I have only one thing left to say."

The image flickered again, and for a moment, there was a brief pause before the hologram spoke again, its voice tinged with gravity.

"The Earth is no longer alone in the galaxy. I don’t know what the planet or galaxy will look like when you find this. 2.5 million people left for a new home to start over, in the event that, Khan could not be stopped. The shield failed because it had to. The time has come for humanity to stand together. You’ll need to unlock the rest of the base's systems to fully understand what was left behind. I most likely won’t be around to help, but I trust you’ll figure it out. Good luck, and God help us all."

The hologram blinked out, leaving only the faint hum of the pedestal and the strange, heavy silence in the room.

Riker stood, his jaw tight, Data moved forward, analyzing the pedestal. "The technology here is beyond what I have seen. This hologram appears to be a message left by General O'Neill for future generations. It seems the secrecy surrounding this base was not just for protection but for preservation."

Worf’s eyes scanned the empty room. "What do we do now?"

Riker exhaled, running a hand through his hair as he considered the weight of O'Neill’s words. "We follow his instructions. We need to access the rest of the base’s systems. There are more secrets here, and it’s clear that whatever happened in the past… it’s still important now."

As the team began to move forward, their minds were heavy with the implications of what they had just learned. General Jack O'Neill's warning wasn’t just a message, it was a call to action. The stakes were higher than ever. And with the Stargate’s discovery, humanity’s place in the galaxy was about to change forever.

The secrets of Cheyenne Mountain, and the legacy of General Jack O'Neill, were no longer hidden. The path ahead was uncertain, but one thing was clear—Earth had just stepped into a much larger universe.

The team continued to examine the room, their minds buzzing with the implications of the hologram's message. But as they moved deeper into the investigation of the base’s ancient systems, they realized just how much had been lost to time. The base's computers, though still operational in some respects, were far from intact. Most of the data stored within them had either been corrupted beyond recovery or erased entirely, leaving only traces of what once existed.

Lieutenant Commander Data moved to one of the terminals, fingers flying over the console. His advanced processing power allowed him to work with the old systems in ways that the human crew could not, but even he was limited by the age and condition of the equipment. After a few moments of silence, he turned to Commander Riker, his expression unreadable.

"Commander," Data began, his voice carrying a note of mild frustration, "most of the data stored on these systems is indeed either corrupted or completely erased. However, there is still some information that is intact… or at least partially intact." He paused as if absorbing the significance of what they had found. "The Stargate here is far more advanced than we initially thought. It is capable of creating a stable, wormhole, one that can reach almost anywhere in the galaxy. As long as there is a gate to connect to on another planet. Technology that is far beyond anything we have seen before.

Riker’s brow furrowed. "A stable wormhole? So, you're saying this gate could essentially connect Earth to… anywhere?"

Riker stood in silence for a moment, taking in the enormity of this revelation. The potential of this new Stargate was staggering. If it worked as they suspected, it could change everything. Travel across the galaxy in a matter of moments? The Federation, Earth, and perhaps the entire galaxy itself, could be on the brink of a new era of exploration and cooperation.

But there was a major problem.

"Then why the hell don’t we know where it’s been used?" Riker muttered, rubbing his chin. "This thing can create stable wormholes to anywhere, but there’s no record of where they’ve gone after leaving Earth."

Data’s expression remained unchanged, but his voice carried an edge of concern. "That is the mystery. According to the fragmented data, the Stargate was active for some time after its activation here. However, all records of its destinations have been wiped or corrupted. It appears that whoever used the gate after its activation erased any trace of where they traveled. There is no indication of any specific location or mission reports. It’s as if the information was deliberately hidden."

Worf’s brow furrowed. "Could it be… sabotage? Perhaps by those who were entrusted with the gate's secrets?"

"That seems likely," Riker replied, turning toward the other members of the team. "Whoever was behind this must have had a reason to erase the trail. If this Stargate was so advanced, there could have been people—organizations—who didn’t want others to know where it led."

They were left with more questions than answers. The revelations about the Stargate's capabilities only deepened the mystery, but the lack of information about where it had been used—where it had sent people—was a gaping hole in their understanding.

The possibilities were endless, but so were the dangers.

"Let’s gather as much as we can from these systems," Riker ordered, glancing over at Data. "Even if the data is fragmented, there might be something we’ve missed. We need to know more about what happened here and why this place was hidden in the first place."

"We will," Data replied. "But I must caution you, Commander. Given the state of the systems, there may be little more to uncover. The damage caused by time and the Breen’s attack may be too severe."

Riker nodded grimly. "We don’t have a choice. We’ve already uncovered more than we expected, and it’s clear we’ve only scratched the surface. This base holds answers to questions we didn’t even know we had."

With no clear answers yet, the away team continued their investigation, their minds haunted by the one crucial question: Where had the Stargate sent its users after they left Earth?

As they worked, Riker couldn’t help but feel the weight of the legacy they had uncovered. The technology and secrets contained within this hidden base were far beyond what Earth’s current generation of explorers could comprehend. But perhaps, just perhaps, this discovery could answer not just the past’s mysteries—but shape the future of humanity’s place in the cosmos.

Somewhere out there, beyond the farthest reaches of the galaxy, was a trail waiting to be uncovered.

Atlantis High Council Chamber

(The High Councilor is Hope Mikaelson, General Jessica O'Neill holds the Military seat, Doctor Cassie Frasier holds the Medical seat, Councilor Varek holds the Education seat, Councilor Aran holds the public relations seat, Doctor Emily Mackay Holds the Science's seat, and is head of the Lantean Science counsel, Councilor O'vie is the Asuran Rep on the Counsel. The other 5 seats are held by each of the 5 city-ship Administrators.)

The atmosphere in the High Council Chamber of Atlantis was tense, the weight of responsibility pressing down on everyone gathered around the large, round table. The room, a blend of ancient architecture and modern technology, was bathed in the soft glow of luminous panels embedded into the walls. The central table, made of polished Orlani stone, reflected the light in a calm, almost soothing way, but the air was far from calm.

At the head of the table, Hope Mikelson, the High Counselor of the Lantean High Council, sat with a poised yet serious expression. She has held the title for 5 years, but her wisdom and understanding of both politics and military strategy had earned her the respect of the Council. Beside her, to her right, sat six Councilors—each representing various aspects of the Lantean government, military, and science divisions. To her left were five more Councilors, with an empty seat between them, the absence of her cousin, General Jessica O’Neill Supreme Commander of their military, noted by all.

The table's atmosphere was thick with anticipation. But the issue at hand was grave enough to require the entire Council’s attention.

Hope looked around the table, ensuring that everyone was present and accounted for. Her voice, calm and steady, broke the silence.

"Thank you all for coming on such short notice," she began, her gaze briefly flickering to the empty chair that represented Jessica’s absence. It was a reminder that, though Jessica was absent physically, her influence could still be felt in every decision the Council made. "We are here to discuss the recent attack on Cimmeria by the Dominion."

A murmur of concern rippled through the room as the mention of the Dominion darkened the mood even further. The Dominion, a relentless and highly organized faction known for its brutality and oppressive tactics, had been a significant threat to their cousins on Earth in their original galaxy. Though their empire had been diminished over the years, their recent resurgence had left entire civilizations trembling in fear.

Hope's eyes hardened as she continued, the weight of the situation pressing down on her like a physical force. Her voice took on an even more resolute tone, underscoring the importance of their next actions.

"The attack on Cimmeria is not only an affront to us but to the Asgard as well. We cannot allow this assault on a protected planet to go unpunished." She looked around the room, locking eyes with each Councilor as if to emphasize her point. "The Asgard have long been our allies and guardians in this galaxy. They’ve helped us more times than we can count, and they’ve been instrumental in protecting civilizations like Cimmeria from external threats. This is not just a Lantean matter—it’s a galactic one."

Councilor Varek, ever the pragmatist, nodded thoughtfully but spoke with a hint of caution. "We all understand the significance, Hope. But the Dominion is a much larger force than we’ve encountered in some time. If we strike back at them directly, we risk escalating the situation into a full-scale war. Are we prepared for that? Can we afford it?"

Hope’s gaze was unwavering as she addressed the Council, her voice cutting through the air like a blade.

"The Dominion has already declared war on us by attacking Cimmeria. If we allow this to go unchecked, it sends a message that they can attack our worlds, violate our alliances, and face no consequences. That would not only embolden them—it would put every world under our protection at risk. We cannot afford to appear weak."

Her expression hardened as she leaned forward, her hands clasped tightly on the table. "We can divert General O'Neill from her mission with Voyager and bring her back. If necessary, we can send a fleet to back up her five ships. We cannot waste any time. We need to show the Dominion that their actions have consequences."

Councilor Varek, still cautious but recognizing the seriousness of the situation, glanced at the others before speaking. "You would pull General O'Neill away from her mission with Voyager? The timing is... delicate, and the mission is critical for our future. There’s risk in dividing our resources like this."

Hope’s eyes never left him as she responded, her voice filled with certainty. "I understand the risks, Varek. But the attack on Cimmeria cannot be ignored. We have faced threats before, and we will face more in the future, but if we do not act now, we risk losing everything we’ve worked so hard to build. General O'Neill knows the stakes, and she will understand why this is necessary. We can afford to split our forces temporarily—this is a fight we cannot afford to lose."

Councilor Aran, the youngest but no less resolute, nodded in agreement. "I’m with you, Hope. We can make it work. We can send the fleet to assist O'Neill if needed, and we can still coordinate with the Asgard to ensure they provide the necessary support. But we have to act fast. We’ll send a fleet of 10 ships to back her up."

Chapter Text

Jessica sat comfortably in the Command Chair of the Ares, her gaze locked on the swirling hyperspace tunnel outside the bridge. Her mind raced through the numerous tasks awaiting her once they returned to Earth. The Voyager, still trailing behind the ship, would be delivered to the correct time, a promise she had made to the EMH—a promise she had no intention of breaking.

The Communications Officer’s voice echoed from across the bridge, cutting through her thoughts.

“General, a subspace message coming through on the Council frequency. It’s marked urgent.”

Jessica’s brow furrowed. The Council frequency? She quickly stood up and gave a brief nod.

“I’ll take it in my office,” she said, her voice firm yet calm. She had been in this position long enough to know that nothing ever came through without reason, especially not something flagged as urgent.

She left the bridge, her mind already running through possible scenarios. She had hoped for a quiet return to Earth after all the chaos with the Voyager, but it seemed that peace was never quiet in the cards.

Once inside her private office, she sat at the desk, activating the holographic screen. The subspace transmission flickered to life before her, a message from the High Council. Jessica leaned forward; her interest piqued. The voice on the other end was that of her cousin Hope.

"General O'Neill," Hope’s voice crackled through, clear despite the distance. "We’ve just received troubling news from the Protected Planets. Cimmeria’s been attacked I need you to alter course and eliminate the threat and free the planet the Asgard are sending a ship, but you are closer, and the Council is sending a fleet of 10 Ships, to back you up, because once you are done I want you to head to Cardassia Prime and show the Dominion why they shouldn’t mess with the Lanteans.”

Jessica’s fingers tightened around the edge of her desk as her cousin’s voice came through the transmission, cutting straight to the heart of the matter. Cimmeria. The mention of the planet sent a jolt of concern through her chest. It was one of the most peaceful and isolated worlds within the Protected Planets, known for its natural beauty and fiercely independent people. The thought that someone had the audacity to attack it… Jessica’s mind began to churn.

Hope’s voice continued, steady but with an edge of urgency. "General, I don’t need to remind you of the importance of this mission. Cimmeria is under attack, and the Asgard are en route, but we need you to act fast. Their forces have a significant lead, and we can’t afford to let them take the planet. You’ve got the tactical advantage with the Ares."

Jessica’s jaw tightened. She knew what Hope was implying. The Ares was the most advanced ship in their fleet, and its capabilities far surpassed most of their forces. The Council had trusted her for a reason, and now that trust was about to be tested in a way she hadn’t expected.

"Understood," she said, her voice unwavering despite the surge of adrenaline. "I’ll take care of Cimmeria. We’ll eliminate the threat and free the planet." She hesitated, then added with a steely resolve, "And the Dominion won’t know what hit them."

Hope’s image on the screen nodded solemnly. "I knew you’d say that. You’ll have a fleet of ten ships to back you up. We’ll coordinate the assault from here. Once Cimmeria is safe, you’ll need to change course for Cardassia Prime. The Dominion is getting bolder, and they need to be reminded that the Lanteans are not to be trifled with. The fate of the galaxy could depend on it."

Jessica didn’t need to be reminded. The Dominion had already been a thorn in their side for too long, and she had no intention of allowing them to think they could push the Lanteans around. A sense of duty settled over her, sharpening her focus. First Cimmeria. Then Cardassia Prime. It wasn’t ideal—she had hoped for a quiet return—but when duty called, she answered.

“Send me the coordinates for Cimmeria,” Jessica ordered, standing from her desk and moving toward the comms station. "Prepare the Ares for immediate course change. I’ll need tactical assessments on the enemy’s forces."

Hope’s expression softened briefly, as if she were about to say something more personal, but instead, she simply nodded again. "Good luck, Jessica. The Council is counting on you."

The transmission ended, and Jessica wasted no time. She activated the comms, her voice calm and authoritative as she spoke to the bridge.

"Commander, alter course. We’re heading to Cimmeria. Prepare for battle."

A chorus of acknowledgments came through the speakers, and Jessica couldn’t help but feel the weight of the responsibility settling in. As the Ares shifted course, she couldn’t ignore the feeling that this would be no ordinary mission. The threats coming at them now weren’t just about survival—they were about showing the galaxy that the Lanteans were a force to be reckoned with. And no one, not even the Dominion, would be allowed to forget that.

The Ares surged forward, its powerful engines thrumming as they entered the unknown. The road ahead was dangerous, but Jessica was ready. For Cimmeria. For the Lanteans. And for the galaxy’s future.

Space around Cimmeria

The cold expanse of space around Cimmeria was filled with the hostile hum of Jem’Hadar and Cardassian ships hovering ominously over the planet. Their sensor arrays had missed the Ares and the supporting fleet as they exited hyperspace, the sudden arrival of the Lantean forces causing a ripple of surprise through their ranks.

The moment the Ares emerged from hyperspace, Jessica was already on her feet, her sharp eyes locked on the large viewscreen that displayed the enemy fleet. A quick glance around the bridge showed her crew already poised for action, the tension palpable in the air. This was it. The moment she had been preparing for, but never wished to come.

With a steady hand, she tapped the comms panel, her voice cutting through the silence of the ship like a blade.

“This is General Jessica O’Neill, Supreme Commander of the Lantean fleet, and Captain of the Lantean vessel Ares,” she declared, her tone authoritative and unwavering. “Leave this planet at once, or I will open fire and destroy all ships in orbit. Cimmeria is a Protected Planet under the full protection of the Lanteans. You have thirty seconds to respond before I give the order to open fire.”

She held the comm open, allowing her words to hang in the air, her eyes cold and focused on the screens as she watched the enemy fleet react. The silence in the void was deafening, but she knew better than to expect an immediate response. These were not forces that would back down easily. Still, there was no mistaking the weight of her words. The Lanteans had the power to decimate anyone who threatened their Protected Planets—and Jessica had no hesitation in showing that she would do just that if the situation demanded it.

The seconds ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last, but Jessica did not flinch. Her crew, on the other hand, remained poised at their stations, watching the unfolding standoff with bated breath.

The silence of space shattered as Jem’Hadar and Cardassian ships made their move. Without hesitation, they opened fire on the Ares, her escorting fleet, and even Voyager, which was caught in the crossfire. Onboard Voyager, Captain Janeway stood at the bridge, her brow furrowing as alarms blared. This pit stop had never been part of the plan. She had thought they were simply heading back to Earth, but now the situation had escalated into something far more dangerous.

“What the hell is going on?!” Janeway barked, her hands gripping the edge of her command chair as the tremors of the enemy fire rattled the ship. The Voyager’s shields were holding, but it was clear that they were outmatched. The Cardassian and Dominion weapons had little to no effect on the Lantean ships, whose shields absorbed the impact effortlessly. The Lantean fleet was not only more advanced—it was leagues ahead of anything the Dominion or Cardassians could field.

Meanwhile, on the Ares…

The incoming fire from the enemy was shrugged off as if it were little more than a nuisance. Jessica O'Neill watched the damage reports flash across the screen, noting the complete lack of effect on her fleet’s shields. A slight, almost imperceptible smirk tugged at her lips. This was exactly why the Lanteans were the dominant force in the Pegasus galaxy.

She wasted no time. “Return fire, all ships,” she ordered, her voice calm, but carrying the weight of someone who knew exactly how to handle this situation. “Target their capital ships and eliminate them one by one. No mercy.”

The bridge crew immediately sprang into action, executing her commands with precision.

The Ares and its fleet responded in kind. In an instant, the first Cardassian ship, the lead vessel—was obliterated. A single shot from the Ares’ main cannon tore through its shields, the energy blast cutting straight through the hull like a hot knife through butter. Within moments, the Cardassian vessel erupted into a fiery ball of debris. The battle was over before it had even truly begun.

Jessica’s gaze never wavered as her fleet continued to methodically destroy their enemies. Each subsequent strike was just as efficient, as Lantean ships unleashed their devastating weaponry. A Jem'Hadar cruiser was next—two quick strikes from the Ares’ advanced plasma cannons, and it was reduced to smoldering ruins, its engines exploding in a violent burst of light.

“We’re 1000 times more powerful than they are,” Jessica muttered under her breath as she observed the carnage unfolding on the viewscreen. “They never stood a chance.”

Her orders were followed to the letter. With each strike, another enemy ship was destroyed, leaving the remains of the once-formidable Dominion and Cardassian fleets floating in the black void, shattered and scattered like broken toys.

Onboard Voyager, Janeway watched the scene unfold on her own bridge screen, her face a mask of disbelief and awe. She had seen powerful ships before, but nothing like this. The Lanteans were on an entirely different level. Voyager’s sensors couldn’t even begin to calculate the magnitude of the firepower at Jessica’s disposal.

“Captain,” Chakotay said, breaking her reverie, “we’re still in range of the enemy. Should we remain in position, or should we take evasive maneuvers?”

Janeway was silent for a moment, watching the Lantean ships dominate the battlefield with chilling efficiency. “No need to move,” she replied finally, her voice calm but tinged with a deep respect for what she was witnessing. “The Ares has this under control. Let’s just make sure we don’t get in their way.”

Back on the Ares, Jessica remained unshaken, her eyes locked onto the remaining enemy ships. Only a handful of Jem’Hadar and Cardassian vessels remained, their once-proud formations now scattered and weakened.

“Finish them off,” she ordered simply. “Let’s make sure they know that messing with the Lanteans has consequences.”

Another round of energy blasts from her fleet, and the remaining ships were wiped from existence. The battle was over as quickly as it had begun. Cimmeria was safe.

Jessica sat back in her command chair, exhaling slowly. “All enemy ships destroyed,” she reported, the calmness in her voice belied the ferocity of the battle they had just fought. She turned to her communications officer, a hard glint in her eye. "Send a message to the Council. Cimmeria is secure, but we need to know what’s behind this attack. I don’t believe this was just a random assault. Once the Asgard arrive they will handle helping the people on Cimmeria rebuild.”

The officer nodded and quickly sent the message as Jessica turned her attention to the rest of her fleet. The mission had gone well—but this was far from over. The Dominion and Cardassians would not forget this defeat so easily.

Ares Bridge

As the debris from the last of the enemy ships scattered across the void, Jessica’s gaze shifted from the screens showing the aftermath of the battle to the still-hovering Voyager. The ship had been caught in the crossfire, and though it had been spared the worst of the attack, Jessica couldn’t ignore the fact that she had dragged Captain Janeway and her crew into an unexpected conflict.

She took a breath and turned toward the communications officer, her tone steady but apologetic.

“Send a message to Captain Janeway on Voyager,” she ordered, her fingers hovering over the panel. “Apologize for the interruption and let her know that this stop was necessary. We couldn’t let the threat to Cimmeria go unchecked. Tell her we’re now rerouting to DS9 instead of Earth as originally planned. We’ll make sure they’re safely escorted from there.”

The communications officer immediately began transmitting the message, and Jessica stood, walking over to the large viewport as she stared out into the vastness of space. Cimmeria was secure, but there was still the lingering question of why the Dominion and Cardassians had dared to make such a bold move against one of the Lanteans' Protected Planets. She had a feeling this was only the beginning.

A moment later, the communications officer’s voice broke her thoughts.

“The message is sent, General. Captain Janeway should receive it shortly.”

Jessica nodded, her eyes hard with determination. “Good. I want to make sure that once we’re finished with this detour, we can focus on what’s next. This won’t be the last time the Dominion tries to test us, and I won’t let them get comfortable.”

Her hands clenched at her sides. There was a lot to do, but for now, her mission was clear: get Janeway and the Voyager to DS9 and then prepare for whatever else the galaxy might throw their way.

Atlantis - Hope’s Office

The high-tech, expansive office of the Lantean High Counselor was bathed in soft light, the view of the Pegasus Galaxy stretching out behind Hope’s desk. She sat in her chair, looking over reports and communications that had been flooding in after the attack on Cimmeria. The sense of urgency was palpable, and she knew that the Dominion and Cardassians wouldn’t take their loss lightly.

The door to her office opened with a soft hiss, and Colonel Teyla Sheppard, the granddaughter of the legendary retired General John Sheppard, stepped into the room. The sharp, confident demeanor she had inherited from her famous grandfather was evident, her posture straight and eyes unwavering.

Hope glanced up from her console, her expression serious but not without respect for the woman standing before her.

“Colonel Sheppard,” Hope began, her voice calm but commanding. “I need you and a fleet of 10 ships to back up General O’Neill and ensure the Dominion doesn’t regroup. We need to eliminate any threat to the Lantean people before it can escalate.”

Teyla, who had risen quickly through the ranks of the Lantean military, nodded without hesitation. Her determination was clear as she approached Hope’s desk, her eyes never wavering from the High Counselor’s gaze.

“Understood, Counselor,” Teyla responded, her voice steady and filled with resolve. “I’ll prepare the fleet immediately. We’ll make sure the Dominion knows they’re not welcome in our space.”

Hope leaned back in her chair, her fingers briefly steepling in front of her face. “Good. I’m counting on you, Teyla. O’Neill and her fleet are strong, but we need to ensure the Dominion doesn’t have the chance to regroup and retaliate. This is more than just a military action—it’s a message.”

“I’ll get it done,” Teyla said, her jaw set firmly as she turned to leave.

As the door closed behind her, Hope sat in silence for a moment, gazing out the window at the stars. This was just the beginning. The Dominion and their allies had been a constant threat, and the Lanteans could no longer afford to take any chances. Jessica would deal with the immediate threat, but this battle was far from over.

Chapter Text

Deep Space 9

The blaring of alarms echoed through Ops as Captain Benjamin Sisko strode out of his office, his eyes narrowing at the sight on the main viewscreen. A massive subspace rupture yawned open in the fabric of space, its swirling vortex vomiting forth a fleet of colossal vessels, each one unlike anything Starfleet had ever cataloged.

"Report!" Sisko barked, moving to stand beside Major Kira.

"Detecting multiple vessels, sir!" Lieutenant Dax called out, her fingers dancing over her console. "Their energy signatures are... off the charts. I can't even begin to classify them."

"Where did they come from?"

"The rupture appears to be a highly stable form of subspace radiation," Chief O'Brien added, his voice laced with awe and concern. "Way beyond anything the Dominion or even the Borg have pulled off."

Sisko watched as the mysterious ships adjusted their course with eerie precision. Before anyone could react, another breach tore open in space, mirroring the first. The fleet pivoted and, as suddenly as it arrived, vanished into the void.

All except for one.

The last vessel left behind was immediately recognizable—the long-lost USS Voyager. Battle-worn but intact, the intrepid starship drifted in space, its running lights flickering erratically.

"Voyager?" Kira whispered, stunned.

"They're hailing us, sir," Dax announced, her fingers already working to clear the channel.

Sisko exhaled slowly, bracing himself for whatever revelation was about to unfold.

"On screen."

The viewscreen crackled, and the familiar yet weary face of Captain Kathryn Janeway appeared. Her uniform was scuffed, and there was a steely glint in her eyes.

"This is Captain Janeway of the Federation Starship Voyager," she said, her voice resolute. "Requesting permission to dock—there’s a lot to discuss."

Sisko exchanged a look with Kira and Dax before nodding.

"Voyager, welcome home."

Cardassia Prime

The atmosphere inside the Command Center was tense, thick with unease as Legate Damar stood beside Weyoun, their eyes locked onto the tactical displays. The momentary stillness shattered as alarms blared, warning of multiple incoming vessels.

A massive hyperspace rupture tore open in orbit, and from it, two imposing fleets emerged. Sleek and advanced beyond comprehension, the Lantean armada surged forward, their hulls gleaming ominously against the darkness of space.

Damar's breath caught in his throat as the transponders identified the lead ships.

"The Lanteans again" Weyoun murmured, his usual calm demeanor fracturing as realization set in.

There was no hesitation. The Lantean ships opened fire the instant they stabilized in orbit. Devastating energy beams and high-yield plasma bolts rained down upon the Cardassian fleet, slicing through shields and hulls as if they were made of paper. The Dominion warships scrambled to return fire, but the Lantean technology was leagues beyond anything the Cardassians or even the Jem’Hadar had ever encountered.

But the true horror came seconds later.

Several of the Lantean capital ships, their size dwarfing even the Dominion's largest battleships, shifted their positions—massive plasma cannons swiveling downward.

"They're—" a Cardassian officer stammered, his voice cracking, "they're targeting the surface!"

Damar paled as he watched energy charges build within the colossal weapons. If those cannons fired, Cardassia Prime would be reduced to little more than scorched ruins, its cities obliterated in an instant. In less than a day, the planet would be stripped of infrastructure, industry, and civilization itself. An estimated ninety percent of the population would perish.

"This..." Weyoun whispered, his voice barely audible, "this is extinction."

Damar clenched his fists, his mind racing for a way out. They had survived war. They had endured the Dominion’s cruelty. But this?

This was annihilation on a scale he had never imagined.

Deep Space 9 – Sisko’s Office

Captain Benjamin Sisko leaned back in his chair, his fingers steepled as he studied the woman sitting across from him. Captain Kathryn Janeway looked equally intense, her expression betraying the exhaustion of years lost in the Delta Quadrant—yet there was something else, something darker.

The silence between them was thick with unspoken words, but it was Janeway who finally broke it.

"You've read my report, Captain," she said, her voice measured but firm. "You know what the Lanteans are capable of."

Sisko exhaled slowly, rubbing his temples before replying. "I’ve seen technology that should be impossible, fleets appearing and disappearing like ghosts, and now, I have an entire quadrant to worry about if the Lanteans decide to impose their will." His gaze sharpened. "The question is—are they friends, or are they another threat waiting to strike?"

Janeway hesitated. "That depends."

Sisko raised an eyebrow.

She leaned forward, voice dropping to something just above a whisper. "The Lanteans are powerful—more powerful than anything we've encountered, even the Borg. But they don’t see themselves as conquerors. They see themselves as guardians, shepherds of order. And that's the problem."

Sisko frowned. "Because they decide what ‘order’ means?"

"Exactly." Janeway sighed. "They won't play by our rules, Ben. They have their own. And if they decide the Alpha Quadrant is too chaotic, they won't hesitate to reshape it in their image."

Sisko leaned back, absorbing the weight of her words. "And Cardassia?"

Janeway's jaw tightened. "If they follow through on what I saw before Voyager was left behind… there might not be a Cardassia left to save."

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Sisko exhaled sharply. "Then we better figure out how to deal with them—before it's too late."

Atlantis – Near the Control Room

The soft hum of the transporter faded as Hope stepped out into the corridor, balancing a tray with her lunch. The halls of Atlantis were alive with quiet activity, personnel moving efficiently from one task to another. She barely made it a few steps before Emily intercepted her, looking both excited and serious.

Hope gave her younger sister a warm smile. "Hi there. How’s my little sis? What can I do for you today?"

Emily returned the smile but wasted no time getting to the point. "I just received a report from Midway Station," she said, her tone laced with urgency. "Starfleet—back on Earth—they’ve discovered the Stargate."

Hope’s smile faded as she processed the news. "You're sure?"

Emily nodded. "And there’s more. They’ve also found General Jack O’Neill’s last message." She let the weight of those words settle. "Which means they might finally be ready to interact with us again."

Hope sighed, shifting the tray in her hands. "Well… that’s something. After centuries of silence, they finally remember we exist. Now we have to decide how we respond."

Emily smirked. "Dad's going to have a field day with this."

Hope chuckled. "Oh, I can already hear him. ‘The fools have finally caught up to what we knew ages ago.’" She shook her head. "Speaking of Dad, how is he? And Bella?"

Emily’s expression softened. "They’re good. Bella’s still running that research initiative with the Lantean Science Council. You know how she is—completely obsessed with cracking that ancient data archive we found in the Pegasus Deep. She and Dad had dinner together last night, though. I think he actually stayed in one place for more than an hour."

Hope smirked. "Miracle of miracles. Klaus Mikaelson, sitting still? Bella must’ve drugged his drink."

Emily laughed. "Probably. He did mention something about 'learning patience' and then immediately got into a duel with one of the combat instructors this morning."

Hope rolled her eyes fondly. "That sounds about right. And you? What have you been up to?"

Emily shrugged. "You know, just the usual—keeping tabs on diplomatic channels, ensuring the Council doesn’t descend into chaos, making sure our ships don’t accidentally start a war. Oh, and trying to find a decent cup of coffee in this city. You’d think with all our advancements, someone would’ve figured out how to make good coffee."

Hope laughed. "Sounds exhausting. Let’s grab some lunch and figure out how we’re going to break the news about Starfleet to Dad. I want to be there when he hears it."

Emily grinned. "Oh, absolutely. This is going to be fun."

The two sisters walked off together, the weight of history pressing down on them, but for now, sharing a rare moment of lightness before the storm ahead.

She locked eyes with Emily. "Then I guess it’s time we decide how we’re going to answer. I do think I have an Idea, Very Dramatic”

Cheyenne Mountain – Stargate Command

The hum of activity filled the underground complex as science teams moved between workstations, cataloging and analyzing the remnants of technology left behind. Every artifact, every console, every symbol on the walls was a piece of the mystery surrounding this long-buried facility.

Then, without warning, alarms blared.

The Stargate, dormant for centuries, suddenly roared to life. Electricity crackled around the ring as ancient mechanisms engaged, spinning with a force that sent nearby personnel stumbling back. Scientists shouted warnings, but before anyone could react, a vortex of energy exploded outward with a deafening whoosh, sending loose papers and small objects flying.

As the unstable event horizon settled into the familiar blue puddle, stunned silence filled the room.

"Did—did we do that?" one technician asked, wide-eyed.

"Negative," another responded, his voice barely above a whisper. "Something… or someone just dialed in."

Starfleet Command – San Francisco

Meanwhile, at Starfleet Headquarters, the air in Admiral Owen Paris's office was thick with tension. Reports from the USS Enterprise's expedition to Colorado were still being compiled, and he was growing impatient.

"Lieutenant, I want a full briefing," Paris said, his gaze sharp as he addressed the gathered officers. "What exactly did Enterprise find?"

Before the officer could respond, a faint shimmer appeared beside the Admiral's desk. A soft golden glow illuminated the room as a figure took shape—a beautiful woman, regal in presence, slightly transparent yet unmistakably there.

A hush fell over the room as the holographic figure spoke.

"Greetings," she said, her voice smooth yet commanding. "I am Hope Mikaelson, High Councillor of the Lantean High Council."

Paris straightened, his expression unreadable. "And what exactly can we do for the Lantean High Council?"

Hope's gaze remained steady. "The question, Admiral, is whether your people are ready to hear what we have to say."

Paris exhaled slowly, folding his hands in front of him. "This is an unprecedented moment, Councillor. First contact with a civilization we believed lost to time." He studied her for a moment before continuing, "With all due respect, I think a conversation like this deserves more than a holographic message."

Hope arched an eyebrow, intrigued. "You wish to meet in person?"

Paris nodded. "I do. I’d like to extend an official invitation to the Lantean High Council—or their representatives—to meet face-to-face. Somewhere neutral, secure. I assume you have the means to travel?"

A small smile touched Hope's lips. "Admiral, we left behind mere 'means' of travel centuries ago. I will arrange for an emissary to meet you at a location of our choosing."

Paris's jaw tightened slightly at the implication but nodded. "Very well. I’ll await your coordinates."

The hologram flickered slightly. "Expect our response soon, Admiral. And prepare yourselves—history is about to change."

With that, the shimmering figure of Hope Mikaelson vanished, leaving Starfleet Command in stunned silence.

Paris let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. Then, turning to his officers, he spoke with quiet determination.

"Contact the President. We’re about to make history."

Atlantis – Control Room

The soft hum of Ancient technology filled the air as Hope Mikaelson stood on the upper balcony of the Atlantis Control Room, her eyes fixed on the glowing blue event horizon of the active Stargate. The symbols on the ring still pulsed faintly, the connection to Earth stable but awaiting further instructions.

Around her, technicians worked diligently at their stations, monitoring data streams and relaying updates across the city. Despite the calm efficiency of the Lantean personnel, Hope could feel the weight of history pressing down on this moment. The Tau’ri—now Starfleet—had rediscovered the Stargate. The question was, were they ready for what came next?

She turned to one of the senior technicians, a woman named Teyla Raan, who stood attentively beside her.

“Send them the coordinates for Valhalla,” Hope ordered, her voice firm yet measured. “It’s far enough from Federation space but still accessible. At their maximum warp of 9.995, it should take them two weeks to reach.”

Walter Jr. nodded, fingers gliding effortlessly over the crystal like controls as he transmitted the data. “Shall I include any additional security parameters?”

Hope considered for a moment. “Standard diplomatic protocols. The High Council will act as the delegation.” She exhaled, crossing her arms. “Also, set the meeting date for three weeks from now. I want them to have time to prepare—and to wonder.”

Walter Jr. smirked slightly at the last part. “Understood, High Councillor. Message sent.”

The Stargate flickered as the transmission was encoded and sent through the wormhole. As the event horizon rippled and collapsed, leaving the ring dark and silent once more, Hope turned and glanced toward the observation windows overlooking Atlantis’ vast ocean.

The Tau’ri thought they were the pinnacle of human advancement. They were about to learn just how much further the Lanteans had come.

“Now,” she murmured to herself, “let’s see if they’re ready for the truth.”

Starfleet Command – San Francisco

Admiral Owen Paris sat at the head of the conference table, surrounded by some of Starfleet’s top officers and Federation scientists. The room was tense with anticipation, all eyes on the holographic display hovering above the center of the table. The message from the Lanteans had just come through, and Lieutenant Commander Ayala, head of deep-space cartography, was briefing the gathered officers on what they had just received.

“The Lanteans have provided coordinates for the meeting,” Ayala said, zooming in on a section of Federation star charts. “They’re pointing us to a system just outside our official borders. We’ve designated it as System JX-237, but it’s more commonly called the ‘Valhalla System.’”

Paris leaned forward, his fingers steepled. “Valhalla?”

“It’s an old name from exploratory teams nearly a century ago,” Ayala explained. “The system consists of six planets orbiting a G-type star, nothing particularly special—except for one anomaly.”

“An anomaly?” Paris repeated, exchanging a glance with Captain Janeway, who had joined the meeting via holographic link.

“Yes, sir,” Ayala continued, manipulating the holographic display. “Based on sensor readings, gravity distortions, and the orbital mechanics of the system, there should be a seventh planet in this position.” He pointed at an empty space between the orbits of the fourth and fifth planets. “Everything indicates that a planetary body once occupied this orbit—something roughly the size of Earth or slightly larger—but there’s nothing there now.”

The room fell silent as the officers absorbed the information.

“Could it have been destroyed?” asked Rear Admiral Nechayev, frowning.

Ayala shook his head. “No debris field. No remnants. It’s not a case of a planetary collision or natural disaster—if anything, it’s as if the planet was erased from existence. And here’s where it gets even stranger—the coordinates the Lanteans sent us are pointing exactly to this missing planet’s location.”

Paris tapped his fingers on the table, deep in thought. “So either they know something we don’t, or they chose that spot deliberately to make a point.”

Janeway smirked. “They do seem to enjoy a flair for the dramatic.”

A chuckle ran through the room, but it quickly faded as the weight of the situation settled over them.

Paris turned to Ayala. “Have long-range probes ever detected anything unusual in that area? Cloaked vessels, energy distortions, subspace anomalies?”

Ayala hesitated. “There have been intermittent reports of faint energy readings over the years, but nothing conclusive. Some ships passing through have reported momentary sensor glitches, but nothing that Starfleet ever prioritized for investigation.”

Paris nodded slowly, then looked at his officers. “We need to prepare carefully. This is the first official diplomatic meeting between the Federation and the Lanteans, and they chose a location shrouded in mystery. I want the Enterprise, the Titan, and the Voyager ready to depart in one week. No warships—we’re approaching this diplomatically, but I want our best people on this.”

Janeway gave a slight nod. “I’ll be glad to have a real mission for Starfleet.”

Paris exhaled and stood. “Then it’s settled. We meet the Lanteans in three weeks… and hopefully, we come back with answers.”

As the meeting adjourned, Paris lingered for a moment, staring at the empty spot on the holographic map where a planet should have been. Something told him that what they were about to uncover would change the course of history.

USS Enterprise-E – Captain’s Ready Room

Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat behind his desk, reading over the latest reports on the upcoming diplomatic mission when the door chime sounded. He glanced up, already sensing that this was no ordinary visit.

“Come in.”

The doors slid open, revealing the enigmatic figure of Guinan. The El-Aurian bartender and long-time confidante of the captain stepped inside, her expression unreadable but unmistakably serious. Picard immediately set his padd down.

“Guinan,” he greeted, rising to his feet. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

She offered a small smile but didn’t waste time on pleasantries. “We need to talk, Jean-Luc. And you need to gather your senior staff. That includes Admiral Paris.”

Picard’s brow furrowed. “This concerns the Lanteans, I take it?”

Guinan nodded, stepping closer. “Yes. And if Starfleet is going to meet with them, you all need to understand exactly who—and what—you’re dealing with.”

There was something in her tone, something uncharacteristically urgent. Picard studied her for a long moment before tapping his combadge.

“Picard to senior staff. Report to the conference room immediately. Admiral Paris, I request your presence as well.”

Guinan inclined her head slightly, as if pleased by his immediate action. “Good. Because once you hear what I have to say about the Lanteans… you may want to rethink how this meeting is going to go.”

Picard felt a chill run down his spine. He had encountered countless civilizations, some powerful, some ancient—but rarely had Guinan ever taken it upon herself to warn him about one.

Whatever secrets the Lanteans carried, they were about to be revealed.

And something told him they were more than just another advanced race.

They were something far more than that.

Chapter Text

USS Enterprise-E Observation Lounge

The soft hum of the ship’s systems filled the observation lounge as Captain Jean-Luc Picard sat at the long table, his expression thoughtful. To his right, Commander Riker leaned forward, his hands clasped together. Data sat with his usual composure, while Geordi LaForge, Beverly Crusher, and Worf, who was visiting from Deep Space Nine, listened attentively.

At the head of the table, Guinan sat with an enigmatic smile, her deep gaze sweeping over the gathered officers. The air in the room was heavy with anticipation. A holographic projection flickered to life, revealing Captain Kathryn Janeway and her Emergency Medical Hologram from Voyager.

Admiral Owen Paris entered the room, nodding to Picard before taking a seat. His presence alone signaled the importance of this meeting.

Guinan exhaled slowly, as if drawing from the weight of millennia of knowledge. “You think you understand the vastness of the galaxy, but you don’t,” she said, her voice low, almost reverent. “Long before your Federation, before the Klingons or the Romulans, there was a time of great enlightenment. A time when four ancient races—the Ancients, the Asgard, the Nox, and the Furlings—formed what we call the Great Alliance.”

She let the words settle, watching the reactions around the room. Riker frowned, LaForge raised a curious brow, and Worf crossed his arms.

“The Great Alliance?” Picard repeated, leaning forward. “I’ve never encountered records of such a coalition.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Guinan said simply. “Their legacy is hidden, buried beneath the ruins of forgotten worlds and the whispers of time.”

The EMH folded his arms and spoke up. “Actually, their legacy isn’t completely gone. I’ve spent the last three centuries living among their descendants—the Lanteans, they simply moved to a galaxy called Pegasus which is 3 million lightyears from here. What Guinan speaks of isn’t myth. It’s history.”

Janeway nodded in agreement. “The Doctor has a unique perspective. He’s seen their society evolve firsthand.”

Picard gestured for him to continue.

“The Lanteans are what remains of the Ancients,” the EMH explained. “They once lived on Earth before ascending to greater knowledge and power. Their technology is a hundred million years ahead of anything we know. They built starships capable of traveling between galaxies, created city-ships that float on oceans—most famously, the lost city of Atlantis—and even manipulated the very fabric of reality.”

A hushed silence fell over the room. Riker’s eyes widened. “Wait—Atlantis? The Atlantis?”

“The very same,” the EMH confirmed. “Though it wasn’t merely a myth or an Earth-bound civilization. It was an advanced city-ship, capable of intergalactic travel, once home to the most brilliant minds of the Ancient race, an is the seat of their civilization and power.”

Picard exchanged a glance with Data, who tilted his head in fascination. “The implications are staggering,” Picard murmured. “If Atlantis was real and not just a legend, then much of what we thought we knew about early Earth history is incorrect.”

Worf’s brows furrowed. “If they were so powerful, why do they not rule the galaxy?”

“They had their own wars, their own downfall,” Guinan said cryptically. “Power doesn’t always mean survival.”

Admiral Paris folded his hands together. “This changes everything,” he murmured. “If this Great Alliance once existed, if remnants of it still exist, then the political landscape of the galaxy could shift dramatically.”

“Which is why we need to tread carefully,” Janeway cautioned. “The Lanteans are not conquerors, but their power is undeniable. They have no interest in interfering with the affairs of our Galaxy, but that could change if they perceive a threat.”

Picard nodded slowly, absorbing the weight of the revelation. “Then the question becomes, how do we ensure that our next steps do not make us that threat?”

Guinan smiled, but there was something almost sorrowful in her expression. “That, Captain, is the question every civilization has asked before meeting them. And not all answered it wisely.”

Silence fell over the room as the crew of the Enterprise considered the future that lay ahead, forever altered by what they had just learned.

The EMH straightened slightly and continued. “Now that you know who they are, you must also know what to expect when meeting the Lantean High Council. Formality is paramount. You will need to wear your dress uniforms as a sign of respect. The Lanteans hold honor and tradition in the highest regard.”

Riker exchanged a look with Picard but nodded in understanding. “That’s not unexpected.”

“There’s more,” the EMH added. “As the visiting party, it is customary to present a gift. Something rare, meaningful—a token of goodwill. However, under no circumstances should the gift be replicated. The Lanteans will see that as dishonorable.”

“LaForge, what do we have in the way of non-replicated goods?” Picard asked, turning to his chief engineer.

Geordi thought for a moment. “We do have some vintage wines from Earth in our cargo hold. Something unique, maybe a bottle from Château Picard?”

Picard gave a slight smile. “That might suffice. A personal touch, something with history.”

The EMH nodded. “That would be acceptable. Just be prepared—the Lanteans are not easily impressed, and they will scrutinize every aspect of your presence. This meeting could determine the course of your future relationship with them.”

Admiral Paris exhaled slowly. “Then we’d best make sure we do this right.”

Worf tilted his head slightly. “How does their High Council compare to that of the Klingon Empire?”

The Doctor folded his arms, his holographic eyes gleaming with knowledge. “In some ways, they are similar—both councils are made up of the most powerful and influential leaders of their people. However, where the Klingon High Council thrives on strength, political maneuvering, and honor through combat, the Lantean High Council values intellect, strategy, and wisdom above all else.”

Worf grunted. “Then they lack warriors?”

The EMH shook his head. “On the contrary. The Lanteans are formidable in battle, but their warriors are not driven by conquest or personal glory. They fight with precision, strategy, and a deep sense of duty. If you expect to see blood feuds and personal combat settling disputes, you will be disappointed.”

Worf crossed his arms, clearly weighing the information. “A High Council that does not settle matters through combat? It is an odd way to govern.”

“Yet it has allowed them to thrive for centuries,” the EMH countered. “Their strength is in their knowledge, their technology, and their unity.”

Picard glanced at Worf with a knowing expression. “Strength is measured in more ways than just battle, Mr. Worf.”

Worf gave a slight nod, though his expression remained skeptical.

The EMH adjusted his posture, his tone growing more informative as he continued, “There is one more thing you must understand when dealing with the Lantean High Council. The young woman that Admiral Paris met over the hologram, Hope—she is not, as you might assume, in her twenties.”

Picard’s brow furrowed, and Riker leaned in slightly. “She looked... so young.”

The EMH nodded. “Indeed, but appearances can be deceiving. Hope is actually over 300 years old. She’s been serving as High Counselor for the past 20 years, having assumed the role after the last council election. Lantean lifespans are considerably longer than ours, and their society does not judge authority by age the way most of ours do.”

Worf’s brow furrowed as he processed the information. “So, she is older than she appears?”

“Much older,” the EMH confirmed. “As I said, she has been in her position for two decades. To the Lanteans, experience and wisdom are what matter most. They don’t follow the same pattern of youth and succession that many other cultures do. They will not be fooled by appearances, nor will they be impressed by age alone.”

Geordi glanced toward Picard. “So, this isn’t a case of youthful exuberance—she’s been through decades of experience in the role.”

“Exactly,” the EMH responded. “And as for the other members of the Council—they are all well over 100 years old, many of them much older. The youngest members of the High Council have seen more than a century of history, and their decisions are always made with that weight of experience in mind.”

“Impressive,” Picard remarked, his voice a mix of admiration and curiosity. “A council that values experience over youth. That’s certainly not the norm in most political systems.”

The EMH gave a slight nod, a small hint of pride in his voice. “The Lanteans understand the value of time—not just as a measure of age, but as a foundation for making informed, deliberate decisions. It’s one of the reasons their society has endured for so long.”

Riker leaned back in his chair, thoughtfully absorbing the information. “So, we can expect a very different kind of diplomacy than what we’re used to.”

“You’ll find the Lanteans respectful but formidable in their expectations,” the EMH concluded. “They do not rush their decisions, but when they do act, they do so with the confidence of millennia of wisdom behind them.”

The EMH paused for a moment, as if carefully considering the next topic before speaking. “Now, as for your destination... you will be traveling to a planet known as Valhalla.”

“Valhalla?” Picard repeated, intrigued by the name. “A familiar name, but not one I’d associate with the Lanteans.”

The EMH nodded. “It’s not a name given lightly, Captain. Valhalla is a place of great significance to the Lanteans. It’s a world they have... altered, if you will. They’ve pushed it slightly out of phase with the rest of the galaxy, which means it does not exist in the same dimensional plane as the rest of the worlds around it. It’s almost as if it exists in a pocket of reality.”

Riker’s eyes narrowed in curiosity. “So it’s not a planet we could just find by traveling there?”

“Exactly,” the EMH confirmed. “It’s hidden from conventional detection. Only those with the proper coordinates or means to phase travel can reach it. As for the planet itself, it’s a lush, green world—untouched, uninhabited. A place of peace and solitude. There is only one structure on the entire planet: the Great Hall.”

“Sounds... almost serene,” Data observed, his fingers tapping lightly on the table.

“It is,” the EMH said, his voice taking on a more somber tone. “The Great Hall is where the Lanteans honor their dead. They use this world as a graveyard, a place to give their fallen heroes and leaders a final resting place. It is here that the most revered Lantean figures are laid to rest, where their memories are preserved in ceremonial ways that date back millennia.”

Worf’s gaze hardened, a deep respect evident in his voice. “A world for the honored dead. A powerful tradition.”

The EMH nodded. “Indeed. The Lanteans do not bury their dead in the traditional sense, nor do they build tombs in the ground. You’ll notice along a path small columns as grave markers, they hold a holograph recreation of the dead so family can feel like they interacted with them upon a visit. The Lanteans believe that death is the beginning of the next journey, where upon death they shed their physical bodies and exist on a higher plain as pure energy and Valhalla is a place where both planes can interact.

 The Hall itself is a structure of great significance—more than just a building. It is a place where the essence of the dead lingers, a testament to the honor they held in life.”

Picard’s expression grew thoughtful. “A world devoted entirely to memory and respect... The Lanteans’ reverence for their fallen speaks to the depth of their culture.”

“Precisely,” the EMH said, his gaze focused on the captain. “You must understand, this is not just a ceremonial planet—it is a living monument to the Lanteans' history. To step foot on Valhalla is to stand at the intersection of life and death, memory and legacy. It is a place that embodies the core of their beliefs: honor, duty, and remembrance.”

Geordi let out a low whistle. “A place like that... I can see why the Lanteans would hold it in such high regard.”

“It is not a place of mourning, though,” the EMH added. “The Lanteans do not view death as something to mourn. They honor their dead with dignity, and those who pass are celebrated for their contributions to their people and their world.”

Riker leaned forward, his eyes narrowing with curiosity. “And this is where we’ll meet with the High Council?”

“That’s correct,” the EMH confirmed. “The Hall is where the council convenes for matters usually pertaining to a celebration of life, particularly those of great significance, The High Council has attended every memorial and for Lanteans who have died, it is tradition for them to be there. Your meeting will take place there, and you will have to be prepared for the solemnity and the weight of history that will surround you.”

Picard stood slowly, his mind clearly racing with the implications. “A place of honor... and history.” He glanced at the others around the table. “We must approach it with the utmost respect, then.”

Janeway gave a nod of agreement. “There’s much to consider. But we’ll be ready.”

Admiral Paris stands and says “we’ll have plenty of time over the next 2 weeks of travel to get acquainted with all this new information and prepare for our meeting.”

2 weeks later Uss Enterprise

The tension in the air was palpable as the USS Enterprise, Titan, and Voyager dropped out of high warp, their sensors immediately sweeping the empty expanse where the Valhalla system was supposed to be. Space was still, unnervingly so, as if the coordinates they had been given were somehow wrong.

Picard stood at the helm of the Enterprise, his gaze fixed on the vast void before them. He had expected something different, something more than a simple absence of a planet.

"Report, Mr. Data," Picard said, his voice steady but laced with the weight of uncertainty.

Data, sitting at his station, his brow furrowing slightly, spoke with precision. "Captain, I am detecting no signs of a planet in this system. No gravitational anomalies, no debris field... nothing that would indicate a planetary body once existed here. However, I am detecting a single ship, the Lantean warship Aries, in orbit where the planet should be."

Picard’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion. "The Aries? A warship here, now?"

“Yes, Captain. It seems to be awaiting our arrival,” Data confirmed, his voice even but his expression betraying a hint of curiosity.

Before Picard could respond, the comm system buzzed to life, Admiral Paris’s voice cutting through the silence. “Picard, Nechayev, and I just received the report. Cardassia Prime has been devastated—completely obliterated by the Lanteans. What’s going on out there? Is the planet...?”

“No, Admiral,” Picard interjected, keeping his voice calm. “There is no planet here. The system is empty, save for the Aries. We’re preparing to make contact.”

“Acknowledged, Picard. Be careful. We need answers,” Paris’s voice came through sharply before the comm clicked off.

The bridge crew exchanged tense glances.

“We’ll hail them,” Picard decided, his command tone carrying the weight of the unknown. "Open a channel, Lieutenant."

"Channel open, sir," came the response.

“Aries, this is Captain Jean-Luc Picard of the USS Enterprise. We’ve arrived at the designated coordinates, but we find no planet here. Please advise.” Picard’s voice was firm but diplomatic, a clear request for explanation.

There was a long moment of silence before a cool, calm voice came through the comm. “Captain Picard. I am Cornel Elias second in command of the Aries. I’ve been instructed to greet you. Please, remain in your current position. You will be tsking a shuttle to the surface as your transporters do not work here.”

Picard exchanged a quick glance with Riker, who stood at his side, his expression wary.

“Understood,” Picard said. “We’ll be waiting for farther instruction.”

"Understood. Aries out."

Riker leaned closer to Picard. "So, no planet, no answers yet... and now we’ve got a Lantean warship on the scene."

“I’m afraid our mission just got more complicated,” Picard said, his gaze fixed on the viewscreen, which now displayed the Aries moving steadily toward them, its sleek silhouette imposing against the blackness of space.

Meanwhile, on the Titan and Voyager, the other crews were also on high alert, receiving similar communications and preparing for whatever was about to unfold. The revelation that the Lanteans had eradicated Cardassia Prime—sending the Cardassian people back into the Dark Ages—hung over the entire fleet like a looming storm. What was their true purpose, and what was this mysterious system hiding?

As the Aries closed the distance, it became clear that the answers they sought—if they were forthcoming at all—would not be easily found, something unexpected happened. The viewscreen flickered momentarily, the stars in the distance warping, bending unnaturally. A low hum filled the bridge of the Enterprise, a vibration that seemed to resonate from deep within the ship itself.

“What the hell?” Riker muttered, staring intently at the viewscreen.

Data’s fingers flew over his console. “Captain, I’m detecting a sudden fluctuation in the space-time continuum. The system has... reappeared.”

Picard’s gaze snapped to the screen, his eyes widening as, in a blinding flash of light, the planet suddenly materialized before them. It was as if it had never been missing—lush, green, and peaceful, just as the EMH had described. The Great Hall and the unmistakable traces of civilization were clearly visible, though something about the world seemed... otherworldly.

“The planet... Valhalla,” Picard said, his voice barely a whisper as the planet fully resolved itself into view.

“I don’t understand,” Riker said, crossing his arms, his gaze fixed on the phenomenon. “It was just empty space a moment ago.”

Data looked up from his console. “It seems the planet exists in a fluctuating state, perhaps phased out of normal space-time. The Lanteans may have used some form of advanced technology to conceal it, revealing it only when they wished.”

Picard, Paris, Nechayev, and Janeway make up the official delegation going to the surface in the shuttle.

As the Aries settled into orbit, the gravity of the situation weighed heavily on the delegation chosen to travel to the surface. Captain Picard, along with Admirals Paris and Nechayev, and Captain Janeway, had been selected to represent the Federation in this delicate and uncertain meeting. They would be the first to step foot on Valhalla since its mysterious reappearance—and they had no idea what awaited them.

Picard stood in the shuttle bay of the Enterprise, his face calm but his mind racing. The delegation, including Paris, Nechayev, and Janeway, was preparing for what could very well be an unprecedented diplomatic encounter.

"Are we ready?" Picard asked, his voice steady as he turned to face the assembled officers.

Admiral Paris adjusted his uniform, his expression thoughtful. "Ready as we'll ever be. The Lanteans have a history of being unpredictable, especially when it comes to their technology and culture. We’ll need to be prepared for anything."

Admiral Nechayev, standing tall and resolute, gave a curt nod. "I trust that everyone knows the importance of this mission. We need answers about Cardassia, and we need to understand why the Lanteans are hiding this planet."

Janeway stepped forward, her face a mixture of determination and caution. "I’ve faced my fair share of diplomatic challenges, but something about this situation feels different. We need to be prepared for anything, especially when dealing with a people who have the power to manipulate space-time itself."

Picard nodded in agreement. "I couldn’t have said it better myself, Captain. We will proceed with caution and respect. Our purpose here is not only to understand the Lanteans' actions, but also to ensure that the Federation can work with them—if they are willing."

The shuttle was ready. The sleek, compact vessel stood poised on the launch pad, awaiting its passengers. The hum of the engines indicated that it was already prepared to depart.

"Shall we?" Picard said, gesturing toward the shuttle.

The delegation nodded in unison, and they made their way into the shuttle, taking their seats. The shuttle's hatch closed behind them with a soft hiss, sealing them inside. Moments later, the vessel lifted off from the Enterprise, joined by the Titan and Voyager at a safe distance, ready to follow if necessary.

As the shuttle made its way toward Valhalla, the atmosphere aboard was tense but controlled. No one spoke, each member of the delegation lost in their own thoughts as they approached the unknown.

Outside the viewport, the lush, green surface of Valhalla came into view—a stark contrast to the cold void of space they had just left behind. The shuttle's sensors confirmed the planet's stability, and a faint outline of the Great Hall could be seen on the horizon.

“We’re approaching the landing site,” the shuttle pilot announced, his voice cutting through the quiet tension. “Coordinates locked in.”

Picard nodded. "Very well. Proceed."

As the shuttle descended through the atmosphere, the world below began to take shape. Verdant hills and forests stretched beneath them, and the Great Hall, a towering structure, loomed in the distance like a monument to the past. The air was clear, crisp, and serene—yet an eerie silence seemed to hang over the land, as if it had been untouched for millennia.

The shuttle touched down gently on the planet's surface, and the hatch opened with a soft hiss. The delegation disembarked, stepping out onto the soil of Valhalla.

For a moment, there was nothing but the sound of their boots crunching against the grass and the distant winds whispering through the trees. The weight of the moment was not lost on any of them.

Picard took a deep breath and turned to face the others. “Let’s proceed with caution and respect. Whatever we find here, it is not just a world—it is a monument to the Lanteans’ past, and we are visitors in their most sacred place.”

They began to walk toward the Great Hall, the immense structure looming larger with each step. Their path was marked by tall columns, each engraved with intricate designs that told the stories of the Lanteans' most honored dead. The delegation moved in silence, fully aware that their next steps could determine the future of Federation-Lantean relations—and possibly the fate of the galaxy.

As they neared the Great Hall, the doors slowly parted, revealing a dimly lit interior, the air heavy with history and the weight of those who had come before.

And standing at the threshold, waiting for them, were the Lantean representatives—elegantly dressed, their faces calm and unreadable.

Picard stepped forward, his voice steady but firm. “We come in peace, to understand and to honor. We wish to speak with those who hold the knowledge of Valhalla.”

A Lantean figure stepped forward, a slight smile touching their lips. “You have come, Captain Picard. And now, you shall learn what has been hidden for so long.”

The doors to the Great Hall slowly closed behind them.

The delegation stood in silence as the Lantean figures guided them deeper into the Great Hall. The air within the vast structure was cool and still, the walls adorned with intricate carvings that seemed to whisper the stories of ages past. The soft glow of ambient lighting highlighted the ornate details of the stone, creating a sense of reverence that only heightened the weight of the occasion.

The path they walked was lined with tall, slender columns, each one carved with the likenesses of fallen Lantean heroes—warriors, scholars, and leaders who had once shaped their world. Their faces were frozen in time, gazing down at the delegation as they made their way forward, the silence thick with history.

At the end of the hall, they came to a raised platform, where a series of three long tables stood before them. The tables were a masterpiece of craftsmanship, each one intricately carved from dark wood, their surfaces interwoven with patterns that seemed to shift and change when observed from different angles.

In the center of the platform sat a smaller table, noticeably distinct from the others. It was finely crafted, the wood polished to a gleam and inlaid with gold trim, a deep purple cloth draping across its surface. A single chair sat behind it, similarly adorned with carvings and gold accents, the seat covered in rich purple fabric.

On either side of the central table were two long tables, each with six seats arranged along them. The chairs were similar to the one at the center but inlaid with silver instead of gold. The craftsmanship of these chairs was exquisite, every detail speaking to the reverence the Lanteans held for this place—and for the ceremony about to unfold.

As the delegation was guided to stand before the tables, the Lanteans spoke in soft, measured tones, their voices echoing lightly within the vast space.

"You are to wait here, in the presence of our honored dead, until the High Council arrives," one of them said. "The Council will address you when they are ready."

The delegation remained standing, their eyes taking in the grandeur of the room and the significance of the tables before them. The sense of gravity was palpable, each member of the group acutely aware that this was not just a meeting—it was a communion with the past, a place where history, memory, and respect converged.

Picard, though accustomed to diplomatic tensions, felt a stirring within him as he stood there, facing the intricate carvings of the tables and the solemnity of the surroundings. This was no ordinary council. These were the Lanteans, a people whose connection to their history was as strong as any force in the galaxy.

He exchanged brief glances with his fellow delegation members. Janeway's expression was unreadable, though the hint of curiosity lingered in her eyes. Paris stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his face showing a mix of respect and concern. Nechayev remained composed, her posture unwavering as she took in the surroundings with the practiced eye of a military leader.

The minutes passed in silence, the stillness almost suffocating. But then, just as the anticipation began to reach a fever pitch, the doors to the Great Hall opened once more.

Chapter Text

Great Hall, Valhalla

Captains Jean-Luc Picard and Kathryn Janeway stood alongside Admirals Owen Paris and Alynna Nechayev, taking in the sheer grandeur of the hall around them. Towering wooden beams stretched toward the vaulted ceiling, their surfaces carved with intricate runes and scenes of battles long past. Golden light flickered from massive braziers, casting shifting shadows across the polished stone floor. It was a place that exuded both history and authority—yet to Admiral Nechayev, it felt entirely out of place.

She folded her arms, lips pressed into a thin line. “For a society supposedly more advanced than us, this all looks like something straight out of a Viking history book,” she remarked, her voice edged with skepticism.

Before anyone could respond, the deep groan of ancient hinges echoed through the hall. A pair of massive doors at the far end swung open, revealing a line of imposing figures. A group of armored guards entered first, their movements precise as they took positions along the perimeter, framing the grand stage where the council’s long tables stood. Their presence alone was a clear reminder, this was no mere formality. This was power on display.

A guard near the entrance stepped forward, his voice ringing with authority.

"Announcing the Lantean High Council."

A hush settled over the room as thirteen figures emerged, each clad in elegantly simple cream-colored robes, their designs subtly distinct. They moved with quiet confidence, their expressions unreadable as they ascended the steps to their respective seats.

The first six councilors veered toward the left of the central throne-like chair.

Dr. Cassie Fraiser, her piercing gaze carrying the weight of scientific wisdom.

Councilor Varek, his Vulcan-like poise revealing no hint of emotion.

Councilor Aran, a broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes that swept the room like a tactician sizing up the field.

Dr. Emily Mackay, who bore a striking resemblance to another Mackay they had encountered in their travels.

Councilor O'vie, silent yet observant, his fingers idly tapping against the table.

General Jessica O’Neill, her uniform a stark contrast to the robes of her peers, a silent reminder of her role as Supreme Commander of Lantean forces.

One by one, they took their seats.

Then, another six took their places on the opposite side, each carrying an air of authority.

Councilor Faith Jackson-Lehane, her sharp smirk hinting at a warrior’s confidence.

Councilor Tara Maclay, her presence calm and steady, as though she could read the room without a single spoken word.

Councilor Sam Carter, whose reputation alone made Nechayev raise an eyebrow.

Councilor Emilia Maybourn, the very name "Maybourn" sparking quiet recognition among the Starfleet officers.

Councilor Ray Hammond, his hands folded, gaze unreadable.

Councilor Mick, a towering figure who radiated quiet authority.

As the last name was called, the final figure stepped forward.

"High Councilor Hope Mikaelson."

She moved with the ease of someone who had stood at the center of power for a lifetime. Her eyes swept over the gathered Starfleet officers, taking their measure in an instant. Then, with a graceful motion, she lowered herself into the central seat.

A beat of silence. Then, in unison, the entire council sat.

For the Starfleet officers, it was a subtle but undeniable shift—the moment where diplomacy truly began.

As the council settled into their seats, a moment of silence stretched across the hall. It was broken by a voice laced with sharp confidence.

"You'll have to be patient," Councilor Faith Jackson-Lehane announced, her piercing gaze locking onto the Starfleet officers. "Before we can discuss anything else, we have a trial to hold."

Before anyone could respond, the doors at the far end of the hall opened once more. A squad of Lantean guards marched forward, their polished armor catching the flickering torchlight. Between them, three figures were led into the chamber, their hands bound—Legate Damar, leader of the Cardassian Union; the female Changeling; and the ever-arrogant Vorta, Weyoun.

The room seemed to grow colder as the prisoners were directed toward a designated space to the left of the council's seating area. The Changeling, unlike her usual fluid form, remained trapped in a single, humanoid state. A metallic collar encircled her neck, glowing faintly—a clear indication that it was restricting her ability to shapeshift. She scowled but remained silent, while Weyoun, ever the politician, seemed to scan the room for any sign of sympathy. Damar, on the other hand, held his head high, his expression one of stoic defiance.

Before the weight of their presence could fully settle, another figure entered.

The Starfleet officers stiffened.

An older man strode into the hall with easy confidence, his sharp eyes scanning the room as if he’d seen it all before. He wore Lantean attire, but his presence was unmistakable. The officers had only seen him as a hologram before, but now, standing in the flesh, he was officially introduced.

"Announcing Jack O'Neill, Lantean representative of the Great Alliance."

Jack O'Neill nodded in acknowledgment but wasted no time with formalities. Instead, he stepped forward, directing his words to the High Council.

"I am here to speak on behalf of the Protected Planet of Cimmeria," he stated, his voice steady but firm. "Their people are still young, still growing, and cannot speak for themselves in matters of interstellar law. But what was done to them—what was done to countless worlds at the hands of these individuals—cannot go unanswered."

He turned, gesturing toward the prisoners. "I ask this council to charge them with war crimes."

A ripple of murmurs spread through the hall, the tension thick enough to cut with a blade. The trial was about to begin.

As Jack O’Neill’s words echoed through the Great Hall, the weight of the moment settled upon everyone present. The murmurs in the chamber barely had time to fade before Legate Damar stepped forward, his chains clinking against the polished stone floor. His eyes burned with defiance as he raised his voice.

“This is a farce!” he declared. “You parade us in here like criminals, but where is the evidence? Where is our right to defend ourselves? If this is what passes for justice in your so-called advanced civilization, then you are no better than the Dominion you claim to stand against!”

Before anyone else could react, Dr. Cassie Fraiser leaned forward, fixing Damar with a sharp, unwavering gaze.

"Enough," she said, her voice calm but carrying undeniable authority. "Your crimes and your guilt have already been discussed at length. We are well aware of the suffering the Cardassian Union, the Dominion, and its allies inflicted on innocent worlds—including those under the protection of the Great Alliance. The time for debate is over."

Damar opened his mouth to argue further, but before he could, another voice cut through the chamber like a blade.

"Silence."

All eyes turned toward the center of the council table, where High Councilor Hope Mikaelson sat, her expression unreadable but her presence commanding.

She let the word settle for a moment before continuing, her tone cool and deliberate.

"This council does not operate by your Federation’s laws, nor by the Cardassian or Dominion legal traditions. The accused do not stand here to argue their innocence. That matter has already been decided."**

She gestured toward the prisoners with an air of finality.

"You have been found guilty of war crimes by this council. The only matter left to decide is your sentence. You are here for one purpose only—to convince us why we should not order your deaths and that of your species."

A heavy silence followed her words. Even Weyoun, who had been carefully measuring the room for a way to manipulate the situation, found himself momentarily speechless. The Changeling’s expression remained neutral, but there was something almost imperceptible in her eyes, a flicker of realization that, this time, there would be no negotiations, no escape.

For the Starfleet officers, the severity of Lantean justice was becoming strikingly clear. This was not a trial. It was a reckoning.

A slow, deliberate clap echoed through the chamber.

All eyes turned toward General Jessica O'Neill, Supreme Commander of the Lantean forces, as she leaned forward, her piercing gaze fixed on Damar. The faintest trace of a smirk ghosted across her lips, but there was no amusement in her expression—only cold, unyielding judgment.

“You seem to have forgotten, Legate,” she said, her voice steady but laced with steel, “that Cardassia Prime is no longer the empire you once commanded.”

Damar’s jaw tightened, but Jessica continued, unrelenting.

“Your people—what’s left of them—are barely clinging to survival. Your once-great world has been reduced to a primitive state, its cities nothing more than ruins, its infrastructure wiped clean. Less than a fifth of your original population remains.”

She leaned back, folding her arms across her chest.

“And do you remember why that happened? Because your military, under your leadership, made the fatal mistake of attacking an Asgard-protected planet.”

Damar’s hands clenched into fists at his sides. “We—”

“No, don’t bother,” Jessica interrupted before he could find his words. “You don’t get to justify it. You thought Cardassia was untouchable. You thought you could do whatever you wanted without consequence.”

Her voice dropped, each word carrying the weight of a history already written in blood.

“But this Council and the Asgard don’t tolerate bullies. And when you crossed that line, we erased your fleet. We dismantled your war machine in a matter of hours. And when it was over, we left your to rot.”

She gestured broadly with one hand.

“And now, here you stand, in chains, in front of this council, demanding fairness. After everything your people did.”

A bitter chuckle escaped her lips.

“Tell me, Legate—where was your fairness when you ordered entire worlds burned to the ground?”

Damar’s face darkened, his defiance flickering under the crushing weight of the truth. Around the room, the silence was suffocating, the weight of history pressing down on them all.

Jessica’s expression hardened.

“You don’t get to play the victim, Damar. Not here. Not now.”

A slow, deliberate sigh broke the silence.

“Alright, let’s cut to the chase,” Councilor Faith Jackson-Lehane said, her voice carrying a casual but unmistakably dangerous edge. She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the table as she addressed the council. “We could drag this out, listen to them grovel, but honestly? I don’t have the patience.”

She turned her gaze to the prisoners, her dark eyes locking onto them one by one.

“You want mercy? Fine.”

A wicked smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she continued.

“Let’s not waste resources imprisoning them or giving them some grand execution. Instead, we exile them. Find an uninhabited rock out in the middle of nowhere—their choice, within reason—drop them there, and let them fend for themselves.”

A few murmurs spread through the hall, but Faith wasn’t done.

“But here’s the fun part,” she added. “Wherever they decide to set up camp, we make sure they have to work for everything. No fire, no clean water within a thirty-day walk. If they want to survive, they earn it.”

She leaned back, crossing her arms with satisfaction.

“Seems fitting, don’t you think? These bastards spent their lives wiping out civilizations, leaving entire planets in ruin. Now they get to experience what it’s like to be completely helpless. If they’re as tough as they claim to be, they’ll figure it out.”

She glanced at her fellow council members. “Or they won’t. Either way, problem solved.”

The silence that followed was thick with contemplation. Some members of the council exchanged glances, weighing the cruelty of the punishment against the severity of the crimes.

Faith tilted her head, raising an eyebrow at the prisoners. “What do you say? Still think we’re unfair?”

The Vote

The silence in the Great Hall was heavy as the Lantean High Council considered Faith’s proposal.

Then, High Councilor Hope Mikaelson spoke, her voice even and authoritative.

“The proposal has been made: exile to an uninhabited world, with no access to fire or water within a thirty-day walk. Those in favor?”

One by one, hands rose.

Jessica O’Neill—her expression unreadable but her decision firm.

Cassie Fraiser—her gaze locked onto the prisoners, unflinching.

Varek—silent as ever, but his nod was absolute.

Aran—who had never forgotten what the Dominion had done to innocent worlds.

Emily Mackay—who had seen the scars left behind by their war.

O’vie—his vote cast without hesitation.

Faith Jackson-Lehane—who had made the motion and stood by it.

Tara Maclay—her hand slower to rise, but rise it did.

Sam Carter—who understood the necessity, even if she didn’t like it.

Emilia Maybourn—expressionless, but firm.

Ray Hammond—whose voice had always been pragmatic.

Mick—who had no sympathy to spare.

Finally, Hope Mikaelson raised her own hand, sealing their fate.

“The motion passes,” she said. “The sentence is exile.”

The weight of finality settled over the room.

The Starfleet Officers' Reactions

Captain Jean-Luc Picard closed his eyes briefly, taking a slow breath before opening them again. He had seen many forms of justice, but this… This was not justice. It was execution disguised as mercy. The Lanteans were sentencing them to a slow, agonizing death. The Federation prided itself on due process, on rehabilitation where possible, but there was no room for that here. No appeal. No second chances.

He wanted to protest—but what ground did he have to stand on? These weren’t Federation prisoners. This was Lantean justice, and they were merely observers.

Still, it sickened him.

Captain Kathryn Janeway sat rigid, her lips pressed into a thin line. She had been forced to make difficult decisions before. She had ordered people to their deaths, sacrificed lives for the greater good—but this? This was cold, calculated cruelty. The Dominion and the Cardassians were monsters, but what did it say about the Lanteans that they were willing to become monsters themselves to punish them?

She understood it. But she didn’t have to like it.

Admiral Alynna Nechayev barely blinked as the votes were cast. She was known for being pragmatic, even ruthless when it came to Federation security. She had fought to keep the Federation strong against threats like the Dominion, and a part of her recognized the brutal efficiency of this decision. No need for guards. No need for prisons. Just a planet, isolation, and time.

And yet, she couldn’t shake the feeling that this was something else entirely. Not pragmatism. Not justice.

Vengeance.

Admiral Owen Paris exhaled sharply through his nose, a deep frown settling across his features. He had seen too many battles, too much loss, and while he hated Damar, the Female Changeling, and Weyoun as much as anyone who had lived through the war…

This felt wrong.

A sentence disguised as exile, when they all knew it was execution.

This wasn’t what the Federation stood for.

But what could they do?

The Sentence is Carried Out

Hope Mikaelson stood, signaling the end of the discussion.

“The prisoners will be transported to their chosen world within the next forty-eight hours,” she declared. “The matter is closed.”

With that, the council stood, the decision final.

For the Starfleet officers, it was clear—this was not a place where Federation ideals held sway. The Lanteans were a potentially powerful ally, but they were not the Federation.

And mercy was not in their nature.

As the last of the prisoners were led away, their fates sealed, the Lantean High Council returned to their seats. A heavy silence hung in the air, the echoes of their decision lingering like a shadow.

Then, High Councilor Hope Mikaelson leaned forward, her gaze settling on Admiral Paris.

“Well, Admiral Paris,” she said smoothly, “you requested this meeting in person. Now is your chance.”

Her words carried weight. This was the moment where Starfleet and the Federation would truly introduce themselves—not as explorers, not as negotiators, but as representatives of a power that now stood face to face with possibly the most advanced civilization they had ever encountered.

A civilization that had just handed down a death sentence without hesitation.

For all of Starfleet’s ideals, one truth was abundantly clear: if the Federation wanted an alliance with the Lanteans, they had to tread carefully.

There was no room for weakness.

Captain Kathryn Janeway stepped forward, her expression composed, her voice measured.

“High Councilor, esteemed members of the council,” she began, offering a respectful nod, “we understand the weight of this meeting and what it represents. As a gesture of goodwill, we’ve brought several bottles of wine from different Federation worlds—a gift for the council.”

She gestured subtly, and an attendant brought forward a carefully arranged case, the dark glass bottles reflecting the hall’s golden light.

“We recognize that in many cultures, it is customary to present a gift when forming new relationships,” Janeway continued. “It is a sign of respect. A way to say that we come in peace, not just in words, but in action.”

She let her words settle, watching the council’s reactions. This was a test. Not just of diplomacy, but of understanding.

Because the Lanteans were not a people easily swayed by charm or rhetoric.

They respected strength.

And Starfleet had to prove it was worthy.

The Exchange of Gifts

A moment of silence passed as the Lantean High Council considered Captain Janeway’s offering. Then, Jessica O’Neill reached forward, taking one of the bottles and inspecting it with an amused smirk.

"A fine gesture," she said, handing it off to a nearby attendant. “I imagine there’s much we can learn from each other.”

Another councilor, Varek, took the case, nodding approvingly. “We will honor this gift accordingly.”

But then, Councilor Cassie Fraiser stood, holding up a small, sleek data chip—its design unmistakably Federation technology.

It should not have existed here.

And yet, it did.

She stepped forward, placing the chip on the table before them.

"In return," Cassie said, her voice calm but carrying unmistakable weight, "we offer you this."

Janeway and Picard exchanged wary glances. Admiral Paris, frowning, reached for the device, but Cassie’s next words stopped him cold.

"On this chip," she continued, "is the true history of the planet Earth—dating back to the first civilization that called it home nearly 50 billion years ago."

The silence that followed was deafening.

Picard felt his pulse quicken. 50 billion years? That was impossible. Earth, as far as humanity knew, was only 4.5 billion years old. The universe itself was estimated to be only 13.8 billion years old.

Admiral Nechayev, ever the skeptic, narrowed her eyes. "That’s not possible," she said bluntly.

Hope Mikaelson smiled—not condescending, but knowing. "Not possible?" she echoed. "Admiral, there is far more to the universe than even your greatest minds have begun to comprehend."

Janeway picked up the chip carefully, turning it over in her fingers.

What had they just been given?

And more importantly…

What did the Lanteans know that the Federation did not?

The Revelation

As the Starfleet officers processed the implications of the data chip, High Councilor Hope Mikaelson made a subtle motion with her hand.

The lights in the grand hall dimmed slightly, and in the center of the floor, a holographic display flickered to life.

At first, it was nothing but static—faint distortions rippling like waves across a vast cosmic ocean. Then, lines of data scrolled across the image, accompanied by a rhythmic pulse.

A signal.

Something ancient. Something impossible.

Stepping forward, Doctor Emily Mackay, one of the council members, began to explain.

“What you are looking at,” she said, her voice even and precise, “is a signal that our ancestors discovered embedded in the cosmic background radiation shortly after they settled on the planet you now call Earth. Call it what you will but this could possibly be proof of God.”

The Starfleet officers listened intently as the hologram shifted, showing the radiation patterns mapped against time, displaying something far older than even the known universe itself.

Emily turned toward them, her expression calm yet undeniably serious.

“This signal is proof that sentient life existed before the Big Bang that created this universe.”

The room fell deathly silent.

Even the normally composed Jean-Luc Picard felt a rare moment of true disbelief.

Before the Big Bang?

Admiral Paris, his brow furrowed, looked to Hope Mikaelson. “You’re telling us there was a civilization before the universe as we know it even existed?”

Hope leaned forward slightly. “We are telling you that what you call ‘the beginning’… may not have been the first beginning.”

The hologram shifted again, showing complex mathematical equations, waveforms, and bursts of coded energy embedded in the radiation.

Janeway exhaled slowly, absorbing the implications. “If this is true, then everything we think we know about existence is wrong.”

Doctor Mackay nodded. “We understand how difficult this is to accept. But for us, it is history. The ancestors of our people, after discovering the signal built and launched a ship on auto pilot sent out to answer the question.

Hope “This is but a small piece of history that is shared amongst the different peoples of this galaxy.”

Chapter Text

The echoes of the cosmic revelation still lingered in the minds of the Starfleet delegation. Silence reigned in the Great Hall of Valhalla as the hologram flickered and faded, leaving only the residual hum of hidden truths and impossibilities behind.

But the stillness was abruptly shattered.

The great doors at the rear of the hall creaked open once more, and two Lantean guards, clad in ivory armor with gleaming bronze trim, strode into the chamber with purposeful haste. Their boots struck the polished stone floor like thunder, and all eyes turned to them.

They approached the dais where the High Council sat, heads slightly bowed in deference. One of them leaned close to High Councilor Hope Mikaelson, whispering urgently into her ear.

Hope’s expression shifted from curiosity to something darker—more cautious.

She rose slowly from her seat.

“Bring him in.”

The guards turned on their heels and gestured toward the doorway.

Another pair of guards emerged, dragging a disheveled figure between them. His long black coat was torn, the golden trim frayed. Blood matted his graying hair at the temple, but his arrogance remained untouched.

Gul Dukat.

The Starfleet officers instantly stiffened at the sight of him. Paris’s jaw clenched. Janeway’s eyes narrowed. Even Picard looked momentarily taken aback.

“He was supposed to be dead,” Nechayev muttered under her breath.

Dukat, despite his state, gave a crooked, confident smile as he was shoved to his knees in front of the Council.

“Well,” he said, voice hoarse but arrogant, “it seems I’ve finally been invited to the right party.”

Hope descended the steps of the dais slowly, each footfall echoing ominously.

“Gul Dukat,” she said coldly, her golden eyes boring into him. “We exhumed your name from the ashes of war. We thought the universe was finally free of your poison. And yet, here you are.”

Dukat raised an eyebrow, smirking even through the blood. “You speak of me as though I were legend.”

Doctor Cassie Fraiser stood next, her voice cutting. “You are no legend. You are a virus that survived extinction.”

Jessica O’Neill’s hand drifted toward the hilt of her sidearm. “Cardassia’s sins run deep, Dukat. But your crimes eclipse them all.”

Dukat's smirk faltered just slightly.

“Then I suppose this is a reunion.”

Hope turned her gaze to the Starfleet officers.

“We did not anticipate his survival. His presence here complicates matters. But the crimes he’s responsible for…” She looked back to Dukat with palpable disgust. “…are too many to count.”

Picard stepped forward, his voice calm but laced with tension.

“You have him now. What do you intend to do?”

Hope didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, she descended the steps once more, her cream-colored robes trailing behind her like the sweep of judgment itself. The room fell utterly silent. Even Dukat seemed uncertain now.

Without a word, Hope reached behind her back, where a shimmering ripple of light revealed the concealed hilt of a sword—ancient and elegant, forged from silvery-black metal laced with flickering veins of violet energy.

Gasps echoed through the hall as she drew it free.

“We don’t play games with monsters,” she said coolly.

She walked up to Dukat, who, for the first time, looked less amused and more... mortal.

He opened his mouth—perhaps to plead, to sneer, to manipulate once again—but he never got the chance.

With one swift, fluid motion, Hope brought the sword down.

A flash of violet light.

A clean, sharp sound like tearing silk.

And then—

Dukat’s head struck the floor and rolled to a stop at the feet of Captain Janeway.

Gasps and stunned silence filled the chamber. Even Admiral Nechayev looked pale, her sharp tongue held in check.

Hope turned to the stunned Starfleet delegation, the sword still humming in her hand.

“We believe in justice, not delay. His death is long overdue.”

She stepped over Dukat’s body and walked toward the Federation officers, offering a dark but satisfied smile.

“We can gift his head to the Maquis survivors,” she said without a hint of irony, “as a token of closure. We once settled them on a world called Initium Novum.”

Janeway exchanged a stunned look with Picard.

Paris exhaled slowly.

“You,” he said. “did what.”

Hope nodded, already turning back toward her seat.

“Then perhaps they deserve this final piece of justice.”

The silence following Hope’s declaration was heavier than the death itself.

Captain Janeway finally broke it.

She stepped forward, carefully avoiding the blood slowly spreading across the floor.

“You… resettled the Maquis?” she asked cautiously, as if needing to confirm she’d heard right.

“I thought they were all—”

“Slaughtered?” General Jessica O’Neill cut in from the Council’s side.

She leaned forward slightly, arms crossed over her chest, her voice sharp.

“That’s what the Dominion wanted everyone to think.”

Hope turned back toward them, eyes burning with quiet conviction.

“We intercepted the last transports bound for death camps. A few thousand survived. We brought them to a world on the edge of our territory and gave them a chance to live again—free, safe, forgotten.”

“You hid this from us,” Admiral Nechayev said, though there was no real venom behind it—only awe, and a touch of guilt.

“We didn’t do it for you,” Councilor Tara Maclay said gently.

“We did it for them.”

A holographic screen shimmered to life, showing a lush world ringed by snowy peaks, tall forests, and clear rivers. Small towns dotted the valleys—modern, self-sustaining, and peaceful. Lantean architecture blended with Maquis simplicity.

“This is Initium Novum,” Councilor Varek said.

“Their new home. Named not by us—but by them. It means ‘a new beginning.’”

Paris lowered his head slightly, the weight of history dragging at his shoulders.

“We left them behind.”

Hope nodded. “You did.”

Picard spoke next, voice level but strained.

“And yet you saved them. Without recognition, without politics. Just… compassion.”

“No,” Cassie Frasier corrected.

“Justice.”

Janeway’s eyes remained on the image of the Maquis world, the homes nestled peacefully beneath a glowing blue sky.

“You’ve given them what we couldn’t.”

“We gave them what they earned,” Faith Jackson-Lehane said.

“A second chance. But make no mistake—many still remember how the Federation turned its back on them. Don’t expect them to cheer when you come knocking.”

Nechayev inhaled deeply, collecting herself.

“Then perhaps… we begin again too. With honesty.”

Hope stepped down from the dais once more, this time less like a warrior and more like a leader of vision.

She nodded to Janeway, Paris, Nechayev, and Picard.

“Then speak. Show us who you really are. And we’ll decide if you’re worthy of being allies.”

The hologram of Initium Novum faded from the air, and the Great Hall felt warmer now—less like a tribunal, and more like a true beginning.

As the murmurs of reflection died down, a familiar voice cut through the quiet.

“Well, I think that’s enough heavy for one day.”

All eyes turned as Jack O’Neill stepped up beside the council seating, hands in his pockets, his expression unusually serious beneath the typical sarcasm.

“With all due respect to our guests,” he began, nodding toward Picard, Janeway, Nechayev, and Paris, “I think it's time we give Starfleet some space to breathe… and maybe some time to talk to their boss.”

He turned to face the High Council directly.

“We’ve made our point. They’ve seen who we are. Maybe not all of it… but enough. And now it’s up to them.”

Turning back toward the Federation delegation, Jack added, “You can send a secure subspace message back to Earth. If the Federation President decides you want to pursue an alliance, then you can let us know.”

He gave a sideways glance to Hope, who nodded in agreement.

“And when you're ready,” Jack said, voice firm, “The Lantean High Council will come to Earth—your Earth—for further talks. Formal treaty, shared tech, defense pacts… whatever direction this thing’s going to go in.”

Paris nodded slowly, clearly absorbing the message.

“We’ll contact the President as soon as we're back aboard,” he promised.

“You’ve given us much to consider.”

Hope Mikaelson stood again, the hem of her pale robes catching the golden light.

“Go in peace. But go with truth. Tell your leaders what you’ve seen here—not just the weapons, or the justice, or even the power.”

“Tell them who we are.”

Picard stepped forward, offering a respectful bow of his head.

“That, High Councilor, is a promise.”

USS Enterprise-E Conference Lounge – Deck 1

The stars outside the wide observation window shimmered quietly, the Enterprise holding position just beyond the orbital path of Valhalla. Inside, the tension was thick.

Captain Picard stood at the head of the long table, hands clasped behind his back, his expression unreadable.

Around the table sat Captain Janeway, Admirals Paris, and Nechayev, along with senior staff: Commander Riker, Counselor Troi, Lieutenant Commander Data, and Lieutenant Worf.

The silence broke with Admiral Nechayev’s sharp tone.

“They executed Gul Dukat in front of us, Jean-Luc.”

“And handed over his head like some barbaric token.”

“He was a war criminal,” Worf interjected, without hesitation. “He died more honorably than he deserved.”

Janeway rubbed her temple. “It wasn’t just the execution—it was the message. The Lanteans aren’t like anything we’ve dealt with before. They're a fusion of logic, mysticism, and terrifying power. And they’re not afraid to use any of it.”

Riker leaned forward.

“The Maquis survivors—they didn’t just rescue them. They resettled them on a planet we didn’t even know about. That’s… something we failed to do.”

There was a long pause.

Troi, ever perceptive, said quietly, “And now those survivors will never trust the Federation again. But they’ll see the Lanteans as protectors.”

Paris nodded.

“They’ve already won hearts. And that’s far more dangerous than weapons.”

Data looked up from the terminal he’d been studying.

“I have analyzed the data chip given to us by the High Council. Preliminary scans suggest it contains hundreds of exabytes of information. A comprehensive history of Earth dating back… fifty billion years. That predates the Big Bang.”

Picard finally spoke.

“They’ve rewritten everything we thought we knew. History. Cosmology. Even the origin of sentient life. And yet… they want an alliance. They didn’t demand surrender. They asked us to choose.”

He turned to the console behind him.

“Open a channel. Secure encryption. Priority One to the President and Federation Council.”

A few taps, and the computer responded:

“Channel open. Recording.”

Picard began.

Message to the Federation

“This is Captain Jean-Luc Picard, transmitting from the USS Enterprise-E on behalf of Captain Janeway, Admiral Paris, Admiral Nechayev, and the entire diplomatic delegation. We have concluded our first meeting with the Lantean High Council—who we now believe to be the direct descendants of Earth, predating all known civilizations by billions of years.”

“They are not merely advanced. They are ancient. Powerful. And uncompromising.”

“We witnessed swift and severe justice—public executions of individuals who led wars and genocides. Their actions, while jarring to our sensibilities, were carried out with a chilling sense of purpose and moral clarity. They claim to have done what we could not: saved the Maquis survivors, ended threats like Dukat, and restored balance where we left scars.”

“They offered us truth, in the form of their history. They offered peace, in the form of an alliance. And they await our answer.”

“Madam President, Council Members… the question now falls to you. Will we walk into the future with them—or fall behind as they forge a path without us?”

“End message.”

The screen dimmed.

Silence returned to the room—until Riker leaned back and muttered:

“I can’t tell if we’ve just made first contact… or stepped into a new galactic order.”

Picard said nothing.

But deep down, he suspected Riker was right on both counts.

Federation Council Chambers

Earth, Paris – United Earth Government Complex

The rising sun spilled golden light through the domed ceiling, casting long shadows across the ancient stone pillars and the polished silver of the Federation sigil. Around the semi-circular table sat the representatives of over 150 worlds, the weight of a galaxy on their shoulders.

At the center of the room stood President Laira sh'Varel, a calm and regal Andorian woman whose antennae shifted slowly as she reviewed the message from the Enterprise for the fifth time.

The message had just finished playing again on the main screen, and the silence that followed was deafening.

Ambassador Sarek of Vulcan spoke first.

“The execution of Gul Dukat without trial violates our most sacred legal principles. And yet… from a purely logical standpoint, I cannot deny that it has brought resolution to those who suffered by his hand.”

Ambassador T’Rean of Betazed nodded solemnly.

“I sensed no malice in their actions—only justice. Swift, perhaps harsh by our standards, but genuine. They are not monsters. They are tired of monsters getting away with atrocities.”

Admiral Clancy, beamed in remotely from Starfleet Headquarters, offered a different view.

“We need to be cautious. These Lanteans possess technology far beyond our own. If we misstep, we could find ourselves at the mercy of a force we can’t hope to match.”

Councilor G’Reth of Andor stood, his voice sharp.

“We have already been at the mercy of powers like the Borg, the Dominion, and the Romulans. This is different. The Lanteans are offering a hand—not a blade.”

The Tellarite ambassador grumbled from behind his podium.

“Yes, but let’s not pretend that wasn’t a warning. ‘This is what happens when you cross us.’ That’s what I saw when they took Dukat’s head.”

President sh'Varel raised a hand, silencing the murmurs.

“The question before us is not whether the Lanteans frighten us. It is whether they speak truth. They have extended a formal offer to begin talks. That is more than the Dominion ever gave us. More than the Borg ever cared to.”

She turned toward the transmission podium.

“Begin composing our reply to the Lantean High Council. Make it official.”

The Federation seal glowed behind her as she spoke with measured grace.

Official Response to the Lantean High Council

Transmitted via priority subspace channel

“To the High Council of the Lantean people—”

“We have received your message, and we have witnessed your actions.”

“While our customs and philosophies differ, we acknowledge your authority, your history, and your power. We recognize that your people have preserved lives the Federation failed to protect, and offered justice where we offered only delay.”

“We accept your invitation. We formally request a diplomatic summit on Earth, to begin discussions on a potential alliance.”

“Our hope is for peace, mutual understanding, and cooperation between our peoples.”

“We await your arrival.”

— President Laira sh'Varel

United Federation of Planets

Office of the President, Palais de la Concorde

Paris, Earth

President Laira sh'Varel stood alone at her window, gazing out at the Seine as it shimmered in the light of dusk. The air in her office shifted subtly—signaling an incoming diplomatic transmission. The seal of the Lantean High Council shimmered into existence on her desk console, followed by the elegant form of High Councilor Hope Mikaelson.

Clad in pale robes with subtle threads of gold, Hope stood in the center of a chamber that exuded ancient strength and regal beauty. Behind her, the banners of the Lantean city-ships hung from high arches—Atlantis, Lumeria, Borealis, Shangri-La.

Her tone was warm, yet commanding.

"President Laira sh'Varel," Hope began, "We are pleased to receive your acceptance. The Lantean High Council acknowledges your desire for peace and alliance, and we are prepared to honor it."

"You may expect our arrival within one week. Atlantis will enter orbit over Earth, accompanied by its designated escorts. We will transmit flight paths and shield harmonics 48 hours before our approach, so your orbital control and defense grids may calibrate accordingly."

She paused, a flicker of formality rising in her voice.

"It is the custom of our people that the forging of new alliances be marked with celebration. To this end, the Council expects the following upon our arrival:"

– "A state reception at the Federation capital, attended by Federation Council members and planetary leaders."

– "A formal gala to honor the diversity of your worlds and ours."

– "A diplomatic dinner, where the Lantean High Council will meet with key political and cultural figures of the Federation."

– "And finally, a series of cultural festivals, hosted by various Federation member worlds, showcasing art, music, and traditions."

Hope offered a small smile, the barest warmth touching her gaze.

"We believe that trust is built not only through politics, but through the shared celebration of who we are. Let this be a beginning, not of compromise, but of unity through strength and understanding."

"Prepare your world, Madame President."

"The Lanteans are coming."

The transmission ended with a soft chime, and the Federation seal returned to the console.

President sh'Varel exhaled, then tapped her communicator.

"Get me the Chief of Staff. We have seven days to organize the most important welcome in Federation history."

High Orbit – Sol System

Six Days Later

Alarms chirped softly on the command deck of Earth Spacedock as operators scrambled to interpret the incoming sensor readings. A distortion wave—immense and deliberate—rippled through the outer layers of space near Jupiter.

In a breathtaking cascade of shimmering blue light, Atlantis emerged from hyperspace. The ancient city-ship unfurled its wings like a phoenix reborn, gleaming under Sol’s rays. Its spires rose proudly from a broad, circular base—part starship, part city, all power. Crystalline panels glowed with ethereal light, forming living veins of energy across its surface.

But it was not alone.

One by one, twelve massive vessels dropped out of hyperspace around the city. Aries-class warships, each over 5,000 meters long, took up a protective formation—sleek, angular, and terrifying in their scale. Their dark hulls bore the markings of Lantean banners, and each carried the presence of ancient authority and overwhelming firepower.

On the bridge of the USS Enterprise-E, Captain Picard stood beside the now promoted  Admiral Janeway as they watched the awe-inspiring scene unfold on the main viewscreen.

“My God…” whispered Commander Riker, eyes wide.

“This is not just a diplomatic visit,” Janeway muttered, arms folded. “This is a statement.”

Picard said nothing. He simply nodded, gaze locked on the city-ship as it approached.

A soft chime rang out across all Federation comm channels.

“This is Atlantis, representing the Lantean High Council. We have arrived.”

Chapter Text

Starfleet Command—San Francisco.

The buzz of morning briefings and duty rotations halted the moment the urgent transmission came through. Admiral Kathryn Janeway stood in the center of the command floor, brow raised as the communications officer replayed the message:

“This is High Counselor Hope Mikaelson of the Lantean High Council. Be advised: Atlantis is initiating descent. Splashdown coordinates transmitted. Estimated arrival—within the hour.”

All eyes turned to the main viewscreen, where the incoming trajectory had already been mapped. The splashdown site? The San Francisco Bay—just outside Starfleet Headquarters.

"Did she say Atlantis?" murmured Admiral Owen Paris from behind Janeway.

She nodded slowly. “Looks like the legends are about to become very, very real.”

The next moments were a blur. Officers scrambled for clearance, civilians were guided indoors, and the sky began to shift.

A fiery streak tore across the morning blue—a massive object entering the atmosphere, blazing like a meteor. From the command tower's open-air balcony, Janeway, Paris, Picard, Nechayev, and half the base’s staff watched in awe.

The fireball slowed, the flames trailing off as the heat shield dispersed like glowing embers in the wind. And then they saw it.

The shape that emerged from the blaze was not a ship—at least, not any conventional one. It was a city. A titanic, six-pointed star of polished trinium and luminous crystal, its surface gleaming with interlaced lights and an active energy shield humming like distant thunder. Graceful towers pierced upward, ringed by walkways and domes of transparent alloy.

It moved with impossible grace for something so massive—an entire flying metropolis, descending as if guided by thought alone.

Not a ripple marred the waters of the bay as Atlantis touched down. The entire structure settled onto the surface like a feather on glass, as if the very laws of physics bent in reverence to its return.

Silence reigned across Starfleet Command. Even the birds had stopped mid-flight. Then, as if released from a spell, people gasped, whispered, pointed.

Atlantis had arrived.

Atlantis – Control Room

The soft hum of crystal interfaces filled the air, punctuated by the rhythmic chime of sensors recalibrating. Lantean technicians moved with effortless coordination beneath the vaulted ceilings of the Control Room, light from the San Francisco Bay filtering through the crystalline windows.

High Counselor Hope Mikaelson stood at the central console, her posture composed, but a small, proud smile played on her lips. Her fingers moved with practiced ease over the controls as she opened a secure comm line.

Hope:

“Chair Room, this is the Control Room. Splashdown confirmed. You stuck the landing, Sheppard.”

Atlantis – Chair Room

The iconic Chair Room—once silent for centuries—now pulsed with power. The ancient control chair was reclined slightly, occupied by none other than John Sheppard, his salt-and-pepper hair tousled, a familiar lopsided grin spreading across his face.

He gave the ceiling a mock salute as the voice of Hope echoed through the room.

Sheppard:

“Well, it’s not my first time flying this thing. But I gotta admit—still gets the adrenaline going.”

Hope (over comms):

“You’ve still got the touch. Star drive test reads within optimal variance. That’s a perfect mark for a maneuver we only pull once every century.”

Sheppard leaned back slightly, admiring the shimmering glow of the drive conduits snaking through the walls.

Sheppard:

“Not bad for a bunch of antique tech and a pilot who should’ve retired two hundred years ago.”

Hope:

“I’d say the Lantean people are lucky you never did.”

A beat of silence passed. Sentiment hung in the air, unspoken but understood.

Hope (softly):

“Atlantis came home today, John. Temporary it may be, but You brought her back.”

Sheppard exhaled, his eyes drifting toward the transparent viewport where the skyline of San Francisco framed the rising sun.

Sheppard:

“Yeah. She’s still got it.”

Presidio Grounds – Starfleet Command, San Francisco

The golden morning light bathed the polished stone steps of Starfleet Headquarters, now transformed into a formal reception area. Flags of the United Federation of Planets fluttered gently in the breeze, alongside newly unfurled banners bearing the ancient sigil of Atlantis: the six-pointed star and rising sun of Lantea.

A sleek platform had been assembled overlooking the bay, ringed with security personnel and lined with the Federation’s most prominent officials. Standing at the forefront was President Laira sh’Varel, the Andorian head of the Federation, her pale blue skin luminous in the sunlight. Her white ceremonial robes shimmered faintly with embedded crystalline threads, and her antennae moved with graceful poise, mirroring the calm authority in her gaze.

Beside her stood a newly promoted Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, hands clasped behind his back, ever the symbol of diplomacy and wisdom. Admiral Janeway, Admiral Paris, and several planetary ambassadors stood nearby, eyes fixed on the sky as anticipation mounted.

Suddenly, a ripple shimmered overhead—a gentle distortion in the air.

A Puddle Jumper decloaked, its elegant lines emerging from the cloak field like a ghost from another time. With barely a whisper, it descended and touched down on the platform with perfect precision.

The side hatch opened with a soft hiss, and Lantean Security stepped out—sleek black-and-silver armor adorned with the sigil of Atlantis. The guards stood tall and alert, but with ceremonial bearing.

At the front, Ronon Dex strode down the ramp.

Now older, more seasoned, but no less formidable, Ronon wore a tailored version of Lantean battle gear—functional, but adorned with markings of honor. His wild energy was refined, not diminished. His eyes scanned the surroundings with a warrior’s instincts, noting exits, rooftops, and potential threats in a heartbeat.

He took a few careful steps forward, then paused.

He touched the comm clipped to his collar.

Ronon:

“Area secure. Bring them in.”

A shimmer raced across the sky—five more Puddle Jumpers decloaked at once, fanning out in perfect formation and landing softly beside the first.

Their ramps descended in synchrony.

From the center Jumper emerged High Counselor Hope Mikaelson, regal in violet and silver, her golden crest gleaming in the sun. She was followed by the Lantean High Council—a living legacy of Earth’s most legendary defenders:

Dr. Cassie Fraiser, now Minister of Science and Genetics

Jessica O’Neill, Supreme General, her command presence undeniable

Faith Lehane-Jackson, armored, confident, flanked by Tara Maclay

Samantha Carter, her gaze sharp, a living legend among scientists and soldiers

Varek, Emily Mackay, O’vie, and others—each a representative of a civilization reborn in the stars

As the council assembled before the Federation delegation, the crowd held its breath.

President Laira sh’Varel stepped forward, her voice carrying the authority of centuries and the poise of diplomacy.

President sh’Varel:

“On behalf of the United Federation of Planets, welcome to Earth. The return of Atlantis is a moment of profound significance for all our peoples.”

Hope extended her hand in the ancient Tau’ri greeting.

Hope:

“On behalf of the Lantean High Council, we greet the Federation in peace. Thank you for welcoming us home.”

And with that, the meeting of two great civilizations began.

The sun had risen higher over the bay, casting sparkling light across the shielded city of Atlantis resting serenely on the water. The Federation’s finest stood respectfully on the platform as High Counselor Hope Mikaelson stepped forward.

She glanced toward President Laira sh’Varel, then out toward the crowd of dignitaries, officers, and press representatives lining the edge of the landing site. The ocean breeze tugged lightly at her violet robes.

A quiet fell over the gathering as Hope raised her voice—measured, resonant, and full of something ancient.

Hope Mikaelson:

“Today, a star returns to the sky it once rose from. After more than three hundred years, the city of Atlantis—our home—sets down upon the soil of Earth once more.”

She let the moment settle before continuing.

Hope:

“We are not the same people who left. Time, as it always does, has changed us. We have grown. We have struggled. We have made mistakes, and we have learned from them. And yet, we never forgot where we came from.”

Her eyes scanned the Starfleet delegation, her voice gentling.

Hope:

“To the people of Earth, and to the Federation you’ve built… you are still very young.”

There were a few murmurs at that—but her smile was warm, not patronizing.

Hope:

“You reach for the stars with hope in your hearts. You strive for unity in the face of chaos. You dream of peace, even when war darkens your doorstep. These things do not make you weak—they make you worthy.”

She paused, placing a hand over her chest.

Hope:

“We did not return to command. We did not return to rule. We returned because the universe is growing darker again. And in this age of ascension and war, of gods and tyrants, the young must not walk alone.”

Her gaze settled firmly on President sh’Varel.

Hope:

“We are your ancestors, yes. But more than that… we are your family. And like any good family, we will do our best—as parents—to guide our children into a better future.”

A breath passed through the crowd.

Hope:

“Together, we can build a future that honors the past without repeating its mistakes. Together, we can become the light in the darkness that others look to.”

She turned slightly, gesturing toward the shining form of Atlantis behind her.

Hope:

“Let this be our pledge. Not of dominion, but of guardianship. Not of superiority, but of shared purpose. The stars are vast… and so too must our unity be.”

She bowed her head in a gesture of peace.

Hope:

“Thank you… for welcoming us home.”

For a beat, there was only stillness. Not even the sea dared to ripple beneath Atlantis.

Then, the applause began.

It started with a few claps from scattered delegates, but grew steadily—respectful, not thunderous. More reverent than celebratory. The kind of applause given not just to a leader… but to a force of history.

President Laira sh’Varel watched Hope with the expression of someone who recognized legacy when she saw it. Her antennae twitched subtly as she leaned toward her aide.

President sh’Varel (softly):

“She speaks not just with authority, but with responsibility. That is the burden of the old among the young.”

She stepped back, allowing her ministers to confer. At her side, Admiral Janeway exhaled slowly, arms crossed, a rare softness in her eyes.

Janeway:

“She’s not wrong. We’ve charted stars, founded colonies… but what they’ve done? What they’ve survived?”

(She shook her head slightly.)

“We’re children next to that.”

Ambassador Serak of Vulcan stood quietly, his hands folded in the traditional gesture of contemplation. He turned toward Admiral Picard, his tone neutral but weighty.

Ambassador Serak:

“There is logic in the Lantean’s words. The path of wisdom is not forged in centuries, but in the recognition of one's limitations. The Federation would do well to listen with humility.”

Picard, ever the diplomat, inclined his head.

Picard:

“Oh, I agree, Ambassador. But wisdom isn’t simply granted by age. It must be shared—and earned—together.”

He looked toward Hope, who now spoke quietly with Councilor Carter and Jessica O’Neill, her posture still poised.

Picard (continuing):

“The Lanteans may call themselves our ancestors… but it’s the choices we make now, with them, that will determine the future.”

Janeway:

“And if they truly see us as their children?”

(She smiled faintly.)

“Then maybe it’s time we asked ourselves: what kind of parents do they intend to be?”

Serak raised an eyebrow—curious, perhaps even amused, though no one could tell.

Serak:

“A provocative metaphor, Admiral. And a valid one.”

President sh’Varel turned back to the group.

sh’Varel:

“Their return changes everything. Politically. Culturally. Technologically. But… perhaps it’s what we needed. A reminder that the stars we reach for are not just destinations—but origins.”

She looked out at Atlantis, glowing softly against the morning sky.

sh’Varel:

“Let us hope this homecoming is not merely symbolic—but transformational.”

Gala Reception – Federation Embassy, San Francisco

The grand atrium of the Federation Embassy had never seen such a convergence of history, power, and legacy.

Translucent banners shimmered in the air above the ballroom—one bearing the seal of the United Federation of Planets, the other the silver starburst crest of the Lantean High Council.

Crystal chandeliers reflected ambient starlight simulated across the ceiling dome. Waitstaff in formal Starfleet black moved smoothly through the crowd, offering alien delicacies and Terran vintages. A string quartet played an arrangement blending Earth classical with Lantean harmonic structures—haunting, majestic.

High Counselor Hope Mikaelson, radiant in deep Lantean blue and gold, stood near the central dais, receiving guests with regal ease.

At her side, President Laira sh’Varel was deep in conversation with Ambassador Serak and Admiral Picard, their discussion layered with diplomacy and just a touch of awe.

On the far side of the room—

General Jack O’Neill, now in formal Lantean navy with subtle Earth military trim, nursed a glass of scotch while pretending he wasn’t completely overwhelmed by all the attention. Beside him, effortlessly commanding the space, was Rebekah Mikaelson, in a black and crimson gown that seemed both ancient and avant-garde. She smirked at her husband’s discomfort.

Rebekah (teasing):

“I could compel a few of them to stop staring, if it helps.”

Jack:

“Tempting. But then I’d owe you. And I already owe you for marrying me.”

She smirked, kissing his cheek lightly.

Across the room—

Dr. Rodney McKay was visibly arguing with a holographic interface over wine calibration. Jennifer Keller, elegant and patient in teal, finally grabbed the glass from him and took a long sip.

Jennifer:

“It’s fine, Rodney. It doesn’t need to be quantum-pure.”

Rodney:

“You say that now, but imagine if we get dehydrated by temporal misalignment—”

Jennifer (laughing):

“Then I’ll let John recalibrate you.”

Nearby, General John Sheppard stood with Teyla Emmagan, who looked resplendent in traditional Athosian formal wear. Her hand rested gently on his arm, grounding him as he scanned the room.

Sheppard:

“Not exactly how I pictured a reunion with Earth.”

Teyla (softly):

“Perhaps not. But maybe… it is how Atlantis always hoped it would end. Not with war—but with welcome.”

At the far end, a small commotion of subtle curiosity followed the arrival of Jessica O’Neill, the Supreme General of Lantean forces, entering in full ceremonial dress with subtle gold threading across her black uniform. At her side, in a sleek tailored tuxedo, walked Damon Salvatore.

Several eyes followed him—not just for his sharp looks, but for his aura of danger wrapped in charm.

Damon (smirking):

“I’m underdressed, aren’t I?”

Jessica:

“Only emotionally.”

Damon:

“Touché.”

They approached Hope, and Damon gave a short, unnecessarily graceful bow.

Damon:

“Your High Counselor-ness. Lovely entrance.”

Hope (dry):

“Thank you. We like to make an impression.”

Jessica and Hope exchanged a smile—one of deep mutual trust and silent history.

Main Stage – Toast Moment

Hope stepped onto the central platform as the music softened. A hush rippled across the room.

Hope Mikaelson:

“Tonight is not just a celebration—it is a reunion. Of home and heart. Of future and past.”

She raised a crystalline glass.

Hope:

“To the Federation, and the people of Earth. May our shared journey be as vast as the stars we now call home.”

All voices (echoing):

“To unity. To home.”

Glasses clinked, music rose, and history continued to be written—this time, with hope.

Deep Space – Edge of the Milky Way Galaxy

Far from Earth’s celebrations, beyond the reach of Lantean sensor satellites and Federation relay buoys, the black emptiness of intergalactic space began to ripple.

One by one, vast shapes tore through the fabric of hyperspace—sleek, organic vessels with cruel, spined architecture. The Wraith had returned.

A dozen Hiveships, each larger than a Federation starbase, silently glided out of the corridor. Their once-proud fleet was a shadow of its former self—scarred, scorched, but far from broken.

Behind them, several Cruisers and a twisted, monstrous vessel unlike any in known records pulsed with strange energy—bio-organic in nature, but newly evolved. Adapted.

Inside the lead Hive, a Wraith Commander stood before a star map—eyes narrowed, claws tapping against the surface as it zoomed in on the Milky Way.

Wraith Commander (hissing):

“Three centuries… and still they thrive. But this time… they will not escape our hunger.”

Another Wraith, gaunt and older, growled low.

Old Wraith:

“They thought us extinguished. They poisoned our worlds. Burned our Queens. Fed the young to the void…”

The Commander turned, fangs gleaming.

Wraith Commander:

“Then let them feast on fear. Let the Children of Lantea witness the return of their darkest nightmare.”

The stars shifted on the map—zooming toward the Sol system.

Unseen. Undetected.

Chapter Text

Starfleet Headquarters, San Francisco

Admirals Owen Paris, Kathryn Janeway, and Jean-Luc Picard stood together on the manicured lawns outside Starfleet Headquarters. With them were Federation President sh’Varel, several ambassadors, Klingon High Chancellor Martok, and Grand Nagus Zek of the Ferengi Alliance. The latter two had only just arrived on Earth less than an hour ago—neither wanting to be excluded from what was shaping up to be a historic diplomatic event.

They were all waiting for the arrival of the Lanteans, who were due to land in a couple of Puddle Jumpers to escort them to Atlantis for a tour of the legendary city. The tour had been proposed by High Counselor Hope Mikaelson during the Gala the night before.

As they waited beneath the California sun, tension quietly simmered just beneath the surface. A young Starfleet security officer, standing a few meters away, leaned over to whisper to Admiral Paris, his voice low but anxious.

“Sir… Are we sure this is a good idea? Going with them to their city, I mean. I know what was said last night, but… we all read the same report from Deep Space Nine. The one from the Gamma Quadrant outpost.”

Paris glanced sideways at the officer but didn’t interrupt.

“Their long-range sensors picked up a Lantean warship near Dominion-controlled space just hours before three stars—including the one in the Founders’ home system—collapsed into black holes. That’s not a coincidence, sir.”

Janeway and Picard exchanged glances at the mention of the report, their expressions carefully neutral.

President sh’Varel turned slightly toward them, her Andorian antennae shifting with interest. “We will ask them directly. If the Lanteans possess a weapon that can collapse stars… we must know whether they intend to use it again—and against whom.”

Just then, the distant hum of advanced engines filled the air, and all eyes turned skyward. Two sleek Puddle Jumpers broke through the clouds, descending gracefully toward the lawn. The sunlight gleamed off their hulls—symbols of an ancient power reborn.

Martok grunted, arms folded. “Let us hope they do not consider this tour… a show of dominance.”

Zek adjusted his ornate robes, a greedy twinkle in his eye. “Show of dominance or not, if they’re giving tours, maybe there’s something to profit from.”

As the Jumpers landed and the hatches opened, the gathered leaders prepared to step into a city that hadn’t been seen by outsiders in over 10,000 years—Atlantis awaited.

As the Puddle Jumpers touched down with a soft hum on the lawn, all eyes turned to the first craft. The hatch slid open with a smooth hiss, revealing a single occupant.

A young woman with golden-blonde hair descended the ramp, wearing a crisp white-and-navy Lantean flight suit with silver piping. Her posture was relaxed but professional, and her eyes sparkled with quiet confidence.

“I’m Emilia,” she announced with a polite smile. “Daughter of Ambassador Jack O’Neill, and younger sister of General Jessica O’Neill. I volunteered to be one of your pilots today.”

President sh’Varel gave her a curious glance. “Volunteered?”

Emilia nodded. “Today’s historic—first official diplomatic visit to Atlantis by the Federation. We figured it should feel a little more personal than being chauffeured by an automated drone. Plus…” she grinned faintly, “my sister said I needed to socialize more.”

Janeway gave a subtle chuckle, while Picard’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully. “So you’re a member of the O’Neill family,” he said. “You must have quite the résumé.”

“Let’s just say I’ve seen my share of the galaxy—and more than a few simulations of Earth politics.” Emilia glanced toward the water, where the gleaming towers of Atlantis shimmered in the morning sun. “The city’s already prepped for your arrival. We’ll be taking off shortly and landing directly on the central platform. It’s just a quick ride over the Bay.”

Behind her, the second Jumper opened, revealing two more uniformed Lanteans ready to escort the rest of the party.

Chancellor Martok folded his arms. “The city of the Ancients, floating like a war fortress in your harbor. Impressive… if not a little ominous.”

Zek, waddling toward the first Jumper, muttered, “If they’ve got gift shops, I’m buying the rights…”

Emilia raised a brow at that but didn’t comment. She simply motioned toward the open hatch. “Right this way. We’ll have you docked at the city’s diplomatic hub in under five minutes.”

As the delegates filed in, the Jumpers lifted smoothly off the ground, hovering briefly before banking toward San Francisco Bay—where the majestic city of Atlantis stood like a living monument to a forgotten age, gleaming in the early light.

From the shoreline, thousands of onlookers watched in awe as history unfolded.

The interior of the Jumper was sleek and minimalist, with soft blue lighting and smooth, metallic walls lined with faintly glowing Lantean glyphs. The Starfleet delegates took their seats as the craft lifted gently off the ground, gliding effortlessly toward the shining towers of Atlantis rising from San Francisco Bay.

Admiral Janeway watched with a curious expression, eyes darting toward the cockpit. Emilia sat comfortably at the front, hands resting casually on the armrests—no control panel, no visible piloting interface, not even a screen.

After a moment, Janeway leaned forward. “Pardon me, Emilia… but I don’t see you touching anything. Are you actually flying this thing?”

Emilia grinned, not looking back. “Oh, definitely. You’re not just floating—I'm giving you the scenic route.”

Picard raised a brow. “Autopilot?”

“Not exactly,” Emilia replied, her tone light. “Most of our tech—especially our ships—is gene-locked. This Jumper only responds to authorized neural signatures. Once you're linked, you can control it with thought.”

Janeway blinked. “A mental interface?”

“Yup. The ship reads my intent, predicts movement, and adjusts accordingly. It’s faster, more intuitive, and… well, a lot more fun once you’ve mastered it.” She smirked. “Watch this.”

Without warning, the Jumper banked hard—still perfectly smooth and stable—cutting low over the water before soaring gracefully between two of Atlantis’s gleaming spires. The towers shimmered in the sunlight, their crystal-laced surfaces catching the golden light like prisms.

The delegates leaned forward, captivated as the Jumper dipped and weaved through the city like a bird in flight.

“This city,” Emilia said over her shoulder, “was originally constructed by the Ancients over ten million years ago here on Terra. It’s survived galactic wars, multiple relocations, and a few crashes—don't ask—but she still flies.”

They soared past the central control tower, its spire rising high into the sky, then curved around the domed science center, where streams of Lantean citizens in flowing robes could be seen walking between platforms and hover-lifts.

Emilia continued, her voice thoughtful now. “When the Ancients first left Earth—what we call ‘Terra’—they spoke of it like it was paradise. The birthplace of their civilization. The cradle of all things. But…”

She let out a soft sigh, gaze distant as the Jumper circled toward the city’s central platform.

“…honestly? Terra was kind of a letdown.”

That drew glances between the delegates.

“I mean, it’s beautiful, sure,” she added, “but the myths made it sound like it was going to be… more. Enlightened. Unified. Peaceful. Instead, we found a world still divided, still fighting over borders, still recovering from self-inflicted wounds.”

There was no bitterness in her voice, just quiet disappointment—like someone who’d met a childhood hero, only to find them painfully ordinary.

“But who knows,” she added with a shrug. “Maybe that’s why we’re here. To help it become the legend it was supposed to be.”

The Jumper slowed, descending toward a circular landing platform nestled at the base of the central tower. Below them, the golden banners of the Lantean High Council rippled in the wind.

Emilia turned back to the delegates with a warm smile. “Welcome to Atlantis.”

The Jumper eased into its docking cradle with barely a tremor. As the hatch hissed open, the delegation stepped out onto a raised platform bathed in soft ambient light. Towering behind them, framed in the graceful arcs of Lantean architecture, stood the Stargate—a marvel of engineering and art.

Unlike the older, battle-worn ring they’d unearthed beneath Cheyenne Mountain, this one was gleaming and intricate. Its polished naquadah shimmered with iridescent veins of blue, gold, and violet, and the glyphs along the inner track pulsed gently, as if breathing. The chevrons weren’t mechanical clamps but smooth crystal-like nodes that lit up with elegant fluidity.

Up above, in the control room overlooking the gate chamber, Lantean officers moved with quiet purpose, gliding between glowing consoles, translucent interface displays, and floating data clusters.

As the delegation looked around in awe, two figures approached down the steps from the inner hall.

The first was a tall man with disheveled dark hair, wearing a black and grey Lantean uniform with a subtle silver insignia over his chest. He had the easy confidence of a man who had seen too much and somehow still found it funny.

The second figure beside him was breathtaking—a woman with flowing chestnut hair that shimmered in the light and eyes the color of deep emeralds. She wore a white gown that shimmered faintly like silk woven with starlight, and her very presence exuded both elegance and command.

General Sheppard gave a small wave and flashed a charming grin. “Admirals. Madam President. Welcome aboard Atlantis.”

The woman beside him inclined her head, her voice like a soft chime. “I am Atlantis. It’s a pleasure to finally meet you all.”

Janeway blinked. “Wait—you’re Atlantis? As in... the AI?”

“Not merely an AI,” Picard observed quietly, eyeing her with curiosity. “You’re a living interface—an embodiment of the city’s consciousness.”

Atlantis smiled. “You honor me, Admiral. My purpose is to serve and safeguard the citizens of this city, and now, to welcome our guests from the Federation.”

President sh’Varel stepped forward. “It’s an honor to be here. Your city is… beyond anything we imagined.”

General Sheppard gave a little nod of appreciation. “We try to keep her polished.”

Then, with a quick glance at Atlantis, he added, “The High Council sends their apologies—they were called back to the Pegasus Galaxy this morning. Some trade dispute with the Myriani Confederation. Nothing too dramatic, but they’ll be back later today.”

Atlantis gave a graceful nod. “In the meantime, General Sheppard will act as your guide.”

Sheppard smirked. “Yeah, apparently I’ve been upgraded from military commander to tour director. So buckle up—we’ve got history, tech, and probably some ancient art installations you’re not allowed to touch.”

Zek leaned toward Janeway and whispered, “Do you think they’d let me license the likeness of their AI for entertainment purposes? She’d make a fortune in holo-theaters.”

Janeway elbowed him before he could say more.

Sheppard gestured to a wide corridor leading from the Gateroom. “Shall we? I thought we’d start at the heart of the city—Control Tower, then the History Vault. And if you behave, I might even let you poke the chair.”

Emilia, leaning near the Jumper with arms crossed, called out with a smirk, “Dad said no one touches the chair but Jessica.”

Sheppard waved her off. “It’s fine. Just a little hover. Not actual chair engagement.”

Atlantis laughed lightly, the sound echoing through the room in an oddly musical way.

As the delegation moved forward into the gleaming halls of Atlantis, with crystal-lit walls and floating data streams all around them, they couldn’t help but feel like they were stepping not just into a city—but into the myth made real.

Atlantis – Medical Bay

The doors parted with a soft whisper, revealing a chamber that was pristine and softly lit, with curved walls of shimmering crystal and glowing interfaces that pulsed with life. Sleek, white medpods hovered just above the floor, each surrounded by flickering diagnostics and gentle holographic readouts. The air smelled faintly of ozone and something antiseptic but oddly pleasant.

Medical personnel in pale uniforms moved quietly between patients and scanners, many not even touching controls. Instead, the systems responded to their gestures or subvocalized commands, and in some cases, simply their presence.

President sh’Varel took in the view with reverent silence. Janeway stepped closer to one of the hovering medpods, eyes wide. “This… is centuries beyond our best Starfleet medical tech.”

Doctor Emily Mackay, the city’s Chief Medical Officer, glanced up from a floating console and gave a polite nod. “Welcome to the MedBay. Our systems integrate nanite-assisted regeneration, neuro-mapping, cellular stabilization fields, and full-body scans in under six seconds. Would you like a demonstration?”

Before anyone could answer, Grand Nagus Zek let out a delighted squeal.

“Ooooh, how much? How much for that?” He pointed at one of the medpods with both hands, his eyes wide and glittering with greed. “I’ll give you ten bars of gold-pressed latinum! No—fifteen! With options to license for Ferengi health spas across a dozen systems!”

General Sheppard arched a brow and folded his arms. “Sorry, but gold-pressed latinum’s not gonna cut it.”

Zek blinked. “What? Not even a nibble? It’s the most stable currency in the quadrant!”

Sheppard chuckled and nodded to Emilia, who had tagged along and leaned against the wall, clearly enjoying the exchange.

“No offense,” Sheppard said, “but to us, latinum is just shiny scrap. We’ve got replicators that can churn out a gold-plated shuttle if we wanted to. The only real currency that matters in this city is weapons-grade naquadah.”

Zek blinked again, then squinted. “I’ve heard of that... volatile stuff. Dangerous to transport. Prohibited in Federation space, isn’t it?”

“Exactly,” Emilia said sweetly. “Which means nobody trades it lightly. You want something from us? You’d better bring something that can actually power a warship.”

Zek huffed. “Well… what about shares in Ferengi Futures Exchange?”

Sheppard gave him a lopsided grin. “We’ll pass.”

Picard stepped forward, giving Zek a polite but firm look. “Grand Nagus, perhaps we could focus on learning, before we move to bartering.”

Zek muttered something about cultural misunderstandings and shuffled to the back of the group.

Dr. Mackay gestured to a chamber off to the side. “We also have a full trauma stabilization suite and regenerative tank. Last week, a technician vaporized both legs in a containment breach. We had him walking again in under 24 hours.”

Janeway’s eyes narrowed. “Regrew both legs?”

Mackay nodded. “With full nerve mapping and muscle memory retention. We don’t guess where things go—we grow it exactly as it was.”

President sh’Varel turned to Sheppard. “Your technology could revolutionize medicine across a thousand worlds. You could cure entire plagues.”

Sheppard gave her a thoughtful look. “Maybe one day. But for now, the High Council wants to make sure history doesn’t repeat itself. Atlantis was hidden for a reason.”

“Still is,” Emilia added, pointing toward the wall. “You’re only seeing what we let you see.”

Sheppard clapped his hands together. “Alright. Medical wonders: check. Ferengi disappointment: check. Who’s ready to see the Ancient Chair?”

Zek raised a hand. “Can I buy a tour extension?”

“Still no,” Sheppard replied with a smirk, leading the way out.

As they exited the MedBay, the group walked through one of Atlantis’s sweeping crystalline corridors. The walls shimmered faintly, etched with flowing Lantean script, and occasional display panels illuminated their path with soft pulses of pale blue light.

Admiral Paris glanced over his shoulder at the medpods they were leaving behind. “That regeneration system… could it actually reverse death?”

Dr. Mackay, walking alongside him, nodded thoughtfully. “Yes. As long as the brain hasn’t suffered total necrosis. If there's still a flicker of activity, even a fragmented pattern we can stabilize—we can bring someone back.”

President sh’Varel arched an eyebrow. “You can resurrect the dead?”

“To a point,” Emilia chimed in from ahead. “We call it ‘neural echo revival.’ But there’s a catch. Once brain death has fully occurred—real death, not just clinical shutdown—we don’t cross that line.”

Sheppard, hands in his pockets, added, “The High Council has strict ethics protocols. Revival beyond that threshold isn’t just dangerous—it’s forbidden.”

Zek grumbled behind the group, “Seems like a waste of potential profit...”

Sheppard glanced back. “We’ve seen what happens when you start playing god with souls that have already moved on. Let’s just say… not everyone comes back right.”

Janeway frowned, intrigued. “So you’ve done it before?”

Emilia hesitated, then said softly, “Once. A long time ago. We don’t talk about it.”

The group fell into a contemplative silence as they turned a corner, entering a broad hallway lined with glass-paneled arches that curved like the ribs of some massive, elegant creature. At the far end stood towering golden doors etched with stars and galaxies, and the moment they stepped through, lights flared to life.

They entered a grand gallery, easily the size of Starfleet Academy’s central rotunda. The domed ceiling stretched high above, painted like the night sky, with moving constellations that slowly shifted and realigned themselves as time passed. Holographic projectors cast three-dimensional depictions of ancient battles, cities, and long-forgotten species into the air. A slow orchestral theme played from nowhere and everywhere.

Sheppard gestured grandly. “Welcome to the Hall of Legacies—our historical gallery. Everything we know about the Milky Way and Pegasus Galaxies is archived here.”

To the left, a giant starmap of the Pegasus Galaxy shimmered, pinpointing old Lantean city-ships, major battle sites with the Wraith, and the still-glowing core of Atlantis itself. On the right, a similar map of the Milky Way highlighted Earth, Dakara, Abydos, and countless other worlds, each pulsing with soft golden light.

“This section here,” Emilia said, pointing toward a flowing set of stone murals, “is dedicated to the Ancients' exodus from the Ori galaxy and their journey across universes. The starship Aurora’s final mission, the Great Retreat from the Wraith, even the Lost Era of Earth before the Stargate Program.”

She smiled faintly, then added under her breath, “Though to be honest, Terra didn’t quite live up to the legends. Bit of a disappointment.”

Picard caught her comment. “Disappointment? In what way?”

Emilia shrugged with a half-smile. “We grew up hearing stories of the First World. A jewel at the center of galactic myth. When we finally returned and found it was a world of war, pollution, and fractured alliances…” She trailed off.

Janeway glanced at the vast displays. “Perhaps this visit will show you how far we’ve come.”

Emilia gave her a look. “Or how far you still have to go.”

Sheppard coughed, breaking the tension. “Right, moving on. The next section’s my favorite—battle reenactments from the Siege of Atlantis. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a Wraith hive ship take a direct hit from a drone swarm in surround projection.”

The delegation followed, their curiosity rekindled by the living history surrounding them.

After winding through the final stretch of the Hall of Legacies, the doors at the end of the gallery slid open with a soft whoosh, revealing a circular chamber bathed in golden light. At its center stood the Ancient Control Chair, resting on a raised platform flanked by glowing pylons. The floor was etched with radiant glyphs, and faint hums of energy pulsed beneath their feet.

Janeway stepped forward, eyes wide. “The legendary Chair Room…”

“The heart of the city,” Sheppard confirmed, motioning toward the chair. “This is what controls Atlantis’s defensive and navigational systems, and in the right hands—can do just about anything.”

He gestured for them to try. “Want to see something cool? Go ahead—have a seat.”

Zek scurried forward first, practically falling into the chair. Nothing happened. The room remained silent except for the disappointed huff of the Ferengi.

Picard followed, sitting with measured grace. Still, the chair remained inert.

Then Janeway. Then Paris. Then President sh’Varel. One by one, the chair rejected them all—no light, no response.

Sheppard smirked. “Don’t take it personally.”

He stepped forward and casually dropped into the seat.

The transformation was immediate. The chair flared to life, glowing with a brilliant blue hue, and a cascade of holographic stars spun out from the central platform, forming a massive galactic map in mid-air. The room darkened slightly as the stars filled the space like a miniature cosmos.

“Now that is a control system,” Paris muttered.

Sheppard waved his hand slightly and the holograms shifted. The Milky Way spun into focus, zooming in toward the Gamma Quadrant. A red warning symbol blinked over a dead star system.

“This,” Sheppard said grimly, “is what you’ve been hearing about from Deep Space Nine. The Founders’ homeworld.”

A pulsating black sphere marked the location where the star once burned. The nearby planetary bodies—still intact—drifted now in eternal twilight, orbiting a singularity where their sun once resided.

Janeway’s face darkened. “You turned their sun into a black hole?”

Sheppard’s jaw tightened. “We didn’t. The Lantean High Council did. After reviewing evidence of Dominion atrocities, the Council voted unanimously. It was… a message.”

Picard turned sharply. “A warning, then?”

“A punishment,” Sheppard corrected. “No invasion. No ships fired. Just one moment of unimaginable gravity, and an empire lost its light.”

Zek paled. “And people think the Ferengi are ruthless?”

Emilia, leaning against the wall, spoke quietly. “The Council doesn’t act in haste. But they do act… decisively.”

The holograms shifted again, zooming out to show hundreds of sensor feeds across the galaxy—fleet movements, energy signatures, even wormhole activity. The delegation stood in awe, watching the full scope of Lantean awareness in real time.

“This is how we keep the peace,” Sheppard said. “By always seeing what others try to hide.”

Janeway whispered, “No wonder the Dominion fell silent.”

As the map dissolved into glittering dust, Sheppard stood from the chair. The light faded. The room stilled.

He turned to the group, tone even.

“Let’s move on. There’s still a lot of city left to see.

The tour concluded just as it had begun—in the majestic Gate Room of Atlantis, with its sweeping archways, golden crystalline columns, and the massive Stargate looming like a crown jewel at the heart of the chamber. The delegation chatted in low tones, still digesting the staggering technology and revelations they’d witnessed throughout the city.

Sheppard gestured toward the stargate. “Well, that wraps up the official tour. You’ll be free to explore more this afternoon—assuming no galactic incidents pop up between now and dinner.”

As if on cue, a blaring alarm rang out, accompanied by flashing crimson lights and the deep thoom of the citywide alert klaxon.

A voice rang from the upper operations console.

“General! We have an unscheduled off-world activation!”

The Stargate chevrons began to lock in, one by one, glowing a vibrant blue as they spun and clamped into place with mechanical precision. Lantean security teams swarmed into position around the room—soldiers in sleek black armor with glowing blue visors fanned out, taking defensive positions behind energy-shielded barricades.

The event horizon erupted into existence with its signature burst of liquid light, pulsing ominously at the center of the gate. But then—a shield flared to life, humming with golden energy across the wormhole’s surface. An automated Lantean defense measure.

“Still no signal?” Sheppard asked, stepping toward the console and glancing up.

The same operations officer called down, “Wait—just received an IDC! It’s the High Council’s code!”

The defensive shield vanished instantly, flickering out with a rippling shimmer.

A moment later, the wormhole rippled again—and through it stepped the familiar and imposing figures of the Lantean High Council.

High Councilor Hope Mikaelson emerged first, her violet robes flowing like liquid flame, a faint smirk touching her lips. Beside her came General Jessica O’Neill, tall and composed in her deep navy command uniform. Cassie Fraiser, Faith Lehane, Sam Carter, and the rest followed close behind, each one radiating quiet authority.

Hope gave Sheppard a glance, raising a single brow. “You started the tour without us, John?”

He offered a lopsided grin. “Just keeping the diplomats entertained. Welcome back.”

She turned to the stunned Starfleet delegation, the wormhole still shimmering behind her.

“Apologies for the scare. We had… an intense trade negotiation in Pegasus that couldn’t wait. I hope you’ve enjoyed your glimpse of Atlantis.”

Janeway stepped forward, nodding slowly. “More than a glimpse, Councilor. It’s… breathtaking.”

Zek peeked out from behind a security column. “You people really need a better arrival system!”

Faith cracked a smile. “Where would the fun in that be?”

The Stargate disengaged behind them with a gentle fwoosh, and the room settled once more. Weapons lowered. Lights returned to normal.

Hope clapped her hands once. “Well then. Shall we all get something to eat?”

Sheppard looked back at the delegation and muttered just loud enough for Picard to hear, “And that, folks, is just another Tuesday in Atlantis.”

Chapter Text

The gleaming spires of Paris, Earth's capital, stood resolute beneath a crisp blue sky as delegates from across the United Federation of Planets gathered within the Council Chambers. It was a rare full assembly — an event reserved for crises or historic moments — and today, the air practically buzzed with tension.

At the center of the circular chamber, President sh’Varel, an imposing Andorian woman with the icy poise of her people, presided over the council. Beside her stood Vice President M'Randa Sh'Varek, a graceful Caitian whose watchful golden eyes missed nothing.

Around them, the councilors of Vulcan, Andoria, Tellar Prime, Earth, Trill, and dozens of other member worlds sat in anticipation. Hushed conversations swirled through the room.

A single topic dominated the agenda: the Lanteans.

Reports had flooded in — of ancient technology surpassing even Starfleet’s finest, of city-ships rivaling myth, of individuals with knowledge stretching back to the times when the Ancients still roamed the stars. The Lanteans claimed to be the descendants of Earth's own people, exiled centuries ago after a devastating global conflict, now flourishing among the stars.

But claims were one thing. Proof — and trust — were another.

“The situation demands a logical and deliberate response,” said Councilor T’Vora of Vulcan, her voice cool and measured. “The Lanteans possess technology and knowledge that could destabilize the balance of power within the Federation — or beyond.”

Councilor Soreth of Trill leaned forward thoughtfully. "Or they could be the strongest allies we have seen in generations. Their history is deeply entwined with Earth's. They did not hide; they came to us openly."

Councilor Rhadek of Tellar Prime rumbled gruffly, his hands folded tightly on the table. “You heard the reports. Their ships can outfight anything we have! Their ‘Atlantis’ alone is the stuff of legends. If they decide we’re a threat... what then?”

A low ripple of murmured agreement passed through the chamber.

President sh’Varel’s antennae tilted forward — a gesture of deep thought. "We must not allow fear to drive us. We are the Federation. We will meet this with dignity — and strength, should it become necessary."

Vice President M'Randa Sh'Varek flicked her tail lightly. "Still, caution is wisdom. They reached out first. That speaks volumes... but we must be vigilant."

As the Federation Council remained standing, an aide approached the President’s dais with a discreet whisper.

"The Lanteans are ready."

Before anyone could respond, the air shimmered at the center of the chamber. In a split second, an ornate chair materialized — carved from rich, dark wood, its surface adorned with intricate gold inlays depicting stars, wings, and ancient glyphs. Deep purple fabric, embroidered with silver thread, covered the seat and back, giving it an air of both royalty and age-old tradition.

A heartbeat later, High Councilor Hope Mikaelson herself materialized beside it, standing tall and composed. She wore a tailored formal robe of deep blue and silver, the Lantean crest emblazoned over her heart.

She offered a respectful bow first to President sh’Varel, then to the assembled Council.

"Madam President, honored Councilors," Hope began, her voice resonant and calm. "Please accept my apologies for this unexpected change in plans. It was my intention to present the entire Lantean High Council before you today. However, after careful consideration, I have come alone to represent my people."

There was a quiet murmur of surprise around the room.

Hope smiled softly, but her eyes remained sharp. "If I may — before we begin, I must ask: are representatives of other races welcome to witness these proceedings?"

President sh’Varel exchanged a quick glance with Vice President M'Randa. M'Randa’s golden tail flicked once behind her chair, but she nodded with a faint smile.

"The Federation has always welcomed peaceful observers," sh’Varel said firmly. "You may invite them."

Hope inclined her head in gratitude.

"Then with your permission..."

The chamber lights flickered briefly as three more beams of shimmering energy descended.

From them emerged:

Odin, of the Asgard — short, grey-skinned, with deep, ancient eyes and the unmistakable presence of wisdom.

Lya, of the Nox — serene and ethereal, her vibrant robes flowing like mist, a symbol of living harmony.

Representative K’lora, of the Furlings — taller than the others, humanoid but subtly otherworldly, with silver-toned skin and luminous, intelligent eyes.

The four stood together — Hope, Odin, Lya, and K’lora — each embodying one of the Great Alliance that once ruled the distant galaxies.

An audible gasp rippled across the Federation Council.

The Great Races — long believed lost to myth and history — now stood united once again, before the Federation's leaders.

Hope took her seat upon the elegant chair, folding her hands gracefully before her.

"We come in peace," she said simply. "And we come offering friendship... and truth."

The Federation Council sat back down as history was about to be written.

Before High Councilor Hope could continue, a gentle chime echoed from the side of the chamber.

Lya of the Nox stepped forward, her every movement graceful and measured. She inclined her head respectfully to Hope, then turned to face the assembled Federation Council.

Her voice, though soft, carried with the weight of centuries.

"Before we begin discussions of friendship and alliance," Lya said, "there is a matter of conscience which must be addressed. The Federation — and this Council — owe an apology to their own people."

A hush fell over the room. Delegates exchanged uneasy glances. President sh’Varel's antennae shifted forward sharply, sensing the tension rising.

Lya stepped aside, her flowing robes swirling around her, revealing a figure standing quietly behind her — a woman clad in practical clothing, her stance firm, her gaze direct.

The leader of the Maquis.

Murmurs of disbelief filled the chamber. Some councilors stiffened in their seats; others looked away, shame plain on their faces.

The Maquis leader — a woman hardened by years of struggle, yet dignified beyond her wounds — stepped forward.

Lya’s voice continued, stronger now, as she stood at the Maquis leader’s side.

"We speak for all four races represented here today — the Lanteans, the Asgard, the Furlings, and the Nox — when we say this: We are deeply disappointed by how this young Federation of planets has handled its own citizens."

Her eyes swept across the Council like a silent, damning wind.

"Instead of offering understanding, instead of compassion, the Federation criminalized and abandoned its own people, forcing them into rebellion when diplomacy and justice should have prevailed. It has fallen to the Great Races — and the Lanteans — to intervene and offer them the dignity and support their own government denied them."

The Maquis leader’s gaze met the Federation Council squarely. There was no anger in her expression — only righteous resolve.

Hope Mikaelson, still seated on her ornate chair, remained silent, allowing the full gravity of Lya's words to settle over the room.

At the President’s side, Vice President M'Randa’s tail was lashing slowly in agitation, but she remained outwardly composed.

President sh’Varel took a deep breath, visibly struggling between pride and responsibility.

Finally, she spoke, her voice low but clear.

"The Federation Council recognizes the failings of the past. And we offer our sincerest apologies to the Maquis... and to all those we failed."

The Maquis leader inclined her head stiffly — no forgiveness yet, only acknowledgment.

Hope smiled faintly at Lya and the Maquis leader before finally rising to her feet.

"Now," Hope said, her voice resonating with both hope and challenge, "let us build something better together."

For a long moment, the Council chamber remained heavy with tension.

Then, rising stiffly from his seat, Councilor T’Vorr of Vulcan — a tall, austere figure with perfectly composed features — addressed the assembly. His voice, calm and measured, nonetheless carried the steel of deep concern.

"While the Federation acknowledges its failings," T’Vorr began, steepling his fingers thoughtfully, "it must be stated — we have significant concerns regarding the Lanteans' recent actions within the wider galaxy."

Murmurs of agreement rippled through several delegations.

T’Vorr continued, his dark eyes locking onto Hope Mikaelson.

"It appears the Lanteans believe themselves justified in acting as the sole arbiters of galactic affairs. Destroying stars. Cleansing entire worlds. Violating the sovereignty of established governments without consultation or oversight. This council must address whether such actions are in keeping with the ideals of self-determination, respect for sovereignty, and noninterference that the Federation was founded upon."

He paused, letting the words hang in the air.

"In short — while your power is undeniable, your disregard for the laws and rights of others is deeply troubling. The Lanteans must be held accountable, as any member of the interstellar community should be."

A few councilors, notably from Tellar and Denobula, nodded their approval, while others looked uncomfortable but said nothing.

Hope Mikaelson didn’t flinch. She listened carefully, her expression unreadable. Odin and K’lora exchanged a brief glance. Lya closed her eyes briefly, as if saddened but not surprised.

The room waited, breathless, for how the Lanteans — and their ancient allies — would respond.

The silence after Councilor T’Vorr’s accusation was profound.

It lingered like a daring slap across the chamber.

It was Odin of the Asgard who responded first, his voice deep and resonant, every word a reminder of the millennia his people had watched over the stars.

"You speak of sovereignty and self-determination," Odin said, his calmness more intimidating than anger. "But understand this — the Great Races forged these laws when your worlds still knew only fire and stone. We have defended this galaxy from threats you cannot begin to comprehend."

His gaze swept over the Council like a hammer.

"The Lanteans and the Asgard do not seek to police the galaxy for conquest or vanity. We act when necessary — when life itself is at risk. We destroy stars to deny them to those who would use them to commit atrocities that would make your Borg and Dominion wars seem like children's games."

He turned slightly, deferring respectfully to High Councilor Hope Mikaelson.

Hope rose slowly from her ornate chair, her presence commanding the full attention of the chamber.

"You speak of accountability," she said, her voice rich with layered authority, "but who holds the predators of the dark accountable when the young races turn their gaze inward? When corruption, genocide, and tyranny fester unchecked among the stars?"

She let her words hang, forcing every Council member to sit with the truth.

"We do not act lightly. Every intervention, every decision, is weighed against the cost of inaction. I will not apologize for saving entire civilizations, even if it meant crossing the imaginary borders of petty tyrants or warmongers."

Hope turned, her piercing gaze meeting T’Vorr's unblinking Vulcan stare.

"If that makes us guilty in your eyes, then so be it."

She sat back down gracefully, her posture still regal and unyielding.

Then, quietly but firmly, Lya of the Nox stepped forward once more. Her usually serene expression was now tinged with rare, visible disappointment.

"It is a dangerous arrogance," Lya said softly, "for such a young race as the Vulcans — or the Federation — to question the decisions of those who have preserved this galaxy since before your histories even began."

There was no anger in her tone, only sadness.

"We, the Nox, are pacifists. We cherish life. We abhor violence. Yet even we stand behind the actions of the Lanteans and the Asgard. Sometimes, intervention is not cruelty... it is mercy."

The Federation Council sat in stunned silence, the magnitude of what had just been said — and who had said it — sinking deep into every heart.

The Great Races — together — had spoken. And it was clear:

Their authority was not granted. It was earned.

Hope allowed the silence to stretch a moment longer, ensuring the weight of the Great Races' unified stance was fully understood.

Then she rose once more, her violet and gold robes catching the chamber lights like living flame.

Her voice, when she spoke, was calm — but carried the authority of one used to being obeyed.

"We do not seek enmity with the Federation," Hope said, addressing not just T'Vorr, but the entire Council. "We believe in the value of alliances — of understanding, of shared purpose."

She folded her hands in front of her, every inch the High Councilor.

"Therefore, I offer this proposal."

She let her words fall with precision:

"The Lanteans are preparing to return to Lantea. We are willing to take a Federation starship and its crew with us to the Pegasus Galaxy."

A wave of murmuring broke out among the councilors; even President sh'Varel leaned forward, her antennae tilting sharply with interest.

Hope continued smoothly, unperturbed.

"For the span of one month by your reckoning, this vessel and its crew will be permitted to travel freely within the boundaries of our civilization, to interact with the races and worlds that live under the protection of the Great Alliance — to see firsthand the reality of our actions, our governance, and the lives we defend."

Her gaze was fierce, almost challenging.

"After one month, the ship and crew will be returned to Federation space. Only then, armed with firsthand knowledge and experience rather than fear and speculation, will this Council be asked to decide how much — or how little — future interaction there should be between the Federation and the Lanteans."

Hope inclined her head ever so slightly — a gesture of deep respect, but also unmistakable finality.

"The choice," she said, "is yours."

Behind her, Odin, Lya, and K'lora stood silent and firm — the living testament that the Great Races would abide by this offer... and would brook no foolishness if it were refused.

All eyes turned now to the Federation Council.

The future of intergalactic diplomacy — and the Federation’s place among the stars — hung in the balance.

Chapter Text

Atlantis – Control Room

The shriek of the alarms filled the air, red lights strobed against the soaring architecture of the ancient city.

General Jessica O’Neill marched into the control room, her boots striking the floor with sharp precision. Staff rushed to their stations, urgent whispers flaring into shouts.

"Report!" Jessica demanded as she reached the central console.

The officer at the sensor station looked up, face pale with disbelief.

"Ma'am — long-range scanners have detected multiple hyperspace exits — far out, just inside the galactic boundary!"

Jessica’s eyes narrowed.

"How many?"

The young officer hesitated, then forced the words out:

"Ten hive ships... and their cruiser escorts."

For a heartbeat, the room seemed to freeze.

General John Sheppard burst into the control room, tugging on his uniform jacket, a grim look overtaking the familiar smirk.

He caught the tail end of the report and paled.

"That's not possible," Sheppard said, voice low.

Jessica’s jaw tightened.

"It shouldn't be possible."

Three centuries ago, the Lanteans had fought the last war against the Wraith, had driven them to extinction with superior technology, tactics, and firepower.

They had seen the last hive ship burn over Lantea.

Or so they had believed.

Sheppard leaned over the console, scanning the data.

Clusters of contacts — large, organic, unmistakably Wraith — crept into their galaxy, methodical and determined.

"Ten hives?" Sheppard echoed incredulously. "Where the hell have they been hiding for three hundred years?"

Jessica shook her head grimly.

"I don’t know. But it doesn’t matter."

Her voice snapped into command mode.

"Priority one: scramble the Valkyrie, Athena, and all orbiting defense groups. Bring shields to full power. Battle stations, all crews."

"Yes, General!" snapped the comm officer.

Jessica turned to another tech.

"And get me a full tactical analysis — I want to know where they’re heading. Now."

The young officer nodded and began feeding the tracking data into the city’s strategic systems.

The giant holographic map of the Pegasus Galaxy flickered to life above the center of the control room, the Wraith fleet glowing like a bloodstain on the edge of the starfield.

Jessica stepped closer, staring up at it.

"They're not raiding. They're invading," she said coldly.

Sheppard came to stand beside her, arms crossed tightly across his chest.

"If they hit one of our colonies..."

Jessica's eyes hardened into cold steel.

"They won't get the chance."

Behind her, the city of Atlantis groaned to life — ancient systems awakening, power surging, shield capacitors charging to full combat readiness.

For three hundred years, the Lanteans had lived without fear.

Tonight, fear returned — and the defenders of Atlantis prepared to meet it.

Stargate Operations Room

The Stargate blazed to life with a thundering whoomph, casting blue light across the chamber.

General Jessica O'Neill stood at the base of the stairs, arms crossed, posture sharp with tension. Beside her, High Councilor Hope Mikaelson and the other representatives of the Great Alliance — Odin of the Asgard, Lya of the Nox, and K’lora of the Furlings — prepared for departure.

Hope's long violet robe rippled around her as she turned to Lya, her voice warm but firm.

"Lya, return to Gaia. Warn the Nox High Council. Tell them... this war is about to begin again."

Lya dipped her head gracefully, her calm face betraying a flicker of sadness.

"I will do so, Hope Mikaelson. May the light of the universe guide you."

With a final serene smile, Lya ascended the ramp and stepped through the event horizon, vanishing in a swirl of energy.

Hope turned next to K’lora and Odin.

The ancient Asgard inclined his head slightly toward Hope.

"The Furlings and Asgard shall prepare." Odin said in his deep, resonant voice.

K’lora, with her luminous golden eyes, offered a small salute before moving to stand beside Odin.

In a flash of silver light, the Asgard transporter engaged, and both K’lora and Odin disappeared, bound for the Asgard ship hovering high above Earth’s atmosphere.

Jessica exhaled quietly, then caught movement out of the corner of her eye — she turned toward the western pier, just in time to catch sight of the sleek form of the Enterprise-E descending from the sky.

Her silver hull gleamed in the setting sun, impulse thrusters firing carefully as she slowed and hovered over the ancient pier.

The pier rumbled slightly as the Enterprise settled down, the massive structure easily supporting her weight — Atlantis had been built for ships far larger.

Hope smiled slightly as she watched the graceful Federation ship land.

"Perfect timing," she said, glancing at Jessica.

Jessica gave a dry chuckle.

"They better buckle up. They're about to get a front-row seat to the real Pegasus galaxy."

Hope turned her gaze to the Stargate one last time, then to the control platform overlooking the vast city.

In the distance, Atlantis itself began to hum with power — ancient engines deep within the city reawakening.

Soon, the city would rise.

Soon, Atlantis would return to Pegasus.

And this time, they were not just explorers.

They were warriors ready for war.

The transporter doors opened with a soft hiss, and Admiral Jean-Luc Picard strode into Stargate Operations, flanked by Commander Riker, Counselor Troi, Lieutenant Commander Data, and Doctor Beverly Crusher. Their crisp Starfleet uniforms stood out against the ancient and powerful architecture of the Lantean control room.

At the base of the wide staircase, High Councilor Hope Mikaelson waited, framed by the golden lights of Atlantis and the massive Stargate behind her. General Jessica O'Neill and General John Sheppard stood nearby, both stiff-backed and solemn.

Hope stepped forward, her presence commanding the room.

" Admiral Picard," she greeted, her voice steady, "and honored crew of the Enterprise. Welcome to Atlantis."

Picard inclined his head politely. "Thank you for receiving us, Councilor."

Hope wasted no time. She gestured toward one of the main consoles, where a star map flickered — red icons blinking ominously at the very edge of the Pegasus galaxy.

"Approximately six hours ago," she began, "our long-range sensors detected multiple Wraith Hive ships entering Milky way space. Ten Hive ships, escorted by their cruisers."

The room fell into a tense silence as the weight of her words settled over them.

Hope continued, her tone shifting from formal to grave.

"Three hundred years ago, the Lanteans believed we had eradicated the Wraith. Clearly... we were mistaken."

Picard exchanged a quick glance with Riker and Data. Troi's expression tightened, sensing the sharp undercurrents of anger and worry coming from the Lanteans.

Hope’s gaze swept across them before she delivered the next piece of news — and it was far colder.

"At the request of the United Federation of Planets," she said, voice like steel, "the High Council has voted to respect the Federation's sovereignty."

"As such, should the Wraith penetrate into your galaxy, we will not intervene."

There was a visible reaction from the Starfleet officers. Riker’s jaw tightened; even Data’s posture shifted minutely.

Hope raised her hand before they could object.

"To be clear — the Lanteans will guarantee the protection of planets and civilizations directly under our protection. We will not unilaterally defend worlds that have chosen to remain outside of our alliance, even if they are Federation members."

Picard spoke carefully, his voice calm but urgent.

"Councilor... surely, against such a threat, cooperation—"

Hope cut him off — not rudely, but with finality.

"Cooperation requires trust, Captain. And for now, trust must be earned."

Jessica stepped forward, arms crossed over her uniform jacket.

"This isn't a punishment," she added in a slightly softer tone. "It's a boundary. One you asked us to respect."

Hope nodded in agreement, her golden eyes sharp.

"Should the Federation change its stance, we are willing to reopen diplomatic discussions. But until then — we will fight for those who stand with us, and protect our own."

The great city of Atlantis hummed beneath their feet — ancient engines awakening, the Stargate pulsing with low energy.

Outside, the Enterprise-E gleamed on the West Pier, waiting for the journey to begin.

The tension still lingered in the air after Hope’s declaration to the Enterprise crew. But there was no time for debate — the city was alive beneath their feet, systems coming online one by one, energy levels surging.

Hope turned away from Picard and his officers, walking with purpose up to the main communications console. She tapped in her command code, and across the city, a soft chime echoed — the alert for a city-wide broadcast.

Her voice followed, strong and clear across every hallway, lab, and living quarter of Atlantis:

"Attention all personnel: This is High Councilor Hope Mikaelson. Atlantis will initiate liftoff procedures in five minutes. All civilians are to proceed immediately to designated safe zones. All military and engineering teams, report to assigned stations. This is not a drill."

She released the comm, then turned sharply to General Sheppard.

"John — get to the Chair Room. Begin preflight checks. I want us in the air as soon as possible."

Sheppard gave a quick salute, a smirk tugging at his mouth despite the situation.

"On it, ma'am."

Without wasting another second, he jogged out of Stargate Operations, his footsteps fading into the growing hum of the city's ancient systems activating.

Jessica O'Neill moved to one of the side consoles, starting her own series of readiness reports, her voice crisp as she coordinated the bridge between military and civilian teams.

Hope stepped back to Picard and his officers, her face softening slightly.

"You're welcome to stay here or return to your ship. But the city is moving — and we're not stopping once we start."

Outside the windows, the ocean around Atlantis rippled, the city's outer shields beginning to pulse and glow as the anti-gravity drives hummed louder, building toward the moment of ascent.

In five minutes, the last great city of the Ancients would rise again and head home

The city vibrated with a low, deep rumble that grew stronger with each passing second. Outside the wide control room windows, the waters of the San Francisco Bay churned violently, spiraling out from the rising force that pressed against the ocean floor.

Hope stood at the center of the command platform, one hand steadying herself against the console as she watched the status displays flash green one after another.

From across the room, Jessica O'Neill called out, her voice almost drowned out by the increasing roar.

"Anti-gravity drives at full power! Primary shields holding — we're ready for liftoff!"

Hope gave a sharp nod.

"Initiate."

With a deep, almost organic groan, Atlantis began to rise.

The senior staff of the Enterprise-E, standing nearby — Picard, Riker, Crusher, La Forge, Worf, and Data — instinctively staggered as the city shook violently. It felt like standing on the deck of a ship caught in a rising storm. Despite decades aboard starships, the intensity of Atlantis's ascent caught them off guard.

"Good lord," Riker muttered, grabbing onto the nearest console for balance.

"I thought inertial dampeners would compensate," Beverly Crusher said, bracing herself against the wall.

Hope, almost amused despite the tension, glanced over her shoulder.

"They are. Trust me — without them, you'd be flattened against the floor. The inertial compensators can only do so much during liftoff and atmospheric exit. It'll smooth out once we clear Earth's gravity well. The City is massive it’s not like this is a small ship, and the Stardrive has to be really powerful to lift a city this size off the surface of a planet."

The whole structure vibrated, but it was controlled — a powerful, directed force as Atlantis pushed itself free.

Outside, the golden glow of the city's shields shimmered brilliantly as water cascaded from the rising city like waterfalls, drenching the rocky shorelines and sending massive waves rolling into the Bay. Far below, the Golden Gate Bridge trembled from the displaced air and water pressure but held firm.

Above Atlantis, the skies darkened as thick clouds swirled away from the roaring energy output. The city rose higher and higher, towering above the skyline of San Francisco, revealing its full sprawling majesty to the world below for the first time in centuries.

Hope turned back to the command staff, her tone shifting to one of cool professionalism.

"Jessica, plot hyperspace course to Lantea. John, once we're in orbit, engage the drive on my mark."

Through the viewport, the curvature of Earth began to come into view — a vibrant blue and green marble slowly shrinking beneath them.

Hope allowed herself a brief moment to breathe.

They were going home.

The deep, resonant hum of the city's hyperdrive filled the air, a soothing counterpoint to the occasional soft beeps of the consoles manned by Atlantis crew members. Through the towering windows of the control room, the hypnotic swirl of hyperspace shimmered, a river of distorted stars stretching endlessly before them.

Hope stood at the central platform, flanked closely by General Jessica O’Neill. Surrounding her were the senior officers of the Enterprise-E all observing intently, absorbing every detail of their journey aboard the legendary city-ship.

On the large tactical display to the side, a wireframe projection of Atlantis showed the Enterprise-E securely docked to the west pier, the magnetic clamps and reinforced docking collars fully engaged. A label blinked steadily: USS Enterprise-E – Docked and Secure.

Hope turned to the gathered officers, her tone calm but firm.

"As you can see," she began, nodding toward the display, "the Enterprise will remain docked to Atlantis for the duration of our journey. Our inertial dampeners are sufficient to protect both the city and the ship through hyperspace. Your vessel is perfectly safe."

Geordi gave an approving nod, already itching to study the technology that could move an entire flying city through hyperspace with a starship latched to its side.

"For security and coordination purposes," Hope continued, "I would ask that all senior officers of the Enterprise remain aboard Atlantis during transit. You are free to move about the city and observe as you wish. Once we arrive at Lantea, you will be able to disembark and fully explore."

Picard inclined his head. "Of course, High Councilor. We are honored by your hospitality."

Hope smiled slightly, a gesture that warmed the otherwise formal moment.

"We want you to see who we are, Admerial. Not just in word, but in action." She gestured toward the massive map of the Pegasus Galaxy beginning to load on another screen. "There are many civilizations we protect, many worlds we have rebuilt after the Wraith were driven back. You will see firsthand what the Lanteans have built over three centuries."

Jessica O’Neill tapped her earpiece, pausing briefly to listen, then gave Hope a nod.

"General Sheppard reports all systems nominal," Jessica relayed. "Flight path is stable. No anomalies detected."

Hope acknowledged it without missing a beat.

"General Sheppard is piloting Atlantis from the Chair Room," she explained to the Enterprise crew, sensing their curiosity. "The city is under manual control during atmospheric departure and hyperspace transit. It’s an old tradition, but one we still honor."

Worf raised an eyebrow, impressed. "A city that requires a single pilot of that skill? An interesting philosophy."

Hope allowed a small chuckle. "In this city, one pilot can move mountains... or worlds, if necessary."

Chapter Text

ATLANTIS – GUEST QUARTERS (SIX HOURS INTO HYPERSPACE TRANSIT)

The room is elegant, alien in its design yet unmistakably Lantean — smooth metallic walls with flowing glyphs etched into the surfaces, ambient lighting that adjusts subtly to movement, and furnishings both regal and minimalistic. An open balcony curves around the far side of the suite, shielded by a shimmering force field, offering a stunning view into hyperspace: ribbons of light twisting and folding across the blackness of space.

A small table, set with carafes of water and Lantean fruit, sits in the center of the room. The senior staff of the Enterprise-E has gathered in loose conversation, the mood subdued but thoughtful.

PICARD stands by the balcony, hands behind his back, gazing into the strange, luminous maelstrom outside. RIKER leans on the couch’s armrest, a PADD in hand. TROI, DATA, GEORDI, CRUSHER, and WORF occupy various chairs, their attention gradually turning toward their captain.

RIKER

So… anyone else feel like we're the guests of a god empire that just woke up after a long nap?

GEORDI

Gods with a fleet of flying cities and weapons that can collapse stars. Yeah, I’d say that’s about right.

TROI

They don’t seem malicious. Hope, especially. She believes what they’re doing is necessary. But that kind of power… it makes people nervous. Especially people like us, who are used to being the explorers — the ones with the answers.

WORF

It is… unsettling. To be reminded we are not the apex civilization.

CRUSHER

And they’re still not intervening with the Wraith unless the planets are under their protection. That’s a line we would never draw.

DATA

The logic is understandable. From their perspective, the Federation is young, unpredictable, and has demonstrated inconsistent self-governance. The Maquis incident, for example. Lya’s reprimand was not entirely unfounded.

PICARD (turning from the balcony)

She wasn’t wrong. The Federation made mistakes. But the Lanteans are not above scrutiny either. Their destruction of a star system — even for strategic reasons — is not a small thing.

RIKER

Yeah, and now they're giving us a one-month trial period to see if we're 'worthy' of further interaction. This isn’t diplomacy. It’s… evaluation.

GEORDI

Still, we are on a city that was a myth for centuries, flying through hyperspace with an open balcony view. You have to admit — it’s incredible.

TROI

It’s more than that. There’s a sense here… like being in the presence of something ancient, something that remembers the universe when it was younger.

CRUSHER

I feel it too. These people aren’t just advanced. They carry a kind of emotional weight… like they've suffered through centuries of conflict and loss, and they’ve decided they won't make the same mistakes again — even if it means being harsh.

WORF

I respect them. But I do not trust them. Not yet.

PICARD (nods)

Agreed. We must observe, ask questions, and be ready. This month will tell us much — about them, and about ourselves. For now, we remain guests… but that doesn’t mean we abandon who we are.

A silence falls for a moment as they all look out the balcony toward the surging void beyond.

DATA (quietly)

Four hours and fifty-two minutes remaining in hyperspace transit.

PICARD (softly)

Then let us make the most of the time we have.

The senior staff of the Enterprise-E are still seated, their earlier conversation giving way to quiet reflection. The low hum of hyperspace transit suddenly drops away into a calm silence — the ambient lights shift slightly blue.

Then, from the far side of the room, a soft shimmer of light takes shape — the Avatar of Atlantis materializes. She resembles an elegant woman with luminous eyes, wearing flowing white robes woven with soft strands of blue and gold energy. Her voice is serene but carries the faint harmonic resonance of the city's systems.

ATLANTIS AVATAR

Pardon the interruption, honored guests. We have momentarily exited hyperspace — by request of High Councilor Hope Mikaelson. She believed there was something worth showing you before we reach Lantea.

PICARD (rising)

A detour?

ATLANTIS AVATAR (smiling)

A gift. If you would join me on the balcony.

The group stands and moves toward the curved balcony, where the forcefield subtly retracts, letting them step into the open air of deep space. The room’s environmental controls adjust automatically — cool, breathable, comfortable.

EXT. BALCONY – EDGE OF THE VOID BETWEEN GALAXIES

The view is breathtaking.

Before them, suspended in the vast darkness of intergalactic space, are two galaxies — the Milky Way behind them, a sprawling spiral of light and dust stretching across half the sky, and the Pegasus Galaxy ahead, smaller but no less beautiful, glowing like a beacon in the void.

Silence.

Then...

RIKER (whispers)

My God…

GEORDI

We’re… between galaxies.

CRUSHER

We’re standing on a city-ship in the void… and I can see both galaxies with the naked eye.

WORF

This… is a warrior’s dream of the stars.

TROI (quietly awed)

No words can do this justice.

PICARD (softly, eyes fixed on the stars)

I once imagined what it might feel like to stand between the stars. But this... this is something else entirely.

ATLANTIS AVATAR

Very few have stood here. The void between galaxies is vast, empty, and dangerous. But from this vantage, you may understand a fraction of the scope within which the Lanteans live.

She turns her head slightly toward the Pegasus Galaxy.

ATLANTIS AVATAR (cont.)

That is your destination. You will arrive at Lantea in just under five hours. But for a moment… simply be here.

A long pause. The crew stands in stunned silence, absorbing the grandness of it all.

DATA

Admerial ... the odds of witnessing such a sight, unaided, are incalculably rare. Statistically speaking, we are experiencing a level of astronomical beauty few civilizations ever know.

PICARD (to the Avatar, genuinely moved)

Thank you… for this moment.

ATLANTIS AVATAR (with a gentle nod)

You are welcome. When you are ready, I will resume the journey.

She fades silently, leaving the crew alone beneath the light of two galaxies.

ATLANTIS – CONTROL ROOM BALCONY VIEW

The Pegasus sun casts a golden glow over the turquoise waters of Lantea. Far above the planet, the sky is dotted with activity: massive Lantean starships drifting in formation, sleek escort vessels on patrol, orbital stations gleaming in the light, and a massive shipyard tethered to a support ring where vessels are under construction or repair. It is a spectacle of organized might and civilization.

GEORDI

That’s... that’s a full defense grid.

RIKER (low whistle)

I don’t think Starfleet’s built anything on this scale. Not even Utopia Planitia.

WORF

It is a warrior’s city… but beautiful.

TROI

There’s harmony in how it all moves. Controlled. Balanced.

PICARD

The heart of a civilization reborn.

Just then, the lights in the control room dim briefly as a voice echoes across the city-wide intercom.

HOPE MIKAELSON (V.O.)

This is High Councilor Hope Mikaelson to all personnel and guests. We are now entering planetary descent. Please secure all belongings and report to your designated safe zones immediately.

A subtle but increasing vibration moves through the floor as Atlantis begins her descent.

HOPE MIKAELSON (V.O., cont.)

To our guests from the Federation — welcome to Lantea. We are home.

From the balcony, the Enterprise crew watches in awe as the city begins to slowly descend through the upper atmosphere, leaving behind the black of space for the clouds and sky of the Lantean world below. Faint flames trail along the outer shields from reentry friction, while the towers and spires of Atlantis shimmer with deflector fields.

DATA

Atmospheric descent initiated. Structural integrity well within optimal limits. Inertial compensators functioning at ninety-eight percent.

CRUSHER (bracing slightly)

Still feel that reentry tremble, though.

PICARD (soft smile)

She’s still a ship. Just a much, much bigger one.

ATLANTIS – CONTROL ROOM – MOMENTS AFTER DESCENT

The Enterprise senior staff step back inside, the floor now steady beneath them as Atlantis completes her landing. The ambient lighting returns to normal, and the hum of the engines softens.

Standing at the base of the stairs is Hope Mikaelson, regal as ever, flanked by several elegantly dressed envoys and dignitaries of varying alien appearances — representatives of Pegasus civilizations.

HOPE

Admerial Picard. Commander Riker. Doctor Crusher. All of you — welcome to Lantea. You’ve arrived at the heart of a civilization that has endured beyond extinction. And I’d like to introduce you to the people whose lives have shaped that survival.

She gestures gracefully toward the group.

HOPE (cont.)

These are the voices of the Pegasus Galaxy — leaders, scholars, and warriors. Each one represents a world you’ll be visiting during your journey.

A tall woman with silver markings on her skin steps forward and bows slightly.

TANARA

I am Tanara, High Priestess of Verakai. To us, the Lanteans are the bringers of light. When the Wraith turned our world to ash, it was Atlantis that raised it from ruin.

Next, a stout man with armor and a ceremonial blade across his back steps forward.

KORVAL

I am Korval, Warden of Darnex. We were born in fire, trained in shadow. The Wraith called us prey — but the Lanteans taught us to be hunters. We remember.

A more reserved individual in robes with glowing embroidery gives a polite bow.

ELRIA

Elria of the Ascendant Circle, from Yilar Prime. We are scholars of the mind and stewards of knowledge. The Lanteans shared what others would hoard. For us, they are wisdom incarnate.

The representatives all bow slightly toward Hope as they finish their introductions.

TANARA

We will offer you safe passage, hospitality, and stories. Our worlds are eager to share their gratitude, and their truth.

HOPE (to the Enterprise crew)

Your Federation asked to understand us. This is where understanding begins — not with data, but with people.

Picard, moved by the solemn reverence in the room, gives a respectful nod.

PICARD

Then we are honored. And we will listen with open minds.

Hope smiles — an expression with quiet weight behind it.

HOPE

Good. Because the Pegasus Galaxy will show you wonders… and wounds. And you must see both to understand who we are.

Chapter Text

EUROPA DEFENSE STATION – OBSERVATION DECK – LATE AFTERNOON

The observation deck is sleek and expansive, made of polished white metal with ancient Lantean architectural curves and crystalline data panels lining the walls. Large, reinforced windows stretch floor to ceiling, offering a breathtaking view of space.

Beyond the glass floats the U.S.S. Enterprise-E, docked securely to the station’s central ring. The ship gleams under the soft golden hue of Lantea’s sun. Just beyond her, another ship is docked — a triangular, ancient-looking vessel. Its hull is scarred and weathered with time, yet unmistakably powerful. Crews in Lantean uniforms move across the docking arms, transferring cargo and equipment.

RIKER

(impressed)

That’s one hell of a dry dock. Europa Station makes Spacedock look like a freight yard.

DATA

This station extends across nearly two kilometers in diameter and houses defense systems exceeding the capabilities of any known Starfleet installation. It is both a logistical hub and a forward defense node.

BEVERLY CRUSHER

(staring at the triangular ship)

That one’s not Lantean, is it? It looks… older.

GEORDI

(scan complete on his VISOR)

Definitely Ancient. Or pre-Ancient. The energy signature is unusual — fusion-core hybrids with something I can't even identify. Looks like they’re prepping it for flight.

WORF

It looks like a warship. But wounded.

PICARD

(pensive)

Perhaps more than a warship. Every detail of this place tells me we’re standing at the edge of something vast — something older than our Federation by millennia.

A gentle chime sounds from the room’s speakers. A Lantean officer at a side console turns toward them.

LANTEAN OFFICER

Your escort will arrive shortly. The Ambassador is concluding a High Council briefing.

TROI

(softly, sensing a shift)

I feel… excitement. But also gravity. Responsibility.

They all turn back to the viewport. A shuttle leaves Atlantis far below, rising toward the station. Its engines hum with a distinct pulse, different from Federation drive signatures.

RIKER

This next month is going to change everything, isn’t it?

PICARD

One way or another, Number One — it already has.

EUROPA DEFENSE STATION – OBSERVATION DECK – MOMENTS LATER

The crew of the Enterprise continues to watch the ancient triangular ship being loaded below. A soft chime sounds behind them as the doors slide open.

A slim redheaded woman in elegant Lantean diplomatic robes steps inside. Her presence is warm but confident, with a twinkle of mischief in her green eyes. She carries herself like someone who knows just how much power she's standing next to — and enjoys being underestimated.

WILLOW

(smiling brightly)

Hello! Sorry to keep you all waiting. I’m Willow Rosenberg, your official ambassador and guide through the Pegasus Galaxy. Also known as Tara Maclay’s better half, but don’t tell her I said that.

The crew turns, several smiling in recognition or curiosity.

PICARD

Ambassador Rosenberg. A pleasure.

WILLOW

Please, it’s just Willow. Titles are for council meetings and dramatic entrances. Speaking of…

She glances past them at the triangular ship outside the window.

WILLOW

Ah, I see you've noticed the Destiny replica. Quite the beauty, right?

RIKER

Replica? Of the Destiny? I thought that ship was lost to time and myth.

WILLOW

(grinning)

Not exactly a myth. The original Destiny was launched from Earth… oh, around 50 million years ago by the Ancients. Before they were even called Ancients. We recreated her based on recovered schematics and partial salvage found drifting in intergalactic space.

GEORDI

(fascinated)

This replica — it looks aged. You simulated damage?

WILLOW

We did better. We ran her through a time dilation field for over a million years to weather her properly. Real wear and tear. We use her every year for cadet training. And not the cushy kind.

WORF

(realizing)

They must earn control of the vessel.

WILLOW

Exactly. When the cadets board, the ship is fully locked down. They have to break through multiple command overrides, hack the AI, manually reroute subsystems, and even fight off simulated boarders. All while trying not to blow themselves up or drift into a black hole.

TROI

That sounds… intense. But rewarding.

WILLOW

It’s designed to push them. And the final exam?

She turns, crossing her arms proudly as she looks back at the old warship.

WILLOW

They'll have to lead the Destiny into a mock battle against the Lantean flagship under Supreme General Jessica O'Neill. She doesn’t hold back. And let me tell you, some years the cadets actually win. Most years… they don’t.

DATA

A simulated battle across galaxies. Fascinating.

WILLOW

Oh, it’s real all right. The final jump ends in the Milky Way. It reminds them of the stakes. Of home.

PICARD

And this… is how the Lanteans train their next generation.

WILLOW

(smiling wistfully)

We’ve learned that power without perspective is dangerous. So we make sure they earn both.

She steps closer to the viewport, standing with the crew as the ships below are bathed in starlight.

WILLOW

You’re going to see the best — and the most fragile — parts of Pegasus. And hopefully, you’ll see why we do things the way we do.

ENTERPRISE - BRIDGE – SHORTLY LATER

The Enterprise-E hums with energy as it prepares to depart Europa Defense Station. On the viewscreen, the massive orbital ring of the station slowly drifts out of frame as the ship gently pulls away from its berth. Out the side windows, the vast Lantean fleet sparkles above the blue oceans of Lantea.

PICARD

Helm, one-quarter impulse until we’ve cleared the station's perimeter. Then prepare for Warp 8 on Ambassador Willow's signal.

Willow stands behind the command chair, arms folded comfortably, looking very at home aboard the Federation flagship.

WILLOW

You're all clear, Admerial. Now for your first destination. It's not exactly a bustling metropolis, but it holds a very special place in our hearts.

She steps forward and taps a command on a small Lantean data pad she’s holding. A set of coordinates transfers seamlessly to the Enterprise's navigational console.

WILLOW

Welcome to the New Athos. Founded by the Athosians — the first humans the original Atlantis expedition encountered in Pegasus. After the fall of the Wraith, they became one of our most loyal allies and built a beautiful civilization grounded in harmony, tradition, and spiritual strength.

RIKER

I remember the name Athos from old mission logs. Weren’t they once nomadic?

WILLOW

(smiling)

They were. Now, they thrive on a terraformed world gifted by the Lantean Council. You'll see a lot of traditions mixed with modern influence. It’s a peaceful place, but they take their role as protectors of the balance very seriously.

DATA

Are there any specific cultural protocols we should observe?

WILLOW

Yes — they’re big on respect, especially when it comes to spiritual rites and nature. You’ll be meeting their High Elder and some of the youth council. They’re curious about your people, and believe me, they’ll ask you questions faster than Data can answer them.

TROI

Sounds like the perfect first step into this galaxy.

PICARD

Helm, set course for New Athos. Engage at your discretion.

The stars streak into lines across the viewscreen as the Enterprise-E enters Lantean-style FTL, a smooth golden-blue tunnel enveloping the ship.

WILLOW

(smiling as she takes a seat beside Picard)

And so it begins — your grand Pegasus tour. Just wait until we get to the floating city-monastery run by warrior monks. You’ll love them.

RIKER

Of course we will…

Everyone chuckles softly as the ship surges ahead into the great unknown.

EUROPA DEFENSE STATION – MAIN DOCKING BAY – GRAND HALL

Dozens of cadets in crisp Lantean uniforms stand in perfect formation beneath the transparent arched ceiling of the Europa Station’s ceremonial hall. The void of space stretches above them, revealing a view of Lantea, the docked training ship, and the distant glow of the Pegasus Galaxy's stars.

At the head of the room stands the full Lantean High Council, flanked by high-ranking officers, including General Jessica O'Neill, General John Sheppard, and General Jack O’Neill with his wife Rebekah.

A hush falls as High Councilor Hope Mikaelson steps forward. She’s dressed in formal Lantean robes, her presence commanding but warm.

HOPE MIKAELSON

Cadets…

Today, you step beyond what you know — beyond the comfort of simulation chambers and academic halls. Today, you set foot on a ship older than recorded history. A vessel once launched by our ancestors in a time when the stars were just beginning to awaken.

She pauses, eyes sweeping the room.

HOPE

This replica of Destiny — forged in honor of the original — is more than a training vessel. It is a crucible. For one month, it will be your home, your test, and your challenge. You will face system failures, navigation puzzles, diplomatic trials, and yes… perhaps even combat. You will break lockouts, master ancient systems, and prove not only your skill but your judgment.

She gestures toward the triangular vessel visible through the glass.

HOPE

This is not just about knowledge. It’s about leadership, about unity. It’s about earning your place among those who wear the badge of the Lantean Defense Fleet. And should you succeed, your final trial will be one worthy of legends — a live-combat simulation against the Lantean flagship, commanded by none other than Supreme General Jessica O'Neill herself.

There are a few nervous glances among the cadets. Jessica smirks slightly in the background.

HOPE

Remember this: you are not just training to defend the Lantean worlds. You are preparing to uphold a legacy of peace, courage, and balance throughout Pegasus and beyond. Carry that legacy with pride.

She steps back as the High Council nods in approval. A chime sounds through the station — the ceremonial signal for boarding.

HOPE

May the stars guide you. May your hearts remain strong. And may you return as officers worthy of the name Lantean.

The cadets raise their fists in salute, then begin boarding the vessel in organized rows, the ancient ship humming to life with soft gold lights as it awaits its next journey through the stars.

EUROPA DEFENSE STATION – DOCKING TUBE TO TRAINING SHIP

The corridor is brightly lit, lined with officers and engineers offering nods of encouragement as the cadets walk in formation down the pressurized bridge toward the triangular vessel. Their boots echo softly with each step as anticipation and nerves ripple through the ranks.

From overhead windows, the full length of the ancient-looking ship stretches out — its worn hull, glowing ancient glyphs, and triangular design a stark contrast to the sleek aesthetics of Lantean architecture.

TRAINING SHIP – MAIN ENTRY CHAMBER

The first cadets step into the ship. The interior is dimly lit, humming with deep, ancient power. The bulkheads feel alien but not hostile, built for endurance, not comfort. Small bursts of golden light flicker to life with each step they take, responding to their presence.

A voice echoes from the ship’s core — synthetic, yet warm and familiar:

TRAINING AI (V.O.)

Welcome, cadets. Systems initializing. Command lockouts engaged. Begin orientation protocol.

The cadets begin to fan out, heading to their assigned sections. A team goes to engineering, others to navigation, life support, and tactical.

TRAINING SHIP – COMMAND CENTER

A modest version of a Lantean control room. Ancient interface crystals light up as cadets approach. They begin to interface with systems, calling out readings and diagnostics.

CADET NAVIGATOR

Engaging initial systems… inertial dampeners online… propulsion cores spooling.

CADET COMMANDER

Seal all hatches. Prep for launch.

EUROPA STATION – DOCKING ARM DETACHING

Mechanical clamps release with a loud, echoed clang. The Destiny replica floats free from the dock. Thrusters fire briefly, pushing it away from the station’s arms.

From the viewing gallery of the Europa Station, Hope, Jessica, Willow, and members of the High Council watch in silence as the training ship moves clear.

TRAINING SHIP – COMMAND CENTER

CADET PILOT

Coordinates locked. Engaging Ftl in five… four… three… two…

SPACE – DESTINY TRAINING VESSEL

With a thunderous surge of golden energy, the ancient ship launches into Ftl, vanishing into the stars with a streak of light.

EUROPA STATION – OBSERVATION WINDOW

Hope watches the fading trail of Ftl light with a proud but reflective expression.

HOPE (quietly)

May the stars watch over them.

Jessica steps up beside her, arms crossed.

JESSICA O'NEILL

They’ll make it. And if they don’t… they’ll learn something that matters more than survival.

SPACE – ORBIT ABOVE NEW ATHOS

The Enterprise-E drops out of warp over a beautiful blue-green world with wide continents, deep oceans, and scattered island chains. A Lantean orbital defense satellite glints nearby, quietly tracking the starship.

ENTERPRISE – BRIDGE

Admerial Picard rises from his chair as the planet comes into view on the main screen.

PICARD

Open a channel to planetary control.

RIKER

Channel open.

A calm, distinctly Lantean voice responds, echoing from the planetary defense grid.

PLANETARY CONTROL (V.O.)

Federation starship Enterprise, this is New Athos Control. Welcome. You are cleared for geosynchronous orbit. The Lantean delegation and local leadership are prepared to receive you. Please stand by for transport coordinates.

Data tilts his head slightly at the readings.

DATA

Fascinating. The technological infrastructure appears to be limited to early 20th-century analogs… yet planetary shielding and orbital control systems are distinctly Lantean.

PICARD

They’ve been protected but allowed to evolve at their own pace. It seems the Lanteans follow a kind of cultural prime directive… when it suits them.

NEW ATHOS – CAPITAL CITY

A stunning blend of colonial architecture, cobblestone streets, and Lantean-designed civic buildings. Horse-drawn carriages roll past automobiles. Airships hover above the skyline. Citizens in waistcoats and long skirts go about their business with a sense of pride.

A Lantean-designed landing platform rests just outside the city limits, gleaming against the earthy backdrop.

TRANSPORTER ROOM – ENTERPRISE

Picard, Riker, Troi, Data, and Worf stand ready as Willow, their Lantean escort, joins them.

WILLOW

You’ll find the Athosians quite respectful. They consider the Lanteans to be divine guardians. Please… avoid contradicting that belief. It’s fragile, but critical to their stability.

Picard nods seriously.

PICARD

Understood.

They dematerialize in a shimmer of blue.

LANDING PLATFORM – NEW ATHOS

The landing party appears to a formal greeting committee — a mix of New Athosian officials in tailored coats and silk sashes, and a Lantean representative in gleaming robes.

A brass band plays a ceremonial fanfare. The Athosian Prime Chancellor steps forward with a warm smile.

CHANCELLOR RHEIS

Captain Picard, on behalf of the people of New Athos, welcome. It is not every day we meet emissaries from another star… aside from our sacred protectors, of course.

PICARD (bowing slightly)

We are honored to be your guests, Chancellor. We come to learn, and listen.

NEW ATHOS – GRAND COUNCIL HALL – LATER

The Starfleet crew sits with Athosian leaders, sipping tea from fine porcelain and engaging in delicate cultural exchanges. Troi listens closely to the subtle currents of awe and uncertainty in the room.

TROI (telepathically to Picard)

They’re proud, but unsure what your presence means for their relationship with the Lanteans. They see you as powerful, but not divine

Chapter Text

NEW ATHOS – FESTIVAL GROUNDS – DAY

Golden sunlight spills across wide fields adorned with colorful tents, handwoven banners, and long tables covered in fruits, vegetables, baked goods, and tall jars of preserved harvests. The air is alive with laughter, fiddle music, and the scent of roasted root vegetables and spiced cider. Starfleet uniforms are scattered among Athosian attire—wool vests, linen dresses, wide-brimmed hats.

Children run by with ribbons in their hair, and dancers whirl in circles on the grass. A large bonfire is already being built for the evening.

DATA

This celebration shares characteristics with multiple Terran harvest traditions—Thanksgiving, Lammas, and certain Romani seasonal rites.

TROI (smiling as she accepts a honeyed pastry)

But with a distinctly Lantean flair. See the sun emblem on their banners? That’s the crest of Lantea.

RIKER (biting into a roasted apple)

Well, whatever this is, I vote we start a Federation version.

FESTIVAL STALL

Picard and Willow stand beside a booth where Athosian farmers stack carefully bundled offerings—wheat, sweetroots, dried herbs—into Lantean transport crates with elegant glowing trim.

PICARD

I notice these crates are marked for offworld shipping. Trade with other Lantean worlds?

WILLOW (pleasantly but precise)

Not quite. Ten percent of each settlement’s yield is gifted to Lantea as a tribute of thanks. In return, the Lantean fleet ensures planetary defense, weather stabilization, and anti-plague protocols. It’s… a long-standing agreement.

PICARD

Tithe for protection.

WILLOW (nodding softly)

Call it what you like. But they sleep soundly knowing the Wraith will never return here.

PICARD (quietly)

And yet they once did.

ORCHARD HILL – MOMENTS LATER

Worf walks with a small group of Athosian elders near a stone monument etched with images of starships and… skeletal, fanged creatures with sunken eyes.*

WORF

The Wraith?

ELDER MALIN

Yes. The monsters of old. They fed on life itself. Long ago, they rained down from the stars and burned our ancestors’ cities. We would have perished… if not for the Lanteans.

RIKER (joining them)

What happened to the Wraith?

MALIN (grimly)

They were driven into the stars, scattered and broken. The Lanteans say they are no more.

WORF

You doubt them?

MALIN (looking up at the clear blue sky)

When the wind shifts… the scent of ash sometimes returns.

FESTIVAL CENTER – EVENING

As twilight falls and the bonfire is lit, a hush settles over the gathered crowd. A group of Athosian youths raise lanterns into the sky, each carrying a symbol of thanks. The glow of floating lights spreads across the landscape like fireflies.

WILLOW (quietly to Picard and Troi)

For all the joy, this is a world held together by memory, faith, and fear. The Wraith may be gone… but the trauma remains. That’s why the Federation’s presence is important. You're not gods. But you offer hope without worship.

PICARD (softly)

Then let us not disappoint them.

ORBIT ABOVE NEW ATHOS – ENTERPRISE-E

The Enterprise-E glides smoothly into orbit above New Athos, the lush green world shrinking behind her as stars stretch ahead. In the distance, Lantean patrol ships shimmer in the starlight, keeping quiet vigil.

ENTERPRISE – OBSERVATION LOUNGE

The senior staff is gathered around the central table. Willow stands near the wall screen, a glowing 3D star chart between the Milky Way and Pegasus Galaxies illuminating the room.

WILLOW

Your next rendezvous will be with a Traveler vessel here—coordinates blink into existence in open space, distant from any star system. They're a nomadic people, distrustful of most outsiders, but… they’re respected by the Lanteans. Consider this a diplomatic visit—and a chance to learn how others survive without planetary sanctuaries.

PICARD

Will they be open to dialogue?

WILLOW (smirking)

They’ll test you before they talk. That’s their way.

ENTERPRISE – HOLODECK ONE

The doors open to reveal Willow at the control console. The senior staff enters, curious but cautious.

WILLOW

This simulation has been approved by the Lantean High Council and uses actual data from survivor memories and long-range scans. You’ll be villagers during a Wraith culling. The safety protocols are fully engaged… but the fear? That part is real.

She inputs the final command. The holodeck shifts dramatically.

SIMULATED PEGASUS VILLAGE – NIGHT

They’re now standing in the center of a small village built from wooden huts and stone paths. Lanterns flicker in the wind. People move about, laughing, unaware of the coming horror. The crew members are in rough, homespun clothes—no tricorders, no comm badges.

CRACK! A bolt of lightning rips the sky—no storm. A low rumble echoes, like a massive beast approaching.

GEORDI (alarmed)

What is that?

WILLOW’S VOICE (from above, like an unseen narrator)

That sound? A Hive Ship descending from the sky. You're a farmer. A healer. A child. No weapons. No heroes.

A blinding blue light pierces the sky—Wraith Dart ships screech overhead, one after another, like vultures.

TROI (visibly shaken)

I can feel panic. Desperation. It's overwhelming.

Suddenly—BOOM! A Dart ship materializes overhead and fires its culling beam. A villager nearby dissolves into energy and vanishes mid-scream.

RIKER (pulling Troi behind a hut)

We’re defenseless!

A Wraith foot soldier appears, tall and ghastly pale with its feeding hand extended. It moves slowly through the village, relishing the fear. The villagers—programmed holograms—scream and scatter.

WORF (drawing a fake weapon)

Let me fight it!

WILLOW’S VOICE

There’s no fighting. Only surviving… or being chosen.

The Wraith grabs a holographic Troi, lifting her slightly. Its hand glows on her chest as she screams. The crew panics—but just before anything truly happens, the Wraith stops.

The scene freezes. The feeding light fades. The holodeck dims.

HOLODECK – BACK TO NEUTRAL GRID

Troi is on the floor, panting but unharmed. The crew surrounds her, shaken.

TROI (breathing heavily)

I could feel it… the drain. Like my soul was being unraveled.

PICARD (jaw tight)

That wasn’t a simulation. That was a warning.

WILLOW (appearing among them, calm but somber)

Exactly. Now you understand what we’re up against—and why some cultures here will worship us for keeping the Wraith at bay.

She looks around the room, letting the silence hang heavy.

WILLOW (softly)

And you’ve only experienced one minute of what some worlds have endured for millennia.

ENTERPRISE – OBSERVATION LOUNGE

The senior staff are seated around the long table, the great curved windows revealing the shimmering void of star streaked beyond. The lights are dim. A soft hum surrounds them. Willow stands at the front, calm and composed, her expression more solemn than usual.

WILLOW

I wanted to thank you all for participating in the simulation. It wasn’t meant to frighten you—though I know it did—but to prepare you. To help you understand.

(beat)

Because what the Wraith did to this galaxy… cannot be explained with charts or numbers. It can only be felt.

She taps a small control crystal. A holographic map of the Pegasus Galaxy appears in the center of the table, pulsing with countless lights.

WILLOW (cont’d)

More than ten thousand years ago, the Ancients—Lanteans, as we call them—came to this galaxy. They were explorers, scientists, idealists. They seeded hundreds of worlds with human life, nurtured cultures, watched civilizations rise…

A red cloud begins to spread through the map, overtaking dots of light.

WILLOW

…Until they encountered the Wraith.

The lights fade one by one.

WILLOW

The Ancients were powerful. But the Wraith were many. Born from a genetic aberration caused by feeding on the iratus bug, the Wraith evolved into a species that saw humans as nothing more than sustenance. A food source. And they were… relentless.

The galaxy is now almost entirely dark in the projection.

WILLOW

The war lasted centuries. Entire city-ships fell. Fleets were shattered. In time… the Ancients realized they couldn’t win.

The Milky Way appears as a shimmering spiral in the distance.

WILLOW (quietly)

They ran. Back to Earth. They abandoned the Pegasus Galaxy. And for ten thousand years… the Wraith farmed it.

TROI (softly, horrified)

Farmed?

WILLOW

They let each world repopulate. Waited until the numbers were high… and then came to cull again. Over and over. A cycle of feeding, culling, starvation, and fear. No world was ever allowed to become too advanced. If they built radios, electricity, or starships… they were destroyed.

She lets that sit a moment.

RIKER

And no one came to stop them?

WILLOW

No one could. Until we returned.

GEORDI

You mean Atlantis?

Willow nods, the hologram changing again—now showing Earth ships, Asgard-designed vessels, Ancient city-ships, and battles across Pegasus.

WILLOW

300 years ago, our people came back. The Tau'ri. The Asgard. The Ferlings. The Lanteans, reborn in their legacy. And we started the Second Lantean-Wraith War which lasted for over a decade.

A long montage of space battles, destroyed hives, and liberated worlds plays.

WILLOW

It wasn’t easy. It took everything we had—ships, allies, even diplomacy in rare cases. But by the end… we destroyed the last of their ships. We ended the culling.

The Pegasus map lights up again, slowly repopulating with green points of life.

PICARD (quietly, impressed)

You didn’t just fight a war… you saved a galaxy.

WILLOW (softly)

We’re trying to. That’s why your mission matters. Because the people of this galaxy still look to us for hope, for protection. Many call us gods… though we are not. We’re just people who refused to let the darkness win.

She closes the projection and looks to them all.

WILLOW

Welcome to the Pegasus Galaxy, Admerial. You’re not just exploring a new frontier. You’re walking through the ashes of a civilization… helping to rebuild what was nearly lost forever.

Willow has left. The door slides shut behind her with a soft hiss. Silence hangs in the air, heavy with the gravity of her words. The senior staff remain seated, the stars of hyperspace drifting silently beyond the windows.

PICARD

(quietly)

Ten thousand years of darkness… We study history. We debate it. But to speak with someone who lived its consequences—that’s something else entirely.

RIKER

She said the Ancients were explorers. Scientists. They meant well. But they still left people behind. Whole civilizations.

TROI

Can we blame them? They were losing. Facing extinction. Survival instinct takes over.

WORF

Honor demands you stand and fight, even if the odds are impossible.

DATA

And yet, by surviving, they ensured that someone—someday—could return to fight the Wraith. Their retreat, however difficult, may have been necessary for ultimate victory.

GEORDI

Still… imagine living under that fear. Every generation, knowing one day your sky might split open and monsters would come to feed on you. That’s what these people endured.

BEVERLY

I’ve treated patients terrified of dying from disease, injury, war… but this? Being harvested like livestock? It’s dehumanizing on a level I can’t fathom.

PICARD

And yet the people here survived. Persevered. Their cultures adapted, endured. That kind of resilience—it humbles me.

A pause.

TROI

Willow didn’t tell that story to make us feel guilty. She wants us to understand. So we don’t repeat the same mistakes.

GEORDI

We're not just here to explore. We’re here to listen. To learn. To honor what they lived through.

RIKER

(sincerely)

And maybe to remind them that they’re not alone anymore.

PICARD

(softly, nodding)

Indeed. The Federation has always believed in peace, cooperation, and hope. Perhaps… in some small way, this is our chance to help heal a scar ten thousand years deep.

A long, thoughtful silence settles over the room. Outside the window, the stars of the Pegasus Galaxy begin to shine just a little brighter.

PICARD (after a beat)

Get some rest, everyone. Tomorrow, we begin not just an exploration—but a new chapter. One worthy of the trust they’ve placed in us.

They rise quietly, each carrying their thoughts with them as they exit the room one by one, the camera lingering on the stars beyond the hull.

ATLANTIS – STARGATE OPERATIONS / STRATEGIC COMMAND DECK

The lighting is dimmed slightly, casting a blue hue over the room as a large, detailed holomap of the Milky Way Galaxy hovers above the central console. Red and blue icons slowly blink across dozens of sectors. GENERAL JOHN SHEPPARD stands beside HIGH COUNCILOR HOPE MIKAELSON, arms folded, his expression sharp and thoughtful.

HOPE

(pointing to several glowing red markers)

This is where they entered—three separate hyperspace breaches. All within six hours of each other. And always just outside the range of our worlds

SHEPPARD

(squinting at the data)

Hive ships. Big ones, from the signature. They're testing the waters.

HOPE

(nods)

We think so. But they haven’t attacked. Every time one jumped into a system under our protection… they turned away. Didn’t even launch scouts.

SHEPPARD

Because they saw this.

(he gestures to the blue icons—Lantean warships orbiting Federation and independent worlds)

A single Daedalus-class warship, or Aurora class, maybe two, at most. Just sitting there. But that was enough.

HOPE

To them, it's not about numbers. It's about fear.

(she glances at him)

For the first time in ten thousand years, they’re scared. They are the last survivors of our massacre from 300 years ago.

SHEPPARD

(smirks faintly)

Yeah, well, they should be. We've cleaned them out of Pegasus. We earned that fear.

Hope zooms in on a sector showing a Lantean-protected world where a Wraith ship had briefly emerged before retreating.

HOPE

This was their last appearance. They dropped out of hyperspace… saw the Solara in orbit… and jumped out less than two minutes later. No scans. No threats.

SHEPPARD

No mistakes either. These aren’t random survivors. They’re organized.

HOPE

Exactly. Which is why we left ships in orbit over every protected world. The message is clear—we're watching. And we don't run anymore.

Sheppard nods grimly.

SHEPPARD

You think they’ll strike the unprotected zones?

HOPE

Eventually. But that’s why we’re running predictive patrols. We’ll catch them before they cause too much damage.

SHEPPARD

And if they do try something stupid?

HOPE

Then we show them why the Lanteans didn’t stay hidden for three centuries just to be pushed around by relics.

They exchange a firm glance. The holomap shifts, now showing a rotating model of a Wraith Hive ship, flickering red.

SHEPPARD

I’ll brief the squadrons. If they want to test us—they’re gonna regret it.

HOPE

(smiling faintly, but coldly)

Let them try.

SPACE – MILKY WAY GALAXY – KLINZHA SECTOR

A pair of Wraith Hive Ships drop out of hyperspace with a thunderous ripple. One set veers toward a Federation world, peaceful and lightly defended. The other twists into a curved trajectory—Qo’noS, the Klingon homeworld, looms ahead, its defense fleet scrambling into position.

Qo’noS HIGH COUNCIL WAR ROOM – MOMENTS LATER

General Martok, now Chancellor of the Klingon Empire, slams his fist on the tactical table. Holographic projections show the Wraith ships approaching.

MARTOK

(angrily)

These cowards dare to test the Klingon spirit! Summon every ship. And contact the Lanteans. Tell them the Empire calls for fire and fury!

INT. LANTEAN COMMAND RELAY STATION – ORBIT OF FEDERATION WORLD, SECTOR 395

On a quiet monitoring post near the border, a Lantean officer receives Martok’s distress call. She immediately forwards it with priority level Omega.

AURORA-CLASS WARSHIP “HERA” – BRIDGE

The Hera’s sleek bridge lights up with red alerts. Colonel Jon O’Neill, the younger clone of General Jack O'Neill, stands at the command platform, casual but focused. His dark uniform bears the Lantean sigil over his chest.

OFFICER

Colonel! Wraith Hive ships attacking two targets—coordinates mark a Federation colony in Sector 395 and the Klingon homeworld!

JON O’NEILL

(smirking grimly)

Well, so much for a quiet recon.

TACTICAL OFFICER

Orders, sir?

JON O’NEILL

Set a course for Qo’noS. We’re closest, and Martok will scream the loudest if we show up late.

HELM OFFICER

Hyperspace window opening in ten seconds!

The Hera turns gracefully, engines flaring with power as hyperspace signatures begin to shimmer across her hull.

JON O’NEILL

(to comms)

Patch me through to Martok. Tell him dinner’s gonna be late, but we’re bringing fireworks.

SPACE – NEAR Qo’noS

The Wraith fleet begins engaging the Klingon fleet. Several Birds-of-Prey go down in plasma fire. Then—BOOM—a flash of white light erupts as the Hera exits hyperspace above the battle, her shields raised and weapons charging.

JON O’NEILL (V.O.)

Let’s remind them what happens when you poke the ancient bear.

The Hera opens fire with stunning precision, ripping into a Hive ship's flank with Lantean beam weapons. One of the Hive ships peels away from the Klingon homeworld, panicked.

Qo’noS WAR ROOM – SAME

Martok watches the battle unfold on a massive screen, a savage grin spreading across his face.

MARTOK

(to his aides)

It seems the gods of Atlantis have answered.

SPACE – ABOVE Qo’noS – MOMENTS LATER

The battle rages. Klingon Birds-of-Prey dart between Wraith Darts, disrupting strike runs. But the Wraith Hive Ships remain towering and menacing—bristling with weapon ports and organic plating. The Hera, sleek but outnumbered, weaves through intense fire.

AURORA-CLASS WARSHIP “HERA” – BRIDGE

The bridge rocks violently as a Wraith energy beam scrapes across the Hera’s port side. Alarms blare. Crew cling to consoles.

TACTICAL OFFICER

Shields at 41%! Multiple systems in the port section offline. We've lost hull integrity in sections D4 through G2!

JON O’NEILL

(dry, grim)

Tell engineering to patch it with duct tape and Ancient spit. We’re not done yet.

The screen shows two Hive ships in tandem, launching wave after wave of darts. Klingon ships are falling fast.

OPERATIONS OFFICER

If we don’t thin their numbers, the Klingons won’t hold much longer!

JON O’NEILL

Alright, party’s over.

(steps forward, resolute)

Arm drone launchers—target both Hive ships. Full spread. Let’s show them why they ran from Lantea.

TACTICAL OFFICER

Drones armed. Firing—now.

SPACE

From the belly of the Hera, a golden swarm of Ancient drones launches. Dozens spiral outward, their trails glowing like comets. They dart around enemy fire with eerie precision before slamming into the Hive ships. Explosions blossom across their hulls. One Hive ship buckles in half; the other erupts from within—its organic frame ripped apart by detonations.

The remaining Wraith cruisers attempt to flee, but the Hera’s final drone volley ensures they don’t get far.

HERA – BRIDGE

JON O’NEILL

(panting slightly, then smirks)

Remind me to send Martok a fruit basket.

HELM

Wraith fleet eliminated, sir. Klingon forces are mopping up stragglers.

JON O’NEILL

Good. Signal Atlantis—tell them we’re in cleanup mode, and the Hera needs a shipyard... preferably one with a spa.

FEDERATION COUNCIL CHAMBER – PARIS, EARTH

A dark mood fills the Federation chamber. Representatives sit around a large oval table, grim-faced. A holographic projection shows a smoking, lifeless world—once a Federation colony.

COUNCILOR RAVENSTONE (TELLARITE)

An entire world... lost. An entire fleet... gone. And the Lanteans didn’t lift a finger!

COUNCILOR VEN’AQ (VULCAN)

It was not their territory. Their doctrine of non-intervention in Federation matters is well documented.

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV

(sourly)

They saved Qo’noS. They helped the Klingons.

PRESIDENT T’RAHLA sh’VAREL

(calm, commanding, standing)

Because Martok called for help. The Klingons requested assistance. We did not.

(a beat of silence)

The Lanteans have always honored their stance—not to interfere in our affairs unless invited. We cannot expect aid without seeking it.

COUNCILOR T’KAL

So what? We ask now? Are we to beg the gods of Atlantis for help like children?

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL

Not beg. Collaborate. Coordinate. Or we can choose to stand alone and accept the consequences.

The room falls into uneasy silence. The image of the ruined colony hangs above them, a chilling reminder of a threat reborn.

AURORA-CLASS WARSHIP “HERA” – OBSERVATION LOUNGE

The Hera is docked at a Lantean repair outpost. The observation lounge is dim, quiet, and overlooks the stars. Colonel Jon O’Neill stands at the head of a small table with his bridge officers. Each of them has a bottle of Athosian Ruse wine, the deep purple vintage catching the faint light.

Across from Jon stands Chancellor Martok, still clad in battle-scarred armor, his single eye gleaming with fire and pride.

JON O’NEILL

(to his crew, voice solemn)

You were damn good out there. You fought like Ancients with fire in your veins.

(he lifts his bottle)

To those we lost—Klingon or Human. To those who won’t see another sunrise, but made sure we did.

MARTOK

(steps forward, raising a carved Klingon drinking vessel)

To warriors who earned their death in battle! Their spirits now roar across the Black River, drinking and laughing in the halls of Sto’vo’kor!

CREW

Qapla’!

Everyone drinks. The wine is sweet and smoky, warming with each sip.

JON O’NEILL

(turns to Martok, quieter)

They gave their lives holding the line. They didn’t retreat. Not once.

MARTOK

(grim but proud)

Then they died as Klingons should. With blood on their blades and fire in their hearts. They will see Kahless himself, and he will greet them as brothers.

The two warriors share a long look. Different worlds, different species—same understanding.

JON O’NEILL

(softly)

Guess I’ll have to save a few more lives tomorrow to keep up with them.

MARTOK

(smiles toothily)

And drink twice as much to honor their memory. That is the way of warriors.

They clink their glasses in a quiet, thunderous toast that echoes with the weight of fallen comrades.

SPACE – EDGE OF A STAR SYSTEM

The U.S.S. Enterprise-E glides through the darkness of deep space, her sleek hull shimmering as she drops out of warp. The stars stretch back into static points, and before her, the void stretches wide — empty at first glance, but alive with potential.

ENTERPRISE – BRIDGE

PICARD

(reporting)

Helm, status?

HELMSMAN

We've arrived at the designated coordinates, sir. Dropped out of warp right on schedule.

RIKER

Do we have visual on the Traveler ship?

DATA

Negative, Commander. Scans detect residual ion trails—consistent with Traveler engines—but no vessel currently in visual range.

WILLOW

(smiling from the guest chair)

Be patient. The Travelers are masters of misdirection. If they don't want you to see them, you won't… until they do.

Suddenly, space ripples like disturbed water. A sleek, asymmetric vessel emerges from a cloaking veil—silver and organic-looking, with flowing lines and no clear front or back. Its engines pulse with a soft golden hue.

TASHA

There she is…

PICARD

Open a channel.

No response at first. Then, a calm, musical voice filters through the speakers.

TRAVELER CAPTAIN (V.O.)

Enterprise. We’ve been expecting you. Welcome to the edges of the known galaxy. Let's begin.

Everyone on the bridge exchanges curious glances. The adventure in Pegasus continues.

Chapter Text

TRAINING SHIP – MAIN CORRIDOR

The lights flicker as the ship drops out of FTL, its ancient systems groaning under the strain of travel. A low hum fills the corridors as the ship stabilizes in normal space. The training ship, a near-perfect replica of the legendary Destiny, floats alone above a gas giant in an uncharted system.

Inside, a group of Lantean cadets, clad in sleek, tactical uniforms, rush through the worn metallic corridors, their eyes focused, their minds racing.

TRAINING SHIP – CODE CONSOLE ROOM

A cadet with cybernetic implants, Cadet Serik, taps rapidly on a glowing panel embedded into the wall. Arcane glyphs flicker across the screen.

CADET SERIK

We’re in. I broke the command lockouts. We’ve got access to bridge navigation and internal control systems.

There’s a brief cheer among the group. But then the cadets fall silent and step aside as Captain Elira O’Neill-Salvatore steps forward — a tall, confident redhead with piercing eyes and an aura of command far beyond her years. Her uniform bears a silver sash denoting her as mission commander.

ELIRA

(intense, but calm)

Good work, Serik. Relay full control to my console. Teams two and three — secure engineering and life support. Bridge crew, with me.

They follow her down the corridor, boots pounding with purpose.

TRAINING SHIP – BRIDGE

The bridge doors slide open with a groan of ancient metal. Dust hangs in the air. The bridge is massive, its chairs lined with gold-trimmed consoles and holographic interfaces. For a moment, everyone just stares, reverent.

CADET LYRA

Is this really… it?

ELIRA

(nods, eyes focused)

The Destiny. Or close enough. This ship’s seen a million years of simulated time. And it’s ours now.

She steps forward and places her hand on the main control crystal. The ship lights up. Holographic stars swirl around them. Elira takes the captain’s chair, her posture straight, proud.

ELIRA

Computer, confirm command override.

SHIP’S COMPUTER

(ancient, feminine voice)

Command override accepted. Cadet Captain Elira O’Neill-Salvatore, recognized. Welcome, Commander.

A small smile touches her lips — confidence and legacy fused into one. The crew moves to their positions, and Destiny hums beneath them like a beast awakening.

DEEP SPACE

The USS Enterprise floats in the darkness, running at low impulse near a shimmering Traveler ship — asymmetrical in design, bristling with modifications and energy collectors. The ships maintain a cautious yet respectful distance.

ENTERPRISE – SHUTTLE BAY

The bay doors open, and the Traveler shuttle glides in gracefully. It settles with a gentle hum onto the landing pad. Enterprise security officers and a diplomatic team wait, with Willow Rosenberg at their center — dressed in Lantean diplomatic white and gold.

The shuttle door opens. Three Traveler crew members descend — practical clothing, gear slung on belts, their movements wary but confident. Their leader steps forward: Captain Rion Dex, a grizzled woman in her 50s, eyes sharp, with a posture of someone used to commanding in lawless space.

She steps directly up to Willow, ignoring everyone else for a moment.

CAPTAIN RION DEX

(in Ancient, clear and deliberate)

“Salve, Soror Lantiana. Exspectavimus vos diu. In nomine pacis et foederis, convenimus.”

Willow gives a bright, warm smile and responds fluidly in Ancient.

WILLOW

“Et nos gaudemus obviam vobis, Rion Dex. Terrae nostrae iterum communem scopum consequuntur.”

The Traveler crew nod respectfully. A quiet moment passes — a ripple of tension among the Enterprise crew.

Captain Picard, observing closely, turns to Data and Worf beside him.

PICARD

Data… translator?

DATA

(apologetic)

The language is Ancient Lantean, Captain. It shares syntax with early Latin but contains linguistic constructs outside the Universal Translator’s database. It will take several hours to build a real-time translation matrix.

Willow looks to Picard and steps in smoothly.

WILLOW

(smiling)

They're speaking Ancient — the original language of the Lanteans. Most Pegasus civilizations know a few phrases, but the Travelers? They're fluent. That greeting was for me.

RIKER

(grinning, quietly to Troi)

So much for "universal" translator.

WILLOW

(casually)

She welcomed us in peace and alliance. Formal. Old-school. Think… a space version of royal Latin.

RIKER

So they're not a threat?

WILLOW

Oh, no — they just prefer to test your history before they test your shields.

USS Enterprise – Conference Room

The room is lit softly by ambient stars beyond the windows. Around the sleek table sit the senior staff of the Enterprise — Picard, Riker, Troi, Data, Worf, Dr. Crusher, and La Forge. Opposite them sit Captain Rion Dex, her two senior officers, and Willow Rosenberg, who occasionally converses with Dex in fluid Ancient.

CAPTAIN DEX

(switching to English with a practiced accent)

You’ll forgive the formality — the Lantean tongue is our birthright. But it is not our only language.

PICARD

We appreciate your willingness to speak in ours. Please — we’d be honored to learn more about your people.

Captain Dex gives a slow nod, her weathered fingers tracing a holographic star map she projects from a wrist device — a swirl of dots and moving light representing the Traveler fleet paths.

CAPTAIN DEX

We are the Children of the Drift. The space between stars is our homeland. We have no planets, no cities… no need for them. We were born in void, raised aboard ancient ships patched together with hope and clever hands.

TROI

You live entirely in space?

DEX'S FIRST OFFICER

(smiling softly)

For nearly five thousand years. We scavenge, trade, adapt. We survive — that is our first culture. But we also remember.

DEX

(looks to Willow, switches to Ancient briefly)

“Nostra gens meminit Lantianos sicut parentes stellarum.”

WILLOW

(softly, translating)

“She said: Our people remember the Lanteans as the parents of the stars.”

DATA

Fascinating. A civilization maintained entirely through orbital mobility, multigenerational vessels, and adaptive technology.

CAPTAIN DEX

(smiles at Data)

Exactly. But it wasn’t always survival. Three hundred years ago… we fought alongside the Lanteans — in the Second Lantean-Wraith War.

The Enterprise crew leans forward slightly. Picard motions for her to continue.

CAPTAIN DEX

For ten thousand years, the Wraith ruled this galaxy like gods over cattle. Every planet lived in fear of culling. But then… your kind came. Earth-born. Human. And you woke Atlantis. You brought back the Ancients’ legacy.

RIKER

We heard it took ten years to defeat the Wraith.

DEX

Ten years of fire and blood. But it was the Lanteans who turned the tide. They rose from the deep — not as gods this time, but as warriors, with warships, allies… and vengeance.

1. CRUSHER

How did your people become involved?

DEX

We owed them our survival. They gave us technology, healed our dying ships, trained our navigators. And we… well, we know every dark lane and forgotten jump-point in Pegasus. We became their scouts. Their saboteurs. Their ghosts.

WILLOW

They were instrumental in turning the tide. Without the Travelers, the Wraith would’ve bled the Lanteans dry with attrition. But thanks to them, many hives… never saw the final strike coming.

WORF

You fought with honor.

DEX

We fought for our children. The Wraith do not build — they consume. If they had won again, this galaxy would have stayed in darkness. The Lanteans brought back the light.

PICARD

(quietly impressed)

Then perhaps this alliance we’re forming today began long before any of us sat at this table.

Captain Dex smiles — proud, but not boastful.

CAPTAIN DEX

Perhaps. But now it falls to your crew to understand what we’ve fought to preserve. Pegasus is not like your Federation. History walks with us in every shadow.

She nods to Willow, who switches back to Ancient for a short, almost ceremonial phrase. Dex responds in kind.

WILLOW

(quietly to Picard)

She just said: “May your stars never dim.” It’s an old blessing — used before battle. Or before journeys.

Deep Space 9 – Promenade / Docking Ring

The mood on the station is uneasy but subdued. The Maquis prisoners are not being “released” — they’re being returned to their people, to a thriving society the Federation once abandoned.

The survivors of the Dominion attack, rescued decades ago by the Lanteans, now thrive on Initium Novum — a planet the Maquis themselves turned into a beacon of civilization through grit, ingenuity, and the guidance of the Lanteans. Today, their families are returning.

DS9 – Operations

KIRA NERYS stands beside Admiral Nechayev, both watching through the viewport as the Maquis ship Solace Wind prepares to dock.

KIRA

You know what bothers me? They're not being welcomed home. They're being handed off. Again.

NECHAYEV

The Council made a deal. The Lanteans wanted the Maquis to have their people back. We couldn’t justify holding them after the… incident with the Nox.

Kira’s eyes narrow.

KIRA

Incident? You mean when the Nox made the entire Council stand in silence and apologize?

NECHAYEV

They said we “forsook our own kin.” And the Council had no answer.

FLASHBACK: Federation Council Chamber – 3 Weeks Earlier

A translucent projection of Lya of the Nox stands before the full Federation Council. Her voice is calm, devastating.

LYA

You spoke of principles. Of unity. But when your citizens were left to die — when the Maquis were massacred by the Dominion — you looked away. They were your people. And you left them to the void.

Silence. Then President sh’Varel rises and speaks, not in defiance, but humility.

PRESIDENT SH’VAREL

We failed them. And we will speak that truth… not for diplomacy, but for justice.

She turns to a seated woman — Cassandra Tolan, Leader of the Maquis on Initium Novum. She has steel in her eyes and silver in her hair.

SH’VAREL

To the Maquis, to Cassandra Tolan — on behalf of the United Federation of Planets, we offer our deepest apology. You were not rebels. You were citizens we abandoned.

DS9 – Airlock G-7

Back in the present. The last of the Maquis prisoners stand silently as the Solace Wind docks. Several of their children — born and raised on Initium Novum — wait on the other side of the airlock.

A hush falls as the doors part. Reunions follow — hesitant at first, then fierce with tears and joy.

CASSANDRA TOLAN, now dressed in a deep maroon Maquis uniform trimmed in Lantean silver, walks forward and embraces her brother — a man newly released after half a decade in a penal colony.

CASSANDRA

You're home now. We kept the light burning for you.

DS9 Promenade – Observation Deck

Captain Kira watches from above as the Maquis board the Maquis ship. Nechayev joins her, arms folded.

KIRA

Funny. Starfleet always talks about how the Maquis defied orders, went rogue, broke away from Federation values.

NECHAYEV

And now they’re building starships, raising cities, exporting grain, and forming diplomatic ties we can’t ignore.

KIRA

Guess they didn’t leave the Federation’s ideals. They just lived up to them better than we did.

Aboard the Solace Wind – Departure

Ro Laren, standing beside Cassandra Tolan, watches DS9 vanish in the rear viewport.

RO LAREN

We left in chains. We're going back as a nation.

CASSANDRA

Let them remember that.

USS Enterprise – Conference Lounge

The Traveler delegation stands with the Enterprise senior staff. At the center is Captain Rion Dex, a grizzled woman in her fifties, with sharp, observant eyes and the quiet confidence of someone who’s commanded through hardship and chaos. She exchanges a few final words in Ancient with Willow.

RION DEX (in Ancient, subtitled)

You speak like the old ones. But your fire is your own.

WILLOW (smiles, responds in Ancient, then translates)

She says I carry the voice of the past, but my fire is new — my own.

PICARD

Captain Dex, on behalf of the Federation, I thank you for your candor and your trust. Your history enriches our understanding of the galaxy — and of the Lanteans.

RION DEX (in gruff, clear English)

We don’t share our past lightly, Picard. Not with those who sit in orbit and wait for the answers to come to them. But your crew? You ask. You listen. That’s rarer than it should be.

She looks toward Willow.

RION DEX

And you — you stayed behind when the others ran. That earns more than respect. It earns debt.

USS Enterprise – Suttlebay

The Traveler delegation prepares to leave. Rion stands alone for a moment, addressing Willow directly.

RION DEX

You know, the Second Wraith War nearly broke us. But we watched the Lanteans come back, ships like hammers, warriors like ghosts. You didn’t just fight — you ended it.

She steps closer.

RION DEX

That war made us what we are now. No more waiting to be hunted. We learned to move, to strike, to endure. So thank you — for finishing what the Ancients couldn’t.*

WILLOW

This time, we made a promise. This time… we don’t leave anyone behind.

Rion gives a low grunt of approval — something between a laugh and a nod.

RION DEX

Then maybe there’s hope yet.

She steps onto the pad and gives one final look back.

RION DEX

See you out there, witch. Try not to die easy.

USS Enterprise – Observation Lounge

Picard, Riker, and Willow watch stars wheel silently beyond the viewports.

RIKER

She’s not what I expected from a civilization that lives in ancient warships and salvage.

WILLOW

She’s exactly what I expected from people who survived when no one came for them.

PICARD

And yet, despite it all, they chose to teach — not threaten. That speaks volumes.

Willow nods slowly, gaze fixed on the stars.

WILLOW

They never forgot who left them to burn. But they also never stopped hoping someone would come back.

PICARD

Then perhaps the real test isn’t winning wars… but proving we’ve changed since the last one.

USS Enterprise – Bridge

On the viewscreen, the Traveler ship jumps into hyperspace. The distortion ripples like heat across the stars.

PICARD

Mister Data — next course?

DATA

Coordinates for Verakai set, sir. Ready to engage.

PICARD

Make it so.

The warp engines flare — and the Enterprise slips away into the stars once more.

Chapter Text

Vega IX – Federation Colony, Edge of the Carina Sector

Time: 0300 Hours, Local

The sky is burning.

Columns of smoke rise like funeral pyres into the twilight of Vega IX. Explosions echo across the once-thriving city center. Starfleet personnel scramble to evacuate civilians while phaser turrets on rooftops fire uselessly at shimmering silhouettes streaking overhead — Wraith darts.

In orbit, the shattered hulks of five Starfleet vessels drift like gutted fish, trailing wreckage and fire. The USS Devonshire, a Nebula-class cruiser, lists helplessly, its nacelles flickering erratically before erupting in a final burst of flame. Debris rains down through the atmosphere like falling stars.

Colony Surface – Emergency Evacuation Zone

A pair of Wraith darts descend like predators, shimmering into visibility just long enough to fire. Blue energy pulses arc downward — culling beams — and dozens of screaming colonists vanish into light, their terrified expressions frozen mid-panic.

COMMANDER ELIAS VORN, a hardened Starfleet marine with a bleeding gash on his temple, watches helplessly from behind a scorched barricade.

COMMANDER VORN (into comm)

"Mayday, Mayday! This is Vega IX! We’re under attack — repeat, under attack! Civilians are being culled! Multiple starships down — we need immediate assistance!"

Static answers him.

Behind him, children cry. A young ensign grips her phaser tightly, eyes wide in horror.

ENSIGN RIVAS

“They’re… they’re taking them. Beaming them out — like cargo.”

Vorn looks to the sky, his jaw clenched, his uniform soaked in blood and soot.

COMMANDER VORN

“They’re not taking any more. Not while I’m breathing.”

The Wraith dart sweeps low. Phaser fire lights up the sky. A direct hit slams into the nearby power station, blowing the structure apart in a deafening fireball.

SCENE: Orbit – Wraith Hive Ships

Three massive Wraith Hive Ships loom over the smoldering colony, flanked by smaller cruisers and darts. One hive lowers toward the planet’s upper atmosphere, opening feeding bays as the culling continues.

Their comms crackle in eerie harmony, a blend of guttural clicks and alien resonance. No parley. No negotiation.

Just harvesting.

Deep Space Nine (Simultaneous)

On a secure channel, Admiral Nechayev watches the live feed in stunned silence. Behind her, a holographic map shows the loss of Vega IX’s defense grid in real time. The room is silent except for the sounds of screaming and emergency klaxons.

NECHAYEV (grimly)

"They came for our people… and we were not ready."

Vega IX – Orbit

The sky above the devastated Federation colony is a battlefield choked in debris. Plasma fires streak through space. The Wraith Hive Ships continue their slow descent toward the planet, thousands more colonists already taken.

And then, without warning—

space shifts.

A rippling pulse tears across subspace like the crack of thunder.

Two hundred golden-hulled warships — sleek, blade-like silhouettes — drop from FTL in perfect formation. They emerge in waves, forming an impenetrable crescent around the planet. The Lantean armada has arrived.

At the center of the formation, glowing brighter than the rest, is the Ananke — a towering Aurora-class flagship, burnished in royal gold and crimson. Its presence alone is enough to tilt the battle.

Bridge – Ananke

The bridge glows with ethereal blues and golds. The crew is calm, poised. Standing at the central dais, adorned in high military robes trimmed in white and gold, is High Counselor Hope Mikaelson.

Her eyes burn with quiet fury as she surveys the carnage below. Her voice is steady, but hard as stone.

HOPE MIKAELSON

"Begin transmission to all Wraith ships."

Her communications officer nods.

WRAITH TRANSMISSION

"This is High Counselor Hope of the Lantean Council. You have trespassed in protected space. You are not welcome. You are not feared. You are not forgiven."

A beat of silence.

HOPE (to her tactical officer)

"Target the closest hive. Fire all forward drone batteries."

Space – The Battle of Vega IX

From the Ananke and her sisters, thousands of Lantean drones explode into the black, swarming like angry stars. They punch through Wraith bio-armor like paper, hive ships erupting into green fire. One hive shudders as its core overloads, vanishing in a silent supernova.

Wraith cruisers scramble to return fire, but their weapons are a century out of date. The Lantean fleet moves like a machine — coordinated, ruthless, surgical. Beam weapons slice through Wraith darts, and shielded Lantean fighters dive into close combat like raptors.

SCENE: Colony Surface – Commander Vorn’s Perspective

Vorn shields his eyes as brilliant blue-white light slices across the sky. Wraith darts explode overhead. Civilians gasp, watching the tides turn.

ENSIGN RIVAS

"Lantean ships... They're here."

COMMANDER VORN (awe-struck)

"No. She is here."

Hope Mikaelson’s flagship roars above the clouds, dwarfing every Starfleet ship he’s ever seen. The Wraith are burning — and the people of Vega IX are saved.

Briefing Room – USS Enterprise

Warp trails streak past the windows, the hum of the engines soft and steady. Around the conference table sit Admerial Picard, Commander Riker, Data, Worf, Dr. Crusher, Counselor Troi, and Geordi La Forge. Willow’s seat is empty — she remains in her quarters, meditating.

PICARD

(speaking with calm authority)

“We’re due to arrive at the outer systems near the Pleiades sector in forty-seven hours. While Willow is in seclusion, I believe it’s time we reflected on what we’ve learned about her people — and the Pegasus Galaxy.”

RIKER

(sitting forward)

“It’s... different here. Like stepping into the Federation’s ancient myths. The Lanteans don’t just remember history — they are history.”

WORF

(sternly)

“They are warriors. Disciplined. Ruthless. When they fight, they do not hesitate.”

TROI

(nods)

“And yet... they’re not driven by conquest. There’s pain in their past. Guilt. A need to atone for something vast.”

DATA

“Their accounts indicate the Wraith subjugated this galaxy for over ten thousand years. Entire civilizations were reduced to livestock. The Lanteans abandoned this galaxy once... and returned to end that cycle.”

GEORDI

“They don’t just build ships — they build solutions. Everything about them feels like it’s part of some long-term strategy. The Travelers even said they’ve spent the last three centuries rebuilding this region.”

CRUSHER

“Rebuilding... but without including the people of the Milky Way. Without us.”

RIKER

“Hard to include someone when they don’t know what you’re doing.”

PICARD

(leaning forward, hands clasped)

“We were invited, not warned. Guided, not briefed. The Lanteans have their reasons... but there are gaps in what we’ve been told.”

TROI

(senses the mood)

“They’re hiding something. Or protecting us from something. Willow may trust us, but the High Council hasn’t spoken to anyone from the Federation directly.”

DATA

“Statistical models suggest a 67% likelihood that the Lanteans are monitoring threats beyond what they’ve shared. Possibly even in our galaxy.”

WORF

(low voice)

“Then we may already be at war. And not know it.”

A silence settles over the group.

PICARD

(quietly)

“Until they choose to tell us... we proceed with diplomacy. And caution.”

RIKER

“And hope whatever’s out there... doesn’t reach us first.”

PICARD

(standing)

“Dismissed. Let’s keep our minds sharp and our channels open. The next step may define everything that comes after.”

LANTEAN BAR – LUMERA – NIGHT

The bar is quiet but alive — soft Lantean music plays from invisible speakers, the kind that seems to echo across the soul rather than just the air. Blue-glass bottles shimmer behind the counter, catching the faint starlight filtering in from the open balcony.

DAMON SALVATORE sits at a corner booth, lounging as usual with a dark drink in hand — something strong and Athosian, no doubt. He glances across the table at his brother.

STEPHEN SALVATORE sits stiffly, a glass untouched in front of him. His eyes are unfocused, trained on the skyline but seeing something far older — a memory that refuses to fade.

DAMON

(softly)

You know, for a five-century-year-old vampire, you really hold onto things.

STEPHEN

(slow, tired)

I told her I’d protect her. I failed. Three hundred years... and it still feels like yesterday.

DAMON

Elena died when the sky turned to fire and D.C. turned to ash. That wasn't your fault. That was humanity's spiral — not yours.

Stephen says nothing. He closes his eyes. Damon leans in.

DAMON

(sincere)

I miss her too. Every damn day. But she’s gone, Stefan. She wouldn’t want you haunting her ghost through the centuries.

STEPHEN

(low)

Easy for you to say. You moved on.

DAMON

No. I found a reason to keep going. Big difference.

A pause. Stephen finally looks at him, bitterness simmering beneath the surface.

STEPHEN

Jessica O’Neill. General of the Lantean Armies. Daughter of Jack. And you? The sarcastic vampire who once burned down a village over a necklace.

DAMON

(chuckles darkly)

And now I sit on a Council of Elders when I’m sober, and Jessica keeps dragging me to galas full of immortals and aliens. Funny how life works.

He lifts his glass in mock salute. Then drops the act, voice quiet again.

DAMON

But I didn’t forget Elena. Or Lexi. Or you, when you were buried under grief and guilt. I just figured they wouldn’t want me to be a monument to pain.

Stephen’s jaw tightens. He picks up the glass finally, studies it in the light.

STEPHEN

It never goes away.

DAMON

No. But you learn to live with it. Or you don’t live at all. And let’s face it — we’ve got a lot of living left, little brother.

Stephen drinks. A long, deep pull.

STEPHEN

(nods slowly)

Maybe... I’ll try.

A moment of silence passes between them, comfortable and heavy at once. The stars glitter through the open archways, and the sound of laughter echoes faintly from another table.

DAMON

(grins)

And if you ever get tired of moping, there’s a whole galaxy of mischief out there. I can show you some trouble. Jessica lets me cause a little, now and then.

STEPHEN

(smiles faintly)

I’ll think about it.

LANTEAN TRAINING SHIP – STRATEGIC OPERATIONS ROOM – NIGHT

The atmosphere is quiet but crackling with tension. Sleek, white-metallic walls, illuminated with a soft amber glow. Ancient script lines the consoles, and in the center of the room, a holographic tactical display projects a battle simulation — red icons mark hostile fleets, a glowing gold emblem designates the flagship of General Jessica O’Neill.

Around the table are seven Lantean cadets, all wearing silver-accented black uniforms. Their faces are young but honed — trained for war, diplomacy, and survival. Among them is CADET CAPTAIN ELIRA O’NEILL-SALVATORE — confident, poised, her father’s charisma and her mother’s discipline alive in her posture.

She gestures toward the simulation as it replays a failed assault against the simulated fleet of her mother.

ELIRA

She’s not just a general. She’s the General. Every defense protocol in this simulation is patterned after her real-time combat logs from the Wraith wars, the Ori campaign, the evacuation of Earth...

CADET RIVEN, her closest tactical officer, folds his arms.

RIVEN

And we’re supposed to outmaneuver the woman who turned an entire war with a dozen warships?

ELIRA

We’re not supposed to win. That’s the test. But I’m not here to play a game rigged against us. Neither are any of you.

The cadets exchange looks. No one disagrees.

ELIRA (quietly)

She raised me to challenge impossible odds. To think like a soldier. But also like a Salvatore — with instinct. With unpredictability.

CADET SENNA, the youngest, leans forward.

SENNA

She’ll be watching this sim, won’t she?

ELIRA (nods)

Of course. She always watches.

She paces slowly, eyes burning into the AI model of her mother’s warfleet.

ELIRA

We’re not going to fight her head-on. That’s suicide. She taught me herself — control the tempo, and you control the battle. So that’s what we’ll do.

She waves her hand over the controls — a new layout forms. Multiple fleets split apart. Ghost signatures. Warp shadows. An unpredictable dance.

ELIRA (cont'd)

We fake a breakdown. Force her fleet to scatter, then lure them into thinking we’re fractured — only to collapse back with a surgical strike.

CADET LORAN, her operations expert, raises an eyebrow.

LORAN

This is borderline mutiny... tactically speaking.

ELIRA (smirking)

Good. She’ll never see it coming.

The cadets laugh lightly — a break in the pressure — but they all know the truth: the woman they're trying to outsmart is a living legend. A three-century-year-old general. Elira’s mother.

ELIRA (firmly)

This isn’t about beating her. It’s about proving we can. That we’re not just the children of heroes. We’re the future of the Lantean people. And if we can outfly, outfight, and outthink General Jessica O’Neill — even once — then we’ve already made history.

The room grows still as the gravity of her words sinks in. Then one by one, the cadets nod.

RIVEN

We follow your lead, Captain.

SENNA

For the fleet. For the future.

ELIRA (smiling)

And maybe… just maybe, to knock my mother down a peg.

The cadets chuckle. Elira leans over the controls and locks in their plan. The display glows brighter — the simulation begins running. The test is about to start.

ELIRA (softly, to herself)

Let’s see if the daughter can beat the General.

The lights dim. The scene fades out on the holographic fleets moving silently into position...

SPACE – VERAKAI ORBIT

The Enterprise drops out of warp, gliding silently into orbit above the breathtaking world of Verakai.

Its surface is a striking tapestry of twilight and renewal — shimmering oceans, gleaming towers of silver and crystal, vast rings of green where no life once grew. The world pulses with soft, ancient energy, touched by Lantean hands.

ENTERPRISE – BRIDGE

DATA

Planetary defenses are offline but still intact. I am detecting refined Lantean power signatures and an active atmospheric control grid.

RIKER

So this really is Verakai.

TROI

It feels... sacred.

WILLOW (softly)

Because it is.

PICARD (stepping forward, voice calm but heavy with memory)

I’ve seen this place before — not in person, but through her words.

RIKER

Her?

PICARD

Tanara. High Priestess of Verakai. I met her on Lantea... She told me this world had been ash, burned by the Wraith, before Atlantis returned and gave it life once more.

WILLOW (turning to face him)

And she has called for you again, Admerial.

COMPUTER (chime sounds)

Incoming transmission. Language: Ancient.

WILLOW (switching to Lantean)

On screen.

VIEWSCREEN – TANARA APPEARS

TANARA, radiant and solemn, stands in a vaulted chamber carved from crystal and light. Her robes shimmer like the planet’s auroras.

TANARA (in Ancient)

Jean-Luc Picard. The Bringer of Echoes. Welcome to Verakai. The light you carry has returned, just as the stars foretold.

WILLOW (subtitles translating)

We have awaited your return.

PICARD (quietly, as the image fades)

Let’s prepare an away team.

SPACE – ENTERPRISE IN ORBIT

The ship glides silently over Verakai, the last rays of its sun catching the hull like a herald of what’s to come.

Chapter Text

FEDERATION COUNCIL CHAMBER – EARTH, PARIS – NIGHT

The chamber is tense. The vast rotunda buzzes with hushed arguments and urgent whispers. Councilors of dozens of species sit around the circular hall beneath the Federation insignia, but the mood is far from unified.

A holographic projection in the center of the room shows two separate systems. One labeled “Korvan Prime”, the other “Qu’Vat”. Both marked in red. Overlaid are tactical feeds: Wraith hive ships, orbital debris from destroyed Starfleet vessels, planetary distress signals... and now, Lantean Aurora-class warships in orbit above the ruins.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (Andorian, calm but sharp) steps forward to address the Council.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL

Two worlds. Two unprovoked assaults. One by a species we believed extinct… and now the sudden arrival of two hundred Lantean warships led by High Counselor Hope Mikaelson herself.

She pauses. Her antennae twitch, reading the room.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (continuing)

Let me be clear: the Federation did not request their aid. In fact, we explicitly asked them not to intervene.

COUNCILOR JORAK (Tellarite)

And yet they did. Why? Because we couldn’t stop it. Because we failed. That’s the truth we need to face.

COUNCILOR SAREL (Vulcan)

Emotion must not guide our judgment. The Wraith are an existential threat. But the Lantean response—swift, overwhelming—suggests a strategic agenda of their own. Galactic deterrence cloaked as benevolence.

COUNCILOR T'VAN (Vulcan, stern)

Several border worlds have already opened diplomatic channels with Lantea. They no longer trust us to protect them. This… is a fracture. And fractures widen.

ADMIRAL ROSS (Starfleet Command)

We’ve received early reports of militia and planetary defense fleets refusing Federation orders. They're aligning with Lantean patrol routes for security.

COUNCILOR GRINN (Trill)

Are we witnessing the rise of a second superpower? Because if so, diplomacy may not be enough.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL

Then we must ask ourselves a hard question. Do we try to oppose the Lanteans… or work with them? Because the people of this galaxy—our people—are choosing safety, not politics.

A long pause. No one speaks. The weight of it all settles in.

Suddenly, a transmission alert pings across the chamber. All eyes turn to the center holo as the seal of the Lantean High Council appears.

COUNCILOR T’VAN

Let’s hear what they have to say.

The camera slowly pulls back as the Council prepares to face a galaxy forever changed.

SPACE – ABOVE VERAKAI – DAY

The U.S.S. Enterprise-E drops out of warp near a stunningly green-and-gold world. The planet Verakai glows like a gem against the stars. Wisps of golden auroras trail across its upper atmosphere. Two Lantean escort vessels flank the Enterprise in formation, then peel off toward the planet.

ENTERPRISE – MAIN BRIDGE

Captain Picard stands at the center of the bridge, hands clasped behind his back as the crew watches the world on the viewscreen.

RIKER

This is Verakai? It's even more beautiful than the holos we saw on Lantea.

DATA

The planetary biosphere exhibits rare atmospheric harmonics. The auroras are a natural byproduct of its crystalline magnetosphere—unique in the Pegasus Galaxy.

TROI (quietly)

The entire planet… feels peaceful. Like it's humming in tune with itself.

Willow enters from the aft turbolift and smiles faintly at the view.

WILLOW

The Verakai are… unlike any people you've met. You’ll feel it when we set foot on the surface. Reverence, but not fear. Faith, without submission.

PICARD

Faith in the Lanteans.

WILLOW (nods)

After the Wraith burned their world to ash, it was Atlantis that returned, and lifted them from ruin. That history is still sung in their temples.

VERAKAI – TEMPLE GROUNDS – LATER

The Enterprise senior staff now walks with Willow through a breathtaking landscape: glowing trees, hummingstones, and crystalline fountains. The Temple of Renewal towers ahead, its spires catching the sun like fire.

A small procession of robed figures approaches. At their head: TANARA, High Priestess of Verakai — serene, ageless, and adorned in flowing golden cloth woven with glowing silver runes.

TANARA (smiling gently)

Captain Jean-Luc Picard. I am Tanara, High Priestess of Verakai. To us, the Lanteans are the Bringers of Light. When the Wraith turned our world to ash, it was Atlantis that raised it from ruin.

She turns to Willow and offers a deep bow in the Lantean gesture of kinship, palm-over-heart.

TANARA (to Willow, in Ancient)

“Gloria aeternum, filia Atlantis.” (Eternal glory, daughter of Atlantis.)

WILLOW (responding in Ancient)

“Lux semper in cordibus vestris.” (May the light ever shine in your hearts.)

Picard glances toward Riker and Troi, who silently take in the emotional weight of the exchange. The sense of reverence and history here is palpable — far removed from Federation protocol.

TANARA (gesturing to the temple)

Come. Let us walk together. There is much we wish to show you. Not just our past… but the hope the Lanteans gave us for the future.

SPACE – UNCHARTED SYSTEM, MILKY WAY GALAXY

A dull red star glows at the center of the system. A solitary ancient-looking vessel — the Lantean Cadet Training Ship — sits in orbit of a barren moon. The cadets had arrived here a full week ahead of schedule, preparing a mock trap for General Jessica O'Neill’s flagship.

TRAINING SHIP – BRIDGE

CADET CAPTAIN ELIRA O’NEILL-SALVATORE stands at the center of the bridge, her jaw set in a determined line. Around her, the other cadets monitor systems and coordinate the simulated trap they've carefully designed.

ELIRA

If we time the sensor ghosts just right, we can box Mom into a pincer formation. And when she flanks, we spring the override and—

Suddenly, alarms wail. Lights flash crimson. A holographic display of the system blinks to life. Dozens of Wraith ships—three Hive ships, a dozen Cruisers, and supporting Darts—drop out of hyperspace on the far side of the system.

CADET RAYEN (horrified)

Multiple hyperspace exits! Those aren't part of the drill—those are real Wraith signatures!

CADET VERA

Confirming! Cross-referencing against archive logs... Oh no. That’s a full Wraith hunting fleet. They're not here for training.

ELIRA (coldly calm)

Raise shields. Battle stations—now. Send a priority burst to Atlantis and Hera… let’s hope the encryption holds.

The cadets spring into action, adrenaline surging.

SPACE – TRAINING SHIP VS. WRAITH FLEET

The Training Ship spins on its axis, launching a spread of drones, but its weapon banks are limited — outdated systems, meant for simulation. The Hive ships dwarf it in scale, launching waves of darts that streak toward the ship like angry hornets.

The cadets manage to use cloaked mines, decoys, and precise maneuvering to destroy several cruisers and repel wave after wave of darts — but it's clear the tide is turning.

TRAINING SHIP – BRIDGE

CADET RAV

Shields at 42%! Hull breaches on Deck 3 and 5! We can’t keep this up, Elira!

ELIRA

We're not dying today. Set course for the star — max burn! Begin siphon sequence on arrival. We need to recharge the core if we're going to jump out of here!

CADET JIN

The corona will fry our hull if we get too close!

ELIRA (resolute)

We’ll thread the needle. Prep the radiation buffers and keep us angled just above the burn threshold. If we don’t reach that star… we all die.

SPACE – THE ESCAPE BEGINS

The Cadet ship dives toward the main sequence star, shields shimmering under the increasing solar pressure. Wraith cruisers pursue, but some hesitate at the edge of the star’s gravitational pull. A few more daring ones follow, launching harpoons and plasma weapons.

The training ship weaves and banks between solar flares and radiation bursts, limping — but alive. A glowing filament begins to snake from the star to the ship’s core, recharging slowly.

TRAINING SHIP – BRIDGE

ELIRA (panting, sweat dripping)

Come on… come on…

CADET VERA

Core recharging. 20% and climbing. Once we hit 60, we can jump!

CADET RAV (grimly)

If we make it that far.

The Wraith ships close in again, but the Cadets brace for another round, battered but defiant.

Chapter Text

SPACE – INNER ORBIT OF A MAIN SEQUENCE STAR

The Cadet Training Ship races toward the blazing surface of a bright, yellow-white star. The ship groans from the stress as its shields ripple with radiant energy. Solar winds buffet the hull, and plasma arcs rise around them like serpents of fire.

TRAINING SHIP – BRIDGE

ELIRA O’NEILL-SALVATORE stands at the helm, sweat matting her dark hair to her forehead, eyes locked forward.

ELIRA

Hold this vector. Keep her as close as we can without burning. Divert all non-essential power to shields and cooling systems.

CADET RAV

Radiation buffers are holding—barely. Core recharge at 43%... 48%...

CADET VERA (watching rear sensors)

The Wraith are pulling back! Their hulls can't handle this kind of heat. They're clustering in high orbit—waiting us out.

CADET JIN

That's our window! Broadcasting distress signal on Lantean secure channel.

ELIRA (nodding)

Make it burst mode. Encrypt with the Pegasus Beacon Code. Only the High Council will recognize it.

DEEP SPACE – EDGE OF THE Federation Space

The Lantean War Fleet — 200 Aurora-class warships led by the mighty Ananke — holds formation around a devastated system still glowing with the last remnants of Wraith resistance. Scattered wreckage of Hive ships drifts in the void, the result of the final campaign against the ancient enemy.

ANANKE – BRIDGE

HIGH COUNCILOR HOPE MIKAELSON, dressed in sleek black command robes with gold trim, stands at a central console surrounded by star maps and tactical readouts. A priority ping flashes across the holographic table.

LANTEAN OFFICER

High Councilor — a priority beacon. It's from the Cadet Training Vessel. They're under attack. Wraith fleet. Main sequence system, coordinates locked.

HOPE (calm but fierce)

All ships — mark those coordinates and prepare to jump. Signal Europa and Olympus to track any remaining Wraith. Today... we finish this.

Hope walks to the view window of the Ananke, her eyes burning with determination.

SPACE – THE STAR SYSTEM

The Wraith fleet loiters in orbit, watching the Cadet ship from a distance — unaware of what’s about to happen. Then — ripples in space. Dozens... hundreds... of Lantean warships drop from hyperspace in perfect synchronized formation, surrounding the system like a tightening noose.

WRAITH HIVE SHIP – COMMAND CHAMBER

The Wraith Queen hisses, her pale face twitching in panic as she senses death approaching.

SPACE – FINAL BATTLE

Space erupts into a battlefield of apocalyptic proportions.

From hyperspace, the Ananke bursts forth like a blade of light, flanked by the full might of the Lantean war fleet — two hundred sleek, ivory-gold Aurora-class warships, their hulls aglow with power and ancient grace.

They form into a wide crescent as they charge in — a storm of ancient vengeance.

DRONES scream from every ship — shimmering golden projectiles that twist and dance in coordinated streams, bypassing Wraith shields with perfect precision. Each drone leaves a trail of light in its wake before slamming into its target — detonating in brilliant spheres of plasma and light.

The Wraith fleet, caught mid-formation, attempts to rally. Hive ships, massive and grotesque, belch clouds of Darts, small fighter ships with insectoid wings. Swarms of them dart forward, firing pulses of green plasma, creating a storm of light and fury.

But the Lanteans are ready.

The Ananke pivots, banks, and unleashes a barrage from its bow — a blistering lattice of plasma beams that slice through the lead Wraith cruiser like it’s paper, splitting it in half with surgical precision. Secondary explosions ripple outward like shockwaves in zero gravity.

Smaller Wraith ships veer off and dive toward the Lantean flanks — but are immediately intercepted. Wings of Lantean interceptors, sleek and fast, pour from launch bays on the flanking vessels, engaging in brutal dogfights that paint the stars with streaks of light.

A Hive ship attempts to retreat — but drones strike its spine in a perfect line, and a chain reaction ignites its core. The vessel glows from within for a moment… then implodes, disappearing into a roiling sphere of flame.

Three Hive ships regroup and charge toward the Lantean center. It’s a suicide run.

Hope’s voice cuts through all frequencies — calm, commanding.

HOPE (COMMS)

Ananke to fleet. Break formation. Encircle and purge.

The Lantean ships shift like a school of predators — precise, fluid. They collapse around the Hives in a tightening noose.

Drones rip through the final Wraith ships, lighting up the void with supernova flashes. Explosions ripple like cosmic thunder — brief suns blooming in the dark.

And then…

Silence.

The Wraith are gone.

TRAINING SHIP – BRIDGE - NEAR THE STAR

The Cadets’ ship watches from the edge of the blazing star, shields flickering from the solar intensity.

On the bridge, the young Lanteans can only watch, stunned and humbled, as the titanic forces tear across the system.

CADET VERA (softly)

It’s like… watching the gods at war.

CADET JIN

Or judgment day.

ELIRA O’NEILL-SALVATORE grips the arm of her command chair, eyes locked on the main screen. One hand clenches into a fist — not out of fear, but in reverent awe.

ELIRA

This is why they fear us.

CADET VERA (quietly)

They're... all gone.

CADET JIN

The last of them. Wraith signatures — all dark.

ELIRA (whispers)

We actually did it. We held them off... long enough.

The crew cheers softly, some in tears. Elira leans back, pride and fatigue washing over her.

ANANKE – BRIDGE

Hope steps to a console, the system showing a clean sweep — no more Wraith.

HOPE (softly to herself)

Ten thousand years of terror... ended by children and their will to live.

She looks out at the star beyond.

HOPE (activating citywide comms)

To all Lantean vessels: this is High Councilor Mikaelson. The Wraith are no more. Today marks the end of an age... and the dawn of a free galaxy.

ENTERPRISE – OBSERVATION LOUNGE – ORBIT OF VERAKAI

The Enterprise remains in high orbit, with the vibrant, emerald-blue planet of Verakai spinning beneath them like a living jewel. The crew is gathered in the Observation Lounge, tall windows framing the world below.

Picard stands at the head of the table, his fingers steepled thoughtfully, while Will Riker, Deanna Troi, Beverly Crusher, Geordi La Forge, Worf, and Data occupy the seats around him.

They’ve just returned from a formal reception in the Temple of Light, where Tanara, High Priestess of Verakai, led a deeply ceremonial welcome.

RIKER

I don’t know what struck me more — the architecture or the reverence. That whole city is a shrine to Atlantis.

TROI

It wasn’t just admiration… it was devotion. Genuine, spiritual devotion.

CRUSHER

Did you see the murals in the Hall of Renewal? They were worshipping Hope. Her face was painted beside symbols of stars and light.

LAFORGE

Yeah, and they call the Lanteans “the Bringers of Dawn.” I heard one of their scholars say the Lanteans reshaped their atmosphere after the Wraith scorched it.

DATA

According to their historical archives, Verakai was a dead world until the Lanteans terraformed it three centuries ago using solar reflectors, orbital stabilization, and a fusion-seeded hydrosphere cycle.

WORF

They are not just allies here… they are saviors.

PICARD (quietly)

Or gods.

(The room falls into silence.)

PICARD (CONT’D)

I’ve spent my entire life advocating that no civilization should bow before another. That we should guide, not rule — observe, not interfere. But here… the people beg for Lantean protection. They pray to them.

TROI

And they’re not afraid of them, either. There’s no resentment. No hidden resentment like we’ve seen before with other protectorates.

CRUSHER

That’s the difference, isn’t it? The Lanteans didn’t just liberate these people. They rebuilt them. Their infrastructure, medicine, even culture in some places.

RIKER

It's like the Federation and the Prime Directive don’t exist here.

PICARD

Because here, we’re not the standard. We’re the students.

DATA

It would be logical to suggest that after millennia of Wraith predation, any civilization would naturally elevate those capable of ending the threat to near-divine status.

LAFORGE

But it’s still hard to wrap my head around. They see Hope Mikaelson the way we see Zephram Cochrane.

TROI

No. They see her the way Rome saw Caesar.

PICARD (after a long pause)

Then let us hope the Lanteans never forget their humanity… or ours.

VERAKAI – TEMPLE PLAZA – DAY

The sunlight glints off opalescent spires, casting long shadows over the temple plaza. Intricate mosaics cover the walkways, depicting the Lanteans arriving in ships of light, standing between terrified villagers and monstrous depictions of Wraith.

Riker, Troi, Worf, La Forge, Crusher, and Data are respectfully participating in the Festival of Renewal, where Verakai citizens offer floral tributes and light crystal flames in tribute to Atlantis.

YOUNG VERAKAI WOMAN

(placing flower at a statue of Hope)

We give thanks to the Lightbringer. May her gaze forever shield us from the dark.

WORF (muttering to Riker)

They call her Lightbringer... that is what the Klingons once called Kahless.

RIKER (quietly)

She’s not just a general to them. She’s a messiah.

Nearby, La Forge kneels next to a child who's drawing the Atlantis city-ship with colored sand.

LAFORGE

That’s some good work. Where did you learn to draw that?

CHILD

My great-grandmother saw Atlantis rise from the sea. She says it sang like the stars when it flew.

TROI (to Crusher)

It’s not indoctrination. It’s generational memory.

CRUSHER (softly)

And absolute trust. The kind the Federation rarely gets.

DATA

This culture is shaped by trauma and deliverance. The Lanteans provide not only technology, but a narrative of salvation. It has defined the Verakai identity.

Suddenly, a Verakai attendant approaches Picard with a slight bow.

VERAKAI ATTENDANT

High Priestess Tanara requests your presence, Admerial Picard. She wishes to speak with you in private.

TEMPLE OF LIGHT – INNER SANCTUM – MOMENTS LATER

Picard is escorted through gilded archways into the sanctum, a quiet chamber lit by hanging crystals that hum with low, harmonic resonance.

Tanara stands by a massive window, gazing at the skyline.

TANARA

You walk as one unburdened by worship, Jean-Luc Picard. That is rare here.

PICARD (smiling faintly)

I’ve always preferred reflection to reverence.

TANARA

That is why I wished to speak with you.

(She turns, her tone sincere.)

TANARA (CONT’D)

You’ve seen how we revere the Lanteans. You disapprove.

PICARD

I question it. Not the gratitude, not even the reverence... but the certainty.

TANARA

Certainty that they are gods?

PICARD

Certainty that anyone should be.

TANARA (walking slowly past mosaic panels)

Three centuries ago, we watched our skies burn. The Wraith came like a flood. Our oceans boiled. Our crops withered. Those of us who survived did so beneath the ash of our own dead. When the Lanteans returned, they did not ask for worship. They gave us back the sun.

PICARD

But now, your people define themselves through them. Where does Verakai end and the Lanteans begin?

TANARA

And what is the Federation, if not a creed of its own? You believe in unity, progress, peace. What is the difference?

PICARD

The difference is that we do not require others to kneel. Nor should the Lanteans — even if their hands hold fire and their ships outrun stars.

TANARA

And yet… our people chose to kneel. It is not obedience. It is faith born of salvation.

PICARD (thoughtful, then nods slowly)

Then I hope their light does not one day cast too long a shadow.

TANARA (smiling faintly)

Hope Mikaelson does not want worship, Admerial. She only demands responsibility. Perhaps that is why she has earned both.

FEDERATION COUNCIL CHAMBER – EARTH, PARIS – NIGHT

The great domed chamber is filled with tension. Representatives from across the Federation sit behind long, curved desks arranged in tiers. At the center, President T’Varel, an elderly Andorian woman with sharp eyes and a composed presence, stands with her hands clasped.

A large hologram of the Milky Way Galaxy rotates in the center, highlighting the positions of the 200 Lantean warships.

COUNCILOR TELOR (BOLIAN)

Their fleet arrived with fire and righteousness. They saved a colony — yes. But now they’re here, and they’re everywhere. This isn’t salvation. It’s occupation.

COUNCILOR VELTRA (TELLARITE)

Their ships make ours look like museum pieces. If they wanted to conquer the Federation, we wouldn’t be sitting here talking about it.

COUNCILOR RANARA (BAJORAN)

They destroyed the Wraith. Wiped them from existence. That kind of power... unchecked... is dangerous. It always is.

COUNCILOR KOR’VAL (KLINGON – HOLOGRAM TRANSMISSION)

(calmly, from Qo'noS)

Power, wielded with restraint, is what your Federation claims to admire. They saved my world. That is not conquest. That is honor.

COUNCILOR CHEN (HUMAN)

But will they leave? That’s the question we’re not asking. Will those ships go home? Or have the Lanteans returned for good?

T’VAREL (PRESIDENT)

You fear they may be invaders?

CHEN

No. I fear they already are — and we welcomed them with open arms because they wore the mask of our saviors.

The chamber murmurs with agreement and disquiet.

T’VAREL (measured)

We have not received demands. We have not been threatened. They have not stepped one foot onto Earth or any world uninvited. But I understand the concern. I share it.

She steps closer to the projection, watching the golden icons marking Lantean vessels.

T’VAREL (CONT'D)

They are gods to some. Protectors to others. But to the Federation… they are a question we do not yet have an answer for.

She turns back to the Council.

T’VAREL (CONT'D)

Let us hope we ask it… before we are no longer free to.

Chapter Text

ATLANTIS – GENERAL JESSICA O’NEILL’S QUARTERS – MORNING

The soft light of Atlantis’s sunrise spills through the arched windows, casting a golden hue over the sleek yet comfortable quarters overlooking the vast ocean of Lantea.

A breeze filters in through the balcony doors, fluttering the edge of a lightweight robe as Jessica O’Neill moves gracefully through the room, fastening the clasp of her uniform jacket.

At the dining table, Damon Salvatore lounges with his usual smug charm, barefoot, sipping dark Athosian coffee from a white ceramic mug. A plate of half-eaten breakfast — some kind of spiced breadfruit and syrup — rests in front of him.

DAMON

(mockingly)

You sure you don’t want to call in sick today? Avoid the embarrassment of getting outmaneuvered by your own kid?

JESSICA

(turning, eyebrow raised)

You mean the same kid you helped train in subversion and tactical evasion? Don’t play innocent.

DAMON (grinning)

Hey, I taught her to cheat with style. You taught her everything else.

JESSICA (crossing to him, arms folded)

So. Who’d you put your money on? Your wife... or your daughter?

DAMON (slow sip from his mug)

Well... one’s ruthless, unpredictable, and terrifying when she’s got a plan. The other’s General Jessica O’Neill.

Jessica snorts and swats his shoulder. Damon chuckles.

JESSICA

That’s the second most dangerous answer you could’ve given.

DAMON

What’s the first?

JESSICA

Elira.

They both laugh softly. The moment lingers. Jessica leans over and kisses his forehead before grabbing her data pad and slipping her gloves on.

JESSICA (CONT’D)

Keep the coffee warm. I’ll either be back victorious… or I’ll need something stronger.

DAMON (watching her go)

Just don’t destroy my daughter. It’s bad form to vaporize family.

JESSICA (from the doorway, smirking)

Then she’d better bring her A-game.

She exits, the door whooshing shut behind her.

ATLANTIS – MILITARY DOCKING BAY

The Aries, an advanced Aurora-class warship, rests like a coiled predator on one of the upper launch platforms of Atlantis. Its sleek silver hull glints in the morning sun, flanked by small service craft and cargo drones finishing final preparations.

ARIES – FLIGHT DECK CORRIDOR

General Jessica O’Neill strides through the main corridor with practiced authority, uniform crisp, her long coat fluttering slightly behind her. Crew members stand straighter as she passes, offering respectful nods and “General” in greeting.

The ship hums with quiet energy — final systems checks, personnel boarding, and the subtle tension of a crew about to engage in war games... against their General's daughter.

ARIES – BRIDGE

The bridge of the Aries is a masterwork of Lantean design — circular, elegant, and efficient. A central command chair overlooks multiple sunken consoles and holographic readouts. Officers move with practiced ease.

As Jessica enters, Commander Arlen Voss, her XO — a sharp-eyed Lantean veteran — steps forward.

VOSS

Welcome aboard, General. All systems are green. Crew is prepped and waiting for your orders.

JESSICA

Any word on the cadets?

VOSS (with a smirk)

They jumped early. Reports suggest they’re already in the engagement zone, probably setting up their trap.

JESSICA

Good. They’re thinking ahead. I’d be disappointed if they didn’t try to outmaneuver me.

She steps to the central console, activating the 3D star map of the upcoming battle zone — a star system with several asteroid belts, two small moons, and a bright main sequence sun.

JESSICA (CONT’D)

Prep a layered decoy pattern. I want our energy profile fragmented across three vectors. Let them chase ghosts.

VOSS

Understood. Shall I notify Home Command we’re departing?

JESSICA

Yes. Launch authorization, General Jessica O’Neill. Destination: Sector 84-Rho, engagement zone Charlie. Let’s go give our cadets a proper test.

SPACE – LAUNCH FROM ATLANTIS

The Aries lifts off from the docking bay in a glowing wash of blue ion energy. Its engines flare as it banks upward, rising past Atlantis’s spires and into the clouds above Lantea. In seconds, the ship breaks through the atmosphere, stars glittering ahead.

In a burst of brilliant light, the Aries vanishes into hyperspace — heading toward the trap the cadets have laid… and the battle they never expected.

SPACE – ORBIT ABOVE VERAKAI

The Enterprise-E orbits peacefully above the lush world of Verakai, its hull gleaming in the light of the system’s twin suns. Shuttles and small Verakai transports occasionally pass by, returning from ceremonial visits.

ENTERPRISE – BRIDGE

Captain Picard sits in his chair, hands folded thoughtfully as the senior staff are quietly reviewing sensor logs and cultural data collected during their Pegasus mission. The atmosphere is calm but reflective — the crew changed by their experience.

DATA

Captain, I am detecting a hyperspace window forming one light-minute off the port bow.

PICARD

Yellow alert. Let’s not assume anything.

The familiar hyperspace window flares into being — smooth and blue, like liquid glass tearing across the stars.

A sleek Lantean Aurora-class ship exits hyperspace, bearing royal blue markings and the sigil of the Lantean Diplomatic Corps. It moves into formation with practiced grace.

WILLOW (COMMS)

Captain, that would be the Solari. They’re here to bring us home.

PICARD (nodding slightly)

On screen.

The screen flickers, revealing a Lantean officer with silver-blonde hair and a composed expression. She bows slightly.

COMMANDER THALIA (Lantean)

Enterprise, I am Commander Thalia of the Solari. By order of High Councilor Hope Mikaelson, we are to escort your vessel back to Federation space. A hyperspace corridor has been prepared.

PICARD

We’re honored, Commander. Please extend our gratitude to your High Councilor. We are ready to depart.

COMMANDER THALIA

We look forward to what your people will learn from what you’ve seen. Safe travels, Enterprise. Coordinates are being transmitted now.

SPACE – MOMENTS LATER

The Enterprise aligns with the Solari, which activates a shimmering hyperspace corridor — not a standard Federation warp tunnel, but a majestic Lantean transit arc, golden energy spiraling across the stars like a bridge between galaxies.

In unison, the two ships leap into the corridor, vanishing in a flash of light.

ENTERPRISE – OBSERVATION LOUNGE – IN TRANSIT

The crew gathers one last time. Outside the window, brilliant golden light streams across the hull, the corridor swirling like the inside of a star.

TROI

So much we’ve seen. So much to tell them.

RIKER

The question is… will the Federation listen?

PICARD (quietly)

Whether they’re ready or not… they must.

They sit in silence, watching the Pegasus Galaxy shrink behind them — and the Milky Way grow brighter ahead.

SPACE – SECTOR 84-RHO – NEAR A RED DWARF STAR

A chaotic ballet of simulated warfare unfolds. The training ship, Destiny's Flame, glides between asteroid clusters, its hull shimmering with deflector pulses and active jamming fields. The cadets are deep in their final trial: survive and outwit General Jessica O’Neill and the warship Aries.

DESTINY’S FLAME – BRIDGE

Captain Elira O’Neill-Salvatore grips the railing behind the command seat. Her face is composed, but her eyes burn with intensity.

ELIRA

They’ll hit us from the starboard flank. That’s how Mom thinks — strong push, then feint for position.

TACTICAL CADET

Confirmed — Aries just decloaked. Three decoy drones ahead of her vector.

ELIRA

Ignore the drones. Power to dorsal shields and redirect helm — rotate us 37 degrees port, roll on axis. Prepare to fire counter-EM bursts.

HELMSMAN

Aye, Captain!

ARIES – BRIDGE

Jessica O’Neill watches her daughter’s moves unfold from her command seat. She smirks — just slightly.

JESSICA

She’s bleeding speed to drift into the asteroid field. Smart.

VOSS (XO)

Cadets are using magnetic distortion from the planetoid’s iron-rich core to mask their plasma output.

JESSICA

Then we flush them. Launch pulse torpedoes in a wide arc. Give them heat and light — see if they blink.

SPACE

The Aries lets loose with a wave of non-lethal pulse torpedoes, designed to trigger simulated shield collapses without actual damage. The asteroid field lights up in a halo of controlled detonations.

Inside the cloud, Destiny’s Flame darts and rolls, her evasion thrusters overclocked, shields flaring with each near-hit.

DESTINY’S FLAME – BRIDGE

TACTICAL

Shields holding, but outer hull readings maxed. Simulated armor breaches in sections 3A and 5C.

ELIRA

Re-route through the asteroid’s gravity well. Engage Project Echo.

COMMUNICATIONS

Deploying Echo pods — multiple signatures now mimicking our plasma trail.

ELIRA

Let’s make them chase phantoms.

ARIES – BRIDGE

VOSS

Picking up five new warp signatures. Matching the cadet ship’s profile.

JESSICA (laughs)

Oh, she used that old trick.

VOSS

Should we recalibrate to track real ionic residue?

JESSICA

No. Let her have her moment. Prep the Arc Flash Protocol. Time to end the dance.

SPACE – STAGE TWO BEGINS

The Aries breaks off pursuit, pulling back — baiting. The cadets seize the opportunity, pushing toward what they think is an exposed sensor relay satellite.

But it's a trap.

Suddenly, three remote drone ships activate, flanking Destiny’s Flame. Simulated disruptor bursts rain down.

DESTINY’S FLAME – BRIDGE

ALERTS BLARING

TACTICAL

Simulated hull breaches in sections 2 through 7! Weapons offline, engines at 40% effectiveness!

ELIRA (frustrated but focused)

Reverse our drift! Arm the countermeasures, make it look like a warp core overload — maybe she backs off!

NAVIGATION

We’ll lose simulated life support in five decks if we do.

ELIRA (with fire)

Then re-route from mine. We don’t give up. Not today.

ARIES – BRIDGE

VOSS

Cadets triggering simulated core overload. Want to call it?

JESSICA (rising)

No. Begin containment maneuver Alpha-Seven. Box them in.

VOSS

Copy. Simulated beam weapons locking now.

SPACE – CLIMAX

The Aries and her drones close in. Simulated tractor beams lock onto Destiny’s Flame, which struggles valiantly, engines sparking light from every vector.

A final burst of speed — the cadets nearly escape the containment zone — but the trap closes.

An alert goes out across both ships.

SIMULATION COMPLETE – GENERAL O’NEILL VICTORIOUS.

DESTINY’S FLAME – BRIDGE

The cadets sit in stunned silence. Systems go dark. Elira exhales slowly, then stands and turns to her crew.

ELIRA

That… was an incredible fight. You held against a war hero and didn’t fold.

(smiling faintly)

But next time? We trap her.

ARIES – BRIDGE

Jessica watches the simulation end, leaning back in her chair. She nods in satisfaction — not just at winning, but at how far the cadets pushed her.

JESSICA

Send them a commendation. Every one of them. They earned it.

VOSS

And your daughter?

JESSICA (smirking)

She can explain to her father why he lost the bet.

SPACE – WIDE SHOT

The Aries and Destiny’s Flame drift in formation near a glowing star, no longer enemies but equals, surrounded by stars and the silent echo of one hell of a mock war.

Chapter Text

EARTH – PARIS – FEDERATION COUNCIL CHAMBER – DAY

The vast chamber is quiet as the Enterprise senior staff stands before a massive semicircle of Federation Council members. Behind the main podium, the flags of dozens of Federation worlds hang high. Seated at the central podium is President sh’Varel, flanked by Vice President M’Randa and Admiral Alynna Nechayev of Starfleet Command.

A projection of the Pegasus Galaxy rotates slowly above the chamber — glowing points representing known Lantean worlds, shipyards, and protected civilizations.

At the forefront, Admiral Jean-Luc Picard stands tall, hands behind his back.

PICARD

Madam President. Councilors. Admirals. We have returned from the Pegasus Galaxy after one month of cultural, technological, and diplomatic observation under the guidance of the Lantean High Council.

He gestures slightly behind him where Riker, Data, Troi, Worf, and Dr. Crusher stand ready.

PICARD (CONT'D)

We bore witness to a civilization vastly more advanced than our own. Not only in terms of technology, but in interstellar governance, stability, and influence. The Lanteans have positioned themselves as protectors — and to many, saviors — of entire star systems.

COUNCILOR CHEN (Earth)

You mean to say they’ve created an empire?

TROI

Not in the way we understand empire. Most of the civilizations we visited freely give tribute or homage. But it is based not on fear — rather on reverence. Many believe the Lanteans are divine.

COUNCILOR TELOR (Bolian)

And are they?

A beat. Silence. Then Picard responds — calm, measured.

PICARD

They are not gods. But they are what many would become if given ten thousand years of evolution and purpose. The Wraith once ruled through terror. The Lanteans reclaimed the galaxy through loyalty and resilience.

NECHAYEV (from the Starfleet delegation)

Captain, did you observe military actions?

RIKER

Yes. We witnessed the tail end of a campaign against the last Wraith resurgence. Two hundred Lantean warships. Full tactical engagement. Coordinated precision beyond anything Starfleet has ever fielded.

WORF (stepping forward)

Their ships are formidable. Shields, weapons, tactics — superior in every category. And they do not hesitate to act when threatened.

M’RANDA (Vice President, calm but sharp)

Did you feel... safe?

CRUSHER

Yes. Safer than I’ve felt on some Federation worlds.

TROI (softly)

But also... small.

PICARD (nodding)

That is the core of it. We have encountered a power that does not ask to be followed — it simply leads. And others follow.

He gestures again to the projection.

PICARD (CONT'D)

The question before this Council is not whether we can match them militarily or technologically — we cannot. The question is: how do we coexist? As peers? As partners? Or as something else?

A long silence. The Council murmurs. Nechayev and sh’Varel exchange a look.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (finally, firmly)

Then let this Council reconvene in seventy-two hours. We will review the full debrief, conduct private hearings, and then determine the future course of Federation–Lantean relations.

She turns her pale blue gaze toward Picard.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (CONT'D)

Thank you, Admiral. You and your crew have served not only Starfleet, but history.

Picard inclines his head. The senior staff is dismissed. As they turn to leave, murmurs rise behind them — voices of fear, admiration, strategy, and awe.

ENTERPRISE – OBSERVATION LOUNGE – NIGHT

Back aboard the Enterprise, Earth framed in the windows, the crew sits quietly, drinks in hand.

RIKER

Think they’ll listen?

PICARD

They’ll listen. But whether they understand... that’s another matter entirely.

EARTH – SAN FRANCISCO – STARFLEET COMMAND – STRATEGIC OPERATIONS ROOM – NIGHT

A secure, dimly-lit war room, deep within the Starfleet Command complex. Around a massive holographic table sit a dozen of Starfleet’s most senior officers — among them:

Admiral Alynna Nechayev (Director of Strategic Operations)

Admiral William Ross (Veteran of the Dominion War)

Admiral T'Zan (Vulcan, Chief of Starfleet Science)

Admiral Shelby (Starfleet Tactical)

Commodore Saavedra (Starfleet Intelligence Liaison)

Captain Christopher Ransom (special observer from the USS Equinox, recently returned from deep Delta Quadrant patrols)

The room hums with quiet urgency. A Lantean Aurora-class warship slowly rotates in the holoprojection above the table, along with dozens of Pegasus world profiles, sensor logs, cultural transcripts, and footage from the Enterprise.

NECHAYEV

You’ve all read the reports. You’ve seen the footage. What we’re looking at is not a threat in the traditional sense — but it is a challenge to our strategic balance in the Alpha Quadrant. And perhaps beyond.

ROSS (gruff)

Two hundred Lantean warships in the Milky Way. That’s not diplomacy. That’s a projection of dominance.

T'ZAN (calmly)

Their presence has not included annexation or violence. According to the Enterprise data, every Lantean action has been in response to either Wraith incursions or direct requests for aid.

SAAVEDRA

But perceptions matter. We’re already receiving intercepted chatter from border worlds and independent colonies asking whether they should request Lantean protection. That’s a problem.

SHELBY

Or an opportunity. We've seen the Lanteans act as stabilizers. What if, instead of competing, we proposed a limited military alliance?

ROSS (flat)

An alliance with a power that makes us look like children playing starship? Not while I’m still in uniform.

NECHAYEV (sharply)

Enough. We’re not here to fantasize or panic. We’re here to assess options.

She gestures. A new projection appears — a map showing Federation worlds, Lantean fleet positioning, and known diplomatic spheres.

NECHAYEV (CONT’D)

Option one: We formalize diplomatic channels — full exchange of ambassadors, establish a joint commission, and request shared patrols in fringe sectors. Draw them closer.

T'ZAN

Logical. Close observation and incremental cooperation.

SAAVEDRA

Option two: We quietly begin accelerated tech development. Reignite the Jupiter and Omega projects. If the Lanteans ever do turn hostile, we’ll need defenses that actually stand a chance.

ROSS

And option three?

Nechayev’s face hardens slightly.

NECHAYEV

We do nothing. Observe. Adapt. And pray we remain relevant.

A long silence follows.

SHELBY

You think this is our “Khitomer Moment”? Our second chance at peace with a superpower?

NECHAYEV

No. I think this is our Vulcan First Contact all over again. We’re the emotional, impulsive newcomers. They’re the ones deciding if we’re worth talking to.

She looks around.

NECHAYEV (CONT’D)

The Council may posture. But we need to be ready — diplomatically, militarily, scientifically. Because the galaxy just changed, and we need to catch up.

ATLANTIS – LANDING PLATFORM – SUNSET

The training ship Destiny’s Flame slowly descends through the clouds, its sleek hull still marked with simulated scorch lines from its intense final mission. The spires of Atlantis glint gold in the setting sun, the ocean calm around the city.

Lining the landing platform are dozens of uniformed Lantean officers, the High Council, and families of the cadets. Above them, a long transparent banner reads:

“Welcome Home, Lantean Defenders – Class of 5443.”

The ship lands with grace. The ramp lowers.

Out marches the cadet crew, now in freshly pressed officer blacks with silver trim, stepping in formation — pride etched on every face.

At the head: Captain Elira O’Neill-Salvatore, her eyes scanning the crowd… and landing on her mother.

ATLANTIS CENTRAL COURTYARD – CEREMONY PLATFORM – NIGHT

The courtyard glows with bioluminescent lights and ancient Lantean lanterns. The entire graduating class stands at attention before the High Council and Supreme General Jessica O'Neill.

HOPE MIKAELSON, in formal white and violet robes, steps up first.

HOPE

You have faced simulation and surprise. Strategy and uncertainty. You have earned not only your place among the Lantean Defense Forces — you have earned our trust.

Cheers ripple through the crowd.

Then Jessica steps forward in her formal general’s cloak — trimmed in navy, silver, and red. Her voice rings clear over the sea breeze.

JESSICA

I have faced real enemies. I’ve seen fear in cadets before their first real flight. But never — never — have I seen a class fight as fiercely, think as sharply, or challenge me as thoroughly… as you did.

Laughter from the crowd. A few knowing grins from the cadets.

JESSICA (CONT’D)

You pushed me. And that means you’re ready.

She pulls out a sleek black-and-gold command pip and a rank insignia, stepping toward her daughter.

JESSICA (softly now)

Elira O’Neill-Salvatore… by order of the High Council and Lantean Defense Command, I promote you to the rank of Colonel. Effective immediately.

The crowd erupts in applause as Jessica pins the insignia to Elira’s uniform.

JESSICA (CONT’D)

And as your first assignment…

She holds out a crystal data rod and smiles — proud, fierce, maternal.

JESSICA (CONT’D)

…you are hereby given command of the Aurora-class warship Alectrona.

Elira’s breath catches. Her crew turns toward her in awe.

ELIRA (quietly)

Thank you, Mom.

JESSICA (grinning)

Don’t thank me. Just don’t get it blown up.

ATLANTIS – NIGHTFALL – THE CELEBRATION BEGINS

Music rises. Lanterns are lit. Families and friends flood the platform. Officers embrace new comrades, parents wipe tears, laughter and joy echo under the starlight.

Jessica and Elira stand side by side, looking out over Atlantis.

JESSICA

You didn’t just earn your wings, kid. You built your own legend.

ELIRA (smirking)

Now I just have to live up to it.

JESSICA

You will.

Chapter Text

STARFLEET COMMAND – ADMIRALTY STRATEGIC BRIEFING ROOM – EARTH

A deep, quiet tension hangs in the room. The Starfleet Admiralty sits around an illuminated oval table. The large screen at the end of the room displays a galaxy map, highlighting several independent worlds in red — now flagged with Lantean sigils beside them.

Present:

Admiral Alynna Nechayev (Strategic Operations)

Admiral T’Zan (Science)

Admiral Ross (Operations)

Admiral Shelby (Tactical)

Commodore Saavedra (Intelligence)

A small group of silent aides and analysts

NECHAYEV (tight, clipped)

As of this morning, seven independent worlds — all of which were in final negotiation phases for Federation membership — have formally withdrawn their applications.

She gestures. The screen shifts: seven Federation-standard logos fade out, replaced by the Lantean crest: a circle of three interlocking wings, glowing gold.

T’ZAN (raising a brow)

Do we know their stated reasons?

SAAVEDRA (flat)

Publicly: “Greater security, closer proximity, and shared cultural admiration for the Lanteans.”

Privately? They don’t think we can protect them anymore.

ROSS (grim)

They watched two core worlds get culled. They watched us hesitate. Then they watched two hundred Lantean warships eradicate the Wraith down to the last hive.

SHELBY

I don’t blame them. They see the Lanteans not just as protectors — but as winners.

NECHAYEV (sternly)

This is not just about perception. These seven systems represented strategic corridors — trade lanes, potential starbases, even subspace relays that now… won’t be built.

The map zooms in. One system in particular — Mira-4 — blinks red.

T’ZAN

Mira-4 had a population of seven million. Their withdrawal is especially troubling. They were weeks away from finalizing Federation Articles.

SAAVEDRA

And now? They signed a mutual defense and economic pact with the Lantean High Council. Their planetary shields are being upgraded by Lantean engineers as we speak.

ROSS (coldly)

And we get a polite communiqué thanking us for “generations of consideration.”

NECHAYEV

If this trend continues, we may lose the political center of the Beta Quadrant. The Romulans are already watching. The Klingons are… skeptical. And Cardassia has gone silent.

She stands and looks around the table.

NECHAYEV (CONT’D)

We’re not just bleeding territory. We’re bleeding influence. The Federation stood for unity. Exploration. Peace.

SHELBY (quietly)

Now it stands for hesitation.

A silence follows.

T’ZAN

We must consider an official diplomatic delegation to Atlantis. Not military. Not intelligence. Just… dialogue.

SAAVEDRA

The question is: will the Lanteans care enough to answer?

ATLANTIS – HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER

The towering crystalline spires of Atlantis shimmer in the evening light outside the grand window. Inside, the Lantean High Council convenes around a circular table of white marble, inscribed with glowing Ancient glyphs. A holographic projection of the Milky Way Galaxy hovers above the center of the chamber.

Present are:

High Counselor Hope Mikaelson

General Jessica O'Neill

Varek (Chief Architect)

Cassie Fraiser (Head of Science and Genetics)

Aran (Minister of Exploration)

Tara Maclay (Cultural Liaison)

Faith Jackson-Lehane (Strategic Affairs)

O’vie (Fleet Commander)

The tension is measured but purposeful. Worlds on the map begin to shift — Federation symbols blink out, replaced with Lantean crests.

HOPE

Seven new worlds in the last month alone. Each one choosing us over the Federation. Not out of fear. Out of trust.

FAITH (dry)

Or desperation. Either way, it’s a win.

CASSIE

If this trend continues, we’ll be balancing more protectorate requests than we can process. We weren’t meant to return as conquerors — but it’s starting to look that way.

TARA (gently)

We’re not conquering. We’re anchoring. The Pegasus Galaxy is stable. The Milky Way is… unraveling.

ARAN

Which is why I propose something permanent.

He gestures, and the hologram zooms in on a star system near the Beta Quadrant — quiet, unclaimed, with no major civilizations in the region.

ARAN (CONT’D)

PX-3914. No sentient life. No territorial claims. Excellent orbital alignment. Plenty of resources. I recommend it as the new home for our next city-ship.

GENERAL O’NEILL

Elysium. Still under construction at Promethean Shipyards. She’ll be ready in six weeks.

O’VIE

We deploy her there with a full escort group. Not as a threat — as a statement. We’re back, and we’re staying.

HOPE (nodding slowly)

We left this galaxy in ashes. Now we return not as exiles… but as guardians.

She rises, looking to each council member in turn.

HOPE (CONT’D)

Let the Federation worry about borders. We’ll worry about people. Assign Elysium a diplomatic core, a civilian support team, and defensive fleet. Make it known: this is not a base. It is a beacon.

TARA (smiling softly)

Then let the stars remember what it means when a City of Light rises again.

PROMETHEAN SHIPYARDS – ORBIT OF LUMERA – LATER

Suspended in high orbit above Lumera, the half-complete City-Ship Elysium glows with golden scaffolds and pale-blue power veins. Drones swarm over her massive domes and towers. Defense platforms surround the orbital ring as engineers finish the final systems.

Below her, a fleet of escort ships—sleek and shimmering—powers up in synchronized formation.

The Lanteans are no longer visitors in the Milky Way. They are home again.

TALARIS PRIME – COLONY SQUARE – DUSK

The sun sets over a thriving colony. Talaris Prime — a lush Federation colony world with a population of nearly 5 million, founded just 80 years ago. Wide green fields, advanced infrastructure, and families walking the streets. But tonight, a town hall gathering fills the main square.

A massive holo-display shows two emblems side-by-side:

🖖 United Federation of Planets

🛡️ Lantean Protectorate Accord

Tension simmers in the crowd — colonists of all races, some in Starfleet uniforms, others in civilian attire. A banner reads:

“PUBLIC FORUM: FUTURE OF TALARIS PRIME”

On the raised dais stand:

Governor Elan Durell, a calm but weary Betazoid woman

Captain Riva Thorne, the Starfleet liaison

Envoy Nerel, a Vulcan representing Federation Diplomatic Corps

Ambassador Sael, a Lantean diplomatic observer

The murmurs settle as Governor Durell steps forward.

DURELL

For eighty years, we have proudly flown the flag of the Federation. We have lived by its laws. Thrived under its principles.

She pauses, voice tightening.

DURELL (CONT’D)

And yet… when the Wraith came within one system of us — we were alone.

Gasps ripple. A few heads nod. Captain Thorne shifts uncomfortably.

THORNE

Governor, Starfleet has limited resources. A formal fleet was dispatched as soon as—

DURELL (sharply)

After they left.

She points to Sael, the Lantean ambassador. The crowd turns to him, half in awe, half in hesitation.

AMBASSADOR SAEL (calm, resonant)

We did not come offering control. We came offering protection. A promise backed not by treaties… but by presence.

He gestures, and a shimmering hologram appears above him — a Lantean Aurora-class warship in orbit.

SAEL (CONT’D)

No Wraith will ever reach this world… if you ask for our shield.

NEREL (stepping forward)

But at what cost, Ambassador? Will you respect planetary sovereignty? Culture? Will Talaris retain its democratic rights?

SAEL (measured)

We do not govern. We defend. And we keep our word — something many here now doubt about your Federation.

Awkward silence. The crowd murmurs again.

TALARIS PRIME – BALCONY OVERLOOKING THE CITY – LATER

Governor Durell stands alone, staring at the stars.

Captain Thorne joins her, quietly.

THORNE

I’ve served Starfleet thirty years. This isn’t the future I signed up for.

DURELL (softly)

Nor I. But I won’t let pride doom us.

She turns to him — conflicted, but resolute.

DURELL (CONT’D)

If Starfleet won’t station a ship in orbit by next week… I’ll sign the Protectorate Accord myself.

TALARIS PRIME – ORBIT – NIGHT

Above the planet, a lone Starfleet ship drifts — scarred, understaffed, and clearly aging.

A thousand kilometers away, a Lantean warship silently decloaks… watching.

Waiting.

FEDERATION COUNCIL CHAMBER – EARTH – DAY

The grand chamber hums with tension. Delegates from across the Federation’s member worlds sit in their elevated seats, while the Federation President, sh’Varel, presides over the session, her white Andorian uniform crisp, her expression stormy.

On the massive central holographic display:

A hologram of the new Lantean city-ship Elysium, still in scaffolding at Promethean Shipyards.

The Beta Quadrant star system where it will be deployed — unclaimed, neutral territory, but bordering multiple Federation-aligned systems.

Below that: Breaking News — Governor Durell of Talaris Prime has issued an ultimatum.

sh’VAREL

The Lantean High Council has formally declared their intent to launch Elysium within the month. A city-ship, fully self-sufficient, housing civilians, diplomats, and a rotating defense fleet. And it will remain permanently… in the Beta Quadrant.

A ripple of unease echoes through the delegates.

COUNCILOR GRATH (Tellarite)

In Federation space!

COUNCILOR NESARA (Vulcan)

In neutral space, technically. But politically — it is a wedge.

COUNCILOR BARTANEK (Human)

We were never meant to compete with the Lanteans. And now, we’re watching them outmaneuver us diplomatically and militarily. Again.

COUNCILOR JATREK (Andorian)

We beat the Dominion. Held the line at Wolf 359. And now we’re losing worlds without a shot fired?

Another beat as murmurs grow.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (cold, precise)

We are not just losing influence. We are losing faith. Which brings us to Talaris Prime.

The screen shifts to the green-and-blue world of Talaris.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (CONT’D)

Governor Durell’s demands are simple: a permanent Starfleet presence, or she signs the Lantean Protectorate Accord within the month.

COUNCILOR NESARA

We cannot meet her demands. We know that.

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV (joining by secure transmission)

Starfleet Command confirms: we cannot sustain permanent deployment. The ship currently in orbit is already overdue for reassignment.

COUNCILOR BARTANEK

Then she’s already gone. She’s just waiting for the ceremony.

 PRESIDENTIAL BRIEFING ROOM – LATER

A smaller, closed-door meeting. President sh’Varel with several senior council members and military advisors.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (measured)

We need a response that preserves our dignity — without escalating into a diplomatic standoff.

COUNCILOR JATREK

What are you suggesting? We send her a thank-you and a fruit basket for defecting?

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL

No. We let Talaris go… but we announce a Federation Sovereignty Initiative — renewed infrastructure, local defense support, and economic aid for all border colonies still under our protection.

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV

We’re going to have to make examples of those we can still protect. And fast.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL

Agreed. And we send a delegation to Elysium’s inauguration.

The room goes silent.

COUNCILOR NESARA (calmly)

You wish to publicly acknowledge their presence?

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL

We acknowledge it… because we can no longer ignore it.

She leans forward, antennae tilting in subtle emphasis.

PRESIDENT sh’VAREL (CONT’D)

The galaxy is changing. We either change with it, or we will watch from the sidelines as our neighbors build new alliances — without us.

Chapter Text

The Arcadia Shipyards shimmered with light as thousands of Lanteans, dignitaries, and officers gathered in the ceremonial observation galleries that lined the construction bay. Suspended in zero-gravity and gleaming under the glow of a dozen spotlights was Elysium—the newest city-ship to rise from the docks. Massive, elegant, and bristling with both scientific and military potential, the vessel was a marvel of Ancient engineering fused with 300 years of Lantean evolution.

Flags of the five Lantean city-states—Atlantis, Lumeria, Borealis, Baia, and Shangri-La—lined the high walls of the shipyard. Floating banners displayed holographic symbols of the High Council, the Defense Forces, and the seal of the Lantean Diplomatic Corps.

A hush fell over the gathered crowd as the grand orchestral notes of The Return to the Stars—a piece composed after the exodus from Earth—echoed through the cavernous bay. At the forefront of the platform stood High Councilor Hope Mikaelson, adorned in her formal robes of state, with Supreme General Jessica O'Neill, Ambassador Sam Carter, and Councilors Cassie Fraiser, Aran, Emily Mackay, and O’vie at her side.

A spotlight turned to the center of the dais as Hope stepped forward.

“For three centuries, we watched from beyond the edge of this galaxy,” she said, her voice magnified but serene. “Now, with caution, vision, and strength, we return—not to conquer, but to uplift, to engage, and to stand for what our ancestors once did. Today, we launch not just a city, but a symbol of peace and Lantean resilience. Let it be known—Elysium is not merely a ship. It is our voice in the galaxy we once called home.”

She turned slightly and extended a hand.

“Dawn Summers, step forward.”

Clad in diplomatic silver, Dawn stepped up to the podium, a rare solemnity in her eyes, but a warm, proud smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. She bowed her head as Hope continued:

“You have served this people with distinction, wisdom, and unshakable loyalty. As of this day, you are appointed City Administrator of Elysium, and the official representative of the Lantean High Council to the Milky Way Galaxy.”

Dawn looked out at the gathered audience and spoke clearly.

“I was born on Earth, shaped by war, loss, and hope. The Lanteans gave me a second life and a calling. I will honor this duty—not with arrogance, but with humility, and a fierce determination to see both our peoples thrive. Let this city be a bridge—not a wall—between us.”

Applause erupted, dignified and thunderous.

On cue, energy beams from the control towers lanced into the magnetic locks holding Elysium in place. Slowly, elegantly, the city-ship began to rise within the dock, her massive towers lighting up in cascading blues and golds. Antigravity pads and internal engines hummed to life, and the audience gasped as Elysium, complete with her newly attached orbital defense satellite grid, and modular shipyard rings, emerged from the Arcadia facility into open space.

Dozens of Lantean warships flanked her in escort formation—a sign of honor and guardianship. Cheers erupted across Arcadia, echoed in Atlantis and all five city-states, with public broadcasts reaching citizens throughout Pegasus and those deployed in the Milky Way.

Hope turned once more toward the audience and declared:

“Let the stars bear witness. Elysium has launched. May she stand for unity, diplomacy, and our renewed presence among the stars!”

As the city-ship drifted outward into her designated hyperspace corridor, a brilliant shimmer enveloped her hull. The great vessel, over twenty kilometers wide, vanished in a flash of blue-white light—on her way to the Beta Quadrant, to establish a new homeworld for the Lantean people.

TALARIS PRIME – CAPITOL SQUARE – DAY

A stunning plaza lies at the heart of the capital city of Talaris Prime. Ancient stonework architecture meets sleek, modern touches, a blend of tradition and progress. Overhead, the twin suns cast a golden hue over thousands of Talarian citizens gathered in celebration. Banners bearing the seal of Talaris ripple alongside newly raised Lantean flags—an elegant symbol of unity: the five-pointed star surrounded by curved wings of light.

A raised platform dominates the square, adorned with silver and blue silk. On it stands Talaris’ Chancellor Ryn Valek, flanked by his cabinet, and opposite them, General Jessica O’Neill, in full ceremonial uniform, with Dawn Summers, Varek, and Hope Mikaelson standing proudly behind her.

The Lantean anthem plays softly over the speakers, dignified and ancient in tone.

CHANCELLOR VALEK

(stepping forward, solemn)

For over a hundred years, Talaris Prime stood neutral, seeking protection through dialogue, and our own strength. But the Milky Way is changing. The stars shift, the balance wavers. Today, we take our future into our own hands—not through fear, but through trust. Through partnership.

(beat)

We, the People of Talaris Prime, formally and with unity of spirit, request acceptance as a Protectorate of the Lantean High Council, with all the rights, responsibilities, and honors such a bond entails.

He steps aside.

Jessica steps forward, her voice clear and firm, amplified not only by technology, but by her commanding presence.

GENERAL JESSICA O’NEILL

On behalf of the Lantean High Council, and the united peoples of the Pegasus and Milky Way Galaxies under our protection… we accept your petition.

(beat)

Talaris Prime is now under the defense, trade network, and diplomatic support of the Lantean Protectorate Accords. No power—Federation or otherwise—will force your hand again. Welcome to our family.

The crowd erupts into applause, cheers echoing throughout the capital. Lantean drones sweep overhead, capturing the moment for transmission across both galaxies.

Jessica extends a ceremonial crystal core—shaped like a blooming lotus—to Chancellor Valek. He takes it reverently.

CHANCELLOR VALEK

May it always shine in peace.

Behind them, on the horizon, the City-Ship Elysium hovers in the atmosphere, visible in the sky. Several Aurora-class warships maintain patrol formation overhead, while the orbital defense platform flickers to life—one of the many signs of a new era.

Dawn steps forward beside Jessica, her smile bright, as she lays a hand gently on the podium.

DAWN SUMMERS

The Lantean presence here is not a symbol of dominance. It is a symbol of solidarity. We protect not to rule—but to ensure no one is ever left vulnerable again.

A new banner is unfurled from the capital building behind them—a combined seal of Talaris and the Lanteans, united by a silver arc of stars.

The ceremony concludes with a deep chime—echoed from orbit by a pulse from the Elysium’s comms array—signaling to both galaxies that Talaris has chosen its future.

And the stars bear witness.

Starfleet Command, Earth – Strategic Operations Briefing Room

The room was tense, the soft hum of holoscreens filled with real-time telemetry and orbital scans projecting a glowing hologram of the Beta Quadrant. In the center, one marker pulsed brighter than the rest.

“Elysium has arrived,” Admiral Nechayev said, arms crossed tightly across her chest. “Initial scans confirm the city-ship has begun deployment of its planetary infrastructure. Defensive satellites are moving into a geosynchronous orbit. And the shipyard modules are already in place.”

Admiral Paris exhaled slowly. “They moved fast. Too fast.”

Vice Admiral Nakamura narrowed his eyes at the hologram. “There’s no Federation claim on that world. No life, no resources of strategic value. But now it’s home to the most advanced city the galaxy’s seen since Atlantis itself.”

“We knew it was coming,” said Admiral Ross, leaning forward. “We’ve had reports from the Enterprise and the Council debrief. This move was inevitable.”

“But that doesn’t make it any easier,” countered Commodore Reyes. “They’re establishing a permanent presence. We’ll never get another unopposed foothold in that region again. And the worlds around it—Talaris Prime, especially—are already drifting away from us.”

Nechayev’s lips thinned. “The Lanteans claim it’s a scientific outpost. That Dawn Summers will serve as a diplomatic liaison. But we’ve all seen the schematics of their defense grid. That’s not just science. That’s power projection.”

Paris nodded. “She’s a city-ship, a shipyard, and a battle station all in one. And they’ve placed her right on our doorstep.”

Silence fell for a moment.

Then Admiral Janeway, watching quietly from the end of the table, finally spoke. “We’re not at war. We’re not even adversaries yet. But if we don’t engage them—politically, diplomatically—we may find ourselves irrelevant in our own quadrant.”

Ross looked up. “So, what do we do?”

Janeway’s eyes were sharp. “We extend a hand. Request a diplomatic envoy to Elysium. Maybe even suggest a Federation liaison aboard the city. If they’re serious about peace, they’ll accept.”

Nechayev raised a skeptical brow. “And if they don’t?”

“Then we prepare for a galaxy where we’re no longer the biggest player in town.”

U.S.S. ENTERPRISE - CONFERENCE ROOM

The senior staff gathered around the table, holographic displays of Elysium and the surrounding Beta Quadrant sectors hovering over the table. Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, now older but commanding as ever, sat at the head, his expression thoughtful.

Commander Riker, Counselor Troi, Geordi La Forge, Dr. Beverly Crusher, and Worf were all present. The topic: Lantean expansion.

Picard tapped the console. “Elysium has completed atmospheric stabilization and is establishing orbital infrastructure. According to the latest report from Admiral Paris, it is now fully operational and—by all accounts—untouchable.”

Geordi frowned. “They’ve got power outputs on par with Dyson sphere levels. That kind of energy could warp subspace across an entire sector if they wanted.”

Worf growled under his breath. “Or destroy it.”

Troi looked to Picard. “But everything so far has been diplomatic. Peaceful.”

Picard steepled his fingers. “Which makes their silence now all the more unnerving.”

Suddenly, a blinding flash of white light illuminated the room.

Q appeared, mid-stride—disheveled, pacing, and for once... visibly distressed.

Q: “Tell me, Jean-Luc, did you ever imagine there would come a day when I would come to you for help?”

The room froze. Every officer instinctively tensed. Worf rose halfway from his chair before Picard raised a hand.

Picard: “Q… What’s wrong?”

Q (turning sharply): “They’re here. The ones who were never supposed to be. The Lanteans.” He spat the name like it was poison. “You think you understand power, mon capitaine? You have no idea what they are. What they were. What they could be again.”

Riker: “You’re afraid of them.”

Q: “Afraid?” He barked a laugh. “The Q do not fear. But the Continuum—” He stopped himself. “We cannot touch them. We’ve tried. We’ve all tried. And they swatted us away like gnats.”

Troi (quietly): “You’re terrified.”

Q looked directly at her, jaw tight.

Q: “They were older than us. Once. Long before this reality ripened into its current form. They’ve walked through higher planes of existence like corridors. They defied entropy. And then they chose to fall. To limit themselves. To sleep.”

Picard (calmly): “And now they’re awake.”

Q: “And they remember everything.”

A long silence followed. The hum of the ship seemed louder.

Picard: “Why come to us?”

Q: “Because you are the only ones they still consider… amusing. Worth watching. That city of theirs—Elysium—isn’t just a settlement. It’s a signal. A declaration to the cosmos.”

Geordi: “A declaration of what?”

Q turned slowly, the air around him shimmering with unstable energy.

Q: “That the children of the Ancients have returned… and the gods are obsolete.”

With that, he vanished in another brilliant burst of white light.

Silence returned.

Riker: “Did Q just say the Q are obsolete?”

Worf: “I have never seen him frightened. Not even by the Borg.”

Troi: “He was telling the truth.”

Picard stood and approached the viewport, gazing into the stars.

Picard: “Then it would appear we must tread carefully. If even the Q fear the Lanteans… then diplomacy may be our only shield.”

Riker: “You think they’d really come after us?”

Picard shook his head slowly.

Picard: “No. Not unless we give them a reason.”

Dr. Crusher: “Then let’s make sure we never do.”

Chapter Text

ELYSIUM – MAIN CONTROL ROOM

The grand control chamber of the city-ship Elysium hums with tranquil energy. Holographic displays float around the room, highlighting systems, star charts, and deployment schematics for the Seed Ships. Crystalline walls glow with soft, azure light.

ADMINISTRATOR DAWN SUMMERS stands at the central command console, posture crisp and purposeful. She surveys a starmap showing Elysium’s orbit over their newly settled world, and the arcs tracing the Seed Ships' flight paths.

DAWN:

“Status on the Seed Ships?”

TECHNICIAN VAREK steps forward, hands clasped behind his back.

VAREK:

“All eight are secured and ready for departure. Launch parameters have been double-verified. They’ll begin dispersing through the former gate network within six hours.”

DAWN (nodding):

“Each ship will upgrade any remaining Milky Way gates to Pegasus model specs upon arrival?”

EMILIA MAYBOURN, overseeing coordination logistics, steps closer, holding a glowing datapad.

EMILIA:

“Yes, Administrator. The upgrade subroutines are embedded into each core. They’ll recalibrate each stargate to accept Lantean encryption and interface protocols.”

DAWN:

“Good. The galaxy’s been asleep long enough. Let’s wake it the right way.”

Just then, a soft chime echoes through the chamber. CADET MALEN turns from the sensor station, slightly tense.

CADET MALEN:

“Administrator—long-range sensors just flagged a vessel on approach vector. Transponder reads USS Crazy Horse, Federation registry. Estimated arrival in system: twenty-one hours.”

DAWN (calm, but focused):

“They’re early. Set a watch and begin diplomatic readiness protocols. No transmissions until they’re within hailing range, but ensure they know we’re aware of them.”

EMILIA (raising an eyebrow):

“Should we expect a welcoming party?”

DAWN (dryly):

“If they don’t bring one, I’ll be disappointed. In the meantime, we have a network to rebuild.”

The hologram shifts, showing a vast 3D map of the Milky Way. Points of light begin to shimmer—dormant stargates waiting to be reborn. One by one, blinking Seed Ship icons begin moving from Elysium into deep space.

DAWN (quietly, more to herself):

“Let’s show the galaxy what we’ve become.”

USS CRAZY HORSE – CONFERENCE ROOM

The Crazy Horse is a sleek, Sovereign-class starship with a slightly customized, reinforced design—meant for deep-range missions and high-level diplomatic assignments. Its conference room reflects that: clean lines, Federation banners, and a large star map projection in the center of the table.

CAPTAIN RAFE BENTLEY, mid-40s, sharp-featured and diplomatic, stands at the head of the table. Around him sit key officers: Commander Jia Rao (XO), Lieutenant T'Laren (Science), Lieutenant Commander Garrek (Security), and Dr. Andrea Bishop (Medical). The room quiets as the doors swish open.

Enter ADMIRAL ALYNNA NECHAYEV—still every inch the formidable presence even in her advanced years. Her silver hair is perfectly styled, her uniform pressed, her eyes sharp.

BENTLEY (standing):

“Admiral on deck.”

Everyone rises. Nechayev gives a quick nod of acknowledgment.

NECHAYEV:

“At ease. Let’s keep the formality to a minimum, Captain. We’re about to step into uncharted waters, and I want clear minds, not stiff backs.”

They sit. The holographic projection shows a Lantean city-ship—Elysium—floating on the ocean of a lush planet. In Orbit, eight luminous trails mark the departure paths of Seed Ships.

NECHAYEV (studying the display):

“So the Lanteans are rebuilding the stargate network in the Milky Way. That confirms the reports from Starfleet Intelligence and the EMH’s debrief. I take it we haven’t hailed them?”

BENTLEY:

“Not yet, Admiral. They detected us and acknowledged our presence through passive targeting sensors, but no active communication. We’re maintaining a respectful distance until they initiate.”

RAO:

“Which might be for the best. The EMH made it clear—they see us as guests, not equals. And now that we know the Q are afraid of them...”

NECHAYEV (interrupting):

“Yes. That’s not something I ever thought I’d hear.”

She looks around the table, steely-eyed.

“Let’s be clear. The Lanteans are not just another lost colony of humanity. They are the product of a thousand years of forced evolution, Ancient technology, and war-forged unity. And they didn’t just survive— they thrived in a war torn Galaxy while Earth burned during the third world war.”

GARREK (Security):

“If they still have city-ships like Atlantis, plus warships like the Athena, they could rival the Borg in sheer power.”

T'LAREN (calmly):

“Rival? I would suggest surpass. Their hyperdrives alone—”

NECHAYEV:

“Enough. We’re not here to calculate their threat. We’re here to make sure they don’t become one.”

She taps the display, zooming in on the city-ship.

NECHAYEV:

“Administrator Summers is the ranking civilian in Elysium. She’ll likely be the one to greet us—if they choose to let us land at all. Don’t underestimate her.”

BENTLEY (carefully):

“What’s our posture, Admiral?”

NECHAYEV:

“Deferential. Curious. Not submissive. We’re Starfleet—explorers, diplomats, and defenders of the Federation. But we go in with open hands, not raised shields.”

A pause.

NECHAYEV (softly):

“Whatever we think we know about power in this galaxy—it’s time to rethink it.”

The room is silent, each officer feeling the weight of what lies ahead.

RAO:

“We make contact in twenty hours. I’ll prepare the away team.”

NECHAYEV (nodding):

“I’ll lead it myself. Dismissed.”

As the officers file out, Nechayev lingers a moment longer, staring at the slowly turning image of Elysium. Her voice is a whisper, but firm.

NECHAYEV:

“Let’s hope they still believe in diplomacy.”

USS VOYAGER – READY ROOM – EARTH ORBIT

The stars outside the viewport glint softly against the backdrop of Earth. Voyager sits in a proud, steady orbit. Inside the ready room, Admiral Kathryn Janeway stands near the replicator, handing a steaming mug of tea to Admiral Jean-Luc Picard, who accepts it with a nod.

Seated nearby, Guinan watches them both, calm but intensely aware. Her gaze is fixed on the swirling clouds of Earth below. There's something ancient and unsettling in her stillness.

ADMIRAL JANEWAY

I never thought I'd see Voyager parked next to the Enterprise above Earth again. Almost feels... nostalgic.

ADMIRAL PICARD

Nostalgia aside, Kathryn, we have more than memories to trade today.

GUINAN

It's about the Q.

Janeway raises an eyebrow, sipping her own drink as she moves to join them at the seating area.

ADMIRAL JANEWAY

They’ve been awfully quiet. Too quiet. Last I saw Q, he was still meddling, still cryptic, still insufferable.

GUINAN

He's not meddling now. None of them are.

A long pause. Guinan’s voice carries the weight of someone who’s seen empires rise and fall—and survived them all.

GUINAN (CONT'D)

The Q are afraid. Deeply, existentially afraid. And that’s not something they’re built to feel. They've been watching the Lanteans. The reemergence of a power they thought long extinguished has shaken the Continuum to its foundations.

ADMIRAL PICARD

The Q consider themselves omnipotent. If the Lanteans—or the others—can inspire fear in them, then we’re dealing with something far beyond our comprehension.

ADMIRAL JANEWAY

I saw a sliver of that during Voyager’s time in the Delta Quadrant. Ancient ruins, dead systems… whispers of a war that predates humanoid civilization. Are you saying the Lanteans were part of that?

GUINAN

They were one of the pillars that held reality together. The Ancients, the Asgard, the Nox, the Furlings… they didn’t just understand the universe. They shaped it. The Q call them The Great Races not out of reverence—but because they lost to them once.

ADMIRAL PICARD

Lost?

GUINAN

There was a war. Before your species learned to split the atom, before Vulcans reached the stars. The Q sought dominion over all space-time. The Great Races stopped them. Not with brute force—but with knowledge so refined, so pure, it couldn’t be undone. The Q were sealed out of whole segments of reality—locked out like thieves turned away from their own house.

ADMIRAL JANEWAY (thoughtful)

And now that the Lanteans are back…

GUINAN

The locks are opening. And the Q are remembering what it means to be vulnerable.

ADMIRAL PICARD

Why now? Why return after so long?

GUINAN (softly)

Because something worse is coming. Something even the Q can’t stop. The Great Races never disappeared. They retreated. Waiting for a moment when the universe would need them again. That moment has come.

ADMIRAL JANEWAY

So the Lanteans returning… it’s not just about ancient power reawakening.

GUINAN

It’s about survival. Not just yours—everyone’s. And the Q, for all their pride, are hoping someone stronger than them is ready to face what's coming.

ADMIRAL PICARD

Then we’d better hope the Lanteans are our allies.

GUINAN (with a faint, rare smile)

They are. As long as we don’t make the mistake of treating them like gods… or threats.

Janeway glances out the viewport at Earth.

ADMIRAL JANEWAY

Let’s hope Starfleet Command is ready to hear that.

DEEP SPACE OBSERVATORY — FEDERATION OUTPOST ZETA-9 — OUTER EDGE OF THE ALPHA QUADRANT

The dim blue lighting of the outpost glows gently against rows of computer consoles and long-range sensor arrays. Only a skeleton crew mans the remote observatory, situated on a lonely asteroid near the rim of the galaxy.

1. JOREN TAVIS, a young Bolian officer, stares at his console, frowning.

TAVIS

(quietly)

That can’t be right…

He begins running diagnostics, tapping quickly. Beside him, COMMANDER VELORA T’KESS, a Vulcan, walks over with the calm, measured gait of her people.

T’KESS

Is there a problem, Lieutenant?

TAVIS

Ma’am, I’m detecting a gravimetric distortion approximately 0.04 lightyears beyond the galactic rim—like a spatial rift... but it’s not like anything we’ve recorded. It’s not subspace. It’s not transwarp. It’s... something else.

T’Kess leans in, examining the shifting waveforms on his screen.

T’KESS

The frequency harmonics are... inconsistent. It is almost as if reality is weakening in that sector.

Suddenly, the lights flicker. Warning klaxons begin to sound. A new sensor alarm screams across the deck.

TAVIS

(reading quickly)

We have visual confirmation—something just emerged from the rift!

A large viewscreen activates, showing a dark, churning storm of violet and black energy—swirling like a maelstrom. From the center, something enormous begins to slowly unfold: not a ship, not a creature, but something in-between. An angular, shifting mass of metal and shadow that seems to warp space around it as it moves.

T’KESS

Initiate full-spectrum scan. Alert Starfleet Command. Classify this event as Omega-level.

TAVIS

(reading)

Ma’am... sensors are failing. It’s emitting a field that disrupts all quantum signatures within range. It’s like it’s... unraveling reality.

Suddenly, the main console shorts out. The outpost shakes as if reality itself is convulsing.

T’KESS

Evacuate the outpost. Immediately.

STARFLEET COMMAND — EARTH — MOMENTS LATER

A holographic display of the anomaly now floats above the main command table in the briefing room. Admirals Picard, Janeway, and Paris stand in silence.

ADMIRAL PARIS

What in God’s name are we looking at?

JANWAY

Something old. Something buried beyond the edge of the galaxy. And now... it’s awake.

GUINAN

(offscreen, as she enters quietly)

No. It was never sleeping. Just waiting.

The Admirals turn to her.

GUINAN

This isn’t the Lanteans. This isn’t the Q. This is something that predates the Great Alliance. Predates everything. They were sealed away in the early shaping of the universe... and something just opened the door.

Picard’s face tightens.

PICARD

Then we’re not just looking at a Lantean-Federation political crisis anymore.

JANWAY

No. We’re looking at the end of the galaxy as we know it—if this thing breaks through.

GUINAN

It already has.

Chapter Text

The Rift Opens

Location: Outermost edge of the Alpha Quadrant – near the galactic halo, in unclaimed deep space

The stars shimmer unnaturally as reality bends at a single point in space. Sensors from a distant automated Starfleet relay station begin to scream warnings no one is around to hear. The void ripples — not like subspace being torn, but as though the fabric of reality itself resists, then tears open like wet paper.

A jagged rift appears, massive and ominous. Lightning-like filaments crackle along its edges, violet and black energy lashing out into normal space. An unbearable cold pulses outward — not of temperature, but of age, darkness, and hatred.

From within, something ancient stirs.

Dark shapes begin to emerge, vast constructs unlike anything in Federation, Romulan, or even Lantean design. Geometric yet alien, shaped as if built by beings that never saw the universe the same way as mortals. Their surfaces shimmer with non-Euclidean patterns, impossible angles that warp light and confuse sensors. Some are as large as small moons, yet move with impossible grace.

Within one of the constructs, a massive consciousness awakens.

CORE CHAMBER — LEVIATHAN SHIP (Interior)

A dark chamber of obsidian and pulsating crystal. No windows. No air. Yet it is alive — and sentient.

A voice — or perhaps a thought — echoes within.

THE FIRST ONES (ancient telepathic voice):

“We remember the betrayal. The sealing. The cowardice of the Children of Fire and Light.”

“The Architects of the Stars. The Watchers. The Harmony. The Tricksters.”

“They feared us. Banished us.”

“Now we return.”

A wave of energy rolls through the rift, destabilizing nearby space. Starfleet’s distant probes disintegrate as their shielding folds under incomprehensible power.

A single construct exits the rift and vanishes — not into warp, not into subspace — but as though stepping behind a curtain of reality.

ELYSIUM – Command Chamber

Alarms momentarily flicker across the outer sensor arrays. An alert briefly tags the rift before vanishing.

A Lantean technician furrows his brow.

TECHNICIAN:

"Administrator Summers… something just blinked past the edge of our long-range sweeps. We only caught it for a moment, like space tore itself open. But it's… ancient. Not like anything in our databanks."

1. SUMMERS (calm but concerned):

“Log it. Triple encrypt. Notify High Council Liaison Carter and General O’Neill. Quietly.”

She turns, looking out at the serene ocean surrounding Elysium — unaware of the vast storm rising at the galactic edge.

DEEP SPACE — THE RIFT

More constructs loom just behind the veil. Billions of years of hatred. They have no name in this age — only legends the Ancients dared not record.

They are the Precursor Wraith, the Null Gods, the Shadowed Architects… the First Inhabitants of the Milky Way.

And they are coming home.

FLASHBACK — Over 65 Million Years Ago

Location: Ancient Council World – Planet Celestis Prime (Long since dead)

Setting: A vast, golden crystalline chamber open to the stars. The sky is filled with auroras and rings of debris. Powerful, timeless beings gather.

Narrator (V.O.):

"Long before the rise of mankind, before Atlantis rose on Earth… even before the Ancients seeded the stars… there were others."

"They were the first."

CELESTIAL CONCLAVE HALL – CELESTIS PRIME

The Ancients stand tall, luminous beings robed in starlight and symbols. Nox elders float gently, glowing faintly, their expressions sorrowful. Furling shamans, tall and feline-eyed, chant softly in the language of the roots and stars. The Asgard — younger and less synthetic than their future selves — speak in solemn unity.

At the center is a projection of the galaxy, pulsing red in one region — the edge of the core. Within it, twisting masses of blackened energy consume star systems, warping space.

MORVOS (Ancient High Ascendant):

“The First Inhabitants have begun consuming again. Eleven systems in the Galactic Core spiral have vanished — stars gone, matter unraveled.”

AL'VALA (Furling Seer):

“We warned you. They are not of balance. Not of this song of existence. They are entropy given form. We should have acted when they devoured the First Choir of Light.”

Y’LARA (Nox Matriarch):

“They are born of this galaxy, but not shaped by its harmony. They feed upon the root energies, the light of consciousness. We cannot kill them.”

HEIMDALL (young Asgard commander):

“No… but perhaps we can bind them.”

A murmur of energy ripples through the council. The Ancients exchange glances.

MORVOS (Ancient):

“We propose a Great Alliance — between our peoples. Our sciences and magics combined. We will create a prison — not of stone, not of matter, but of reality itself. A sealed plane.”

Y’LARA:

“A pocket universe. Separated from ours by the Veil of Time and Intention.”

AL'VALA:

“But the cost—”

MORVOS:

“I will lead the Rite. So too shall seven of our greatest. The Gateways will be anchored across the galaxy. Once complete… they will never return.”

MONTAGE – THE BINDING OF THE FIRST ONES

Massive intergalactic constructs are forged in orbit around neutron stars, fueled by singularities and time-dilated fusion cores.

Nox and Furling weave dimensional songs and runes into the veil of space.

The Asgard place gravitational lattice arrays that destabilize planar overlap.

The Ancients, glowing with pure energy, open the Veil, and chant in the Language of Creation.

The First Ones scream, not in fear, but in defiance. Their warships lash out, consuming fleets, unraveling moons — but the trap is already sprung.

CORE GALAXY – FINAL BATTLE

A brilliant surge of light — like a second Big Bang — as the final anchor is activated.

A pocket universe blossoms into being — chaotic, shifting, yet utterly sealed. The First Ones are sucked inward, their forms distorting through every frequency of existence as the veil closes.

And then… silence.

CELESTIAL CONCLAVE – MOMENTS LATER

The survivors stand weary. Many are gone. Morvos breathes heavily, weakened.

MORVOS:

“It is done.”

Y’LARA:

“For how long?”

AL'VALA:

“Until they find a crack.”

HEIMDALL:

“Then we must ensure the Alliance endures. That our descendants remember — what sleeps in the void… must never awaken.”

ELYSIUM – OCEAN SURFACE – DAY

The immense city-ship Elysium glistens under the golden sunlight, floating gracefully atop the sapphire-blue ocean of its new homeworld. Around the city, several sleek support ships drift lazily in formation, and above, the faint shimmer of the orbital defense satellites quietly patrols.

ATMOSPHERE – APPROACH VECTOR

The USS Crazy Horse pierces the cloudline, its elegant frame glowing from mild atmospheric friction. As it descends, two escort vessels—Lantean patrol ships—flank it on either side, guiding it toward a designated landing platform near Elysium’s central spire.

ELYSIUM – CONTROL HUB LANDING OBSERVATION PLATFORM

Administrator Dawn Summers stands in formal attire—elegant yet practical Lantean robes woven with her city’s crest. Around her are senior Lantean aides, technicians, and representatives of the High Council.

A soft chime sounds.

CONTROLLER

“Administrator Summers, the Crazy Horse has initiated landing sequence. Touchdown in three minutes.”

SUMMERS (nodding)

“Prep the reception team. Make sure the diplomatic suite is ready. Today matters.”

LANDING PLATFORM – MOMENTS LATER

The Crazy Horse lands with grace, steam hissing as its landing gear touches down. A walkway extends from the city to the ship.

From the open hatch, Admiral Alynna Nechayev descends first, flanked by her senior staff—Commander Reza, a diplomatic liaison; Lieutenant Asaro, science officer; and a security detail.

Dawn Summers steps forward as the Lantean anthem gently plays from unseen speakers.

SUMMERS (smiling warmly)

“Welcome to Elysium, Admiral Nechayev. I’m Administrator Summers, and on behalf of the Lantean High Council, I officially welcome you and your crew to our home.”

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV (firm, but respectful)

“Thank you, Administrator. It’s… impressive. Your people have done more than survive—you’ve evolved.”

SUMMERS

“We’ve had time. And space. Please, join me. We’ve prepared a forum to discuss your ambassadorial proposal. I look forward to hearing what Starfleet has in mind.”

ELYSIUM – DIPLOMATIC FORUM – LATER

An expansive chamber bathed in soft white light and clean Lantean architecture, with translucent consoles and a panoramic ocean view.

The Federation team and Lantean representatives sit across from each other at a curved meeting table. Servants offer refreshments.

NECHAYEV

“Our goal is simple: transparency, cooperation, and the establishment of a permanent Federation envoy within Elysium. We hope to build trust—especially in light of recent galactic uncertainties.”

SUMMERS (measured but kind)

“Trust is earned, Admiral—but we are willing to take the first step. The High Council will consider your proposal carefully. In the meantime, you and your team are welcome to stay aboard Elysium as our guests.”

ELYSIUM – SUNSET

As the sun dips below the horizon, lights across the city begin to glow with a gentle radiance. The Crazy Horse rests peacefully at the platform, and Elysium hums quietly—a new beacon rising in a galaxy at a turning point.

ELYSIUM – GRAND DINING HALL – NIGHT

The dining hall of the floating city of Elysium is a vision of elegance — marble columns support a sweeping vaulted ceiling illuminated by soft, natural bioluminescent light woven into living plants that line the walls. Long tables are set with shimmering crystalware, silver cutlery, and dishes steaming with aromatic, vibrant, and colorful food unlike anything in Starfleet replicators.

Administrator Dawn Summers — poised, regal in her flowing formal robes — lifts her glass slightly as she addresses the guests.

SUMMERS:

"Admiral Nechayev, Captain M'Rell, honored guests of the Crazy Horse, welcome to Elysium. We’re grateful to host you here for the beginning of what we hope will be a long and mutually beneficial friendship."

ADMIRAL NECHAYEV (raising her own glass):

"Thank you, Administrator Summers. We’re honored by your hospitality… and this extraordinary view."

She gestures to the windows that overlook the endless turquoise ocean, shimmering in the twilight.

CAPTAIN M’RELL (a Caitian, tail flicking with intrigue):

"The scent of this meal alone is more enticing than anything I’ve experienced in recent memory."

Laughter spreads as the first courses are served — roasted spiced meats, aromatic grains, glazed fruits, and steaming herbal teas. Forks and glasses clink as the Starfleet personnel begin tasting.

COMMANDER LIU:

"This is… incredible. The flavor profile is so rich. And the textures? It's like… real food."

SUMMERS (smirking gently):

"That’s because it is. Everything here is grown — harvested, prepared, and served fresh. No replication. Just cultivation."

NECHAYEV:

"We’d heard the Lanteans didn’t rely on replication… but to see and taste the result is quite something else."

SUMMERS:

"Replicators are an impressive technology, don’t get me wrong. But they tend to create copies of copies of copies — nutrition suffers. Real food not only tastes better, it feels better. It nourishes more than the body."

1. ORTIZ (a Starfleet xenobiologist):

"But… replicators helped end world hunger on Earth. We couldn’t have managed without them."

SUMMERS (nodding respectfully):

"A vital step in your development — one we respect. But with our agricultural infrastructure — and with help from our trading partners in Pegasus, Andromeda, and even the Void Colonies — we can supply food to any world in three galaxies without needing replication. Even in post-scarcity civilizations, we believe in the soul of food — the tradition and craft of it."

The Starfleet crew exchange intrigued glances, visibly impressed.

NECHAYEV:

"That level of logistics... it's astonishing."

SUMMERS:

"We believe abundance doesn’t have to come from artificial means. What we grow, we grow with purpose — in harmony with each world."

LIEUTENANT T'SAL (a Vulcan, raising an eyebrow):

"The flavor does seem… more 'alive.' That is not a scientific term, but it is the most apt description."

SUMMERS (laughing lightly):

"I'll take that as the highest praise from a Vulcan."

Soft music begins to play — traditional Lantean instruments emitting a calming, melodic resonance that fills the space without overwhelming the conversation.

As the dinner continues, the conversation gradually shifts to diplomacy, science, and the proposal of Starfleet establishing an ambassadorial presence within Elysium.

But for this moment, amid laughter, curiosity, and good food, it is simply a celebration of connection.

ELYSIUM – ADMINISTRATOR’S PRIVATE CHAMBERS – NIGHT

The golden light of the setting sun filters through the expansive windows. Administrator Dawn Summers pours two glasses of a soft blue Lantean wine and offers one to Admiral Nechayev, who is standing near a curved archway that looks out onto the ocean surrounding the city.

DAWN (smiling)

I know diplomacy dinners aren’t always the most exciting part of the job, but I hope we managed to surprise you at least a little.

ADMIRAL NECHEAYEV (raising her glass)

You certainly did. The food, the music... this place is extraordinary. The Federation's heard rumors, but I’m starting to understand just how little we truly know about the Lanteans.

DAWN (sitting)

That’s partly by design. We’ve had to be cautious. The last time Earth reached this level of technological complexity... it ended in war and exile.

NECHEAYEV (taking a sip)

And now you’re back. Stronger. United. Capable of feeding entire galaxies without synthetic support. It’s... impressive. And intimidating.

DAWN (leaning forward)

That’s not our intent. We left Earth because we had to survive. We grew because we had no choice. But we don’t want to dominate. We want to help. Which is why your proposal for an ambassador here is... promising.

NECHEAYEV (nods)

You mean that?

DAWN

I do. But let’s be honest. This isn’t just about diplomacy. You sent a warship, not a science vessel.

NECHEAYEV (with a wry smile)

Caution goes both ways.

DAWN (grins)

Fair. Let’s build trust then. Starting now.

ATLANTIS – CITY SPIRE – DAWN

Sunlight gleams off the towers of Atlantis as the ocean crashes gently below.

 ATLANTIS – CENTRAL DATA CORE – MOMENTS LATER

The room is circular and filled with faint blue light. Floating holographic projections spin slowly in the air. The CITY AVATAR — a holographic woman made of pulsing, luminous light — stands motionless before the central console.

Suddenly, a data burst comes through an intergalactic subspace channel. The room darkens as ancient glyphs and fragmented log entries begin appearing midair, translating in real time.

The Avatar’s glowing eyes widen.

CITY AVATAR (quietly)

Origin pattern... match confirmed. Threat classification: Omega-Prime.

[beat]

Directive: Immediate Council Assembly.

Her voice echoes through the city’s network.

ATLANTIS – HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER

One by one, the members of the Lantean High Council enter the chamber. HOLOGRAMS of others in distant cities and ships flicker into place. General Jessica O'Neill is the last to arrive, armor polished, expression unreadable.

The City Avatar appears before them, the data swirling in the air.

CITY AVATAR

Honored Council. I bring you the First Protocol Warning. A threat sealed away at the dawn of the Alliance has reawakened.

JESSICA (frowning)

You're speaking of the Forgotten Ones.

CITY AVATAR (gravely)

Yes, Supreme General. The race that predated even the Ancients. Their seal... is fracturing.

Murmurs echo through the chamber.

COUNCILOR VAREK (ancient Lantean diplomat)

That pocket universe was never meant to fail. We used the combined power of the Alliance...

CITY AVATAR

And yet it has begun. A rift has formed on the edge of the Alpha Quadrant. The Forgotten Ones... stir.

HOPE MIKAELSON (High Counselor)

Then it’s begun.

CITY AVATAR

I have done my duty. I now await your orders.

The room falls into deep, uneasy silence.

HIGH COUNCIL CHAMBER – ATLANTIS – NIGHT

The great council chamber within Atlantis glows with a soft blue light as the holographic display flickers to life. The central table, ringed by sleek chairs and adorned with emblems of the Great Races, hums with activity as the last representatives shimmer into view via secure quantum entanglement channels.

Present are:

High Councilor Hope Mikaelson (Lantean)

Supreme General Jessica O’Neill (Lantean Military)

Thor (Asgard, fully restored in a new biologically viable form)

Lya (Nox Elder)

Kuriko (Furling Emissary in humanoid kitsune form)

Councilor Varek (Lantean Science Division)

Cassie Fraiser (Lantean Genetic Sciences)

Emilia Maybourne (Lantean Diplomacy Corps)

The tension is palpable. The room dims slightly as Hope stands at the head of the table. The City Avatar, a luminous female holographic figure with glowing blue eyes, appears beside her, silent but somber.

HOPE

(gravely)

Thank you all for answering the call on such short notice. I wouldn’t have summoned you unless the situation demanded it.

She gestures, and the hologram pulses, displaying swirling symbols, an ancient Lantean script nearly forgotten—except by the city's deepest systems.

HOPE (CONT'D)

Four hours ago, Elysium received a data burst from the outer Alpha Quadrant. Buried in that transmission was a subspace signature our systems hadn’t seen in over ten thousand years.

She takes a breath, looking each representative in the eye.

HOPE (CONT'D)

The Old Ones... have found a way back.

A stunned silence follows. Lya closes her eyes, her voice a whisper.

LYA

That... should not be possible.

THOR

(calculating)

They were sealed outside this reality by force and accord. We designed the prison to last until the heat death of the universe.

KURIKO

(tails bristling)

You underestimate hatred born before stars. They never died. They waited.

Hope nods grimly.

HOPE

They were the first. This galaxy was theirs before the Ancients even learned to ascend. When we formed the Alliance—this Alliance—our greatest achievement was sealing them away before they could consume every living thing.

She turns to the City Avatar.

CITY AVATAR

Log designation: Initiate Protocol TETRARCH OMEGA. Warning class: BLACK. First recorded threat-level Alpha-Prime. Their technology was equal to, and in some domains, superior to that of the Ancients. They wield entropy fields, bio-dimensional parasitism, and mental corruption. The term used in the first Lantean encounter... was Devourers.

The hologram shifts to a terrifying image: vague black structures half-lost in swirling cosmic fog, interdimensional limbs emerging like shadows in fire.

EMILIA MAYBOURNE

(flatly)

So... they’re back. And they still hate us.

HOPE

We can assume they will try to shatter the seals completely. One was cracked already—the others may follow. They’ve had eons to prepare.

JESSICA O’NEILL

We need the old protocols. War-fleet readiness. Planetary shield lattice activation. And diplomatic outreach to all current powers.

Thor nods.

THOR

The Asgard will dispatch three O’Neill-class vessels to Lantean command immediately. We will reconvene our High Council. The galaxy must be warned.

LYA

The Nox... will not fight. But we will shield and preserve life where we can. Even this darkness must pass.

KURIKO

The Furlings have not forgotten what they did to us. We’ll call our remaining worlds to alert.

HOPE

This time... we face them together. Not as fractured races. But as one alliance. The last, best hope for three galaxies.

The camera slowly pans back as the hologram flickers with ancient warnings and impossible cosmic geometries.

Chapter Text

Exterior – Deep Space, Edge of the Milky-Way Galaxy

A single Leviathan—a gargantuan, obsidian-hued living ship the size of a small moon—drifts through the void, its surface rippling with unnatural life. Pulses of sickly green bioluminescence throb along its organic armor, each beat echoing like the slow, monstrous heartbeat of something that should never exist in this universe.

The planet ahead is uninhabited—lush, green, teeming with primitive life that has never seen the stars. It spins serenely in the dark, unaware that it has been chosen as a feast.

The Leviathan slows, then opens. Its carapace splits like petals peeling back from a monstrous flower, revealing the writhing core within—a vortex of black energy and spindled tendrils stretching out into space. A soundless scream seems to ripple through the void, a psychic echo that could shatter a lesser mind.

Tendrils of voidstuff lash down toward the planet, piercing its atmosphere with boiling clouds. Forests blacken and crumble in moments, oceans churn into a storm of steam and ash, and the very crust begins to rot. The Leviathan is not merely feeding—it is unmaking.

Minutes pass. The lush green sphere is reduced to a cracked husk, its molten heart cooling unnaturally fast as the life-force of the world itself is drained away. The Leviathan closes its petals again, sated for now.

Inside its cavernous neural core, alien minds—cold, ancient, and utterly alien—stir and converse without words. They share a single purpose: the others must be freed.

Slowly, the Leviathan turns toward the void beyond the galaxy, where the prison gates of the Old Ones still hold. The faintest vibration runs through its hull—anticipation. Soon, the locks will break. Soon, their kind will walk between stars again.

Atlantis, High Council Chamber

The holographic display in the center of the chamber shimmered to life, casting pale light across the assembled High Council and the representatives of the Great Races. A single word appeared in the corner of the feed: CLASSIFIED — LANTEAN MILITARY RECORDING.

Jessica O’Neill stood beside Hope Mikaelson at the head of the long, curved table. Her voice was low, almost grim.

“Pulled from the warship Aurora’s long-range sensors. This is what we found when we arrived in the Olyndra System—six hours after the Leviathan left.”

The image shifted to the planet—a lush, oceanic world turning lazily in the dark. Then, without warning, something moved in the blackness beyond it. Massive tendrils of shadow blotted out the stars, curling and undulating like the arms of some ancient predator.

Gasps broke the silence as the feed zoomed in—revealing the Leviathan’s vast, armored bulk, larger than any city-ship, its form barely visible beneath the layers of writhing appendages. The creature opened its maw, and light bled from the world below—rivers of molten rock, atmosphere, and ocean spiraling upward into the beast’s throat.

It was not destruction born of weapons or war.

It was feeding.

The planet shuddered, cracked, and then came apart in a slow-motion collapse. Oceans boiled away. The mantle ripped open. In less than twenty minutes, the world was nothing but drifting shards.

The hologram cut to a view from the edge of the system—showing the Leviathan turning, its countless limbs folding inward as it vanished into the black between stars.

When the recording ended, the chamber was silent.

The Nox elder, Lya, finally spoke, her voice tight with unease.

“This is… older than any hunger I have known. These are not creatures of balance. They are the end of balance.”

Thor of the Asgard adjusted his holographic projection, his normally measured tone sharp.

“If one has escaped, the containment protocols of the Old Ones have failed entirely. It will seek the others.”

Hope leaned forward, hands flat on the table, eyes locked on the darkened display.

“Then we don’t have much time. If that thing finds a way to free the rest…” She looked around at the Council. “One world will be the least of what’s lost.”

Jessica’s gaze was steel.

“Prepare every fleet. Alert every colony. From this moment forward—the Leviathans are no longer legend. They’re here.”

ELYSIUM, Main Control Room

The glass-paneled control room was alive with soft blue light and the hum of crystal conduits beneath the floor. Administrator Dawn Summers was reviewing orbital traffic logs when a young technician all but sprinted up the ramp, breathless.

“Administrator,” he said, voice low but urgent, “we’ve got an intrusion in the main data network. Someone tried to copy sections of the central database and upload a hostile executable—something designed to cripple core systems.”

Dawn’s eyes narrowed. “Source?”

The tech swallowed. “The intrusion originated from the Federation starship Crazy Horse. Traced directly to Admiral Nechayev’s terminal.”

Dawn didn’t flinch. She tapped her comm.

“Colonel Harryman, security priority one. Arrest Admiral Nechayev immediately. Place the Crazy Horse under full quarantine—no one leaves, no one comes aboard without my authorization. And Colonel… bring me Captain M’Rell.”

Moments later, the heavy doors to the control room parted. Colonel Harryman strode in first, the Lantean crest on his shoulder gleaming. Behind him, Captain M’Rell of the Crazy Horse, his Caitian fur bristling with unease, stepped inside.

Dawn didn’t waste time. “Captain, your admiral—and several members of your crew—are confirmed members of Section 31. They attempted to steal classified Lantean technology and sabotage Elysium’s systems. As of this moment, they are under arrest.”

M’Rell’s ears twitched, his tail flicking. “Administrator, I must formally request that my people be remanded to Federation custody—”

“No,” Dawn interrupted, voice calm but cold. “They will not be handed back. They will stand trial before the Lantean High Council for crimes committed against this city and her people. Lantean law will apply, Captain. And you will have full access to observe the process—but you will not interfere.”

M’Rell’s jaw tightened. “This will create… an incident.”

Dawn stepped closer, her gaze steady.

“The incident was created the moment your people tried to undermine our defenses. The Federation should be grateful this is not an act of war. As it stands, I will ensure every action we take is documented—for the record.”

Colonel Harryman gestured toward the exit. “Captain, if you’ll accompany me back to your ship. The quarantine protocols are in effect.”

Dawn turned back to the techs, her voice carrying across the control room. “Double-check all systems for contamination. If they planted a virus, I want it gone before it can breathe in our network. And make sure the High Council is notified—immediately.”

ELYSIUM, Detention Wing

The holding cell was a study in minimalism—smooth white walls, faint blue light strips embedded in the ceiling, no visible seams or doors save for the energy field that kept its occupant inside.

Admiral Nechayev sat on the lone bench, posture stiff, eyes narrowing as Administrator Dawn Summers entered. Colonel Harryman followed, flanking her right, while Captain M’Rell padded in behind them, his fur sleek but his tail twitching in tension.

Dawn stepped right up to the energy barrier. “Admiral. I wanted to address you before the formal proceedings begin. And since Captain M’Rell requested to be present, I’ll explain this once—so there are no misunderstandings.”

M’Rell’s golden eyes flicked between them, his voice low. “Administrator Summers, I’m here to observe—nothing more. But I do intend to report to Starfleet Command.”

“You may report whatever you wish, Captain,” Dawn replied evenly. “But you’ll report the truth.” She looked back to Nechayev. “You and several of your crew are accused of theft of classified Lantean technology, attempted sabotage of our systems, and espionage. Under Lantean law, these crimes are not minor infractions—they are direct threats to the security of our people.”

Nechayev’s mouth tightened. “We acted in the Federation’s best interests.”

“You acted in Section 31’s best interests,” Dawn shot back, her tone icy. “And you’ll face Lantean justice for it. That means a formal trial—by our process, not yours.”

M’Rell’s ears flattened slightly. “Administrator, I think it’s fair that the Admiral understand exactly what that means.”

Dawn inclined her head. “Very well. The trial will begin with the High Council convening in closed session. They will review the compiled evidence—every packet of data, every system log, every witness statement. They will then deliberate privately on whether the accused are guilty or innocent. The accused themselves will not be present during this phase.”

Nechayev’s eyebrows arched. “So we don’t even get to defend ourselves?”

“No,” Dawn said firmly. “Only the evidence may speak to guilt or innocence. This is by design—to ensure no emotional manipulation, no theatrics, no politics in the judgment phase.”

“And if they’re found guilty?” M’Rell asked quietly.

“Then,” Dawn continued, “the accused will be brought before the Council—not to contest the verdict, but to make a plea for leniency. They may present mitigating circumstances, express remorse, or attempt to explain their actions—but the verdict will not change. The only thing that can change is the severity of the punishment.”

Nechayev’s jaw tightened. “And I suppose I can’t request Federation legal counsel.”

“You may request anyone you like,” Dawn said, stepping closer, “but remember—you are in Lantean custody. This is our jurisdiction. Your actions targeted a Lantean city, not a Federation installation. That makes this our matter entirely.”

The air in the cell seemed to thicken.

“I’ll have the formal charges read to you tomorrow,” Dawn concluded. “In the meantime, Captain M’Rell, your ship remains quarantined until this is resolved. If there are any other Section 31 agents aboard, we will find them.”

Dawn turned to leave, her voice calm but final. “The High Council will have its say, Admiral. And when they do, no power in the Federation will override it.”

Earth – San Francisco, Starfleet Headquarters – Section 31 Secure Briefing Room

The room was buried deep beneath Starfleet Command, far from curious eyes or unauthorized ears. The only light came from the soft glow of the holo-table at the center, displaying fragmented data feeds and classified recordings.

Admiral William Ross sat at the head of the table, his expression like granite. Across from him, three operatives in plain black uniforms bore no insignia—ghosts in the system, the kind only Section 31 kept on its payroll.

“They failed,” Ross said flatly, stabbing a control to replay a clip of Nechayev on the Crazy Horse—her voice tight with defiance before the feed cut to static. “And their failure wasn’t quiet. The Lanteans know exactly what happened.”

One of the operatives, a sharp-eyed woman with a scar along her jaw, folded her arms. “The reports from Enterprise confirm Picard personally witnessed the High Council in session. He saw what their justice looks like.”

“And?” Ross pressed.

Her voice dropped. “Sir… according to Picard’s debrief, a Lantean trial isn’t a hearing. It’s a weapon. It’s… designed to strip away every layer of a person’s defense—political, personal, even psychological—until nothing remains but the truth they want to expose. When the High Council passes judgment… there’s no appeal, no escape.”

The man to Ross’s right leaned forward. “That means anyone brought before them is finished before it begins. No plea deals, no diplomatic shields. Once they’ve decided guilt, it’s absolute.”

Ross let that sink in, his gaze sweeping the table. “If the Council decides to put us—or any part of Starfleet—on trial, it won’t be about justice. It’ll be about dominance. They’ll use our own laws against us, twist them until our credibility is in shreds.”

The scarred woman’s voice was cold. “Then we can’t afford another Crazy Horse. We can’t afford Nechayevs making their own plays. If the Lanteans put one more officer in their dock, we’ll lose more than a career—we’ll lose the initiative.”

Ross’s jaw tightened. “Exactly. Section 31 exists to make sure that never happens. The Council’s trial was a warning. Our job is to make sure they never get another chance to issue one.”

He tapped the console again, bringing up a new set of names and dossiers—some Starfleet, some Lantean. The list glowed red at the edges.

“Let’s get to work.”

The lights dimmed as the holo-table shifted to operational planning, the room falling into the kind of silence only shared by people about to move unseen through the shadows.

Chapter Text

Federation Council Chambers

The Federation Council chamber was alive with raised voices, echoing across the vaulted ceiling of the great hall. Holo-displays floated in the center, cycling through reports from Starfleet Command and the latest communiqués from Atlantis.

President sh’Varel, her antennae twitching with restrained irritation, brought her gavel down with a sharp crack.

“Order. This Council will come to order.”

Beside her, Vice President M’Randa Sh’Varek’s golden tail flicked lazily as her feline eyes swept over the agitated delegates.

Councilor zh’Renna of Andor was first to stand, her voice cutting through the noise.

“We cannot allow this! Federation citizens, Starfleet officers no less, are being tried by a foreign power under alien law. This undermines the very sovereignty of the Federation!”

Murmurs of agreement rippled through the chamber. Several human and Tellarite representatives nodded sharply.

But the Vulcan representative, Soval, rose calmly, hands clasped behind his back.

“Your argument is… illogical. The Section 31 operatives committed their crimes on Lantean soil, against the Lantean people. Jurisdiction is clear. Were the circumstances reversed, would we not demand the same right for the Federation to pursue justice?”

President sh’Varel’s antennae leaned forward, signaling her approval.

“Ambassador Soval speaks correctly. Jurisdiction lies with the Lanteans. And lest you forget—Section 31’s actions nearly dragged us into open conflict with a civilization far older and more powerful than our own.”

“But they are not us,” a Tellarite delegate barked. “They are warlords hiding behind the trappings of civilization! Look at their warships, their military hierarchy. Can you truly call them anything else?”

Vice President M’Randa rose, her claws flexing against the table as her voice carried across the chamber.

“Careful, Councilor. It is because of their ‘warlord fleet,’ as you call it, that the Wraith threat was driven back. Without them, we might not be standing here debating at all.”

A tense silence fell before the Trill representative spoke, cautious but firm.

“President, what of the trial itself? Can we not insist on Federation legal observers?”

sh’Varel inclined her head.

“The Lanteans have already granted that concession. A Federation lawyer may be present, but they will not interfere. The Council has been provided with a detailed brief of how Lantean trials are conducted.”

She gestured, and the holo-display shifted, showing lines of text explaining the stark process: evidence reviewed by the High Council, verdict deliberated in private, and only then the accused permitted to stand before the Council—not to defend themselves, but to beg for leniency.

The chamber murmured again, uneasily.

“They do not allow for defense!” shouted a Bolian representative. “That is not justice—it’s a show trial!”

Soval’s brow arched slightly.

“Incorrect. The Lanteans allow the evidence to stand on its own, free of rhetoric or manipulation. In logic, it is perhaps a more impartial system than our own.”

President sh’Varel brought the gavel down once more.

“This Council will decide our diplomatic stance. But make no mistake—our choice is not between defending Section 31 or condemning them. It is between preserving our alliance with the Lanteans or jeopardizing the Federation’s future.”

The chamber broke into heated arguments once more, the fate of Section 31’s operatives—and the Federation’s relationship with the Lanteans—hanging in the balance.

USS Voyager

The USS Voyager cut through the stars at high warp, her crew working with a crisp precision that reflected the gravity of their mission. Within the observation lounge, Admiral Kathryn Janeway stood at the head of the table, arms folded, her gaze fixed on the glowing holographic projection of Elysium—the vast oceanic world that now served as the beating heart of the Lantean Confederacy.

Behind her sat the Federation observers chosen by the Council:

Ambassador Sarek’s son, Skalan of Vulcan, appointed as the legal representative to observe the proceedings.

Councilor T’Pel, sent as a Federation diplomat to ensure political neutrality.

Commander Elias Vaughn, seasoned intelligence officer chosen for his experience with delicate operations.

Janeway’s voice carried authority but also a note of weariness. “We are not here to interfere, but to observe. The Lanteans have been very clear—they are prosecuting crimes committed on their soil by Section 31. Our presence is a courtesy, not a right. That means no grandstanding, no protests. We are to witness and report back to the Council.”

Vaughn leaned forward. “And if the trial is little more than theater? If this is their way of flexing power over the Federation?”

Janeway’s jaw tightened, but she didn’t look away from the hologram. “Then you write that in your report. But understand this: the Lanteans are not bluffing. They’ve survived wars that would have annihilated us. If they wanted to be warlords, they’d already be dictating terms from orbit above Paris. The fact that they are holding a public trial, with us present, shows they still want some measure of cooperation. Don’t mistake that for weakness.”

The room fell quiet. Even Vaughn had no argument to offer.

Elysium Gateroom

Across the galaxy, the Stargate flared open on Elysium’s central plaza, its shimmering surface spilling light over the white stone causeways that stretched to the ocean horizon.

Hope Mikaelson, High Counselor of the Lantean Confederacy, stepped through first, followed closely by Jessica O’Neill, Cassie Fraiser, Varek, and the rest of the High Council. Dawn Summers stood waiting, her arms folded across her chest, eyes flashing with both relief and resolve.

“About time,” Dawn muttered as the last of the Council emerged. “The investigation’s complete. The Crazy Horse is still quarantined in orbit, but if you’re satisfied, I’ll lift it so I can resume negotiations with Captain Ramirez.”

Hope gave a sharp nod, her expression unreadable. “Do it. The crew are not guilty of their commander’s crimes, and keeping them bound in orbit any longer would only breed resentment. But the accused stays in containment until Voyager arrives.”

“And Admiral Nechayev?” Dawn pressed.

“She will stand trial before the people she wronged,” Hope replied firmly. Her tone left no room for debate. “The Lantean people demand justice—not revenge. That distinction is what separates us from those who once hunted us.”

The plaza quieted as the Council fell into discussion, preparing both the ceremonial and judicial protocols. Banners of the Lantean Confederacy rippled in the ocean breeze, standing in stark contrast to the steel-gray sky overhead.

Hope looked toward the horizon, as though she could already sense Voyager approaching from the void of space.

“Soon,” she said softly. “Soon the Federation will see how we define justice.”

USS Crazy Horse – Captain’s Ready Room

The doors parted with a soft hiss as Admiral Janeway stepped inside. She was greeted by Captain M’Rell, a tall, furred Caitian with amber eyes and a flicking tail, and Commander Jora Thane, the Bajoran first officer standing at his side.

M’Rell offered a respectful nod, his feline features taut with controlled emotion. “Admiral. Thank you for coming. I wish it were under better circumstances.”

Janeway: “So do I, Captain. Section 31’s shadow has a long reach. I need to hear from you directly—how bad is it?”

M’Rell’s tail lashed once. “Bad enough. Admiral Nechayev and seven officers stand accused. The Lanteans claim they have irrefutable evidence—orders, logs, even holo-recordings. I’ve reviewed what they’ve shared. It’s damning, Admiral. If true, it goes beyond simple intelligence gathering. It was sabotage, infiltration, and an attempted seizure of Lantean technology.”

Thane leaned forward, his Bajoran earring glinting. “The crew feels betrayed. Many of us served under Nechayev for years. To see her tied to Section 31…it’s shaken morale to the core.”

Janeway gave a slow nod, her expression grave. “Understandable. And the Lanteans?”

M’Rell: “Uncompromising. They’ve made it very clear this is their trial, under their laws. They will allow Federation legal observers—but not interference. I’ve already spoken with Dawn Summers and High Counselor Hope Mikaelson. They intend to make an example of this, Admiral. To show the Federation they won’t tolerate violations of sovereignty.”

Janeway: “Then we walk a careful line. We need to protect Federation principles while respecting theirs. That’s why I’m here.”

Thane hesitated. “Admiral…do you believe they’ll execute them?”

The silence lingered, heavy.

Janeway: “I believe the Lanteans don’t bluff, Commander. But I also believe they value justice over vengeance. That’s what we’ll hold them to.”

M’Rell’s ears twitched as he straightened. “Then we’ll be ready. The trial begins in two hours. I’ll see you planetside, Admiral.”

Janeway clasped her hands behind her back again, her voice firm. “Two hours, Captain. Let’s make sure the Federation is represented with dignity.”

Lantean Council Chambers

The great circular chamber of the Lantean High Council was silent but for the echo of boots against stone. Sunlight filtered down through arched windows high above, catching the sheen of hand-carved tables and chairs arranged in three concentric rings. At the very center stood the long table reserved for the High Council itself, each chair bearing the sigil of the Lantean people carved in deep relief.

To the right side of the chamber, a smaller table was prepared for official Federation observers. Admiral Kathryn Janeway stood with her hands clasped neatly behind her back, her expression sober but calm. Beside her, Captain M’Rell of the USS Crazy Horse, his feline ears flicking with restrained agitation, kept his tail wrapped tight around one leg of his chair. First Officer Jora Thane, the Bajoran, stood at his captain’s side, face set with the weary look of a man who had already seen too much of Section 31’s shadow.

With them stood Councilor T’Pel of Vulcan, her calm gaze steady, and Commander Elias Vaughn, silent as he scanned the chamber, noting every exit and guard placement with the practiced eye of an intelligence officer.

Behind them, an elevated platform bore the symbols of the Lantean High Council. One by one, the Councilors entered, their ceremonial robes trailing along polished stone. High Councilor Hope Mikaelson was the first to sit, her presence commanding immediate silence. To her right, Supreme General Jessica O’Neill took her seat with military precision, the faint clink of her rank insignia audible in the stillness. Cassie Fraiser, Varek, Aran, and the others followed, filling the carved chairs until the circle was complete.

Hope’s voice carried across the chamber.

“Today, the Lantean High Council convenes to hear the case of Federation Admiral Alynna Nechayev and seven officers of the USS Crazy Horse, accused of collusion with the clandestine organization known as Section 31. As is our custom, the accused shall not be present for argument or deliberation. They will only be brought before this Council once we have determined judgment.”

A murmur swept through the chamber’s gallery, where a mix of Lantean citizens and Federation delegates had been admitted as witnesses.

Janeway glanced at Captain M’Rell, speaking low so only he and Thane could hear.

“Whatever happens here, Captain, know that the Federation Council has no desire to see you condemned alongside Nechayev’s actions. We’re here to witness, not interfere.”

M’Rell’s ears twitched again, his whiskers stiff.

“Easy words, Admiral. But I’ve seen careers ended by association with Section 31. If they pass judgment on Nechayev…” His golden eyes flicked toward the High Council. “I need to know if my crew will be allowed to walk free.”

Janeway placed a hand lightly on the table, her gaze fixed forward.

“That’s why I’m here, Captain. To make sure they don’t disappear into the shadows again.”

From her place on the dais, Hope lifted a carved staff and struck it once against the stone floor. The echo rang out like a bell.

“The trial of Admiral Alynna Nechayev and her accomplices shall now begin. Evidence will be presented to this Council, witnessed by representatives of the United Federation of Planets. Let it be entered into the record: judgment will be passed by the High Council of the Lantean people.”

The trial had begun.

The chamber was silent but heavy with anticipation as the last of the High Councilors settled into their carved wooden chairs. The circular room’s acoustics made even the faintest sound carry, amplifying the weight of the proceedings. In the center, crystalline projectors hummed softly, waiting to display the damning evidence collected against Admiral Nechayev and her Section 31 co-conspirators.

High Counselor Hope Mikaelson rose first, her voice steady but edged with iron.

“Let the record show that the trial of Admiral Alynna Nechayev and seven officers under her command is now underway. The accused are not present — as is our custom — until sentencing is deemed necessary. This stage is for the Council to determine guilt through evidence.”

At a gesture, light blossomed above the chamber’s center, forming holographic displays. Data streams cascaded: logs of unauthorized transmissions, intercepted orders, and schematics of a virus that had nearly crippled Elysium’s citywide systems.

Varek, the Council’s science minister, leaned forward, his sharp eyes narrowing as the molecular structure of the virus unfolded in luminous detail.

“This pathogen was elegant in design, and devastating. Had it spread unchecked, it would have overridden our control matrices and rendered the city’s stardrive and shield networks useless. It bears a distinct Federation coding signature — Starfleet bio-encryption markers.”

A murmur went around the chamber.

Cassie Fraiser, head of Lantean Medical, added gravely, “We also note that it was tailored to spread silently until triggered. A weapon meant for sabotage, not defense. There is no ambiguity in its intent.”