The Martians

Elysia and her children hurry across the desolate Martian landscape, their movements urgent as the spaceport looms on the horizon. It's a beacon of hope, but as they draw closer, unease settles over her. Something is wrong. Terribly wrong.

The spaceport, usually bustling with life, is silent. The hum of engines and the clamor of voices are gone. The air carries the sharp scent of burnt metal and death. Control towers stand dark, their lights extinguished. Gates hang open, creaking in the wind like the gaping maw of a beast that has already fed.

Elysia's heart sinks as she scans the area for signs of life—for Ares. Shadows flicker across the cracked concrete, and debris lies scattered, evidence of a recent skirmish. Her instincts scream for caution, compelling her to shield her children from whatever horror lurks nearby.

The children, sensing her tension, huddle closer. Elysia tightens her grip on Jove and rests her other hand on Romulus and Juno, silently vowing to protect them no matter what. Her mind races through plans and possibilities, each more desperate than the last.

Staying outside is suicide. The barren plains offer no cover, and the K'tharr could appear at any moment. Yet entering the spaceport feels just as dangerous. What if it has been overrun? What if Ares isn't there? Or worse, what if he is there but not in the condition she hopes?

Elysia takes a steadying breath. They can't stay outside. "Stay close to me, no matter what," she whispers, her voice firm despite her fear. She grasps the crude weapon she fashioned during their journey. It isn't much, but it's something.

With her children in tow, she pushes open the spaceport's creaking door. Inside, dim light flickers, casting eerie shadows that seem to breathe with the silence. The walls bear the scars of battle: shattered glass, bullet holes, and dark stains that speak of violence. The air is thick with the smell of spent ammunition and blood.

Elysia moves cautiously, her eyes scanning every corner, every shadow. The children cling to her, their small hands gripping her clothes. She forces herself to stay calm for their sake, though her thoughts churn with anxiety. Could this destruction be Ares's doing? Has he fought here, clearing a path for them? The idea fills her with both hope and dread.

"Stay quiet, stay close," she whispers to the twins, her voice barely audible. Each step is deliberate as they navigate the maze of corridors leading to the Mangal-Grah's hangar, her husband's family's private dock.

When they reach the dock, her heart lifts briefly at the sight of their ship. But her relief is short-lived. Five K'tharr block their path, their grotesque forms illuminated by the flickering lights. Elongated bodies sway, venomous teeth glinting as they snarl softly, their malevolent eyes scanning for prey.

Elysia's chest tightens. Fighting them with three children to protect is a death sentence. But retreat isn't an option. Their survival depends on reaching that ship. She kneels and whispers, "Stay behind me, no matter what. We're getting on that ship."

She leads them through the hangar, moving with the precision of a shadow. Using debris and abandoned machinery for cover, they creep forward. Each step feels like an eternity, the children mimicking her silence. The tension is suffocating.

As they pass a twisted piece of metal, one of the K'tharr lifts its head, sniffing the air. Elysia freezes, motioning for her children to do the same. The creature's ears swivel, its nostrils flaring. Romulus shifts, accidentally nudging a piece of debris. The sound of it rolling echoes in the stillness.

The K'tharr's head snaps toward them. Elysia's heart pounds as she locks eyes with Romulus, silently willing him to stay still. The creature takes a step forward, its maw parting as if tasting the air. Another K'tharr hisses from across the hangar, drawing its attention away. It turns and slinks back to the pack.

Elysia exhales, her relief short-lived. As they near the ship's ramp, Jove begins to cry. The soft whimper quickly escalates into a wail that shatters the fragile silence.

The K'tharr react instantly. Heads snap toward the sound, their eyes narrowing with hunger. Hisses fill the air, their anticipation palpable.

"Run!" Elysia hisses, pulling her children toward the ship. Her feet pound against the cold metal floor, her mind singularly focused on reaching the ramp. Behind them, the K'tharr give chase, their long strides closing the distance.

She can feel the vibration of their pursuit, hear their guttural snarls. Her heart sinks as she realizes the ship still feels impossibly far. One of the creatures leaps, its body a blur of grotesque motion. Elysia's breath hitches as she whispers, "I'm sorry."