Xu Qianghua didn’t move from the observatory after the two elders left.
The image of the drifting ship still lingered in his mind even though the projection was off. He could see it clearly—scarred, broken, drifting silently toward Nexera like it didn’t even care about being seen anymore, as if it had long given up.
And yet, it was still coming.
It was supposed to be stronger than this. He remembered it—the fear back then, the pressure it brought.
The certainty among some sects that resistance would be pointless once the ship landed. He’d fought hard to shut those voices down.
Back then, he didn’t have as much influence. But he’d been one of the first to say no.
That planet was theirs. Not a prize for some arrogant outsiders.
And now...
He wasn’t sure how to feel seeing it like that.
A soft set of footsteps came from behind.
He didn’t need to look. He could already tell who it was.
Li Xinyue walked up beside him, quiet as ever. Her long black robes trailed softly on the floor, and her hair was pulled into a loose bun held together with a simple silver pin.
She didn’t speak at first, just looked through the same window.
"It’s that ship, isn’t it?" she asked.
He nodded.
"They found it about six hours ago. Just outside the third orbit. Drifting."
She folded her arms. "Drifting? Not jumping? Not under control?"
"No propulsion. No curvature engine. No signal. Just... floating. Straight into our range."
Li Xinyue took a slow breath, her face unreadable.
"That shouldn’t be possible. Not this early."
Xu Qianghua glanced at her. "You were involved back then, weren’t you? When were the first route predictions made?"
"Yes," she said softly. "I saw the ship’s departure logs. The trajectory wasn’t straight. The AI planned to orbit two other systems before reaching ours.
It should have taken another hundred years, minimum, to get here."
She paused.
"And that was assuming optimal performance. Not this."
Xu Qianghua frowned. "So what changed?"
"The world changed," she said. "We did. Faster than they expected."
He didn’t quite follow. "Explain."
Li Xinyue’s voice stayed calm, but there was something behind it—an old weight.
"When they first targeted us, they saw Nexera as a stage one planet. Weak in cultivation, low in tech. Scattered in power. They planned their route to match that."
Xu Qianghua nodded. "Right."
"But since then, we’ve upgraded the planet. Not just the people. The actual system. The spiritual concentration.
The resonance levels. You think that doesn’t have an effect? To us it’s growth. To the galaxy, it’s a beacon."
He stayed quiet as she continued.
"The AI inside that ship... if it was still functioning, it would’ve been programmed to monitor galactic trends—energy patterns.
When the World Core stabilized after the Zerg war, our signal would’ve changed. Spiked."
Xu Qianghua rubbed his chin. "So... what? It changed course on its own?"
"No," she said. "I don’t think it had the power for that. But it likely adjusted the drift trajectory. Enough to pull toward the strongest spiritual source nearby."
She looked out the window again.
"And that’s us."
For a long moment, neither of them spoke.
Then she added quietly, "But I still don’t understand one thing."
"What?"
"The state of the ship," she said. "It shouldn’t look like that. It was one of their stronger models.
Even if they were caught in something... the damage looks worse than combat. It looks like they were falling apart from the inside."
Xu Qianghua nodded slowly.
"We suspected sabotage. Or internal breakdown."
She turned to him.
"Do you think someone did it?"
His gaze stayed fixed outside.
"I think too many things happened too quickly. The Zerg, the shift in the World Core, our own evolution.
Maybe someone inside couldn’t take the mission anymore. Maybe they didn’t want to be part of it."
Li Xinyue didn’t answer right away.
Finally, she said, "I just didn’t expect to see it again. Not like this."
Xu Qianghua’s jaw tightened. "I did."
She looked at him.
"I always knew the universe wouldn’t let things end so cleanly," he said. "A ship like that doesn’t just vanish. It either finishes the job or it returns."
Her eyes narrowed a little.
"And what do you think it’s doing now?"
Xu Qianghua shook his head. "I don’t think it knows."
He moved to the main interface and brought up the scan data again. It wasn’t much—just flickers of power, heat traces, and a faint oxygen loop in the front section.
"Two elders are on their way," he said. "Late Voidbreak. Enough to suppress anything short of a miracle."
She nodded, but her expression didn’t ease.
"Do you think they’ll find survivors?"
"I don’t know. But the scan showed life. At least a dozen. Maybe more. Probably less by now."
Her fingers tapped lightly against the side of the console.
"That ship was led by someone arrogant," she said. "A man who called himself Commander Sovel. He believed this world would kneel before he even landed."
Xu Qianghua raised an eyebrow. "You met him?"
"Not in person. I intercepted a broadcast back then. We never made it public."
"What did he say?"
She looked away for a moment. "He said this planet was a pitiful rock. And that if it didn’t give up the core willingly, they’d burn the surface clean and rebuild from ash."
The silence stretched.
"Do you think he’s still alive?" he asked.
"If he is," she said softly, "he’s already been broken."
Xu Qianghua didn’t smile, but his eyes had a quiet sense of finality.
"Good."
Another pause followed. This time, neither of them broke it quickly.
Outside, a faint ripple of light moved across the horizon. One of the Xu family cruiser fleets was shifting position, making space near the third orbit, preparing for backup in case the elders needed support.
Li Xinyue turned back to him.
"There’s one more thing."
"What?"
She hesitated for a breath. "If they’re still alive... and if they somehow still have a functional link to their home planet... then we may not be the only ones watching."
His eyes narrowed.
"You think their world will still be looking?"