When the Last Titan Falls
11 Dec 2024Rawnu
Alpha Centauri is almost clear. For the first time in weeks, the Gallifrey’s hull isn’t groaning from the strain of Thargoid fire. The stars outside are silent, broken only by the faint shimmer of debris fields drifting in the void—mute witnesses to another hard-fought battle.I remain docked now and am trying to fall asleep, but I can’t. The air here feels heavy with something I can’t name. It’s not relief, not yet. It’s more like... anticipation. Sol is next. Cocijo sits over Earth–for now. But tomorrow, the offensive begins. The last Titan. The last push. The end of all of this—or so they say. It feels too clean, too final. We’ve said before that each victory would be the turning point. HIP 22460, the Proteus Wave, the first Titan we brought down. And yet here we are, with Sol bleeding and billions displaced. What makes this different? We’ve been calling these battles victories, but are they? Every Titan we bring down costs us dearly—thousands of lives, systems left in ruins, and the gnawing uncertainty that the Thargoids are simply letting us think we’re winning.
They don’t think like us. I’ve learned that much. Every battle, every encounter, it feels less like fighting an enemy and more like pushing against a vast, incomprehensible tide. Seo Jin-ae says their hive mind has shifted, adapted, and I believe her. The way they’ve coordinated, the way they’ve struck—Cocijo’s arrival wasn’t just a show of force. It was a message.
What are they trying to say?
I can’t stop thinking about Shinrarta Dezhra. When the Thargoids invaded the Founders’ World, it felt like something more than a tactical strike. Jameson Memorial isn’t just a station; it’s a symbol of humanity’s best and brightest. But what if it’s more than that? What did they find there? What were they looking for?
The memory banks of Jameson Memorial could hold anything—records of Guardian technology, data on AX strategies, even fragments of Raxxla’s myth. Did the Thargoids uncover some piece of our history that we don’t even understand ourselves? Did they take something, or worse, leave something behind? These questions claw at me. Every step we take in this war feels like moving through a labyrinth, and every answer just opens a new door. The Thargoids aren’t just adapting to our weapons—they’re adapting to us. And that terrifies me.
And then there’s Triton. The memories still haunt me. The cold, the lights, the feeling that something was reaching for me. I tell myself it’s nothing, but in the quiet moments, I wonder. What if the Thargoids already know more about us than we think? What if we’re not winning this war but playing into a larger plan we can’t comprehend?
Tomorrow, we attack Cocijo. We’ll go in with everything we’ve got, and if history is any guide, we’ll bring it down. The galaxy will cheer, GalNet will call it a triumph, and pilots will pat themselves on the back. But what happens after that? Will the Thargoids fall back? Or will we wake something even worse?
I fight because I have to, because Earth is my home and my people are there. But I can’t ignore the shadows creeping at the edges of this conflict. This war isn’t just about ships and weapons. It’s about survival, yes, but also about understanding—understanding a species that doesn’t play by our rules, that doesn’t see the galaxy the way we do. Maybe the Thargoids know something we don’t. Maybe they’ve already won in ways we can’t see. Or maybe, just maybe, we’ll find the strength to understand them before it’s too late.
As I sit here, in the quiet before the storm, I can’t help but feel like we’re standing on the edge of something bigger than we realize. If Cocijo falls, it won’t be the end. It’ll be the start of something else. For now, I’ll focus on the fight ahead. One more system. One more battle. One more chance to defend humanity. But in the back of my mind, the questions remain.
When the last Titan falls, what will we be left with? And what will rise in its place?