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The Dive Into Silence
May 1981 — Athens Port, Submarine Hull — Midnight
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The night over Athens pulsed with an unnatural silence.
No birds.
No sirens.
No gunfire.
Only the heavy breathing of soldiers and the slow, endless lap of black waves against ruined docks.
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On the outer hull of the submarine,
the steel gleamed faintly under the fractured moon.
Selene von Aetherwald stood at the center of it all.
Boots braced on cold iron.
Back straight.
Eyes fixed forward.
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Beside her —
her senior staff officer —
carrying a clipboard tucked against a silenced assault rifle.
He checked names mechanically.
One by one —
the crew filed aboard.
Silent.
Heavy packs slung across their backs.
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Most moved quickly, understanding the gravity of the hour.
But a few —
the young ones, the green ones —
walked lazily.
Joking under their breath.
Treating the deck like a drill ground, not a battlefield.
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Selene's eyes narrowed.
She extended her hand.
The staff officer didn't ask.
He simply passed her the rifle.
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She took it.
Raised it.
Sighted.
And without hesitation—
fired.
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PFFT! PFFT!
The silenced shot cracked against the concrete deck.
PFFT! PFFT! PFFT! PFFT! PFFT! PFFT!
Dust spat upward inches from the nearest lazy soldier's boot.
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The crew froze.
Wide-eyed.
Silent.
For a heartbeat —
they were statues.
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Then panic.
They scattered —
running full speed toward the submarine's open hatches.
Hands thrown up.
Boots slipping on the steel.
Shouting apologies.
No formation.
No dignity.
Only the purest, cleanest instinct:
Move or die.
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Selene lowered the rifle.
Passed it silently back to her officer.
Said nothing.
She didn't need to.
Her law was absolute.
Move fast. Move silent. Move alive.
Or be left behind.
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Within minutes —
the last crew member had disappeared into the decks below.
The hatch slammed shut.
Sealed.
Secured.
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Selene gave one sharp nod.
And the order passed down:
"Dive."
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The submarine slid beneath the dark waves.
Sinking into the belly of the sea.
No sirens.
No alarms.
No fanfare.
Only silence.
And steel.
And blood waiting to be paid.
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Hours later—
Selene stood again at the periscope.
Watching the coastline of Athens shrink into blackness.
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The stars bloomed above the horizon.
At first, it looked beautiful.
Soft trails of light painting across the heavens.
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But Selene knew better.
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It wasn't stars.
It was missiles.
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Launched in salvos.
Their whistling shrieks ripping across the Mediterranean sky.
Bright white streaks.
Descending toward the sleeping city like a rain of knives.
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No sirens.
No warnings.
The 28th Fleet had already embarked —
already moved to deeper waters.
Only the skeleton crews remained in the city.
And the civilians.
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Athens was under siege again.
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Selene's fist tightened on the steel railing.
She said nothing.
But her soul burned cold:
If Aetherland lost Athens tonight—
the entire Mediterranean Sea would fall next.
The war would devour every coast.
Every harbor.
Every home.
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The war that had seemed "won" —
had just escalated into something darker.
Something total.
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And beneath the surface —
in the cold, crushing black —
Selene's submarine drifted silently toward its next battlefield.
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