By Pam Allen
© 2025 Pam Allen
All rights reserved
ISBN: 9798232043988
This is an Advance Review Copy (ARC). Not for sale.
Content may change before final publication.
This book is dedicated to my father,
Frank Wells,
who first showed me the fun that Science Fiction could be.
The story of how this particular universe came to be will be told at the end of the book.
Thank you for reading this Advance Review Copy.
Please keep in mind that this text is not final.
If you enjoy it, I’d be grateful for an honest review.
The Itherian freighter loomed ahead, an angular silhouette bristling with defensive turrets and escorted by a pair of Phantom-class Raptors, like wolves guarding their prey. Its bulk blotted out the stars, radiating industrial menace that made the Solar Destiny look suddenly small.
The Destiny’s hull shuddered under incoming fire. Nira gripped the controls, her knuckles bone-white, sweat burning her eyes as the cockpit rattled around her. Amber lights strobed across the consoles, red warnings bleeding over the displays. The vibration wasn’t just sound; it thrummed through her arms, into her chest, and even her teeth.
"This was a terrible idea!" she snapped, throwing the ship into a barrel roll that slammed the crew into their restraints. The torque mesh whined as it tried, and failed, to smooth the jolt.
"No arguments here!" Elendril shot back, hands flying over the shield matrix. Sweat gleamed on his brow too as he rerouted power, coaxing life from dying emitters. An ion beam scraped past, rattling the hull like a drumbeat of doom.
"Keep it steady!" Bolen’s voice roared over the comm, barely audible over the static. Below deck at the jury-rigged turret, he wrestled the controls with raw muscle. "I can’t hit a thing if you keep tossing me around!"
"Hit faster," Nira growled, eyes never leaving the viewport. Emergency light cast her face in ghostly blue as she yanked the controls, skimming the Destiny just clear of another blast.
One Phantom peeled away, angling a disruptor beam at them, an Itherian weapon, outlawed everywhere else for good reason. The nav board flared red, and warning klaxons blared, adding to the chaos.
"They’re trying to blind us!" Nira barked. "Field integrity failing, dropping to tertiary!"
Just then, like a knife through the shadow, the Alacrity darted past, its sleek form cutting through the void with impossible grace, thrusters glowing against the darkness.
"Can’t shake a couple tin cans, Nira?" Tarly’s voice drawled through the comm, calm and cocky as ever. "Follow my lead. I’ll get you your shot."
The Alacrity spilled a cloud of reflective chaff, dazzling the void with metallic fireflies. It cut across the escorts in a lethal arc, blasters stitching blue fire. One escort spasmed and bloomed apart in silent explosions.
"See? Easy," Tarly chuckled, already banking for another run.
Nira bit back a retort, tucking the Solar Destiny into the Alacrity’s slipstream, hugging its shadow. Together, the ships knifed beneath the freighter's rear guns. The massive vessel's underbelly loomed above them, its maintenance hatches and access ports blurring past as they approached their target.
"Clamps deploying," Elendril said, leaning over the console. "Arren, you’re up."
"Stand by." Arren’s voice was clipped, precise. "Docking field’s still active. I need six seconds. It’s either in a safety loop… or whoever started the cycle never made it out. "
"Not getting six seconds!" Nira barked, wrestling with the controls as proximity alarms shrieked around them.
Arren’s hands blurred over his console. Code spilled like liquid light. With a final keystroke, the lock surrendered with a hiss of equalizing pressure.
The Destiny clanged into place. The breacher’s shroud unfurled, rippling across the gap like liquid glass.
Arren was the first through, boots ringing against the freighter’s hull. He moved with purpose, portable console already in hand, slicing through the ship’s defenses like he’d done it a hundred times.
"Almost there," he muttered, sweat at his temple. "Cover me."
"I've got you!" Bolen roared, his voice gruff with adrenaline. The turret screamed, and a fresh volley of makeshift ammo tore into the second escort's flank, sending debris spinning into the void. The big engineer's face was set in fierce determination as he tracked the Phantom through his targeting display.
Arren’s console chimed success. "I’m in. Downloading patrol routes, rotations, convoy manifests. This is gold! If we had this intel during the Krillian Deadlock, things might have ended differently.”
His grin was boyish, electric.
A low whine echoed down the hall, barely perceptible at first, then growing in intensity like an awakening predator.
Bolen pivoted, his hand instinctively dropping to his blaster. "Did you hear…"
Then the corridor lit up in red, bathing them all in crimson warning light.
An Itherian sentry drone unlatched from a wall cavity, spines twitching with activation static. Its metal carapace gleamed menacingly as multiple optical sensors focused on the intruders.
"Drone!" Arren shouted, diving for cover behind a stack of cargo containers.
Nira took a position near the Solar Destiny airlock to give him cover, her blaster already tracking the mechanical threat as it unfolded from its compact storage configuration.
Bolen dropped to one knee and fired. The bolt hit dead center with a shower of sparks, but the drone didn't fall. Not right away. It shuddered, recalibrated, and continued its advance with mechanical determination.
"One of the old MK-10s," Arren said, ducking behind a crate as return fire scorched the bulkhead above him. "They don't go down easily."
"That wasn't in the mission brief," Nira growled, laying down suppressive fire from her position near the airlock. Her shots ricocheted off the drone's armored plating, leaving only superficial damage.
The drone shuddered from the impact, staggered, then righted itself with a sharp hydraulic hiss. Its targeting eye lit crimson, scanning for the optimal kill shot as it adjusted its stance.
"Moving left!" Nira called, breaking for cover as a concussive pulse slammed into the deck behind her, leaving a smoking crater where she'd stood moments before.
Arren slid across the floor, sparks streaking around him like a meteor shower, and jammed his console into a maintenance port. "I'm overriding its targeting logic, buy me five seconds!" His fingers danced across the interface, bypassing security protocols with surgical precision.
"Three is all I've got!" Bolen barked, firing again. The drone sparked, faltered under the concentrated barrage, and Arren hit the sequence with a triumphant tap.
The drone's eye flickered like a dying star. It whined, convulsed violently, and collapsed, limbs locking as it powered down in a hiss of coolant that formed a misty cloud around its fallen form.
They all exhaled at once, the tension draining from their bodies in a collective wave of relief.
Arren sat up, wiped soot from his brow, and muttered, "Someone rigged this freighter for internal defense. This droid was repurposed." He studied the fallen machine with professional curiosity, noting the non-standard modifications to its chassis.
"Repurposed for what?" Nira asked, her blaster still trained on the inert mechanism.
Arren looked past her toward the sealed cargo bay, his expression shifting from relief to intrigue. “Something’s not right. Give me a sec.”
He moved to a flickering console embedded in the wall, wiped away a layer of soot, and began tapping through its subsystems. The ship’s internal registry flickered to life, barely holding together.
“Got partial inventory logs,” he muttered. “Power signatures in the aft hold are... dense. Whatever’s back there, it’s running hot.”
“That’s not a good thing, right?” Nira asked.
“That depends on what it is.” Arren’s eyes narrowed. “We should go see.”
Elendril and Bolen joined them, and they breached the next bulkhead together, stepping through cautiously, weapons ready, boots echoing in the quiet.
The corridor beyond was warped and scorched. Panels hung loose like dead leaves.
“Place took a beating,” Bolen said grimly, eyes scanning the damage.
“Could be weapons fire. Could be overload backlash,” Elendril replied. “Let’s keep moving.”
A vent above them hissed shimmering vapor into the air, which danced under emergency lights like spirits caught mid-flight
"That's Heliocor!" Bolen said suddenly.
Nira tensed, hand instinctively moving to her throat. "The hell is that?"
"Cover your faces, now! Coolant gas from a core manifold rupture. Breathe it, and you forget your own name.” Bolen’s voice carried the weight of terrible experience. "We saw it on Tarsis Nine. It wiped out a squad in sixty seconds. Dropped like they were puppets with cut strings."
They snapped on filters with practiced efficiency, the protective devices hissing as they sealed against their faces. The mist thickened around them, swirling in ghostly eddies that reflected the emergency lights. Ahead, a lift door opened and shut with a soft, eerie rhythm, like the breathing of some mechanical beast.
Elendril took point, boots crunching over glass and debris. "Something tore through here before we did," he murmured, his voice slightly muffled by the filter.
"Local defenses suffered a complete burnout." Arren said, examining the shattered control panel with interest. "Overloaded from the inside, sabotage maybe, or..."
He didn't finish.
Elendril had stopped in his tracks, his posture suddenly rigid.
There slumped by a sealed bulkhead was a body.
The boyish face was one they all knew, too peaceful for this graveyard.
"… Ress."
The name hollowed the air.
Arren’s composure cracked, his usual precision fraying as he knelt. "He was supposed to be on Rydan Junction." His voice broke on the last word.
For a moment, they stood in stunned silence, the ship's distant creaking the only sound. The heliocor mist swirled around them, giving the scene an otherworldly, dreamlike quality that made the discovery even more surreal.
Arren drew a deep breath, steadying himself. He moved to the breached hatch, examining the jagged panel seam with his gloved hand. His scientific mind reasserted itself, seeking answers in the physical evidence.
"This wasn’t a clean override," Arren said quietly, crouching beside the scorched panel. "The docking interface didn’t fail on its own; something forced it open mid-cycle." He ran his gloved hand along the twisted metal. "See these stress fractures? The frame was torn, not sliced or cut. That’s decompression damage."
Elendril turned, his mind working through the implications. "You're saying it didn't finish sealing?"
"Or it started to," Arren replied, straightening. "And then got ripped open. Maybe pressure loss, sudden decompression, maybe from inside." He gestured to the scattered debris pattern. "The way everything's thrown outward from this point."
Nira stepped back, eyes scanning the dim corridor with new wariness. "You think the rest of the team got spaced?" Her voice was hushed, respectful of the tragedy they'd stumbled upon.
Arren didn't answer right away. He looked back toward Ress's body, his expression a mixture of grief and focus as he pieced together the final moments.
"If the breach happened just after they entered…" he said slowly, returning to Ress and kneeling beside him with reverence, "Ress might've been at the rear, trying to seal the door. Took the worst of the blast, but the door shielded him. Bought him a few minutes. Maybe long enough to finish the job." He pointed to the emergency override panel, which showed signs of recent use.
Bolen’s jaw clenched. "That’s why no one reported. His pad’s still on him."
Elendril's gaze dropped to the datapad, resting silently tucked into Ress's chest rig, potentially containing the last moments and discoveries of their fallen comrade.
"They came for the same intel we did," he said, his voice steady despite the weight of realization. "They almost made it. Wonder if they heard about this score through the same channels."
"Almost don't count," Bolen muttered, his large hands clenching into fists at his sides.
Elendril shook his head, quiet but resolute. "No. But carrying it forward does." The words were simple, but carried the weight of a promise.
For a beat, the corridor held its breath, the only sound being the soft hiss of the heliocor gas and the distant groan of the damaged ship.
Silence pressed heavily. Ress’s academy song ghosted through Elendril’s memory, he thought of Ress on the Destiny's upper strut, pretending to be a scout-class turbolancer, all foolish grins and grease-stained hands: Don’t waste a tear on a hero’s parade. Just sell my gear for a half-decent blade.
Now, here, the song was too fitting, the melody in his head, too cruel.
Nira touched his arm gently, her usual brashness softened by understanding. "We can't stay here." Her eyes conveyed what her words didn't; they would honor Ress by completing the mission.
He nodded once, pulling himself back to the present. "Right. Let's finish what he started."
The cargo bay stretched out before them: dim, vast, and eerily still. A low, rhythmic hum filled the space, pulsing like a heartbeat. Racks of sealed crates lined the walls, each one pulsing with soft blue indicators.
Arren stepped forward and let out a breath. “Fuel cells,” he said. “A full hold of them.”
Nira’s eyes widened. “You’re serious?”
“Premium grade. Military spec,” he confirmed.
The silence lingered for a beat, then Elendril answered for all of them.
“They’re worth their weight in Aurelac to the Resistance.”
“I say we need to grab as many as we can,” Arren added, already running mental logistics.
“Fuel cells, you say?” Tarly cut in over the comm, voice crackling through gunfire. “Now that’s a score. I’ll keep the party going out here. You do your thing, and be careful! This whole day feels like a trap.”
Elendril turned to Bolen. “Prep the bay. We move now.”
As Bolen sprinted off to the Solar Destiny for the grav sled, the others started checking the fuel cells and preparing them for transport.
The cells shimmered like captured stars, rows of lightning bottled in glass. But the hiss of gas was louder now, curling along the floor in sinister tendrils that promised danger.
"Seven minutes before instability," Arren warned, checking readings on his portable console. "The heliocor is interacting with the cells’ containment fields."
"Load like you mean it," Bolen growled, as he returned with the grav sled and started moving to secure the precious cargo.
They moved. Loading crates onto sleds as alarms wailed, as heliocor hissed louder, as time bled away.
Elendril crouched once more by Ress. He didn't close the man's eyes. That wasn't Ress's people's way. Rengans believed in facing death with open eyes, just as they faced life.
But he took the datapad, carefully extracting it from the chest rig. And stood, tucking it securely into his own gear.
"No one else dies for this," he said, his voice carrying the weight of command and conviction.
"Those cells have magnetic tags." Arren called, examining one of the containers. "Get too close to the hull with them, and they'll trip the security systems." He pointed to the barely visible sensors embedded in the casing.
"Can you disarm them?" Elendril asked, already calculating alternative approaches.
"Not in time." Arren shook his head, frustration evident in his expression. "They're hard-wired into the power matrix."
"Then grab fast," Elendril said, decision made. "We'll have to risk it."
Crates slammed onto sleds. Alarms blared, their shrill warnings adding to the urgency. They worked fast, securing as many fuel cells as possible before the inevitable response.
"Reinforcements inbound, two destroyers!" Nira's voice cut through the chaos, urgent but controlled.
Bolen and Nira jumped the gap between ships, and Nira ran for the cockpit while Bolen worked to secure their precious load in the cargo bay, his powerful frame straining against the weight.
Nira throttled up the engines, and the Destiny groaned under the load, straining against the docking clamps like a beast eager to be unleashed.
At the last possible moment, Arren and Elendril jumped aboard with the last fuel cell, clearing the gap just as the connection between ships began to fail. “Tarly, we're pulling out!” Elendril said over the comm, bracing himself against the acceleration as Nira pushed the engines to their limits.
“About time.” Tarly's response came with the background noise of his own evasive maneuvers.
The freighter erupted behind them in a storm of fire as the Destiny tore free, engines howling, debris and gunfire chasing them into open space.
Inside the cockpit, grief and adrenaline coiled together like twin shadows.
“No one will ever forget him,” Elendril said softly. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Elendril looked at his crew, alive, scarred, carrying more than fuel cells. His hand tightened on Ress’s datapad. The weight of his death hung in the air, another name to add to the too-long list of those lost in this fight against the Empire.
Nira exhaled hard. "Next time someone says ‘simple recon,’ I’m ejecting them first."
Bolen snorted. "You always say that."
"Yeah," she muttered. "And one day I’ll mean it."
"Ress didn't die for nothing," Arren added quietly, his eyes still on the datapad. "That data? It's actionable. Movement patterns, depot locations, cipher rotation logs. Marcan will be like a kid in a candy vault." His fingers continued their dance across the interface, salvaging and organizing the precious intelligence.
Bolen folded his arms, his brow dark. "If this was a setup, how do we know the intel isn’t poisoned? Could be all misdirection."
Arren snorted without looking up. "Would be, if they’d expected me. But they didn’t. The bait was the fuel cells, not the intel. Their lattice still runs baseline verification protocols, lazy, overconfident. I even checked for ghost loops and padding. They thought no one could read this clearly. Which tells me it’s most likely real."
Elendril nodded, his voice low but resolute. "And the cells?"
"Most stable stock I've seen since Ezor's run," Bolen said, professional pride momentarily overriding his grief. "Should keep half the fleet flying. Even those holdouts still running Junari-class engines. If we don't get boarded by jealous pirates first." He patted one of the secured containers with something approaching affection.
That coaxed a faint smile from Nira. "Let 'em try," she said with a flash of her usual defiance, then turned to Elendril. “Wouldn’t your dad have our hides if he knew where we were?” She said with a half-smile, the memory of Mekel and the Dragonfly softening her tone.
"Yeah," Elendril said, a complex mixture of emotions crossing his features at the mention of his father. "He sure would." The statement hung in the air like a shroud, Bolen and Nira letting the moment of silence fill the small cockpit.
The comm chirped, cutting through the moment of introspection.
"Nice work, Solar Destiny!" Tarly's voice came through, brimming with his characteristic confidence and good humor. "Elendril; You owe me a drink. I earned it today!"
"You've got it," Elendril replied, a genuine smile finally breaking through his somber expression.
The Solar Destiny groaned as it settled into the jungle clearing near Renga's resistance base. Hydraulics hissed, and metal joints quivered under the weight of the stolen cargo. The path through Itherian space had been long, hard, and full of close calls, and as they settled into the jungle berth, it was with a sigh of relief that even the ship seemed to feel.
Steam curled from the landing struts as the ramp descended through a swirling mist that clung to everything like a living veil, obscuring the boundary between ship and wilderness.
Thick vines brushed the ship's belly as she landed, curious and slow, leaving trails of viscous sap across the iridescent alloy hull. Above them, long fronds uncurled like idle serpents from the canopy, each one veined with bioluminescent threads that pulsed in shades of blue and violet, creating a natural light show against the darkening sky. The patterns seemed almost deliberate, as if the jungle itself was communicating in some ancient, forgotten language.
The air was full of life, dense with humidity and the sweet-sour scent of rotting vegetation and new leaves just sprouting. Sounds filled the surrounding air; chirps, clicks, and the high-pitched whine of song-wasps tracing tight spirals in the air, their translucent wings catching the last rays of Thelan's light.
A dozen tiny glider-monkeys, fur slick with rain and eyes gleaming with intelligence, scurried along a half-fallen tree near the clearing's edge, chattering at the new arrival with what sounded like indignation at the intrusion.
From somewhere deeper in the jungle, a howling lizard let out a piercing three-tone call, mimicking the engine's wind-down pitch almost perfectly, the eerie accuracy sending shivers down the crew's spines.
Elendril stepped off the ramp first, his skin glistening with sweat, boots sinking slightly into the damp soil. A crate of fuel cells balanced in his arms, their glass casings reflecting the bioluminescent glow from above. His eyes, ever alert, scanned the tree line with practiced caution, a habit born from years of outrunning Itherian patrols. Behind him came Nira and Bolen, each hauling another crate down the slope, their breaths short, muscles straining beneath the weight, eyes sharp, scanning the perimeter for any signs of danger.
The jungle watched them. Or at least that's how it felt, a thousand hidden eyes tracking their movements from the shadows between the trees.
At the edge of the clearing, Marcan emerged from the tree line flanked by two resistance fighters, their weathered faces half-hidden beneath camouflage paint. His armor was the same battered plating Elendril remembered from their last meeting, scored with new burn marks and dents, and his face was drawn, part fatigue, part disbelief at the sight before him. The deep lines etched around his eyes spoke of sleepless nights and hard decisions.
His eyes dropped to the first crate. Then the second. Then the third. Disbelief gave way to something like reverence.
He stepped forward and brushed his fingers over one of them, as if expecting it to vanish like a mirage, he traced the warm glass with his calloused fingertips.
Behind him, Nira and Bolen passed crates into the arms of waiting soldiers, but Marcan hardly seemed to notice. His focus stayed on the fuel cells before him.
"These are fuel cells," Marcan said slowly, his voice barely above a whisper.
Elendril gave a single nod, the corner of his mouth twitching with the hint of his characteristic mischievousness.
"You were going for patrol data," Marcan added, eyes narrowing with suspicion mingled with hope. "That was the mission brief."
"We were," Elendril replied, shifting the weight of the crate in his arms. "And we got it. But then we found something else, something too valuable to leave behind. The Itherians had an entire shipment bound for their garrison on Rydan Junction." He hesitated, then balanced the crate on his knee while pulling a datapad from his belt and handed it to Marcan. "Found this too," he said, his tone shifting subtly.
Marcan took the pad. Scanned the ID. The screen's blue glow illuminated his face, casting harsh shadows across his features.
His breath hitched. "This is Ress's signal." The words fell like stones between them.
Elendril's voice was even, but there was iron beneath it. “He was already down when we breached the hold. Took the hit before we ever got there. Looked like the rest of his team might’ve been spaced.”
He exhaled slowly. “Seems maybe the Itherians pulled a Vynn.”
“The ship was abandoned except for a drone, and there were signs of sabotage. We were almost trapped. Ress’s team didn’t survive.”
Marcan’s brow furrowed. “You think the intel’s still good?”
“I don’t know, but Arren believes it is, and he has the technical know-how to determine that,” Elendril said. “Still, it depends on why they played dead. If it was a planned op-deception, maybe not. If it was desperation... we tread careful either way.”
Marcan's jaw tightened, muscles working beneath his skin. He didn't speak right away, eyes fixed on the datapad as if hoping the information might change. Behind him, one fighter muttered something under their breath, maybe a name, maybe a curse, maybe both. Their hand drifted to a worn patch on their sleeve, the mark of Ress's runner squad.
"No…" Marcan said finally, his voice hollow. "He was just a kid. Barely old enough for the Kaskel Path trials."
"And a good one too," Bolen added, stepping down with the last crate, muscles in his tall frame bunching with the effort. His voice, quieter than usual, carried across the clearing. "He used to shout this stupid line at the engines when they jammed, 'Come on, you beautiful disaster!' I still hear it every time something locks up on the Destiny."
Nira nodded, brushing a strand of dark hair from her face. "He made people laugh. Even when everything was falling apart. Even on that mission to Bari 4 when we nearly got caught in the asteroid belt. The kid never lost his smile."
Marcan looked back at the crates, his gaze lingering on the precious cargo. His voice had dropped a register, heavy with both grief and determination. "Then let's make these count. These'll run the Comms for a month. The med bay stays hot. Maybe the villages won't need candles for a while either. Ress would've wanted that, keeping people connected, keeping them alive."
He turned and signaled his crew with a sharp gesture. "Start offloading. Split the crates. Villages get first draw, then the medical facilities. Runners will coordinate distribution."
Figures stepped from the jungle as if materializing from the mist itself, runners with mud-caked boots, medics with bloodstained hands, locals with hollow cheeks and determined eyes. One woman, streaked in charcoal and sweat, her arms corded with muscle from months of resistance fighting, let out a shaky laugh. The kind that bursts out of you when you find out you might survive another week, that children might sleep with lights on, that wounds might be properly treated.
Tarly ambled down the ramp of the Alacrity parked nearby, with a whistle of appreciation. His confident stride and easy smile belied the tension in his shoulders as he surveyed the scene, arms folded across his chest. "Love a little freelance redistribution. The Empire's going to be missing these pretty badly."
Elendril nodded toward him, a genuine smile breaking through his weariness. "Couldn't have done it without you. The maneuver you pulled on that destroyer gave us just enough time to load up."
Tarly shrugged, though pride flickered in his eyes. "Don't sell yourselves short. You made it out in one piece, mostly." He winked at Bolen, whose arm bore a fresh bandage, then clapped Elendril's shoulder with practiced ease, the gesture speaking of years of shared danger and trust.
"Speaking of fighting chances," he said, lowering his voice conspiratorially, "let's toast the mad plan that got us here. Compass still serves halfway-decent whiskey, doesn't it? Or has Renga's finest establishment further lowered its standards in my absence?"
Elendril started to reply, his mouth forming around a retort, when the bushes across the clearing rustled violently, silencing all conversation.
All heads turned toward the sound, hands instinctively moving to weapons.
From the tall grass stepped a catlike form, the size of a speeder, moving with predatory deliberation. White fur rippled with black constellation markings that seemed to shift and realign with each powerful stride. Its orange-gold eyes locked on the crew, unblinking and ancient, filled with intelligence that transcended mere animal awareness. The large cat came toward them slowly, paws silent against the damp earth, every graceful motion anchored in muscle, power held in perfect restraint.
All around them, the jungle noises faltered and died away. The silence was deafening, pressing against their ears like a physical force.
Weapons came up fast, the metallic click of safeties disengaging cutting through the stillness.
"Don't shoot!" Nira hissed, her hand shooting out to push down a nearby fighter's barrel. "Don't... it's not attacking!"
But it was too late. One young fighter panicked, his finger quick on the trigger, and his rifle discharged into the dirt near the cat's feet, sending up a spray of mud and vegetation.
The shot echoed through the trees like a war drum, bouncing back from distant mountains and multiplying until it seemed an entire army had fired.
The cat flinched, muscles tensing beneath its lustrous coat. Ears flicked back, then forward. It turned with a single elegant movement, so fluid it seemed almost choreographed, and vanished into the jungle like a mist in Thelan's light, leaving only swaying undergrowth and a lingering impression of otherworldly beauty.
They all stood frozen a second longer, weapons still raised, breath held.
"That's a nyessai," Marcan said finally, his voice hushed with superstitious awe. "Old stories say it only appears when the coming bloodshed cannot be stopped. When fate has already set its course. The elders in my village used to call it the death-watcher." He made a small, warding gesture with his left hand, a protection symbol rarely seen outside the deepest Rengan settlements.
"Well, that's encouraging," Tarly said, holstering his blaster with deliberate casualness, though his eyes remained fixed on the spot where the creature had disappeared. "Let's hope it was just enjoying the ambiance. Or maybe it smelled our dinner rations and then decided they weren't worth the trouble."
"Tell me you're not building the new base next to its nest. I'm not losing another ration stash to a jungle cat," Bolen muttered, shifting his weight uneasily. "Last time something took our supplies, we were eating roots for a week. My stomach still hasn't forgiven me."
Nira shot him a withering look, her fingers still gripping the barrel of the young fighter's weapon. "It's not just a 'jungle cat.' Show some respect. My mother used to say seeing one was a blessing and a warning, like the universe itself was paying attention."
Elendril watched the jungle a little longer than the others, his expression thoughtful. The trees had already swallowed the path where the nyessai had vanished, vines seeming to reweave themselves across the gap. A glider-monkey hissed at something unseen and darted back into the canopy, its fear palpable. Mist hung low across the clearing now, curling around boots and crates like breath that had nowhere else to go, obscuring the boundary between the solid ground and the treacherous bog beyond.
He finally turned back, with a faint smile on his lips, though his eyes remained serious.
"Wouldn't be Renga if the jungle didn't try to kill us between drinks. Or at least send us omens of doom to keep us on our toes."
Tarly grinned, the tension breaking. "Now that's the Captain I remember. Always finding the bright side of impending disaster."
He tilted his head toward the waiting starships. "Come on, captain. Let's get a table before the wildlife decides we're the appetizers. The Compass might not be fancy, but at least the walls keep the predators out. Most of them, anyway." He glanced meaningfully at a scarred resistance fighter whose reputation for card cheating was legendary.
Then he turned toward the ship with the others, footsteps steady through the rain-soaked leaves, shoulders squared against whatever fate the nyessai might have foretold.
"I'll drink to that," Elendril said, falling into step beside his friend. "And to Ress, and all the others we've lost along the way."
The mist swallowed them as they returned to their ships, while somewhere in the distance, the nyessai watched with ancient, knowing eyes.
Chapter 3
They boarded the Solar Destiny, and the engines stirred beneath them with a reluctant growl, vibrating through the deck plates like an ancient beast awakening from slumber. Nira settled into the pilot's seat and began pre-lift checks, her fingers moving by instinct across the worn console, dancing over switches and dials that had become extensions of her own body after countless flights. Outside, the jungle mist curled around the hull like a lingering breath, tendrils of vapor caressing the iridescent alloy plating as if reluctant to let them depart.
"Hey, Nira," Captain Tarly's voice crackled over comms, casual, but recognizable as his official business voice. "Give the new blood a proper tour, would you? Rook's never been to the Broken Compass. Might as well learn the road so he doesn't end up offloading supply crates into a sinkhole or worse."
Nira tilted her head and tapped her mic, the corner of her mouth quirking upward. "Copy that, Alacrity. You're lucky I don't charge for guided relic runs. My rates for navigating magnetic dead zones have gone up since the last Imperial sweep."
Rook's voice followed, nervous but eager, crackling slightly through the static. "I'm listening. Ready to log every vector. Been studying flight patterns since I was a preteen, hiding in the blackout zones."
"You better," Nira muttered under her breath, banking the Solar Destiny into formation with practiced ease. Her hands glided across the controls, confident and unhurried, like a pianist at a well-worn instrument. "You screw up this approach, there's no second pass. The Compass only reveals itself to those who earn it."
The Solar Destiny rose through the dense Rengan cloud cover, burn streaks still etched into her hull from last month's skirmish, battle scars that told stories of narrow escapes and daring maneuvers. She trailed behind the Alacrity as both vessels arced wide around the dark curve of Renga's largest moon, Cavarn's Cradle. The moon hung against the void like a pockmarked sentinel, its surface scarred by centuries of impacts and conflict. Rook's fighter rose silently to join them, mirroring their path like a ghost, thrusters barely visible in the darkness.
The far side of the moon was desolate, with jagged stone ridgelines and splintered crater shelves that cast long shadows in the starlight. There was barely any magnetic signature at all, just emptiness where data should be, a silence in the cosmic conversation.
Not natural erosion. Not age. It felt deliberately scrubbed, like someone had taken sandpaper to reality itself.
Some said a planetary engine once pulsed here, something old and buried deep beneath the regolith, silenced during the Initial Annex when the Empire first tightened its grip on the sector. Others claimed the Empire erased the field on purpose, turning the whole hemisphere into a dead zone to bury whatever the Compass sat on, ancient tech, resistance secrets, or something older than memory itself.
No proof. Just blank signals and whispered stories passed between pilots in the darkness between stars. In any case, there was no signal, no sensor data, nothing to go by at all.
Which, of course, was precisely the point.
Elendril leaned against the cockpit rail, arms folded across his chest, watching Nira work with quiet appreciation. Her movements were precise, practiced, almost meditative in their fluidity. The ship seemed to know her touch, answering every nudge with fluid obedience.
From the comm, a youthful voice broke the contemplative quiet; crisp, nervous, but determined to hide it.
"Still no ping on scanners," the pilot said. "Not even ghost readings. Are we sure we're headed the right direction? My nav system's completely dark."
Nira flashed a crooked grin, and it was evident in her voice as she flicked a switch without looking, adjusting their approach vector by mere degrees.
"You won't get one, Rook. The Compass doesn't advertise. Never has, not since the early resistance days. That's how it's survived this long while other outposts got burned to ash."
"I studied nav patterns from the old relay dumps, whatever we could scrape from Imperial blackout zones. Spent nights memorizing approach vectors when I should've been sleeping. The Compass never showed on any of them. Feels like we're just flying blind into nothing?"
"No, we're flying local." She reclined slightly in her seat, tone easing into something almost warm, reminiscent of how Jex had once spoken to her. "This is how my parents used to come here, back when I was still crawling under ration crates on Bari 4, learning resistance songs disguised as lullabies. You don't read the charts out here. You read the craters, the shadows, the way the light breaks against certain ridges. It's in your bones or it isn't."
"That doesn't sound particularly comforting," Rook replied, audibly uneasy, the sound of him shifting in his seat coming through the comm. "What happens if your bones get it wrong?"
Tarly's voice broke in; warm, smug, and amused in that particular way that made him both infuriating and endearing. "Once Nira's been somewhere, she doesn't need a second guide in. Got the memory of a nav-computer with the instincts no machine could match. She is perfectly safe to learn from, kid. Better than old Jex ever was with us, eh, Elendril?"
"Well thank you, Tarly," Nira said, not hiding the pleased note in her voice. "Nice to know my talents are appreciated somewhere in this system."
"So how do we know we're not flying into a crater or straight into a mountain face?" Rook pressed his fighter, adjusting position slightly to better follow their trajectory.
"You watch for the glint," Nira and Tarly said in unison, then laughed at the coincidence.
Bolen snorted from where he was running diagnostics on a secondary console. "Reassuring. You two sound like you've been rehearsing that line for years."
"Every pirate in the sector comes here," Tarly added, his voice carrying the weight of experience. "Every runner who's survived more than one mission. Every mechanic who needs parts that can't be traced. It's a place you need to know how to find, and that knowledge is earned, not given. Just like your name on that rusted data wall behind the bar, if you're good enough to earn it."
Below, the moon's fractured surface unfurled in sharp ridges and collapsed caverns, their shadows long in the cold blue light of distant Thelan. The terrain was hostile, uninviting, a perfect shield against unwanted visitors.
And then they saw it.
Or rather, nothing.
A distortion. A static wash that ghosted across the sensors like a digital phantom. The instruments hiccupped, showed echoes, glitched again. Compasses spun wildly, their needles dancing an erratic waltz. Nav readouts reset, the numbers flickering before disappearing altogether.
"What the blazes is that?" Rook asked, alarm evident in his voice. "My systems are going haywire. Is this some kind of defense mechanism?"
Elendril stood straighter, voice calm with the weight of memory. "That's the wreck. We're getting close. It's like an old wound in reality, never healed right."
The ruin sprawled like a war god's skeleton across a cratered ridge, half-buried in moon dust, slag-melted, jagged edges reaching toward the stars like accusing fingers. A long-dead dreadnought, hull blackened and gutted by weapons fire, its spine broken across the lunar landscape. Ancient Seshat markings were barely visible on what remained of its wings.
From orbit, it barely registered on sensors. Up close, it bled interference like a living wound, decades after whatever battle had brought it crashing down.
"It's why this place works," Elendril murmured, eyes distant with memories of his first approach as a young runner, Bolen at his side, both terrified and exhilarated by what lay ahead. "No one ever salvaged it. Some say it's haunted by the crew that died here. Empire tried once, lost a recovery team. But it scrambles every signal for kilometers, and that's perfect cover for a place like the Compass."
Beyond the wreck, the cliffs parted just enough to hint at a narrow pass, a wound in the stone that seemed to lead nowhere.
Then, a single blink of red light pierced the darkness.
Tiny. Faint. Then again. And again. A rhythm like a heartbeat.
"There she is," Nira whispered, something like reverence in her voice. "Follow that blink. It's the beacon home."
She dropped lower, ignoring the sensor feed entirely now. Instruments were useless here, worse than useless; they were liars. Time to rely on sight, memory, and the feel of the ship beneath her hands, and the way the Solar Destiny responded to the currents of space around the moon's surface.
They coasted under a rock formation shaped like a dragon's spine, jagged and threatening, dipped beneath a melted column of slagged stone that glittered with embedded metal fragments, and emerged into a clearing. The ground was scarred flat by thruster fire and years of hidden landings, black glass where sand had melted and reformed. It was not a natural clearing, but one designed and crafted over decades to give a place for small ships to land, to hide, to shelter from Imperial eyes.
Nira flew the hard lines, always had. If there was a difficult way in, a path that required precision and courage, Nira would find it, ride it, and never look back, but today she brought the Solar Destiny in slow and safe so Rook could follow each maneuver, each subtle adjustment. The only thing better than pushing her ship and piloting skills to their limits was showing another pilot how it is done, passing on the knowledge that might someday save their life or the lives of others fleeing Imperial pursuit.
Half a dozen ships already sat parked in the clearing; pirate rigs with mismatched hull plates, old warbirds with their identification markers burned off, haulers gone off-grid with cargo holds that had seen more contraband than legitimate freight. No names. No signals. No questions asked or answered. One had scoring along the hull that looked like Seshat battle engravings, if you squinted in the dim light, kill marks or prayers, depending on who you asked. Another had its rear thruster draped in woven heat shielding, the intricate patterns marking it as salvage from the asteroid priests' migration paths, when they fled Itherian persecution. A third bore the unmistakable silhouette of an Axi-class drift frame, banned after the Garadin Wreck but still whispered about in wreck-crawler channels where mechanics traded secrets and parts under the Empire's radar.
The Solar Destiny touched down softly on stone still warm from the light of nearby Thelan, her landing struts settling with a gentle hiss of hydraulics.
And for a moment, no one spoke; the silence filled with the cooling tick of engines and the weight of history.
Beyond the landing field, a cave entrance yawned in the rock face, lit from within by flickering orange light that spilled out like liquid gold. Soft music drifted out into the night. Something twanged on a stringed instrument, off-key but hauntingly familiar, notes from an old Rengan Resistance song disguised as a drinking tune. Painted above the entrance, barely visible under years of dust and storm damage, was a symbol that had become legend throughout the sector:
A shattered compass, its needle broken but pointing still.
And beneath it, in old Renga script, words carved deep enough to survive the elements and time itself:
"Where nothing points true, follow the bond that can’t be bought."
Elendril's mind went back to his youth, to the fire of rebellion that had burned in his blood then and still smoldered now. Back then, as a young and recklessly eager recruit standing with Bolen, these same words had filled him with a mixture of dread and anticipation before Jex detailed their first Kaskel Path mission. The memory was vivid, Jex's weathered face in the tavern's dim light, the weight of responsibility settling on their shoulders like a physical thing.
"Been a while," he said softly, his skin catching the orange glow from the cave entrance, making his features seem carved from warm stone.
Tarly's voice carried a grin as he approached from where the Alacrity had landed. "Still smells like old engine oil and burnt stew. That's how you know it's real. No fancy Imperial station ever smelled this honest."
They walked toward the entrance in silence. Slowly. Almost reverently. Boots crunching on the mix of moon dust and metal shavings that covered the ground like a carpet of stars.
Chapter 4
The Broken Compass swallowed them in heat and haze. Scents of scorched fuel, sour liquor, and stale rootsticks soaked into them as they entered. The dense atmosphere wrapped around them like a living thing, heavy with stories and secrets that had accumulated over years of desperate meetings and whispered deals.
Lanterns dangled from rusted chains above, painting every curve of the room in amber. The flickering, uneven light cast long shadows that danced across the faces of the patrons, highlighting scars and concealing intentions. Relics cluttered the walls; half-melted commendations, fragments of hulls painted with lost callsigns, and a slagged Itherian helmet perched over the bar like a war trophy left to rust. Each item bore witness to a desperate battle, a moment of defiance against an empire that had devoured countless worlds.
A jukebox coughed static in the corner, dragging out a half-dead folk tune. The melody wavered and crackled, like a voice from the past struggling to be heard through the veil of time. The room pulsed with pirates, freelancers, and rebels too burned to trust uniforms anymore. Their conversations formed a low, constant rumble punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter or the sharp crack of a glass hitting the floor.
Tarly walked in as if he had never left, his confident stride unbroken despite the chaotic energy of the place. He traded a nod with Rovak Jann; the stone-skinned, no-nonsense, barkeep who was cleaning a glass with the solemnity of a funeral priest, then he ducked a boot someone lobbed for sport with practiced ease, not even breaking stride. The Compass was that kind of place where danger and camaraderie existed in equal measure.
The crew peeled off their gear in layers; damp jackets heavy with the lingering moisture of Renga's atmosphere, gloves smeared with fuel cell dust that sparkled faintly in the dim light, heat still marking their faces with a flush that spoke of recent exertion. They claimed a table in the corner, curved against the battered bulkhead that made up the wall behind the bar. It was painted with symbols no one had bothered to translate, ancient glyphs that might have been warnings or blessings from long-forgotten travelers.
As Elendril settled into the seat, the worn cushion welcoming him back like an old friend, his eyes drifted across the wall behind the bar, a cluttered mess of old medals, singed navigational charts, and cargo manifest plates melted into plaques. The collection told the story of a hundred desperate flights, a thousand narrow escapes. Among the wreckage, a battered photo hung off center, its frame cracked, its paper worn and tattered.
A starship parked in the small clearing outside the Compass, recognizable because of the way the rocks behind it jutted out into the space. Its lines were elegant despite the photo's deterioration, suggesting speed and grace that defied the harshness of space. Its name was barely legible now, scrawled in old Renga script near the hatch:
Whisperwind.
Elendril blinked, memories cascading through his mind like a sudden avalanche. His hand froze on his drink, fingers tightening around the glass until his knuckles paled.
Bolen followed his gaze, and let out a low whistle that cut through the ambient noise. "No way." His voice held wonder and disbelief in equal measure.
"That can't be real," Elendril murmured, his voice barely audible above the din of the tavern. "We used to pretend we were her crew, remember? In my dad's cargo hold. You made me let you cook every time." The memory was vivid, almost tangible, two boys playing at adventure, unaware of the real dangers that awaited them in adulthood.
Bolen grinned, the expression transforming his weathered face into something younger, unburdened. "You burned every ration pack we ever fake-cooked. It was self-preservation." His laughter rumbled, warm and familiar.
A voice behind the bar spoke up, low, and gravel-touched, cutting through their moment of nostalgia with the weight of authority.
"She was real."
Rovak Jann, the Compass barkeep, didn't look up from the glass he was cleaning, his massive hands moving with surprising delicacy over the worn surface.
"Captain Drayen Ors. Flew solo routes the Empire never dared chart. Ran whisper-silk for the Byni Sovereign before the purge. Smuggled an entire rebel cell off Harrow V during the Sundering of Istrel." He set the glass down gently, the soft clink punctuating his story. “Used to run this place. Called it a 'pause between storms.'” The phrase hung in the air, heavy with meaning.
Elendril stared at the picture again, the past crashing into the present with more weight than he'd expected. The childish games he'd played seemed both trivial and profound in the shadow of such reality. "I thought he was just a story." His voice held a note of wonder, almost reverence.
“He was a story, but he was also one of the best pilots who ever flew, and … a good story never dies," Rovak said, finally looking up to meet Elendril's gaze, his eyes ancient and knowing. "They live on in whispers, in dreams, in the courage they inspire."
"Did he..?" Elendril couldn't bring himself to finish the question, but the meaning was clear in his hesitation.
"No one knows," Rovak replied, voice quieter now, leaning slightly closer across the scarred surface of the bar. "He left one day and never came back. Some say he flew into a singularity, searching for something beyond our understanding. Others say he joined the Ghost Squad and erased his name, becoming just another ghost fighting the Empire. But the Whisperwind… she kept showing up for years after. Unmarked, always just when someone needed saving." His words carried the weight of legend, of hope that refused to die.
An unfamiliar voice cut in; dry, quiet, and far too close, slicing through the moment like a blade.
"Nice work."
Nira turned slightly, her hand instinctively moving toward the concealed weapon at her hip. A figure had appeared beside her, crouched low with one arm resting on his knee, wiry frame, soot-streaked jacket, goggles tangled in a mop of dark curls. The faint sheen of crimson skin beneath the grime and the ridged contour of his brows marked him unmistakably as Byni. He carried the tension of someone who never fully unbraced, muscles coiled and ready to spring into action at the slightest provocation. His boots hadn't made a sound on the metal floor, a skill that spoke of years evading detection.
"Are you the ones who nabbed the Itherian transport full of fuel cells?" he asked, his eyes scanning each of their faces in turn, assessing, calculating.
Nira's eyes narrowed, her fingers curling just slightly around her drink, ready to use it as a weapon if necessary. "Who's asking?" The challenge in her voice was unmistakable, a warning wrapped in a question.
"Someone who's offering something better than praise." His lips curved into a half-smile that never reached his eyes, which remained watchful, alert.
He pulled a slim datapad from his coat with practiced ease and passed it across to Elendril with two fingers, the movement casual yet precise. "Message came through a few hours ago. Coded, tight beam, for Byni eyes only." The emphasis on "Byni" was subtle but meaningful.
Elendril took it carefully, his movements deliberate. He laid it on the table in the center, and the others leaned in, forming a protective circle around whatever secret was about to be revealed.
The screen flickered to life, casting their faces in a pale blue glow.
The footage was grainy, with no timestamp, just a dim-lit facility that emerged from static like a ghost from the mist. It was massive and intact, its curved walls and elegant interfaces clearly not Itherian but older, cleaner, and carrying an air of the sacred. The architecture spoke of a time before the Empire's brutal efficiency, when beauty and function were considered inseparable.
Technicians in patched protective gear moved reverently between ancient consoles and sealed crates, their movements careful, almost ritualistic. One crate bore the faded spiral sigil of the Byni Sovereign Council, the intricate design still recognizable despite years of dust and darkness.
Arren inhaled sharply, his drink forgotten on the table before him. "That's… not just tech." His voice trembled with recognition and awe.
He leaned in closer, eyes wide, reflecting the blue light of the screen. "That's Zinai Station. The real one. The one they said collapsed during the Migration Wars, just before the Empire." His words were hushed, as if speaking too loudly might cause the image to vanish.
The runner nodded, a slight dip of his head that acknowledged the significance of what they were seeing. "Buried under a mountain. Literally, it looks like someone dropped the top half of the mountain range on it as part of the purge’s emergency containment operation." His fingers tapped the edge of the datapad, highlighting details in the footage. "The preservation is remarkable. Sealed against time itself."
Nira's brow furrowed, skepticism etched in the lines of her face. "All this time and the Empire never found it? With all their scanners and probes and informants?" Her question hung in the air, laden with suspicion and hope in equal measure.
"Not yet." He pointed to the file header, where a series of encrypted characters pulsed softly. "Carried only through secure Byni hands. No coordinates were broadcast. Just a confirmation. The team that found it is waiting for instructions. They're scared to even breathe too loud." His voice dropped to a whisper, mirroring the caution of those distant explorers.
Elendril hadn't spoken. He sat motionless, transfixed by the images before him. Every second stretched tight, like a wire about to snap. His burgundy skin seemed to pale, the subtle glow that was characteristic of the Byni dimming with the weight of what he had witnessed.
Zinai Station. Not lost. Not dust and rumor. Still breathing, in the dark, waiting like a patient guardian for the right moment to reveal its secrets.
For a long moment, no one moved.
Finally, Elendril’s voice broke the silence, low and uneven.
“My grandfather used to talk about his father… said he was one of the scientists who worked with Volti at Zinai Station.” His hand tightened around his glass, knuckles paling. “Most people said it was a story, misdirection to throw the Itherians off. But he swore the purge was deliberate. Said they buried something too dangerous for the Empire to ever touch.”
He swallowed, eyes still locked on the screen. “He used to tell me… that maybe even the secrets of the Caelaxis Gate were hidden in crates like those.”
Arren leaned in, breath sharp as the weight of the words settled on him. His scientific mind leapt ahead, tumbling faster than he could contain.
“So it’s not just a cache,” he said, voice trembling with awe. “It’s a capsule. A record of everything we were on the verge of before Volti hid everything.”
His fingers traced invisible patterns across the table, as though mapping out equations no one else could see. The pale blue light of the datapad reflected in his wide eyes.
“The knowledge there…” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It could change everything.”
Nira crossed her arms, voice low and cautious, ever the pragmatist. "So why tell us? Why not the Sovereign Council or someone with actual authority?" Her eyes never left the runner's face, searching for deception.
The runner tilted his head, the movement bird-like and precise. "Because you're Byni. You're out here. You've bled for this. And you're not sitting in some tower second-guessing. They trust you." Each word was carefully chosen, weighted with implication.
He paused for a moment for effect, letting the silence build tension before delivering the final piece. "And because they might need help to get it out quietly. Before the Empire catches wind. If they haven't already." The threat hung in the air, unspoken but understood by all, what the Empire would do with whatever was found in that station. Volti thought it important enough to hide, likely because it could be used for war. What if it was the resistance who claimed it instead, maybe the secret to ending the Empire was in those crates.
Tarly exhaled hard, rubbing his jaw with calloused fingers. "Another miracle wrapped in a headache." Despite his words, there was a gleam in his eye, the look of a man who lived for just such impossible challenges.
Elendril set the datapad down again with deliberate care.
His hands shook against the table, betraying the emotion he fought to control.
The implications cascaded through his mind, the knowledge that could be recovered, the connection to a time before the Purge, before the Laughless Season when his people had to hide their very nature from the universe.
And if the Empire got there first… the thought was too terrible to complete. They would twist everything, corrupt the knowledge, use it to tighten their grip on the galaxy.
"Tell your contact," Elendril said, voice steady despite the tremor in his hands, "we're coming." The decision was made in that moment, without hesitation, without debate.
He pushed the datapad back across the table, the gesture final and resolute.
No one moved for a breath. The weight of the moment settled around them, heavy with possibility and danger.
Then the old music rose again, low and sad, winding through the smoke like a lullaby for the broken. The melody spoke of ancient sorrows and distant hopes, a perfect accompaniment to the decision they had just made.
Tarly took a slow sip from his flask, his earlier smile gone, replaced by the solemn expression of a man who understood exactly what his friends had committed to. The liquid caught the amber light as it tilted to his lips.
"Well," he muttered, just loud enough for their table to hear, "guess we're not done running toward impossible things." His words carried both resignation and determination, the voice of a man who had faced such odds before and lived to tell the tale, however narrowly.
Chapter 5
Over mountain peaks shrouded in mist, the Solar Destiny eased into the clouds above Drevalis. These mountains were nameless on any map, their jagged silhouettes obscured by perpetual storm clouds and gloom. And there, nestled in their shadow, lay the shell of what had once been the crown jewel of the Byni science program, Zinai Station.
Half-buried in ancient stone, cloaked in thick, twisting vines, scarred by centuries of harsh weather and abandonment, but unmistakably intact. Its once-gleaming surfaces now dulled with time, yet the structure stood defiant against the elements that had tried to reclaim it.
Nira guided the ship down with expert precision onto a sloped landing ledge reinforced with old alloy plating and half-collapsed scaffolds. The landing struts settled with a mechanical groan, releasing a curl of steam into the damp mountain air. Thunder rumbled in the distance, echoing through the valleys like an ominous warning.
At the forward viewport, Elendril stared, unmoving, his golden eyes wide with reverence. Even Bolen, who usually greeted old ruins with jokes about rustlung and ghosts, said nothing. His large hand rested instinctively on his sidearm, fingers twitching slightly, but there was unmistakable awe in his voice when he finally broke the silence.
"It's real," Bolen murmured, his deep voice barely above a whisper. "Volti's last project... still standing after all this time."
A small archaeological crew waited near the entrance, their faces weathered by exposure to the harsh mountain climate. Lights strapped to their headgear cut through the mist, casting eerie shadows across the ancient structure. Their eyes were sharp but tired, showing the strain of days spent cataloging relics of the past. Their uniforms bore the seal of the Outer Relic Recovery Corps; patched in multiple places, practical rather than decorative, and clearly running on limited resources.
The lead technician stepped forward, a Byni woman with delicate, pointed ears and burgundy skin that had faded slightly with age. She wore silver-etched gloves that gleamed with intricate patterns, and her face was half-covered by an antique rebreather mask, protection against potential rustlung spores in the ancient facility. Her eyes, visible through the transparent visor, were sharp and clear, reflecting both intelligence and caution.
"My name is Nelyra,” she said then motioned subtly to the team behind her. “We went in three days ago, Structural integrity held better than we expected, and the air was stable enough for our purifiers. No signs of trap systems or environmental hazards, just a lot of silence and dust. We've been logging and tagging everything since, working around the clock." She glanced behind her at the shadowed arch of the station's interior, a mixture of pride and reverence in her gaze. "We did it by the book. No damage. No shortcuts. This place matters, we treated it with the respect it deserves."
Elendril nodded, genuine respect evident in his voice. "You did good work. The Sovereign Council will want to hear your full report."
"Perhaps a few of the council will care to hear it," she whispered, "There is not full support in the council for what we do. I report to councilor Sivara. She understand why we must restore the science to our people."
They walked toward the entrance past crates of artifacts that her team was quietly cataloging.
"Still feels like we're walking in a legend," Nelyra added, her voice quieter now, almost confessional. "I keep expecting to wake up. But it's real. All of it."
Together, they entered the main hallway, footsteps echoing against ancient stone.
Inside, Zinai Station wasn't dead.
It was just holding its breath, suspended in time, waiting.
The first hallway opened like a cathedral to forgotten science, its vaulted ceiling stretching upward into shadows. Dormant consoles lined the walls, set into the structure under graceful arcs of what appeared to be some kind of metallic alloy, untouched by hands for centuries. Residual energy flickered along seams in the floor like sleeping circuitry, pulsing with faint blue light whenever someone stepped too close. Mural panels glowed faintly with bioluminescent pigments, depicting old Byni cities with their flowing architecture, star-borne observatories hovering in painted skies, and scenes of scientists working beneath the elegant symbols of the Sovereign Council. Some panels were cracked, spider-web fractures spreading across their surfaces. None had faded, the colors as vivid as the day they were created.
The hall smelled of dust and ozone... of containment and secrets long preserved.
Arren moved forward like a pilgrim approaching a sacred shrine, his steps slow and deliberate. His fingers brushed one of the lit panels, just once, reverently, as though touching history itself.
"This isn't just a lab," he whispered, voice thick with emotion. "It is a monument. A testament to what we were capable of before the Purge."
Nira walked with slower steps, her head held high, one hand resting cautiously on her belt as if expecting some ancient defense system to awaken at their intrusion. "Feels like it's watching us, evaluating whether we're worthy."
"Maybe it is," Elendril murmured, his eyes scanning the ceiling and walls. "If Volti wanted it to be found someday, he might have built in ways to judge those who entered..."
They passed through two more security nodes, their power systems dormant for decades but still remarkably intact. Nelyra's tech crew had carefully routed a bypass using fiber relays, meticulously avoiding disruption to the ancient fail-safes that might still be operational. Every corner they turned held its own tension, century-old memories etched into metal and stone, waiting to be rediscovered.
They moved through chamber after chamber, their footsteps echoing in spaces that had known only silence for over two centuries. What remained was haunting in its precision: rows of dormant instruments arranged with meticulous care, half-sealed containment lockers with faded labels, storage alcoves dusted with age but perfectly ordered, as if someone had locked everything away with intention before vanishing into history.
In one corner, a rack of harmonic resonators stood untouched. As the crew approached, a faint sound stirred, soft, almost imperceptible. One of the resonators vibrated slightly.
Arren stepped closer and picked it up. “These were used for data storage,” he said, eyes narrowing with curiosity.
Nira raised a brow. “How do you store data in music? Especially music with no lyrics?”
Arren pressed a recessed node on the side. The device responded with a sequence of tones, clear, deliberate, not quite melodic but far from random. Each note echoed faintly through the chamber, as if the station itself were remembering.
“It’s not just music,” Arren said, already syncing the resonator to his portable console. “It’s structured harmonic encoding. Think of it like sound-based quantum keys.”
Nira let the tones wash over her, smirking faintly. “So that’s what a dead civilization sounds like,” she quipped.
Her voice rang through the vast stone chamber, the echo curling around the tones in the air. Nelyra spoke softly, almost as if afraid to interrupt.
“My grandmother used to hum songs with no lyrics,” she said. “Only when she thought no one was listening. Said they were once prayers… or algorithms. She called it ‘whispering through the Purge.'"
She paused, her fingertips grazing the edge of an inert console with gentle reverence, leaving small trails in the dust.
"I still remember the melody. I hummed it to my kids when they were little, rocking them to sleep. Thought it was just a lullaby passed down through generations. Never realized it might mean something, that it might be carrying knowledge we weren't supposed to forget."
Not far from the central archive vault, Arren paused at a fragmented terminal still clinging to life through some ancient energy buffer. He coaxed the interface into responding, and a handful of directory folders blinked onto the screen, many corrupted, but one still intact enough to parse. The title glowed softly in ancient Byni: Caelaxis-Tuned Entities: Preliminary Interactions.
"Living resonance research," he murmured, half to himself. "This wasn't just about sound or encryption. They were cataloging something... alive."
Nira looked over, puzzled. "Alive how?"
"These aren't instruments or theories," he said, his voice tightening with awe. "These entries, what’s left of them, reference Gate Singers. Harmonic organisms. Resonant bioforms that could interface with Caelaxis itself. Some of the terms translate as witness, guardian, even sleeper. They were either engineered... or discovered. It’s not clear which."
Elendril frowned, his eyes narrowing. "Guardians made of sound?"
"Or creatures attuned to it. Like Caelaxis itself is part of a larger ecosystem, one we barely understand."
They passed a long, narrow lab next, benches lined with etched plates of alloy, some bearing the faded spiral emblem of the Sovereign Council. A schematic was burned into one panel with no caption, just delicate notations in the ancient Byni dialect. The intricate design might've been a schematic for Caelaxis, Or perhaps a warning to future generations.
Bolen crouched to examine a shattered lens assembly, carefully lifting a fragment without disturbing its position. "This wasn't raided by looters or damaged in a collapse. No random destruction here. They dismantled this on purpose, with great care."
"They were covering their trail," Nira said, her voice soft but certain. "And while hiding from the Itherians, they were also hiding from history itself. Erasing their own footprints from the cosmic web."
They entered what had once been a meditation hall, a space where Byni scientists would have sought harmony and clarity of thought. The ceiling had partially collapsed, chunks of stone and metal scattered across the floor, but the constellation dome remained remarkably intact. The crystals embedded in the ceiling overhead were fixed to display the Byni home sky as it had looked two centuries ago, a frozen moment of celestial beauty preserved in crystalline memory.
Arren stood beneath them, his lips parted in wonder as he gazed upward. "It's like they froze their last sky in stone. A final glimpse of home before they scattered across the stars."
Nira exhaled slowly, her breath visible in the cool air. "They wanted someone to remember... without being remembered themselves. To pass on knowledge without revealing its source."
Only then, reverence growing with each step, did they move toward the deepest chamber of the facility.
It was a sealed alcove nestled into the corridor's far end, its outer walls smooth as obsidian, unweathered by time. The surface was broken only by a series of glyphs etched deep into the stone, its lines flowing with purpose and meaning. Dust had settled into the carved grooves, but the shape of the characters remained clear and unmistakable: ancient Byni script, looping and elegant, from an era when language itself carried harmonic power.
Arren crouched beside it, carefully brushing the surface clean with one gentle sweep of his sleeve. "This is old," he murmured, studying the characters with academic intensity. "First-era Sovereign tongue, from before the standardization. Hardly anyone even teaches this dialect anymore. It's practically a dead language."
Nira leaned in closer, squinting at the unfamiliar symbols. "What does it say? Can you translate it?"
He studied the glyphs in silence for a beat, his lips moving slightly as he worked through the ancient phonetics. "Tai'reth ku lonavir, ekh'sei valari dai."
The cadence of his speech was deliberate and ritualistic, each syllable pronounced with careful attention to tone and rhythm, like a memory carried on breath rather than mere words.
Nira tilted her head, intrigued. "Say that again? Slower this time."
He repeated the phrase with the same careful intonation. She tried to mimic the words, her brow furrowed in concentration.
"Tai'reth ku... lonaviir, ekh'sai..." She trailed off, the sounds awkward and flat on her tongue.
The stone wall remained still, unresponsive to her attempt.
Then Arren spoke again, not just with the words, but with the rhythm, the precise intonation, a reverence in his voice that didn't translate through simple mimicry. His pronunciation carried the weight of understanding, of connection to the ancient language and its harmonic properties.
This time, the door responded. With a soft hiss, it slid open, revealing the chamber beyond.
A breath of pressurized air escaped through the opening, carrying the faint scent of sealed time; ozone, old dust, and the ache of forgotten knowledge.
Nira blinked in surprise. "It wasn't just a phrase or password. It was... a key. A living key."
"Not just the words," Arren said softly, a new respect in his voice. "The language itself. The resonance of the sounds. Ancient Byni isn't just syntax and vocabulary, it's harmonic, it carries frequencies in its pronunciation. If you don't speak it like you truly know it, like you're part of its tradition, the door doesn't recognize you as Byni."
Elendril gave a quiet nod, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Sovereign Volti designed it for those who remembered their heritage. Or those who bothered to learn it properly. A perfect lock that couldn't be forced or hacked, only respected."
Inside was a simple chamber, surprisingly modest for such a secure location. A low console occupied the center, its surface pristine beneath a layer of dust. A desk stood against one wall, various instruments still arranged neatly upon it. Along the far wall, several crystal prisms sat in precisely machined grooves, catching the faint light like silent witnesses to centuries of darkness.
The stillness was almost painful, as if the room had been holding its breath waiting for someone worthy to enter.
Arren stepped in first, drawn forward as if gravity itself had changed within the space. His gaze found the desk, and there, at its center, sat a single crystal journal, its facets dulled by dust but unmistakably intact.
"Volti," he whispered, recognizing the signature etched into its base.
The name wasn't just carved mechanically, but had been written by hand, looped in delicate curves that spoke of the individual behind the title. Intimate, personal, and beautiful.
Elendril moved beside him, his posture unconsciously becoming more reverent. "The Sovereign himself. His personal journal."
With careful hands, Arren reached out and activated the crystal journal, his fingers trembling slightly as they brushed away centuries of dust.
Light flared immediately. Blue-white. Alive and responsive after all this time.
A bloom of data rose into the air above the journal, trees of entries, complex equations, resonance field diagrams, cascading archives of thought and theory long buried from the galaxy's knowledge. The holographic display filled the small chamber with dancing light, illuminating their awestruck faces.
Most entries were highly technical: field manipulation theories, early-phase planetary resonance work, encryption design methodologies, notes on harmonic frequencies...
But one file pulsed with a different rhythm, set apart from the others.
Older, coded entirely in the ancient sacred dialect, its characters flowing with particular elegance.
"Tai'morak vi nevalan,
Ves'tar ekh'dorei sen'kai,
Valir esh'karan vehl,
d'enari Dei,
sei'thol vi'kareth alun.
Enari vel seir' karael,
seir' karael ekh'thanor."
Arren translated, his voice steady and low, giving weight to each line as he decoded the ancient text:
"In a time of great need,
thread the Eye of stars,
find the veiled ones,
the children of Dei,
then all that was, shall be.
The Children bear Seir’Karael
The light that guards in song.
As the final words faded from his lips, the light dimmed slightly. Silence took its place, heavy with implication.
Nira exhaled slowly, her eyes wide. "That sounds like a prophecy. A message meant to survive the ages."
"Wrapped in mystery and metaphor," Elendril murmured, his gaze fixed on the floating text. "Protected from those who would misuse it."
Arren didn't answer immediately. He was still staring at the ancient glyphs, his expression intense with concentration. "Volti didn't write this for the Council or his contemporaries. He wrote it for us. For whoever would find this station after it was safe again from Itherian control. A message across time."
Turning back to the main console, Arren noticed a side panel that had lit up on its own, humming with a low, almost musical tone that hadn't been there before.
He touched it cautiously, and new schematics flared into being above the console.
Caelaxis - The Eye Gate.
But not as a mystery or natural phenomenon. As a detailed blueprint, a constructed marvel.
"That's not a scan or observation," Arren said, his voice rising with excitement. "It's a design schematic. Engineering plans."
Elendril stepped closer, disbelief written across his features. "You mean Volti...?"
"He built it," Arren whispered, awe overtaking his scientific detachment. "Volti built Caelaxis. Engineered it from concept to completion. And he hid the truth so effectively that the Itherians believed it was a natural anomaly. Even the Byni themselves forgot its true origin."
Nira blinked rapidly, processing the implications. "Then, the whole time..."
"He wasn't just preserving knowledge," Elendril said softly, understanding dawning in his eyes. "He was protecting a bridge, a pathway to somewhere he wanted us to find. A connection he needed to preserve for future generations."
Arren brought up a second layer of data; complex equations, frequency patterns, layered harmonic threads, all tuned with frightening precision and elegant mathematical beauty.
"This is a complete field theory. They weren't just dabbling or experimenting. They mastered harmonic science entirely." He said the word "harmonic" with an edge of disbelief in his voice, like the very concept was something he had dreamed of discovering but never thought possible.
"They built systems the Empire still thinks is magic or superstition," he continued, excitement building with each word. "The closest thing they have is the Artron Focus Conduits, and those aren't even in the same category. Different principles. Different applications. Different goals entirely. This isn't just a refinement of known technology, it's an entirely separate branch of science with its own fundamental laws."
He paused, his voice trailing off, but his eyes showed that his mind was spinning with possibilities that they might never fully understand or imagine, a whole universe of scientific potential opening before them.
Elendril was silent, his expression unreadable as he absorbed the magnitude of what they'd discovered.
Arren looked over at him, momentarily concerned. "You okay? This is a lot to process."
Elendril nodded slowly, his eyes distant with memory. "My mother used to tell stories when I was young. She said Volti opened the sky with a staff and a song, creating a window to another world. Said her mother told her the same tale. I always thought it was just a children's story, a myth to help explain Caelaxis."
"It was," Nira said, her voice gentle but firm. "Until today. Now it's history."
Arren turned back to the console with renewed purpose, his fingers already moving across the interface with practiced precision. "I'm downloading everything. Every lab note, every waveform analysis, every failed experiment and breakthrough. This isn't science fiction or ancient mythology anymore, it's real, tangible science, and it's ours to reclaim."
He grinned, his eyes gleaming with excitement and possibility. "Volti didn't just lead his people. He built something the Empire couldn't steal or replicate. He discovered an entire field of science they will never even see coming. And now we have it."
A soft chime echoed through the archive, drawing their attention back to the main display.
A new window opened on the console; a personal log entry, encoded in what must have been Volti's own voice, translated from the ancient dialect:
"If you are hearing this, then Zinai has endured through darkness. And perhaps so have we, the Byni people.
I built Caelaxis not to escape our troubles, but to offer us a way forward when the time was right. The harmonics I discovered are not weapons to be wielded in destruction. They are a language, one that can bind together what power and force can only divide. The Itherians will never understand this truth. That is why this knowledge must stay hidden until someone who remembers how to listen is found.
If you are that someone, then carry the song forward into a new age.
Remember: Caelaxis is not a weapon. It is a promise.
No force or violence can wake it. It requires harmony, balance, and understanding."
Arren stood at the edge of the console's glow, watching the holographic representation of Caelaxis slowly turn, its harmonic weave pulsing like a heartbeat that had never stopped, waiting patiently through the centuries.
"She used to say it wasn't a myth," he said suddenly, voice quieter than usual, tinged with melancholy. "That it was a door. A wound in the fabric of reality that we could choose to close… or walk through to something greater."
Nira looked over, her brow raised in curiosity. "Who said that?"
"Lirae Vell. My mentor when I was still studying at the Academy at Solasis." He smiled faintly, lost in memory. "She wasn't famous or celebrated. Not officially recognized. But anyone who stayed late in the physics wing knew her lectures ran wild after midnight. She had a whiteboard as big as her wall and absolutely zero patience for bureaucratic limitations on knowledge."
He reached out and traced the edge of the projected structure with a fingertip, not touching the hologram itself, just mapping its gravity well with a scientist's appreciation.
"She used to teach about Caelaxis even after the curriculum officially banned the topic. Said the Empire deliberately erased anomalies they couldn't explain or control. Called it 'scientific censorship masquerading as caution for the public good.'"
A beat passed. His smile faded, replaced by something more solemn.
"They sanctioned her for it. Took away her research clearance. Eventually revoked her teaching license entirely. She didn't fight it or make a public spectacle. Just packed her things, said goodbye to a few students, and disappeared."
Elendril, standing behind him, said quietly, "You think she went looking for it. For the truth about Caelaxis."
"I know she did," Arren said with certainty. "Her last message to me said, 'Caelaxis is waiting for something, maybe something scientific, maybe something more profound. I intend to find out which.'"
He swallowed hard, emotion briefly overtaking his scientific detachment.
"I thought she was deluded. Brilliant, but chasing shadows and myths. I didn't realize until today that maybe she wasn't pursuing ghosts or fantasies. Maybe she was right all along."
Nira was quiet for a moment, then said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, "She'd be proud of you, Arren. You got here. You found what she was looking for."
Arren gave a half-smile of acknowledgment, but his eyes stayed fixed on Caelaxis’ turning holographic form, watching its intricate harmonics pulse and flow.
"She deserved to see it first. To know she was right."
They moved past a data well chamber filled with dormant storage crystals and into a side corridor that hadn't appeared on any of the station schematics they'd recovered so far.
At the end of the hall, the air changed, becoming noticeably cooler and charged with subtle energy.
A wall curved seamlessly from floor to ceiling, no visible seams, no control panels, no inscription or marking of any kind. Just a smooth surface that shimmered faintly under their lights, like obsidian glass laced with something older and more mysterious than mere stone.
Arren stopped short, his scientific instincts immediately alert.
"That's not architecture," he said softly, studying the wall with growing fascination. "That's a seal. A containment barrier of some kind."
Nira stepped forward, squinting as she examined the smooth surface. "Where's the glyph? The access point?"
"There isn't one," Arren said, running his hand carefully along the surface, fingers brushing across it in search of any imperfection or hidden mechanism. "Not like the harmonic vault we opened earlier. This one… doesn't want to be found. Or opened."
Bolen frowned, crossing his massive arms across his chest. "You think it's a second archive? Something even more valuable?"
"No," Elendril said, staring hard at the barrier, his expression grave. "Something more deliberate. Something sealed away for a reason."
Arren took a step back, considering his options, then tried anyway. He spoke the harmonic phrase that had opened the first vault, clear, reverent, exactly as before, his pronunciation perfect.
Nothing happened. The wall remained solid and unresponsive.
He tried again, with a different cadence and emphasis, adjusting the harmonic qualities of his voice. Still nothing. The surface didn't even flicker in acknowledgment.
Nira crossed her arms, frustrated but intrigued. "So it's not a keyphrase lock? Not responding to language?"
Arren shook his head, his curiosity fully engaged. "No. Or not one we know. It might not be language-based at all. Could be keyed to something else entirely, a specific bio-tonal signature, perhaps, or a harmonic frequency we don't possess."
He stepped closer again, pressing his palm gently to the center of the black curve, as if trying to sense what lay beyond through touch alone.
Still no response from the mysterious barrier.
"But if this is what I think it is," he added, voice lowering to almost a whisper, "we're not supposed to open it. Not yet. It's waiting for something, or someone, specific."
Nira turned away, her brow furrowed in thought. "So what now? We just leave it?"
"We mark it," Elendril said decisively, his captain's authority evident in his tone. "No tampering. No attempts at override. We record everything around it, document its location precisely, and we remember it's here for when the time is right."
Arren nodded in agreement. "We'll come back. When we're ready. Or when it decides we are worthy."
They left the chamber behind, sealed and silent as it had been for two centuries. But as they walked away, none of them noticed the faintest flicker of resonance shimmer across the stone's surface, too soft for ears to hear, too subtle for their scanners to detect.
Just a harmonic heartbeat waiting for the right frequency to answer its call.
Only then did they return to the light of the main chambers, leaving the deeper mystery for another day.
They stayed for hours, methodically documenting everything they found. Arren discovered far more than mere logs and records. He uncovered experimental data that mapped the harmonic response curves of entire planets, simulations of artificial resonance fields seeded into various forms of matter, even proof-of-concept schematics for harmonic-lattice amplifiers keyed to living bio-tonal signatures that could potentially revolutionize medicine and communication.
"If this data is right," he whispered, half to himself as he pored over a particularly complex set of equations, "then we've only scratched the surface of what's possible. This technology... it's like discovering gravity or electricity all over again. A fundamental force we could not even imagine until now."
By the time they returned to the Solar Destiny, their minds reeling with implications, Arren had filled two entire data banks with information salvaged from Zinai's archives.
He was already organizing the findings by hypothesis and potential application, his scientific mind racing ahead to possibilities. And with each new insight, he found himself rewriting half the laws of energy transfer and quantum mechanics that he'd once considered immutable.
Harmonic science wasn't theoretical anymore. Not a fantasy or a myth. It was a foundation for an entirely new understanding of physics, a doorway to technological applications they had barely dreamed of, a new future waiting to be built. And Zinai Station had opened that door, revealing a legacy that had patiently waited centuries to be rediscovered.
Chapter 6
The Solar Destiny slid through lightfold, stars stretching into long golden threads across the viewport. The cockpit lights were dimmed, the usual chatter gone quiet, not from tension, but from a kind of reverence. Even Bolen hadn't cracked a joke in half an hour. The familiar hum of the lightfold drive resonated through the deck plating, a gentle vibration that had become as much a part of them as their own heartbeats.
They weren't planning. Weren't worrying.
Just moving, together, through the stream between worlds, suspended in that liminal space where time seemed to stretch and contract all at once.
Nira leaned back against the bulkhead, arms folded, eyes on the shifting starlines. The familiar panels of the ship's interior caught fragments of the light, casting warm reflections across her face.
"When I was little," she said softly, "we lived in the mountain ring above Myrren's Cut. During the occupation. Everything was down; Holos, net relays, even power some nights. Just candles, wool blankets, and the dark." Her fingers traced an idle pattern against her sleeve, following some memory only she could see. "The Itherians controlled everything that came in or out, even information."
She didn't turn to face them. "You made your own stories, back then. Under the covers. Whispers that couldn't be monitored or recorded."
Bolen, seated across from her, cocked his head. The tall engineer shifted in his seat, his broad shoulders catching the dim light from the console. "You're telling me this is leading to a bedtime story?" Despite his teasing tone, there was genuine curiosity in his eyes.
She smirked faintly. "Sort of. The nights were so quiet, you could hear the satellite harmonics ripple through the pass. They called it signal echo, but it sounded like singing. Not music, exactly, just tones. Like the sky was breathing." Her voice took on a faraway quality, as if part of her was back there, a child wrapped in darkness, listening to the voice of the stars.
Elendril turned from the helm, his voice soft. "I've heard that, once. In the old belt stations near Ro Verna. Used to think it was just metal stress in the hull." His fingers hovered over the navigation controls, but his attention was fully on Nira now.
"Maybe," she said. "But when I asked my mother, she told me it was the stars speaking in languages too old to remember. That if you listened long enough, you might learn what they were saying." The memory seemed to hang between them, delicate as frost.
A beat of silence passed, filled only by the whisper of the ship's environmental systems and the distant pulse of the drive.
Then Nira looked back toward the dark. "I listened. Every night I could. Never understood a word." Her eyes reflected the streaming starlight, ancient and immediate all at once.
She shrugged lightly, but her voice lingered on the last line as though part of her still wished she had, as though some part of her was still that child, ear pressed to the darkness, trying to decipher the cosmos.
They saw it, as soon as lightfold collapsed back into normal space with a shudder that ran through the Solar Destiny's frame.
Caelaxis hung at the center of a debris halo, a silent, pulsing gate wrapped in the shattered remnants of an Itherian armada. Dozens of ships, some still drifting in half-formation, others torn open like crushed beetles. Hull plating drifted with no scorch marks, no fusion tears. Just… unmade. Metal twisted in ways no physics could explain, as if the very molecules had forgotten how to hold together.
From the bridge of the Solar Destiny, Elendril watched it drift in silence. The gate itself pulsed with a subtle rhythm, almost like a heartbeat, if hearts could beat in colors.
"Looks recent," Nira said, her hands light on the helm. Her fingers danced across the controls, making minute adjustments to keep them stable amid the gravitational eddies.
"Within a Rengan month," Arren confirmed, eyes locked to the sensor feed. The scientist's face was bathed in the blue glow of his displays, casting sharp shadows across his features. "Radiation scatter's still bleeding from secondary cores. No thermal decay yet. The hull fragment signatures are..." He paused, brow furrowing. "They're unlike anything in our database."
Elendril let out a slow breath. "You still want to do this?" His voice carried no judgment, just the weight of a captain responsible for his crew.
Arren didn't hesitate. "The simulation won't be accurate without real harmonic profiles. I need Caelaxis' pulse pattern. If Zinai's data is right, we might finally have a complete resonance framework to model, if this mess hasn't corrupted it." His fingers flew across his console, already setting up collection parameters.
Behind them, Bolen muttered, "Let's hope what tore that fleet apart isn't still lurking." He glanced nervously at the floating debris, at the way some pieces seemed to vibrate at frequencies just beyond perception.
They crossed into the debris field slowly. Nira adjusted their speed to a crawl, engines in soft-sync with the drift patterns. The Destiny moved as if it didn't want to be noticed, slipping between massive chunks of what had once been proud Imperial warships. Occasionally, something would bump against their hull, a piece of plating, perhaps, or something that had once been part of a living crew member.
Arren tapped the console, pulling up a series of harmonic scans, low-frequency, layered, deliberately staggered to avoid triggering a sympathetic pulse. The data streamed across his portable display, patterns emerging and dissolving like ripples in water.
Elendril nodded toward a cluster of wreckage ahead, where the remains of what might have been a command deck drifted in a slow, eternal tumble. "You said Zinai referenced this kind of harmonic resonance?"
"Not like this," Arren said, his voice hushed with a mixture of awe and dread. "Zinai was theory. This… this is what happens when you apply the wrong frequency. It's like Caelaxis rejected them on a fundamental level." He adjusted a setting, and new readings cascaded across his screen.
A burst of static flared across the comms, sharp enough to make them all flinch.
Arren blinked. "That wasn't us."
"Not from our ship," Nira confirmed, her hands moving quickly across her station. "I'm isolating." Her fingers traced patterns across the controls with practiced precision, filtering through layers of cosmic background noise.
She filtered the signal, a fractured, looping distress transmission bleeding off an Itherian emergency core still adrift. The voice that emerged was distorted, broken by static and something else, a warping that seemed to come from within the recording itself.
"Destroyer Group Two, holding pattern collapsed, no contact, no interface, hull destabilizing, repeat, destabilizing." The voice was sharp with panic, each word clipped by fear and disbelief.
The next came clipped, almost shrill, rising to a pitch that made the speakers crackle:
"It's not a shield, it's nothing. Something tore our ship from the inside. No impact. No heat. The metal's just... coming apart. Like it's forgotten how to be solid!"
A final voice, likely the fleet commander, deeper but no less terrified:
"Abort. Abort! The Eye isn't a portal. It's a weapon. Fall back to..." The transmission dissolved into a sound that wasn't quite static, more like the audio equivalent of watching something unravel.
Then silence, heavy and absolute, filling the bridge of the Solar Destiny.
Arren sat back slowly, his face pale in the screen's glow. His hands hovered over his console, momentarily frozen.
Elendril's jaw clenched. "They tried to breach it like a jump gate."
"They thought brute force would do it," Arren said, finding his voice again. "And Caelaxis pushed back." He leaned forward, fingers moving with renewed purpose, analyzing the harmonic patterns that rippled outward from the eye of the nebula surrounding the opening.
He tapped the waveform into pause, highlighting a mirrored oscillation that pulsed with an eerie symmetry. "Look at this. These aren't even blast waves. They're harmonic backlash signatures, like the field refused the wrong tone. It's almost musical in its precision."
"So it's not just uncalibrated," Bolen said, moving closer to peer over Arren's shoulder at the display. "It's hostile if you don't speak the language." A fragment of debris drifted past the viewport, catching the light of the distant Star.
Arren nodded. "Zinai's notes warned of destructive feedback if misaligned inputs get pushed. But this isn't just a misalignment. This is Caelaxis protecting itself." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Or something on the other side protecting what's there."
Nira leaned forward slightly, studying the slow-turning structure at the heart of the nebula on the screen. Caelaxis pulsed with that same steady rhythm, like breathing, like waiting.
"A gate that sings, and eats warships when offended. Sounds like a myth." Her fingers tapped a rhythm against the console that unconsciously matched Caelaxis' pulse. "Like something from one of those old Rengan verses."
Arren's voice was low now, thoughtful. "Or a filter. A gate that only opens for the right frequency, like a lock that destroys the wrong key." He glanced at his readings again. "The harmonic technology at Zinai... this is what it was designed for."
Bolen stood, stretching his tall frame. "Still want to get closer?" Despite his casual tone, there was tension in his shoulders, in the way his eyes kept drifting back to the floating graveyard around them.
"We need that resonance profile," Arren replied, determination hardening his features. "We just do it smartly. Passive scans only. No active probes that might trigger a response."
Elendril stared at Caelaxis for a long moment, his reflection ghostly in the viewport, overlaid against the pulsing anomaly beyond.
"Scan. Log. No approach. If it spikes, we pull out and burn wide." His voice was firm, the decision made.
"And if it opens?" Nira asked, her hands poised over the controls, ready to take them in any direction.
Elendril didn't look away from the ancient, mysterious construct that had defied an empire.
"Then we pretend it didn't." The words hung in the air, a promise and a warning all at once.
The Solar Destiny hung in space just long enough for Arren to gather the data he needed. Then it slid silently away. The crew breathed easier once they were a few thousand lightyears out, but the memory of that place lingered, heavy in the back of their minds as they continued on.
Elendril stood between two urgent paths. They’d planned to return to Zinai Station, to begin transferring artifacts long buried and bring them home to Byni. They were also set to rejoin the pirate alliance at Broken Compass, coordinating fresh strikes against the Empire’s scattered assets.
Both missions mattered. Both pulled at different parts of him.
Then Nelyra’s message came.
The Council had frozen all activity at Zinai Station. A legal injunction, pushed through by preservationist factions, barred any further excavation or transport until a full cultural review could be held. The station’s location was being kept as quiet as possible in the meantime, Nelyra hoped that would be enough to keep it hidden from the Itherians.
That made the decision simple, if not easy.
And with a plague tearing through the jungles of Shushni, and a critical medical supply cache due to pass through an Imperial yard near the Compass, their course was set.
They turned toward Renga and its moon, Cavarn’s Cradle.
Chapter 7
Elendril crouched beneath the shadow of a rusting cargo stack, his breath shallow, his senses tuned to every echo across the landing yard. Overhead, the docking cranes groaned like dying beasts, their ancient hydraulics protesting with each shift of weight. The night smelled of coolant and old steel, a familiar industrial musk that clung to everything in these Imperial yards. Somewhere far above, a patrol drone whispered in a lazy arc, its scanning beam cutting through the darkness in predictable sweeps.
He glanced toward the bay doors, Bay Seventeen, where the crates were supposed to be. Not weapons, not fuel this time. Medical freight. Tagged for "Itherian Distribution," which was just a prettier way of saying: offworld garrisons get healed, everyone else gets to rot. The Empire's priorities had always been clear as crystal, protect those who protect the machine.
Elendril flexed his fingers around the grip of his carbine, feeling the worn grip mold perfectly to his hand. He clicked his comm once, a soft, barely audible sound that was the signal to move. His heart rate steadied as years of experience took over, calming the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.
From the opposite end of the yard, Nira slid out of shadow, her dark braid pulled tight against her scalp to prevent any chance of it catching on equipment. Her expression was sharper than the vibroblade she kept strapped to her thigh, all focus, no hesitation. Bolen followed close behind, his tall frame hunched low as he hauled a cart he'd half-broken just to keep its clatter to a minimum. The big engineer moved with surprising grace for his size, each step calculated and careful. Arren was already ghosting along the perimeter, his slender fingers dancing over an old datapad as he cracked the lock seals from twenty meters out, his face illuminated by the soft blue glow of ancient code.
"Three enforcers posted outside," Nira said as she slid beside Elendril, her voice barely above a whisper. "Imperial standard gear, all but the patch on the arm. They're trying to look regular, but they're not."
He frowned, his forehead creasing between his upswept eyebrows. "Raanu?"
She nodded once, her eyes hard. "Yeah. Black sun on rust red. His personal touch."
Primarch Raanu was showing his teeth more lately. Not content to hide behind the Itherian protocols and bureaucracy. The man was getting bolder, more personal in his vendetta. If his enforcers were here, then this shipment was priority protected, and someone knew the Resistance needed it. Someone had leaked information, or they were being watched more closely than they'd realized.
“Good thing Nira has her under cover experience to draw on,” he thought. “Most would not have noticed such a subtle difference.”
Elendril's stomach turned, a cold knot forming beneath his ribs. This wasn't just a heist anymore. It was a statement, or worse, a trap.
They moved like shadows across the landing yard, Nira flanking wide to cover their blind spots, her footfalls silent on the metal grating. Bolen rigged a controlled noise burst two bays over, his large hands surprisingly nimble as they connected wires and set timers. The blast rocked the night with a satisfying boom, metal and debris clattering to the ground just long enough to draw attention away, creating the perfect window for Elendril and Arren to reach the cargo stack and breach the seal.
Inside the crate: stacked medkits, sealed in imperial blue, tagged for sterilization, antivirals, protein bandages, infection suppressors. The supplies gleamed under the dim emergency lights, each package stamped with the Itherian seal. Enough to stock three field hospitals, enough to save hundreds of lives that the Empire had deemed expendable.
And none of it would reach the people who needed it most, not without their intervention.
Arren whistled low, his eyes widening as he scanned the inventory through his datapad. "This could stabilize half the southern jungle. The fever's been tearing through the settlements for weeks."
Elendril thought of the Shushni who he had once picked up metal ore from back in his Velari freighter days. He remembered the hollow-eyed children, their skin ashen and marked with the telltale rashes of toxin exposure, sick from mining runoff that fed the Empire's Shushni refineries. The way their parents worked until they collapsed, only to rise again the next day. He didn't know if they wanted help, pride ran deep in those communities. But they deserved it, deserved better than slow death for Imperial profit.
"We load it," Elendril said, his voice firm with decision. "All of it. They'll come for it fast once they realize what's happening."
"Understatement of the cycle," Nira growled over comms, tension evident in her voice. "We've got inbound. Multiple signatures, approaching hot."
The ambush came sudden and clean, Raanu's enforcers dropping from their starships in coordinated formation, repelling lines unfurling like metallic snakes. Their armor bore the mark of the First Legion, red visors flashing under the yard lights, reflecting the emergency beacons now blaring across the compound. Not just grunts or regular security. These were hunters, specially trained to track and eliminate resistance operatives.
"Cover left!" Elendril shouted, pulling Arren behind a stack of containers as the first blaster round carved a molten line into the steel crate beside them. The acrid smell of superheated metal filled the air. Nira returned fire immediately from her position, a short burst that staggered their closest pursuer, sending him sprawling across the deck. Bolen lobbed a canister, flash and smoke in one, and bellowed over the comms, "We're gonna need a bigger sled! This one's not gonna hold all this!"
"I told you to reinforce it!" Arren snapped, fingers flying over his datapad as he tried to lock down the yard's automated security systems. "We knew this was a major haul!"
"I did!" Bolen ducked as another shot cracked overhead, showering them with sparks from where it hit a support beam. "It just wasn't designed for this much stolen hope! Engineering has its limits, even mine!"
Elendril fired three precise shots, covering Bolen as he wrestled another crate onto the straining cart. The enforcer closest to them went down with a grunt, clutching at a smoking hole in his shoulder armor.
By the time they reached the Solar Destiny, three crates were scorched from near misses, and Bolen had a shallow plasma burn across his flank that made him wince with every step. The ship's bronze hull gleamed dully in the moonlight as they approached, a beacon of safety in the chaos. Nira flew hard and dirty once they were aboard, scraping the Destiny's belly against the launch rails as they surged into orbit, engines howling with strain. The quantum drive unit protested loudly, vibrating through the deck plates as they pushed it beyond recommended parameters.
Alarms blared from Imperial frequencies, and two patrol vessels gave chase before Nira executed a series of maneuvers that would have made most pilots lose consciousness. They slipped away into the darkness of space, leaving their pursuers far behind.
Elendril didn't speak until the stars cleared the viewport, until the immediate danger had passed and they were safely in the void between worlds.
Then he said, "Plot a jump to the southern Shushni basin. Not the capital, the south forest sector. If there's a cell down there, they'll be near the old stoneline valley. The Empire avoids it because of the magnetic interference."
Arren frowned, looking up from treating Bolen's wound. "We're guessing? That's not like you, Captain. We usually have contacts, protocols."
"No," Elendril said, his mischievous smile returning briefly, though it didn't quite reach his eyes. "We're hoping. Sometimes that's all we've got. And sometimes it's enough.
They landed under a canopy of living light, shineberries and phosphor vines painting the night in silent color, blues and purples and soft greens that cast ethereal shadows across the forest floor. The Solar Destiny settled with a soft hiss of hydraulics, nestled between ancient trees that towered like silent guardians. Shushni watchers emerged first from the underbrush, bows drawn, not primitive weapons but elegant energy bows, quiet and deadly effective. They didn't speak. They evaluated, golden eyes unblinking in the darkness.
Elendril stepped down the ramp, hands empty, weapon holstered. Bolen carried a crate to the treeline and set it down slowly, wincing with the effort as his injury pulled against the fresh bandages.
A powerful Shushni figure approached from the shadows, skin like carved mist-stone, textured and yet somehow smooth, enormous golden eyes reflecting starlight and a bone-deep exhaustion that spoke of years of struggle. His beard was silvered with age, braided in three small cords that symbolized wisdom, courage, and endurance. Elendril didn't know the man personally, but he moved like someone who never had to raise his voice to be obeyed, who carried authority in his very posture.
"Krenga," someone murmured nearby, a whisper of reverence. Not king in title, but in posture and in the way the others deferred to him with subtle gestures of respect.
"You came unannounced," Krenga said, voice low and even, neither accusatory nor welcoming. His words carried the weight of someone who had learned to be cautious through bitter experience.
"We'd heard whispers of a resistance cell out here, and we know about the sickness taking families in your jungle villages." Elendril replied, his usual teasing tone absent, replaced with sincere directness. "Didn't know who to ask or who to trust. But we knew if we could find the resistance here we could send a gift that would actually matter, so we brought something instead." He gestured toward the crates that Bolen and Nira were now unloading.
Krenga studied him, golden eyes seeming to peer straight through to Elendril's core. "Others would have sold it. Hidden it. Used it to trade favor or build power. The Empire's goods are valuable currency in these desperate times."
"I'm not asking for anything," Elendril said quietly, meeting that penetrating gaze without flinching. "Just wanting you to know Renga stands with you. The Resistance stands with you. You're not fighting alone."
The silence that followed was long and weighted with unspoken histories. The wind stirred the canopy above, sending dappled patterns of bioluminescent light dancing across their faces. Then Krenga stepped forward and touched the crate, his long fingers tracing the imperial seal with something like reverence, not for the Empire, but for what these supplies meant to his people.
"The trees listen," he said, his voice carrying unexpected emotion, "and they have heard your actions today, Elendril."
“You are welcome,” Elendril replied.
Krenga turned to his people and spoke something low in their native tongue, the syllables flowing like water over stone. The watchers lowered their bows, and several stepped forward to begin moving the crates deeper into the forest.
Elendril didn't move for a long moment. He just stood there, under a forest full of listening trees, feeling the weight of connections that transcended words.
Chapter 8
The Freight Nexus at Jorad's Ring was supposed to be inviolable. Imperial design. Raanu's jurisdiction. Sixteen defense turrets and a full Itherian garrison tucked beneath its mirrored hull.
That's what made it the perfect target.
Elendril stood in the dim light of The Broken Compass, half-shadowed under the flickering oil lamps, eyes scanning the gathered crowd. Tarly, leaning against the bar with a grin too wide to be legal. He could always count on Tarly. Captain Druun, whose ship had no name but sported the teeth of every vessel it ever gutted. Mikra Jax, short, bitter, always angry, and always the first one to show when you asked for trouble that flies, and several other pirates gathered around the outskirts of the crowd. He didn't know everyone's name and ship but he knew they belonged here. He recognized everyone as regulars at the Compass.
Behind Elendril, his crew stood backing him up. Nira, arms crossed and serious with spunk hiding just below the surface of her eyes. Arren, quiet as ever, tapping something invisible into a data slate, and Bolen, cradling a mug of something brown and angry-smelling.
"Everyone gets one crate," Elendril said. "No more. No less. You load fast, peel out faster, and do not engage unless fired on."
"Unless it's Raanu himself," Mikra muttered, already checking the knife on her belt. "I wouldn't mind tossing him into the vacuum."
Elendril's grin was slow. "Wouldn’t we all!" he replied, "and if we get that chance…"
The tavern hummed with a nervous energy, pirates and resistance fighters exchanging glances that carried equal parts doubt and determination. The magnetic anomaly outside made compasses behind the bar spin wildly, matching the churning anticipation in the room.
"What about Raanu's personal guard?" Captain Druun asked, his voice like gravel. "Those Itherian fanatics would die before letting anyone near him."
"They won't see us coming," Elendril replied, opening a crystal to reveal a worn holographic map opening above the table. He traced a path through the station's maintenance tunnels. "We'll be ghosts. In and out before they realize what's happening."
Tarly pushed off from the bar, his confidence filling the room. "My Alacrity will run interference if needed. Those Itherian patrol ships chase anything that moves fast enough."
"And they'll chase you right into the asteroid field," Elendril nodded. "Perfect."
Arren looked up from his data slate, eyes bright with intelligence. "I've cracked their communication protocols. We'll hear everything they say, but they'll only hear what we want them to."
Bolen drained his mug and set it down with a thud. "The Solar's ready. Modifications to the transponder are holding better than expected."
Nira's eyes met Elendril's eyes. "We have a two-hour window when the garrison rotation changes. Not a minute more."
Elendril straightened, his posture shifting from conspirator to captain. "Then we don't waste a single second."
The Solar Destiny dropped first.
They came in under the guise of a trade escort. Bolen's modifications to the transponder had passed muster on four patrol routes already. At the freight station's intake bay, they sent docking codes that had been out of circulation for three years.
A deliberate red flag.
Inside, they met no resistance, just bored officers and a few robotic loaders who didn't ask questions. The Itherian garrison was spread thin, most of it rerouted to escort Primarch Raanu's inspection vessel, which orbited above like a chrome dagger in the dark.
The pirates jumped in.
Six ships. Staggered entry. All seemingly "unauthorized,” followed by every pirate ship they could find.
Chaos bloomed.
The station's alarm systems flared to life, but Arren's fingers danced across his console, intercepting and redirecting the signals. Warning klaxons died mid-wail. Security doors remained open. The Itherian response teams sprinted in the wrong directions, chasing phantom intruders.
"Three minutes until they realize it's a system malfunction," Arren murmured into his comm. "Make it count."
Through the viewport, Elendril watched as Tarly's Alacrity buzzed the station's defensive perimeter, drawing the attention of two patrol ships. The small fighter darted and weaved, its engines flaring bright against the backdrop of stars.
"Showtime," Elendril whispered.
Elendril moved through the freighter stacks with Nira and Bolen, knocking out surveillance nodes and replacing their feed with looped footage of empty corridors. Arren ghosted through the station's subnetwork, planting a compromised route patch that would make every alert ping back to an administrative node that had been offline for two years.
Outside, the pirates loaded what they needed, grain, medicine, machining tools, then scattered by pre-set vectors. A coordinated hit. Clean. Minimal violence.
Exactly as Elendril had planned.
What wasn't in the plan was Raanu himself stepping off his command vessel mid-theft.
"Captain," Nira's voice was tense in Elendril's earpiece. "We have a problem. Primarch's shuttle just docked at the executive bay."
Elendril froze between two massive cargo containers. "Confirmation?"
"Visual confirmation," she replied. "It's him."
Bolen's voice cut in, heavy with concern. "We should abort. This wasn't part of the plan."
Elendril's mind raced, calculating risks against rewards. The Primarch's presence changed everything, and nothing. "No. We continue. But prioritize the medical supplies. Leave the rest if we have to."
"You're going to antagonize him deliberately?" Arren asked, his voice tight with disbelief.
Elendril's lips curved into a smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Sometimes the best distraction is the one they can't ignore."
Through the narrow gap between containers, he watched as a squad of elite Itherian guards marched through the main corridor, their armor gleaming under the harsh lights. At their center walked Raanu himself, his bearing rigid with authority, eyes scanning the station as if it were already beneath him.
"Nira," Elendril whispered, "prep the engines. We're going to need a hot exit."
The comms burst came loud and sharp.
"This is Primarch Raanu. All vessels are hereby ordered to power down and submit to immediate inspection. Noncompliance will be answered with deadly force."
From the Solar Destiny's cockpit, Nira glanced sideways. "That sounded personal."
Elendril keyed into the station's internal broadcast. The visual feed flickered to life, a hard-faced Itherian with a jaw like a war mallet and armor that gleamed like spilled oil.
"Hello again, Primarch," Elendril said, voice smooth, calm. "I'll keep this brief. You're standing at the wrong end of a ghost."
Raanu didn't reply. He didn't need to. His face spoke volumes, he recognized the voice.
Recognition turned to fury in real time.
Elendril gave a little wave. "You should check your supply manifest, by the way. You've just been relieved of roughly 2.3 million credits in asset-controlled goods. We're redistributing."
He grinned. "Fair's fair."
Raanu's eyes narrowed, the muscles in his jaw working. "Elendril Thorne," he said, the name itself sounding like a death sentence. "Your theatrics grow tiresome. Did you think I wouldn't recognize your ship's energy signature? That I wouldn't notice the pattern in your raids?"
"I was counting on it," Elendril replied, leaning forward. "I wanted you to know exactly who was making a fool of your precious security measures."
Raanu's hand moved to his sidearm, a reflexive gesture that betrayed his frustration. "You're trapped. My forces are already sealing every exit."
"Are they?" Elendril's expression remained unchanged. "Check your deployment screens, Primarch. Your forces are rather... scattered at the moment."
On cue, a series of small explosions rippled through the station's outer ring, harmless charges, more flash than damage, but perfectly timed to draw attention away from the loading bays where the last of the pirate ships was preparing to depart.
Raanu's eyes darted to a nearby screen, his expression darkening as he realized the extent of the diversion.
"You won't escape this time," he promised, his voice deadly quiet.
The signal cut.
Arren's voice came through the crew channel. "He's jamming outbound now. We've got two minutes before this place becomes a frying pan."
"Perfect," Elendril said. "Nira, warm the pipes. We're going loud."
"Thought you'd never ask."
Nira's hands flew across the controls, the Solar Destiny's engines humming to life with a vibration that thrummed through the deck plates. Bolen burst onto the bridge, breathing hard from his sprint through the ship.
"Last of the medical supplies are secured," he reported. "Tarly's drawing three patrol ships away from our exit vector."
Elendril nodded, sliding into the captain's chair. "What about Mikra and Druun?"
"Already gone," Arren replied, eyes on his console. "Druun took a hit to his stabilizers but made the jump. Mikra's transmission cut mid-sentence, but her ship cleared the station perimeter."
Through the viewport, Elendril could see Itherian soldiers converging on their docking bay, their weapons raised. Above them, security shutters began to descend.
"Nira," he said quietly.
She didn't need further instruction. The Solar Destiny's thrusters ignited with a roar, the ship lurching forward just as the shutters slammed down behind them.
The Solar Destiny rocketed out of the station's interior airlock, burst-charged clamps popping like firecrackers behind them. A turret bank turned to track them, then exploded as a micro-rigged charge from Tarly's ship, the Alacrity, went off with pinpoint precision.
Bolen whooped. "You told him he couldn't bring toys!"
"I said nothing with a warhead!" Elendril barked, but he was smiling.
The Destiny cleared the ring just as the last pirate ship jumped.
Raanu's command vessel spun to engage.
And found nothing.
All he got was a burst transmission, open channel, bouncing across a dozen civilian satellites:
You are not alone. The Resistance grows. The Solar Destiny flies with purpose. Watch the sky for allies.
The message repeated three times before fading into static, echoing across every frequency used by the sector's civilian population. In the command center, workers paused, looking up from their stations. In the residential quarters, families gathered around comm units, whispering the words to each other like a prayer.
Elendril watched from the Solar Destiny's bridge as the station grew smaller behind them, Raanu's command vessel frantically launching pursuit craft that would find only empty space.
"Think they'll remember the message?" Arren asked quietly.
"They'll do more than remember it," Elendril replied. "They'll spread it."
The quantum drive unit engaged with a flash of light, and the stars stretched into lines around them.
Raanu's mouth twisted. He stood there, armor polished, fists clenched, as a dozen stolen ships jumped to light, and his impossible reputation as an untouchable enforcer cracked in front of the entire system.
An aide approached cautiously, helmet tucked under one arm. "Primarch, we've lost them, Sir, all of them."
"I can see that," Raanu replied, his voice dangerously soft.
"Sir, the civilian channels are buzzing with that transmission. We can't block it fast enough, it's being repeated across the entire sector."
Raanu turned slowly, his eyes like cold stars. "Find me everything we have on Elendril Thorne. Every sighting, every rumor, every associate. I want to know where he sleeps, what he eats, who he talks to."
The aide swallowed. "Yes, Primarch."
"And bring me the station commander. Immediately."
As the aide hurried away, Raanu turned back to the viewport, staring into the void where the Solar Destiny had vanished. His reflection stared back at him, proud features twisted with rage.
"This isn't over, Elendril," he whispered. "Not by a long shot."
Later, back at the Compass, Elendril sat with a cup of something too strong to name and watched as courier ships peeled off in every direction, pirate rigs, refit haulers, even a few disguised pleasure yachts.
Each one carried a copy of the message.
Each one carried hope.
"Think that'll make him mad enough?" Nira asked from beside him.
"Oh, he's not mad," Elendril said, smiling. "He's humiliated."
"That's worse."
"Exactly."
The tavern buzzed with celebration, pirates and resistance fighters sharing drinks and stories. In the corner, Tarly was demonstrating with elaborate hand gestures how he'd outmaneuvered three Itherian fighters, his audience growing with each retelling.
Bolen dropped into the seat across from Elendril, sliding a data chip across the table. "Inventory. Twenty-three crates of medical supplies, enough to treat the outbreak on Bari 4. Seventeen crates of grain for the settlements on the outer moons. And this," he tapped the chip, "complete schematics of Raanu's command vessel. Arren pulled it from the station's database during the confusion."
Elendril picked up the chip, turning it between his fingers. "That wasn't part of the plan."
"No," Arren said, joining them. "But it seemed like an opportunity too good to waste."
Elendril pocketed the chip with a nod of appreciation. "This could be useful."
"More than useful," Nira said. "It could be the key to taking him down for good."
Elendril's eyes drifted to the tavern's entrance, where new arrivals were being scrutinized by the wary doorkeeper. Outside, the magnetic anomaly continued to disrupt navigation systems, keeping the Broken Compass hidden from all but those who already knew where to find it.
"One step at a time," he said. "Today, we bloodied his nose. Tomorrow..." He raised his glass in a silent toast. "Tomorrow, we show him what the Resistance can really do."
Around them, the compasses on the wall spun wildly, as if in agreement.
The journey to Bari 4 took nearly a week, even with the Solar Destiny's lightfold capabilities. Elendril spent the transit time reviewing intelligence reports and coordinating supply lines, while Nira ran endless diagnostic checks on the lightfold drive. The ship had taken more damage than they'd initially realized during their escape from the Itherian freighter, and the constant hum of Bolen's repairs became the soundtrack to their days.
Several times on the journey Nira caught herself humming the cadence of the prophecy, not the words, just the rhythm. It echoed like a distant pulse in her bones, a pattern she couldn’t shake. Thread the eye of stars… What did that even mean? Maybe it wasn’t about flight at all. Maybe it was about something harder, seeing what others missed.
By the time Bari 4's shipping depot appeared on their scanners, the crew was restless for solid ground and fresh air, even the recycled atmosphere of an Imperial outpost would be a welcome change from the increasingly stale air of the Destiny.
Chapter 9
The Cindrel Echo was two hours late and drifting six degrees off vector, exactly as planned.
Elendril stood on the Destiny's bridge, arms folded, watching the battered freighter limp through the dust shelf of the Ikaros Belt, its signal fluttering like an old man's cough. The captain's eyes narrowed as he tracked the vessel's deliberately erratic approach, a hint of his usual mischievousness playing at the corners of his mouth. Particles of cosmic dust glinted in the viewport, casting dappled shadows across the cramped but efficient bridge of the Solar Destiny.
"There's the hail," Nira said, half a smirk curling her lip as her fingers danced across the navigation console with practiced ease. "Burst-transmission only. Five words." Nira kept her posture relaxed, but her eyes remained alert, constantly scanning the readouts for any unexpected signals that might indicate an imperial presence.
"Let me guess," Bolen muttered from below deck, where he was mid-way through re-patching the Destiny's forward sealant ring. His deep voice echoed through the ship's internal comm system, accompanied by the metallic clink of tools against the hull. "Something poetic and full of plausible deniability." The tall engineer wiped sweat from his brow, leaving a smudge of mechanical grease across his forehead.
Arren read it aloud from the portable console, the scientist's eyes reflecting the soft blue glow of the screen:
"Stars fell into the soup."
Elendril nodded once. "That's the one." His eyebrows raised slightly in amusement, the familiar code phrase confirming that their carefully orchestrated "piracy" was proceeding according to plan.
"Soup again?" Nira muttered, adjusting the ship's approach vector with a deft twist of her wrist. "Can't we have one mission where the code doesn't sound like a dinner party hosted by deranged monks?" She blew a stray lock of hair from her face, her fingers never pausing their work on the controls.
Elendril just grinned. "Would you prefer 'The melon turns at dawn'?" His face caught the starlight as he leaned forward, checking the sensor readings that confirmed they were alone in this sector, for now.
The intercept was clean. Nira brought the Destiny out of the belt with a performance flair that made Arren mutter about unnecessary stress on the gimbal matrix. The ship sliced through the dust cloud with elegant precision, emerging like a predator from concealment. They kept comms silent, letting the predatory approach speak for itself. Appearance was everything in this charade.
The freighter didn't run. Not too fast, anyway, just enough to make it look convincing to any watching eyes.
A single scatterburst from the Destiny's ventral cannon "disabled" the Cindrel's external lights. Not weapons. Not life support. Nothing critical. Just enough to sell it. The iridescent alloy hull of the Solar Destiny gleamed menacingly as they closed in on their prey, the photoreceptive plating absorbing ambient starlight and converting it to power.
By the time Elendril and Nira boarded with weapons drawn, their boots clanging loudly on the metal docking tube, the Cindrel Echo's captain was already waiting near the inner hatch, hands raised and smile crooked. The interior of the freighter was dimly lit, emergency lighting casting long shadows down the corridor, another calculated touch to enhance the illusion.
"You're early," he said, his weathered face creasing into a grin. "I didn't even finish staging the bruises." Captain Ronith's eyes darted between them with mock fear that wouldn't have fooled anyone looking closely.
"Captain Ronith," Elendril said with a mock scowl, brandishing his blaster with theatrical menace. "You've got a hold full of noncompliant consumables. No imperial stamp, no transit registration, and way too many cans of redroot beans to be accidental." His voice carried just the right balance of threat and smugness, a performance honed through countless similar encounters.
Ronith bowed with theatrical flair, his worn captain's jacket hanging loosely from his shoulders. "I accept full responsibility for the reckless abundance of legumes." A hint of genuine amusement sparkled in his eyes, breaking through the pretense for just a moment.
The hold was stocked tight, dried goods, nutrient slabs, grain packs, and water purification powder. Crates were stacked from floor to ceiling, each one stamped with imperial markings and official-looking documentation. Stamped as "agricultural redundancy" for outpost resettlement. Code for: food bound for imperial-controlled depots, meant to skip quarantine checks.
Which made it very tempting for redistribution to those who truly needed it.
They loaded crate after crate onto the Destiny, the work efficient despite the pretense of a violent takeover. Bolen handled the gravity sling, his strong arms guiding the floating containers through the docking tube with precision that belied his size. His plasma burn had been improving daily and was nearly healed now, thanks to Arren’s nightly treatments. Arren ran a quick scan to mask the electronic trail, fingers flying over his portable console as he planted false data and redirected tracking signals. Nira kept one eye on the comms and one finger on her blaster trigger, just in case a real patrol decided to show up uninvited. Her stance was casual, but her eyes never stopped moving.
But it wasn't until Elendril did a full sweep of Ronith's systems, standard precaution, that something flagged. He frowned at the readings on the console, tapping the screen to verify what he was seeing.
"Your rear heat baffle is reading thirty percent variance," he said, frowning, his teasing tone replaced with genuine concern. "You've got microfractures in the output shield. You fly another longburn through dust like that, you'll cook your core." His pointed ears twitched forward slightly, a subtle tell of his focus.
Ronith blinked, his theatrical demeanor dropping instantly. "That can't be right. She passed full diagnostic last week." He moved to Elendril's side, peering at the console with sudden intensity.
"Then your mechanic's a liar." Elendril's voice was flat, brooking no argument.
Elendril tapped through the data again, his fingers moving with practiced efficiency. "You're leaking heat right into your drive mesh. Stealth freighter or not, if someone's pinging heat signatures, you're practically drawing them a map." His eyes met Ronith's, conveying the severity without needing to elaborate on what would happen if imperial forces detected the anomaly.
The joking drained from Ronith's face like someone had flipped a switch, replaced by the pallor of genuine fear.
"I've been running supplies into the Munid rings twice a month," he said, voice dropping to almost a whisper. "Three imperial nodes between there and Barath Nine. You're saying they could've..." His hands gripped the edge of the console, knuckles whitening with pressure.
"Not yet," Elendril cut in, placing a reassuring hand on the man's shoulder. "If they had, you'd already be flotsam." His confidence was genuine, the kind that had rallied resistance cells across dozens of worlds.
Bolen grunted from the doorway, wiping his hands on a rag. "He's not wrong." The tall engineer's matter-of-fact tone carried both reassurance and warning. "That kind of heat signature would be unmistakable to imperial scanners."
"We've got spares, but not the kind that fit your vent rig," Arren added, looking up from his console with a frown. "Too old-model. Your ship's configuration predates the standardization protocols by at least a decade."
Nira slung her rifle over her back and cracked her neck, the sound unnaturally loud in the suddenly tense atmosphere. "Kym does. The deepcell at Kymni Hollow. Ran into a guy there who eats heat sinks for breakfast." She leaned against the bulkhead, adding, "Those Kymni techs can work miracles with their hands."
"They don't trust anyone," Ronith said slowly, running a hand through his thinning hair. "They wouldn't even talk to me last time I tried to dock there. Kept me in the outer ring for three hours before sending me away."
"Tell them you know the Solar Destiny," Elendril said, his usual mischievousness returning to his eyes. "That'll open the door." There was no boasting in his tone, just the simple statement of a fact. His reputation preceded him and was becoming a valuable currency in the shadow networks of the resistance.
Back on the Destiny, the hold was full, and the mission clock read five minutes to patrol window. The crew moved with practiced efficiency, securing cargo and preparing for departure. The ship hummed with energy, as if eager to return to the relative safety of open space.
"Wouldn't be hard to make this look uglier," Nira said, tapping her chin as she gazed at the Cindrel Echo through the viewport. "We could slag one of his stabilizers. Just for effect. Make it more convincing for when he reports the 'attack' to imperial authorities." Her eyes gleamed with the prospect of a bit more destruction.
"Too risky," Elendril said, shaking his head firmly. "We leave one hull scar and call it a day. Anything more might compromise his ability to reach Kymni Hollow safely." His tone made it clear the decision was final, calculated compassion over unnecessary theatrics.
He turned back to the console, keyed in a subspace ping with deft fingers. One more bounce through a shadow relay, back to the Renga network. One more signal in the dark, confirming the successful transfer of supplies that would feed resistance fighters and hungry civilians alike. The captain's expression was focused, intense, as he watched the confirmation signal flash across the screen.
The map was getting bigger. Each successful mission connected more dots, linked more resistance cells together in the invisible web that Elendril had been weaving for years.
And now, a captain with clean hands had reason to be robbed again next week. Another link in the chain, another node in the network.
As they pulled away from the Ikaros Belt, the Cindrel Echo drifted slowly, venting a harmless plume of coolant into the dusk. Broken-looking. Unthreatening. Exactly as it should. The dust of the belt caught the light of the distant Star, creating a shimmering curtain that would help mask both vessels from prying electronic eyes.
Elendril leaned back in the co-pilot's seat and watched the stars pass beyond the viewport, the iridescent alloy hull of the Solar Destiny reflecting their light in subtle patterns. The ship pulsed with quiet energy, the quantum drive unit humming as it prepared for lightfold speeds and the journey back to their rendezvous point.
He smiled, the expression softening his features and revealing the idealist beneath the rogue's exterior.
"Stars fell into the soup."
He'd have to thank Ronith for that one. Sometimes the most ridiculous phrases made the best codes, no imperial algorithm would ever make sense of it. His pointed ears twitched with amusement as he contemplated what absurd phrase they might use next time.
Behind them, the Cindrel Echo faded into the dust and darkness, another successful mission complete. Another small victory against an empire that was already beginning to crumble.
Elendril sat alone near the forward viewport, watching the stars blur into threads as they slipped between systems. He wasn't thinking about the prophecy, until the words surfaced, unbidden. Find the veiled ones...He hadn't meant to remember it. Hadn't tried. But the line hung in his mind like a whisper in a sealed room, quiet and patient, waiting. He didn’t know who the “veiled” were, or why they mattered. But sometimes when the stars were streaking by at lightfold speed it felt like he could almost hear the answer… almost.
Chapter 10
The Broken Compass wasn't just a familiar waypoint, it was as good a place as any to disappear. Off-grid, shielded by legend and magnetic anomalies that confounded even the most sophisticated tracking systems, and quiet enough for Arren to work without interference. The scientist needed time to analyze the harmonic frequencies they'd risked their lives to collect from the site of the Itherian armada wreck at Caelaxis, and the Compass would give them that sanctuary, however brief.
They expected noise when they arrived.
The familiar clatter of mugs against worn wooden tables. The low thrum of laughter punctuated by the occasional shout of triumph or despair from a game of chance. That battered jukebox in the corner still trying to resurrect a song from the static, its ancient speakers crackling with melodies from a time before the Empire's shadow fell across Myrios.
But the Broken Compass met them with silence, a hollow, unnatural quiet that made their footsteps echo against the floor.
Tables stood abandoned, some still bearing the evidence of hasty departures. Drinks left to sweat and sour in their glasses, condensation forming rings on the surfaces below. A few chairs overturned, as if whatever happened hadn't allowed time for decorum or proper goodbyes. The usual heat hung in the air, but without its comfort, just a stifling pressure that made shoulders square and eyes search corners for threats that might be lurking in the shadows.
Nira froze first, her hand instinctively moving to the blaster at her hip. "This is not good!" she whispered, her eyes darting from one emptied corner to another. "Where is everyone?"
They weren't alone after all. A young runner stirred behind the bar, emerging from beneath the counter like a frightened animal. All soot and nerves, his clothes disheveled and face smudged with grime, looking like he hadn't slept since the moon turned. His eyes were bloodshot and wide with recognition when he spotted Elendril.
"You're just in time," he said, voice cracking with exhaustion and relief.
Elendril stepped forward, his features tightening with concern. "Just in time for what?" His hand rested on the bar counter, fingers drumming with tension.
"We intercepted a command burst from the Itherian fleet. Primarch Raanu's ships are inbound, in full strike formation with weapons primed. They're planning an orbital demonstration over Renga." The runner's words tumbled out in a rush, as if speaking them faster might somehow prevent what was coming.
"Demonstration?" Nira repeated, her voice edged with ice that barely contained her fury. She exchanged a knowing glance with Arren, whose face had gone pale.
"That's what they're calling it in their transmissions. They're gonna turn half the planet into a crater. Bombardment from orbit with experimental weaponry." The runner swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing. "They say it's a deterrent against further resistance activity. But we all know what it really is." He paused. "It's a message."
"And the settlements within the impact radius?" Elendril asked, though his clenched jaw suggested he already knew the answer.
"They won't survive. Not a chance." The runner shook his head, eyes downcast. "Especially the lowland arcologies, they're packed with people. Resistance strongholds, yes, but also family zones. Children, elders, civilians who have nothing to do with the fight." His voice broke. "Thousands of innocents."
Elendril clenched his jaw so tight a muscle twitched beneath his goatee. "Evac?" The single word carried the weight of desperate hope.
"Underway, but it's chaos. Marcan's coordinating from the surface, but we've lost comms completely, the Itherians have deployed jammers across the entire system. Every channel is static or propaganda. The entire system's in disarray. We've got skiffs, repurposed freighters, even old mining haulers in the air, anything that can fly, but not nearly enough to get everyone out. Everyone's doing what they can." He gestured with a sweeping arm to the empty bar, the abandoned glasses, the silence. "That's where they all went. Every ship, every person who could pilot or help. They're all planetside, pulling as many out of the fire as they can before Raanu's fleet arrives."
The crew of the Solar Destiny stood in heavy silence, the weight of what they'd just learned pressing down on them like a physical force. But the moment lasted only seconds.
Elendril's voice was low but resolute, carrying the determination that had made him a legend among the Resistance. "Well, let's get out there, then. The Solar Destiny can carry at least two hundred if we pack them in." He turned to his crew, his eyes burning with purpose. "Nira, prep for atmospheric entry. Arren, convert the cargo holds for passengers. We're going to save as many as we can."
Without another word, the team ran for the ship, their footsteps thundering across the empty tavern floor. They were in the air in a matter of moments, the engines of the Solar Destiny burning hot as they raced toward Renga, toward the people who needed them most, toward the coming storm.
Chapter 11
Nira's voice was tight as they lifted. "My sister's down there."
Bolen didn't look up from the nav display, his large fingers dancing across the controls with practiced precision. "My dad too. Freight hauler. Probably will stay to help if he can. He never could turn his back on people who needed him."
Elendril promised quietly, "We'll get them all out, if we can." He was thinking of his own mother and two sisters living in a quiet village near the sea.
A beat of heavy silence filled the cabin.
Arren's gaze was fixed on the viewport as Renga's surface began to fall away.
"I don't have blood family left." he said, "But the Resistance... these people have become like family to me." His fingers absently traced the edge of an ancient language translation on his portable console, a nervous habit he'd developed over years of study.
Solar Destiny landed near what seemed to be the center of the evac efforts.
The main evac center was chaos incarnate, shouts echoing across the clearing, emergency sirens wailing in discordant harmony, exhaust haze thick enough to taste hanging in the air like a toxic fog. Amid the surging crowd, Nira scanned faces too fast, her eyes flicking from person to person with increasing desperation. Bolen checked his wrist display for the fifth time in as many minutes, the screen still stubbornly empty of the transponder ping from his father's vessel.
The Solar Destiny landed amid the pandemonium, its cargo bay thrown open like the maw of some great beast offering salvation, its crew moving as fast as muscle and adrenaline would allow. There were families in every direction, refugees clutching tattered bags and wailing babies, shouting beloved names into the smoky air as if sheer will and volume could summon their missing loved ones from the spreading destruction.
Elendril watched the families pouring aboard, his eyes scanning each face with quiet intensity. None of them wore his mother or sister's features. He didn't mention it, but the weight of their absence settled in the tight line of his shoulders.
Bolen directed foot traffic with the fury of a fleet marshal, his tall frame towering over the refugees as he barked orders while hoisting supply crates on his broad back that would have required two average men to lift. Arren helped a resistance medic stabilize an injured child with a compound fracture, his hands steady even as tremors from dozens of space ships landing and taking off again rattled the ground beneath them, sending small cascades of dirt from nearby embankments.
In a clearing beside the muddy riverbed, a familiar voice rang out above the cacophony.
"Elendril!" It was Captain Tarly, his confident stance unmistakable even from a distance.
He stood beside a battered evac hauler, half-covered in iridescent coolant spray, sleeves rolled up past his elbows and engine grease staining his fingers. Korrin waved a final systems check from the other side of the vehicle and nodded with professional satisfaction. The engines coughed, sputtered like a dying animal, and finally held steady with a reassuring hum.
"You fixed it?" Nira asked, approaching with quick strides, her pilot's eye assessing the patchwork repairs.
Tarly wiped his hands on his coat, leaving dark smudges across the worn fabric. "Had little choice. The evac hauler's primary intake choked out during a load cycle. Korrin got her flying again, hell of a patch job, honestly. Kept families moving when we thought we'd lost her." His usual humor was tempered by exhaustion, but the pride in his engineer's work was evident. "I sent the Alacrity ahead with Scip. Told him to circle back if I didn't find a ride."
Elendril gave him a long, appraising look. "You've got one. But we're not heading back to orbit just yet." His voice carried the quiet authority his crew had come to appreciate.
Tarly fell in step beside him as they headed toward the Destiny, their strides matching unconsciously.
As they walked, his voice lowered, calibrated for things not meant to be overheard by the desperate crowds around them.
"I was thinking," he said, his voice dropping further as they moved beyond the immediate shouts and alarms of the evac zone, "what if we hit the Empire where it hurts? Not with guns, or tech, but with something they value more than systems or soldiers." His eyes glinted with a dangerous intelligence.
Elendril looked over, interest sparking. "I'm listening." His goatee couldn't hide the slight curl of his lip, the expression that appeared whenever a particularly audacious plan presented itself.
"Prince Krell is making a solo inspection tour of the Spiral Rim transfer station. It's staffed by a skeleton crew, kept low-profile. The Empire thinks the resistance has been neutralized out there. They've gotten sloppy, overconfident since their last sweep through the sector." Tarly's voice carried the certainty of someone who'd verified his intelligence multiple times.
Bolen glanced back, skeptical furrows deepening in his brow. "So, we grab him? The Emperor's son?" The disbelief in his tone was palpable.
Tarly nodded, his expression hardening. "We extract him, clean and quiet. No blood. Then we make Emperor Caani listen. The Empire has turned entire cities into warnings. It's time we sent one of our own." His fingers unconsciously formed a fist at his side.
Nira stopped walking abruptly, forcing the others to pause. "He's someone's son, Tarly. Not a target." Her eyes flashed with memories of her own family, still unaccounted for in the chaos below.
"I know," Tarly said. His voice didn't rise, but there was a quiet strength underneath it now, forged in the fires of countless battles and losses. "But I also know the Empire firebombed the Karith Spires. They sterilized the healing sanctum at Telesha, killed every patient, every healer. They used sonic quakes on a civilian dome last cycle because someone inside used the wrong encryption code in a routine transmission."
He paused, letting the weight of these atrocities hang in the air between them.
"Line's already crossed. A hundred times. We're the only ones still pretending it's there." His eyes held the haunted look of someone who had seen too much to maintain comfortable illusions.
No one answered right away, the distant sounds of evacuation filling the silence.
Then Elendril gave a single, firm nod. "We'll need the Alacrity. Get your crew to stay here. We'll handle this one." His decision was made with the swift certainty that had kept him alive through years of imperial pursuit.
Tarly clapped him on the shoulder, a grin flickering beneath the soot and tension on his face. "They'll be pissed. But they'll understand. Better I go and they keep pulling people out."
As they made final preparations to leave on their mission, Tarly jogged up the ramp to the Alacrity, helmet tucked under his arm, shouting over his shoulder to his crew still coordinating evac in the background, their forms silhouetted against the mountains in the distance.
"Hold this line until you're out of people or parts. Don't wait for me. And Korrin, go get your girls!" His voice carried the authority of a man used to being obeyed, tempered with genuine concern for his people.
Scip raised a fist in reply, the gesture both acknowledgment and farewell. "Fly reckless, Captain!"
Tarly paused at the base of the hatch, glanced once at the Solar Destiny, and gave a salute that was more tired than theatrical, his usual swagger subdued by the gravity of their circumstances.
Nira caught his eye and smirked, finding a moment of normalcy in their familiar banter. "Try not to get shot."
"Don't tempt me," he said with a flash of his old humor, disappearing inside the sleek craft.
Moments later, the two ships lifted together in perfect synchronization, the Alacrity darting sleek and swift ahead like a predatory fish, the Destiny following like a shadow cut from starlight, powerful and purposeful.
Below them, families scrambled to get to safety and somewhere in it all Nira hoped her sister was part of the chaos. From this height the evacuation zone, was just a scatter of lights shrinking in the haze and distance.
"We should be down there," she breathed, guilt weighing her words.
"We were," Elendril replied, not unkindly, his hand briefly touching her shoulder. "We'll buy them time, if nothing else." His voice carried the certainty that their current mission was the best use of their time and resources for the moment. There would be time to help with the evac if they were unsuccessful.
Nira sat in the co-pilot's chair, her fingers occasionally moving to adjust controls with unconscious precision.
"This used to be my favorite moonrise," she murmured, her voice distant with memory. "Over the canopies. You could hear the birds singing through the trees. And my sister's kids laughing on the veranda."
Elendril, standing at the helm, didn't speak for a long moment, respecting her concern.
Then quietly, almost to himself, he said, "If we don't stop this… there won't be trees. Or birds. Or moonrises." His burgundy skin looked almost black in the dim lighting, his features set with determination.
Nira glanced at him, eyes full of firelight and memory.
"They're still out there," she said, her voice strengthening with resolve. "I just... I need to believe that." Her hands steadied on the controls.
Elendril didn't reply. But he held the thought like a compass, a guiding principle in the darkness:
They're still out there.
He keyed the comm, his voice shifting to the measured tones of a captain with a mission.
"Target coordinates locked. Spiral Rim relay station ahead. Everyone, strap in for approach." His fingers moved confidently across the navigation panel.
The hum of the engines deepened to a resonant thrum, and the Solar Destiny surged forward into the star-studded void, chasing the Alacrity toward an unwitting Prince Krell and a mission that might change the course of their resistance against the Itherian Empire.
Chapter 12
The Solar Destiny slipped from orbit like a shadow, trailing the sleeker Alacrity, which had darted ahead to stir up trouble and draw fire. Their target was a high-orbit transfer station along the Spiral Rim, a waypoint designed for transferring high-ranking personnel without the risk of planetary landings. The station hung in the void, a skeletal structure of interconnected modules and docking arms that had seen better days, its once-gleaming hull now dulled by time and neglect.
Prince Krell was en route via courier transport, minimal escort, skeleton crew. The perfect window. Intelligence had confirmed the prince would be traveling light, a calculated risk by the Itherians who believed the station's obscurity provided adequate security. They were about to discover how wrong they were.
In the cockpit, Nira scanned the orbital net, her fingers dancing across the illuminated controls with practiced precision. The daughter of a Bari 4 resistance leader, she'd inherited both her mother's steely resolve and uncanny spatial awareness that made her an exceptional pilot. "Looks like most of the station's outer ring is still dark. Only Deck C is pulling steady power," she reported, eyes narrowed at the readouts. "They're running minimal systems, just life support, basic comms, and docking protocols."
"Makes sense," Elendril said, leaning over her shoulder. "Skeleton crew, low profile. They'd keep things cold unless absolutely necessary." He straightened, adjusting his impeccably tailored jacket, a habit from his days of playing businessman that never quite faded. "Efficiency is the Empire's religion, after all."
Tarly's voice crackled over comms, light but edged with iron. "Just gonna fly casual into a restricted zone and make them chase me. Easy. Like taking candy from an Itherian war droid."
"You've done worse with less," Elendril replied, a hint of mischief in his tone that matched the perpetual glint in his eye.
"That's what worries me," Tarly shot back. "Getting predictable in my old age."
The Alacrity zipped toward the station, bleeding false telemetry, broadcasting as a malfunctioning maintenance vessel with critical system failures. Alarms flared across the Itherian grid, emergency protocols activating as the station's minimal security detail scrambled to respond. Two patrol fighters peeled off to intercept, their engines flaring bright against the darkness.
On the Destiny, Nira waited until the sensor flare reached peak, her hands poised over the controls, muscles tense with anticipation.
"Now," she snapped, and pushed the throttle with a decisive motion.
The Destiny surged forward, shields cold, weapons offline, the iridescent alloy hull absorbing the distant starlight, rendering the ship nearly invisible against the backdrop of space. Nira silently optimized their approach vector, calculating the precise path to minimize detection.
Below, their target spun in solemn orbit: the Spiral Rim Outpost, a place once vital, now faded. Dozens of old solar relay arms drifted in slow arc-fields, obsolete tech, still humming faintly with residual energy. The station was a relic of an earlier era of Itherian expansion, a forgotten monument to their once-meticulous control of the sector.
"Used to be a military checkpoint," Bolen said quietly, his tall frame hunched slightly as he gazed through the viewport. His engineer's eyes assessed the structure with professional interest. "Back before the Artron Gates, it was a place to refuel, swap orders, and check your freight, weight, and orders against the registry. Dad's freighter stopped here twice a month, regular as clockwork."
"And now?" Arren asked, the scientist's curiosity piqued by this piece of living history. His fingers twitched slightly, as if already cataloging the information for later research.
"Now it's a dead man's desk. But still wired to report," Bolen replied, his voice carrying the weight of someone who understood too well how the Empire repurposed its abandoned outposts. "They keep these places on minimal power, but the security protocols never really die. They just... hibernate."
They approached from the maintenance channel, a service corridor designed for utility vessels and repair drones. Arren rerouted a ghost signature through the docking umbilical, an old protocol only older freighters still carried, a digital handshake that identified them as scheduled maintenance.
"Maintenance tug signal accepted," he confirmed, satisfaction evident in his voice. "We're in. Station's computer thinks we're here to replace atmosphere scrubbers in section four." He flashed a quick grin. "Apparently, they've been waiting for that repair for three years."
They docked silently, the magnetic clamps engaging with barely a whisper. As the airlock hissed, the lights flickered with age, not alarm, yellow emergency strips that had once been bright now dimmed to a sickly amber. Arren sliced the internal lock in five seconds flat, bypassing security protocols that hadn't been updated in decades. "Still got it," he murmured, pride evident in his voice.
The door opened with a reluctant groan.
The corridor beyond smelled of sterilized metal and old wiring. Dustless. Lifeless. But not untouched. The air carried a strange staleness, as if it had been recycled too many times, holding the ghosts of thousands of breaths.
Along the support struts, where toolkits had once hung and recharging panels flickered in rotation, names had been scratched into the plating, hundreds of them. No rank, no unit designation. Just initials, dates, sometimes crude symbols. Some orderly, some desperate. Some upside-down, as if added in secret. The metal walls had become a silent testament to those who had passed through, a memorial carved by those who feared being forgotten.
Arren slowed just a second, brushing his gloved fingers over one. TRESS V-CR 92-97 The etching was deep, deliberately carved with what must have been painstaking effort.
"Processing logs," he muttered, his scientific mind immediately seeking patterns in the chaotic display. "Or what passed for them. They didn't always have databases in those early days. These might be the only record some of these people left behind."
"Or maybe they just didn't want a record," Elendril said, his usual expression sobering as he surveyed the wall of names. "Some things the Empire prefers to keep off the official channels."
Nira paused at a wall panel where a different pattern of scarring caught her eye, deeper etchings, tighter spacing, more frantic in their execution. The marks of people who knew their time was limited.
She leaned closer, her breath fogging slightly in the chill air. These weren't troop names.
These were dates and initials… followed by codes. And below one long column: "Red Listed–Expt 7-L." The implications made her stomach tighten.
Her voice was low, barely more than a whisper. "These aren't soldiers. These are detainees." Her fingers traced over the markings, a gesture almost like a benediction. "They were processing people through here. Cataloging them."
Arren pulled his gaze from the wall and started moving again, his steps more purposeful now. "Troops carved memories. Prisoners carved warnings." His voice carried the weight of someone who understood too well the value of such things.
Elendril paused one second more, his gloved fingers tracing one last name, deeply etched into the metal. "They lived here," he said, a rare solemnity replacing his usual teasing tone. "Waiting for transport, for processing, for whatever fate the Empire had decided for them."
"Some of them probably died here," Nira said, passing him with a gentle touch to his shoulder. "Come on. We can't help them, but we can still complete the mission."
Nonlethal charges hissed through the halls like breath, releasing a colorless sedative gas that settled invisibly in the recycled air. Groggy officers fell without a struggle, more surprised than combative, their eyes widening briefly before consciousness slipped away. A supply officer tried to speak; Bolen caught him with strong arms and eased him down to the floor. No blood. No shouts. Just the soft thud of bodies meeting metal decking.
They reached the transport dock, a larger chamber where the station's skeletal crew prepared for the prince's arrival. The bulkhead required a manual bypass, an older override that Elendril had memorized from outdated Itherian freight logs he'd studied obsessively. He keyed it in, fingers dancing across the aged keypad with practiced ease. The doors parted with a reluctant groan.
One compact personnel carrier waited in silence, its sleek lines contrasting sharply with the aged station. A couple of guards stood at attention, already beginning to sway as the sedative reached them through the ventilation system.
And at the top of the boarding ramp, Prince Krell.
Seventeen. Uniform immaculate, every fold and seam precisely where regulations demanded. Posture tight as wire, shoulders squared with the burden of imperial expectation. Hands clasped behind his back in perfect military form.
He was mid-transmission. His voice echoed from the terminal beside him, clear and controlled despite his youth:
"…and I trust this will demonstrate the readiness of Spiral Rim as a viable transit route, should the Sector Assembly grant funding for the proposed infrastructure improvements. The efficiency gains would be substantial, particularly for..."
He turned, sensing their presence with the heightened awareness bred into Itherian royalty.
Reptilian features, sharply defined against the harsh station lighting. Brilliant blue eyes that caught the light like polished crystal, calculating and assessing in an instant.
"Don't move," Elendril called, blaster raised, his voice carrying the authority of someone used to being obeyed.
Krell didn't flinch. His gaze flicked across their faces with the cool clarity of someone born to inspection, cataloging details with military precision. There was no fear in his expression, only a calculating assessment.
"You're not Itherian," he said flatly, as if making a simple observation about the weather.
"Smart kid," Bolen muttered, adjusting his grip on his own weapon. "Gets his intelligence from his mother's side, I'd wager."
"You're coming with us," Elendril said, his tone leaving no room for negotiation. "Now."
"I'm not going anywhere with..." Krell began, drawing himself up with all the imperial dignity his seventeen years could muster.
The stun pulse cut him off mid-sentence, a flash of blue energy that enveloped him briefly before dissipating.
Krell collapsed mid-word, his perfectly postured form crumpling like discarded finery. Elendril was already moving, hoisting him over his shoulder with practiced ease, the prince's weight barely registering against his adrenaline-fueled strength.
"You couldn't let him monologue a little?" Nira asked over comms, a hint of amusement breaking through the tension. "I was curious what he was going to call us."
"No time for speeches," Elendril replied, adjusting his grip on the unconscious prince. "Tarly won't be able to keep Imperial reinforcements distracted forever."
The moment they turned, a klaxon flickered once, then died, a dying gasp from ancient security systems. An old auto-cycling backup routine tried to run a sweep, then choked on a broken circuit, its electronic death rattle echoing through the corridors.
"Station's waking up," Arren muttered, eyes darting to the flickering control panels along the walls. "We've got maybe a minute before it figures out it shouldn't be. These old systems reboot slowly, but they're persistent."
Bolen jammed the dock door as they ran, his engineer's hands working with practiced efficiency to buy them precious seconds. "We'll be gone before it finishes booting. These old Itherian systems take forever to sync their security protocols."
Nira had the engines live, and the Destiny hovering just off mag clamps, her resonance shielding already adapting to deflect any potential pursuit. The ship's iridescent hull plating gleamed faintly in the station's emergency lighting.
They hit the ramp at a dead sprint, boots clanging against the metal as they raced aboard with their royal cargo.
Aboard, the ship sealed with a satisfying hiss of pressurization. Thrusters burned white, pushing them away from the station with gathering momentum.
The Destiny vanished into lightfold, quiet, clean, and gone, leaving only a faint energy signature that dissipated within seconds.
Elendril dropped the unconscious Prince into the makeshift brig that Bolen had cobbled together in the cargo hold. It would keep him safe and hopefully contained until his people came for him after they stopped the bombardment about to start at Renga.
Back on the Spiral Rim station, one comms officer came to, blinking at the blank display, consciousness returning in confused fragments. The sedative left him disoriented, struggling to piece together what had happened during the lost minutes.
He stared at the dock feed, trying to make sense of the empty boarding ramp where the prince should have been.
And found only static, the visual record corrupted beyond recovery.
The names on the wall didn't blink.
But if they could have, they might've nodded in silent approval.
Chapter 13
The Solar Destiny dropped out of lightfold farther from orbit than usual, well beyond Renga's outer debris ring. Her hull shuddered, a soft vibration like a held breath as the engines settled into normal space with a reluctant whisper. Outside the viewport, the stars snapped from streaked lines to pinpoints, normal space reclaiming its order.”
"Bit of a wide berth," Bolen said, squinting at the nav feed, his broad shoulders hunched over the console. His calloused fingers tapped at the readout, concern etching lines around his eyes.
"Didn't want to exit inside someone's evac arc," Nira replied, fingers moving fast across the traffic grid, her expression tight with concentration. "Too many civilians scattering blind. Half of them probably don't even have proper nav systems, just running on instinct and fear."
"And too many destroyers firing at them," Elendril muttered, leaning forward in the captain's chair.
On the tactical screen, civilian ships blinked in and out of telemetry like frightened prey, their trajectories erratic and desperate. Behind them, Primarch Raanu's grid ignited in ominous patterns of red and orange, methodical death raining down from orbital positions.
Elendril keyed the defense systems, his movements precise and practiced. "Deploy a light ghost net across the evac lanes. We'll give them some breathing room. Make those Itherian bastards chase shadows instead of children."
"Flareburst pods loaded," Arren confirmed, his scholarly fingers dancing across the weapons console with surprising dexterity. "Targeting near the ecliptic to confuse ground-based fire. Should create enough signal noise to mask some of the smaller craft."
Nira muttered, her voice bitter with experience, "That's if the destroyers even care who they're hitting. From what I'm seeing, they're not being particularly selective."
"He's firing into civilian zones?" Bolen barked, incredulity and rage coloring his words. He pushed away from his station, muscles tensing beneath his simple brown shirt. "While we've got Prince Krell locked in a stasis cell? What kind of father..." He cut himself off, shaking his head in disgust.
"Do we even know if our message reached them?" Elendril asked, his voice sharp with disbelief.
Arren shook his head, scrolling furiously through comm logs, the glow of the screen reflecting off his intense expression. "Encrypted, priority flagged. It should’ve hit their command net. I routed it through three secure channels myself. No way they missed it. "
"So where's the response?" Nira asked, glancing over her shoulder, her hands never pausing in their work guiding the ship.
"Nowhere," Arren said flatly, his expression hardening as he continued scanning frequencies. "No bounce code. No redirect. No ceasefire. Just... silence. And more bombardment."
A slow breath escaped Elendril, as the terrible truth settled over him. "Then they did get it."
"Caani knew," Nira said, her voice hollow with realization. "And didn't care. His own son, and he just... didn't care."
Elendril's voice went cold, a dangerous edge creeping into his tone. "Then we make sure his son lives. So he remembers who left him behind. Let the prince see firsthand what kind of man sits on the throne."
They dropped low into the atmosphere, the Solar Destiny's hull gleaming through wisps of smoke as they skimmed above the smoke-choked jungles. From this height, Renga looked like it was bleeding, orange fire lines splitting ridgelines, blackened craters where villages had once stood, streams of refugees like dark veins against the burning landscape.
"Marcan's last known was grid sector 4-Delta," Arren said, adjusting his scanner with worried precision. "Near the communications hub. If he's still there, he's right in the middle of the chaos."
"Bring us in," Elendril ordered, his jaw set with determination. "Keep the shields at maximum, I don't want any stray fire taking us out before we can help."
They found Marcan near a half-crushed comm tower, barking orders between comm drops, sweat streaking down his soot-covered face. The resistance leader looked haggard, his clothes torn and dirty, but he was still standing, still shouting. Still fighting with the fierce determination that had made him a legend across two sectors.
"They're shooting civilians out of the sky," Marcan said without preamble as Elendril approached, not wasting breath on greetings. "We lost echo station ten minutes ago. No way to track strike vectors anymore. We're flying blind, and they know it."
"You holding the line?" Elendril asked, already scanning the triage perimeter where wounded civilians huddled together, terror and pain etched on their faces.
"Of course we hold the line! At least till we get as many out as we can."
Marcan's expression flickered, gratitude buried deep behind exhaustion, a momentary softening in his battle-hardened features. "If you've got miracles left in that ship of yours, now's the time. We need every transport we can get to the main evac center. And we need cover from those orbital strikes."
"You got it!" Elendril replied and turned towards his crew and the Solar Destiny, parked nearby.
No one spoke as they jogged back to the Solar Destiny and prepared to start pulling out who they could. The comms blinked quietly, occasional bursts of encrypted resistance chatter filtering through. Outside, the sky of Renga flickered orange and red in the distance, smoke rising through broken clouds like the planet itself was exhaling its last breaths.
The hum of the Solar Destiny's engines was steady, a low thrum beneath the tension in the air, the ship's systems ready to respond to whatever demands would be placed upon them. Outside the viewport, Renga loomed, shrouded in ash and flame, a world already burning, its beauty marred by the relentless assault of Itherian forces.
In the cargo bay, the stasis field surrounding Krell dimmed to passive standby, no longer frozen, but awake. He watched from behind an energy barrier as crates of medical supplies were shuffled around him, his presence largely ignored, but not forgotten.
While the others prepared supplies and cleared space in the cargo hull for evacuees, Nira sat alone in a side alcove just off the bridge, her shoulders hunched with tension. A narrow console glowed softly before her, casting pale blue light across her features, highlighting the worry lines around her eyes. The compartment was quiet, just her breath and the muted beeps of her search parameters looping again, a digital heartbeat counting the seconds.
She keyed in the query one more time, fingers trembling slightly despite her best efforts to remain calm.
AVELIS & MIREL KAVEN – Civilian registry scan. RENGA sectors: Marros / Skywell / New Narien / Outer-East. Ping any evac signal, comm relay, transponder, or bio-tag.
The screen blinked, pulsing with artificial patience. Searching...
She leaned forward, hands tight on the edges of the console, knuckles whitening with the force of her grip. Her breath came in shallow, controlled bursts as she waited, each second stretching into eternity.
The results popped up fast, too fast. A column of mismatched flags. Two hits. Both old. Conflicting. Neither offering the certainty she desperately needed.
One said Marros. The other said Skywell, but from a faulty comm relay, signal degraded, possibly re-routed, no timestamp. No confirmation. No body ID. No evac manifest. Just... fragments of data, digital ghosts that offered no real answers.
She stared at them. Not blinking. Not breathing. Her eyes burning from the strain and from unshed tears that she refused to acknowledge.
Then a small chime: "No current confirmation. Do you wish to be notified on re-ping?"
She didn't answer right away. Her fingers hovered over the Yes key, trembling in the blue glow. Instead, she shut her eyes, allowing herself one moment of vulnerability where no one could see.
Nira had told herself not to check. Not before landing. Not before triage. Not before doing the damn job. She was a professional, a resistance fighter, the daughter of a leader who had taught her that duty always came first.
But she had checked anyway. And now her sister, her niece and nephew, were somewhere in a firestorm, and she had no way of knowing if they were already gone, already beyond her help, beyond anyone's help.
She sat there for a moment longer, gathering the fragments of her composure. Then she stood, straightening her uniform with practiced movements.
When she returned to the bridge, her face was unreadable. Her gait steady. Her voice calm, betraying none of the turmoil churning inside her.
"Elendril," she said, slipping into the co-pilot's seat beside him, her movements fluid and professional. "Revised evac pattern from resistance command. There's debris drift near the western bay, suggest rerouting toward the riverbed. Should give the civilian transports cleaner egress."
He glanced over at her, his keen eyes noting something in her expression, then back to the controls. "Copy that."
Nira didn't look back at the console she'd left. Didn't mention the names. Didn't mention the scan. Didn't allow herself the luxury of personal fear when so many depended on her focus.
But her wristband buzzed quietly, low-priority flag, search still active. And beneath her sleeve, her pulse wouldn't settle, each beat carrying the names of those she feared were already lost.
Elendril turned toward the bridge, already mentally plotting their course. "Let's make every run count."
The Solar Destiny launched low over the treetops, engines thundering with barely contained power as they knifed through rising plumes of acrid smoke. Jungle canopies blurred beneath them, the lush terrain now ruptured by impact tremors and the clawed paths of fleeing civilians who had carved desperate escape routes through the undergrowth. The ship's photoreceptive plating absorbed what little sunlight filtered through the smoke, storing energy for the battles that surely lay ahead.
The med skiff touched down in the courtyard with a hiss of pressurized steam, its landing struts sinking slightly into the scorched earth. Runners hauled crates and wounded aboard with practiced urgency, their movements economical and precise, faces grim with the knowledge that every second counted.
Elendril lifted a young girl with a broken arm onto the ramp, her face pale with shock and pain, eyes wide and unseeing. Nira pulled two elders up after him, their weathered hands gripping hers with desperate strength, mumbling prayers of thanks in voices rough with smoke inhalation. The skiff was nearly full, bodies pressed together in the confined space, the air thick with the metallic scent of blood and the acrid tang of fear.
Then a shout pierced the organized chaos, rising above the rumble of distant explosions and the hiss of medical equipment.
"Wait, please! My son, my son's not here!" The voice cracked with panic, raw with parental terror.
A man stumbled toward them, dust-streaked and shaking, his clothes torn and singed, blood trickling from a gash on his forehead. A younger woman, his daughter, maybe, tried to hold him back, her face streaked with tears and soot, but he broke free with surprising strength, desperation lending him power.
"I told him to stay in the cellar. He's seven. He's hiding, he doesn't know it's time!" His eyes were wide, darting between faces, seeking understanding, seeking help. "He has a stuffed bear, he won't leave without it, I told him I'd come back..."
Elendril met him at the bottom of the ramp, assessing the situation with one quick glance, taking in the man's desperation and the gravity of his plea. "Where?" His question was clipped, focused, already calculating possibilities.
"Grayhouse Lane. East quarter. The old water spire, corner unit. Third floor." The man's words tumbled out in a desperate rush, hands gesturing frantically in the direction he'd come from. "The building with the blue door, or it was blue, I don't know if it's still..."
That block had taken a direct hit not ten minutes ago. The rubble was still settling, secondary fires spreading through what remained of the structures. Smoke billowed from collapsed buildings, and the distant crack of failing support beams echoed through the devastation.
Elendril tapped his comm, his movements swift and decisive. "Nira, any runners near East?"
"Negative," she replied, her voice tight with the strain of delivering bad news. "Debris took out the quarter. We can't get anyone through. The whole sector's collapsed." The unspoken message hung in the air: no one could have survived the direct hit from Itherian destroyers.
The man grabbed Elendril's arm, fingers digging in with desperate strength, leaving pale marks on his skin. "Please. I'll go. I know the path, I know the hidden ways. I can make it. I'll carry him. Just… wait." His voice broke on the last word, thick with unshed tears and the terrible knowledge that time was running out.
Elendril held his gaze for a breath. Two. Then stepped aside and gestured to the ramp, his decision made, understanding the impossible choice before the desperate father.
"There's a seat left. It's yours. Or it isn't." The simple statement carried the weight of an impossible choice, safety or the slim chance of saving his child.
The man froze, caught between unthinkable alternatives, his body trembling with the force of his internal struggle.
The whine of the engines rose, an urgent reminder that time was running out. Behind them, the distant thunder of Itherian bombardment grew closer, the vibrations traveling through the ground beneath their feet.
Elendril didn't push. Didn't plead. He just waited, giving the man the dignity of his own decision, respecting the terrible choice he faced.
The man's face folded in on itself, grief carving new lines into his features. He turned back, eyes searching the treeline like he might miraculously see the boy there, emerging from the smoke with his stuffed bear clutched in small hands.
Then, He stepped away from the ramp.
Didn't speak.
Didn't scream.
Elendril just watched, a father choosing certain death for the mere possibility of finding his child.
Elendril boarded without a word, honoring the choice with his silence, understanding it in a way that went beyond words.
The hatch sealed with a pneumatic hiss, cutting off the sounds of destruction outside.
The skiff lifted, engines straining under the weight of its passengers, rising slowly at first, then with gathering speed.
And below, in the swirl of rising dust and debris, the man was already gone from sight, running back toward the burning ruins, a lone figure racing against time and almost certain death.
As the evacuees were loading a small girl hesitated in the entry to the cargo bay, staring wide-eyed at the regal figure behind the translucent barrier. “Is he one of the ones who bombed us?” she whispered. No one answered. Krell said nothing, but the flicker in his gaze suggested he’d heard.
The Destiny lifted from the evac zone, silent but heavy with the weight of those left behind. In the cockpit, no one spoke, each lost in private thoughts, the burden of impossible choices pressing down on them all.
Elendril stood behind Nira, one hand braced on the back of her chair, eyes locked on the jungle falling away beneath them, the destruction spreading like a disease across the once-vibrant landscape. His face was a mask of controlled emotion, but his eyes betrayed the toll of the day's events.
When he turned forward again. The next task was already waiting, demanding his attention, the endless cycle of rescue and retreat that defined this desperate day.
A final skiff burst from the tree line, listing dangerously, engines coughing thick black smoke that trailed behind it like a funeral shroud. The pilot was slumped forward, barely conscious, blood streaming from a wound at his temple, guiding the damaged craft in a wobbling glide toward the Solar Destiny's open bay. The skiff's hull was pockmarked with damage, one stabilizer completely gone, the other flickering erratically.
Inside, Elendril's voice barked over comms, "We've got one more, brace for impact!" His crew and a handful of helpers scrambled to secure loose equipment and prepare for the emergency landing, moving with practiced efficiency born of too many similar situations.
The skiff clipped a cargo beam with a shriek of tortured metal, spun wildly, and struck the landing edge hard enough to send sparks flying across the bay floor. Its canopy shattered into glittering shards that rained down like deadly crystal. Metal screamed in protest as structural integrity failed. The craft teetered precariously, then began to tip backward into open air, gravity pulling it toward certain destruction.
Inside the damaged craft, chaos reigned amid broken equipment and twisted metal.
Two adults were strapped in, unconscious or worse, blood matting their hair and staining their clothing, limbs at unnatural angles.
And a child, who had probably been sitting on a parents lap, thrown from her seat during impact, clung to the co-pilot's seat with small fingers, eyes wide with terror, lips open in a silent scream as the craft tilted further. Her tiny face was streaked with tears, a stuffed animal clutched in one hand while the other fought for purchase on the slick surface.
Bolen didn't think.
He ran, muscles propelling him forward with single-minded purpose, his engineer's mind calculating trajectories and forces even as his heart drove him toward the child. Clearing the threshold in one powerful stride, and leapt into the void, his massive frame suspended for a moment between safety and disaster.
Time collapsed into a blur of sensation and instinct. He caught the edge of the skiff with one hand, the girl's forearm with the other, his grip gentle but unbreakable. He was careful not to harm her fragile bones even as he saved her life.
Her fingers slipped, slick with sweat and fear, her small face contorted with terror.
He grunted, twisted his massive frame, and threw her toward the Destiny's deck with calculated force. Arren dove forward and caught her mid-roll, pulling her to safety with surprising strength from his scholarly frame, cradling her against his chest as he rolled to absorb the impact.
Bolen dangled a heartbeat longer, the weight of the tilting craft threatening to pull him into the abyss, his muscles straining against the inexorable pull of gravity.
He looked back, just long enough to see the pilot's eyes flicker open, a moment of recognition passing between them before the skiff gave way entirely, metal groaning in final surrender.
Then Elendril's hand gripped his wrist like iron and yanked him back inside with a strength that belied his slender build, just as the craft spiraled into the canopy below, vanishing into smoke and leaves with a distant crash that seemed to echo the day's many losses.
Everyone stared at the space it had occupied, stunned into silence by the suddenness of the loss, the finality of it striking them anew despite the day's many similar moments.
The girl sobbed, cradled against Nira's chest, her small body shaking with trauma and grief, clutching her stuffed animal like it was the only solid thing in a world suddenly turned to chaos.
Krell’s eyes followed the sobbing child in Nira’s arms. His knuckles were white on the inner railing of his cell, tension held in silence. Not even he could pretend this wasn’t real anymore.
Bolen dropped to the deck, breath ragged, the muscles in his arms trembling from exertion, sweat beading on his forehead.
"Next time," he muttered, wiping sweat from his brow with a trembling hand, "we're bringing netting." The attempt at levity fell flat in the heavy atmosphere, his voice too strained to carry the humor he intended.
Elendril didn't answer.
Because they both knew they'd saved one.
And lost more than they'd ever have time to count or mourn properly, the tally of the day's dead growing with each passing hour.
The others moved around Elendril, silently, each carrying the same weight in their own way, performing their duties with the mechanical precision that comes when emotions must be temporarily shelved, when survival depends on function rather than feeling.
Skywell Province was half firestorm by the time the Solar Destiny arrived, the once-verdant landscape transformed into a hellscape of burning trees and shattered buildings. Smoke billowed upward in thick columns, obscuring parts of the landscape and making navigation treacherous.
They found Elise at the edge of a scorched clearing, dragging two wounded fighters toward cover with quiet, brutal efficiency. Her hair was matted with ash, her jacket torn across one shoulder revealing a nasty burn beneath, but her hands never shook as she worked to save those under her care.
"You're Elendril Thorne?" she asked, barely pausing in her work, her voice rough from smoke inhalation.
"I am." Elendril's reply was simple, respecting her focus.
"Elise, Marcan's sister. He's still loud I assume?" A ghost of a smile flickered across her ash-streaked face, familial affection briefly visible through her battle-hardened exterior.
"He's worried," Elendril said, falling into step beside her, immediately bending to help with the wounded. "Sent us to find you specifically."
"He should be. But I'm alive." She tied off a bandage with practiced movements. "For now, anyway."
"We're heading for Tessellon," Nira said, appearing at Elendril's shoulder, her eyes scanning the treeline for threats. "You and the injured can come with us. We have room, and medical supplies."
"I already sent my daughter ahead," Elise said, not looking up from the wound she was dressing. "I told Marcan I was staying behind so he wouldn't come looking or waste resources trying to get me out. Someone has to stay and help those who can't make it to the main evac center."
Elendril crouched beside her, lifting a dazed boy onto a stretcher, noting the professional way she had triaged the wounded. "You've done this before."
"Black Skirmishes," Elise said, binding a pressure wrap around a wounded soldier's leg with practiced efficiency. "I thought I left war behind a decade ago. Moved east of the cell lines, out where things were quiet. Thought I could raise my daughter without the sound of boots in the streets, without teaching her which plants can stop bleeding and which can be used as painkillers."
Elendril passed her a seal-pack for a particularly nasty wound. "Did Marcan know?"
"He always knew. Never said it, but he hated it. Me walking away while he stayed in the fire." She shrugged one shoulder, eyes scanning the trees for movement, always alert. "I just... wanted one part of our family to be whole. Untouched by all this."
Elendril crouched beside her, checking a child's vitals with gentle fingers. "You think you really got away?"
Elise gave a short, bitter laugh that held no humor. "No one gets away. Not really. You stay long enough, the Empire always circles back. They never forget, and they never forgive."
She looked at him then, tired, fierce, unflinching, her eyes holding the weight of hard-earned wisdom. "But when it does, you don't run. Not if you can still help someone get out. Not if you can still make a difference."
Elendril nodded, quiet for a moment, understanding in his eyes. "Life has a way of making soldiers of us all in the end."
She moved to the next casualty, her movements economical and precise. Elendril helped load the wounded into the shuttle, watching her with a tightness growing in his chest, a recognition of something familiar in her determined stance.
His own sisters are probably somewhere under that same orange sky, he thought suddenly. In danger, perhaps fighting, perhaps fleeing.
And he hadn't even tried to look. Hadn't allowed himself that distraction, that personal concern, when so many others needed his help.
As the skimmer's doors began to close, Elise stood at the edge of the clearing, jaw clenched, rifle slung across her back. She scanned the treeline slowly, methodically, counting shadows and calculating risks.
"There were twenty in our cell when the dome collapsed. I only counted nine here." Her voice was flat, factual, but the implication was clear, eleven souls still unaccounted for, possibly still alive, possibly still savable.
"We'll keep looking," Elendril said, meaning it despite the impossibility of the task before them.
"This sector's in the next bombardment arc," Arren warned through the link, his scholarly voice tight with concern. "We estimate ten to twelve minutes before the next pass, fifteen at most before this valley's a crater. The Itherian destroyers are moving into position now."
"I know," Elise said, her expression hardening with resolve. Then to Elendril, "Which is why I'm asking you to go. Take them now. I'll stay. Anyone still breathing here deserves a chance. I know these woods better than anyone, if they're out there, I'll find them."
Elendril's throat tightened, the weight of another impossible choice settling on his shoulders. "Marcan wouldn't want, "
"He's not here," she snapped, cutting him off with fierce intensity. Then, softer, her eyes betraying a moment of vulnerability, "And if he was, he'd do the same and you know it! He'd never leave anyone behind if there was even a chance."
He paused, weighing options, calculating risks, the captain's burden heavy upon him. "And we won't be able to circle back until after Tarn's Hollow. That corridor's already heating up. You'd be on your own for hours, at minimum."
Elendril studied her face. Ash smeared, hollow-eyed, but unflinching, determination etched into every line. A fighter to the core, just like her brother.
Then he nodded, respecting her choice as he had respected the father's earlier.
"We'll be back," he said, the words carrying the weight of a solemn promise.
"You'd better," she replied, a ghost of a smile touching her lips. "Or I'm telling Marcan you left me on purpose. And you know how he gets."
From the cockpit, Elendril caught one last glimpse, Elise at the treeline, rifle slung, smoke curling around her like a living shadow, a solitary figure against the burning landscape.
"She stayed?" Arren murmured, reading the sensor logs, a note of respect in his voice.
"Yeah," Elendril said, gaze fixed on the rear display, watching her figure grow smaller as they lifted away. "She did."
He didn't say what he was really thinking.
They might not make it back in time and, that Elise might not make it out. That her choice, like so many made this day, might end in sacrifice rather than salvation.
Chapter 14
The night sky on Renga behind the jungle looked like it had caught fire, a canvas of destruction painted across the heavens.
The comm unit crackled through open bridge audio, static cutting through the heavy silence.
"Alacrity, this is field unit Marn-K2. You're cleared for corridor, but you've got one crew ID still planetside." The voice was tense, urgent, cutting through protocols to deliver critical information.
Tarly's voice, sharp and immediate: "Who?"
"Korrin. Sector Six-Rho. Still in Tarn's Hollow. Last transmission flagged a drive fault. No evac launch. Sector goes hot in eight minutes." The words tumbled out in a rush, each one carrying the weight of a ticking clock.
Elendril's head snapped up from the nav console, instantly alert. Nira met his eyes across the deck, both recognizing the gravity of the situation without needing words.
"Coordinates?" Tarly's voice again, already moving, the sounds of preparation audible in the background.
"Sending now. The strike pattern rotates every thirty-five seconds. Hollow's next in the firing arc. If he's still down there, he's got maybe five minutes before it all lights up. Itherian destroyers are positioning for a full sweep."
The comm link cut out with a harsh burst of static, the transmission lost in the electromagnetic interference from the bombardment.
There was a moment's silence on the Destiny's bridge, heavy with implication.
Then Tarly came through again, this time on a direct channel, his voice clear with purpose.
"Destiny, I need a wing. Going in for Korrin and his girls. If they're still alive, they won't be for long without cover. I'm not leaving my engineer behind."
Elendril didn't hesitate, his decision immediate and unquestioning. "We're with you. Sending a firepath overlay now. We'll draw their attention while you make the extraction."
He turned to Arren, his movements swift and decisive. "Deploy flareburst pods and run a ghost net over the ridge. If those destroyers start targeting movement, I want our decoys drawing fire, not the evac team. Make it look like there's a whole squadron down there."
"Aye, Captain," Arren said, hands already flying across the console, activating defensive systems and preparing the diversionary tactics.
"Run a backscatter sweep every five seconds," Elendril added, his tactical mind racing ahead. "Three-second dwell lock gets a counter-charge. Light up the sky, make them chase shadows. Give Tarly the window he needs to get in and out."
The Solar Destiny broke from orbit, slicing low through the stratosphere like a blade on descent, just behind the Alacrity. The two ships moved in perfect harmony, a dance of metal and purpose against the burning sky.
Renga loomed below. Fires drew glowing lines across the valley like veins of living flame, the planet's surface scarred by the relentless assault.
Elendril leaned over the console, studying the faint signal that blinked on his screen. "He stayed behind. Tarn's Hollow. The signal's faint, but it's him. Korrin's still transmitting."
Nira's breath caught, her hands tightening on the controls. "With his girls. He wouldn't leave without them."
Tarly's voice came back over comms, grim but determined. "We'd all do the same. Not one of us would abandon family."
Elendril nodded once, a tight movement that acknowledged the truth of the statement. "That's the damn problem. That's why we keep losing heroes."
Silence held a moment, broken only by the hum of engines and the distant rumble of explosions.
Then Tarly said, quieter, his usual bravado stripped away to reveal the man beneath, "He's not being a hero. He's being a father. And I'd expect nothing less."
Through the viewport, the hollow came into view, cliff-wrapped and burning, the sky above lit red by the grid's kill arc. Itherian destroyers hung in the sky like predatory birds, their weapons systems charging for the next assault.
Command Central says you've got five minutes. I believe we can make that window," Elendril said, already plotting the approach vector, calculating angles and timing with practiced precision.
"We have to," Tarly replied, simple and final. "Failure isn't an option. Not today."
The Alacrity peeled off from the Destiny, diving hard toward the canopy, a streak of defiance against the burning sky.
The Solar Destiny followed, high and close, silent and formidable, a pirate ship turned guardian, watching over a world on fire. Her hull gleamed dully in the light of destruction, her systems primed for battle, her crew united in purpose.
Plasma arcs streaked the horizon with violent precision, transforming ancient mountaintops into cascades of molten ruin. The dense canopy below buckled rhythmically with each thunderous blastwave, as if the planet itself was, struggling against the assault on its surface.
Tarn's Hollow burned at the edges, hungry flames licking through forest gaps like grasping fingers searching for more to consume. The Alacrity tore across the valley floor, its control systems flaring angry red as Captain Tarly pushed the little ship far beyond its design specifications, metal and circuits protesting with every acceleration.
"Landing zone's a complete mess," Arren warned from the Solar Destiny, his voice tight with tension as he studied the sensor readings. "There's no clean drop path anywhere in the sector. The bombardment has transformed the terrain."
"We'll hover in," Tarly muttered, his jaw set with determination as his hands danced across the controls, adjusting thrust vectors and stabilizers on the fly.
Ahead through the viewport: A battered skimmer waited, half-sunk in a treacherous mixture of mud and torn foliage, its engines sparking erratically like dying stars against the darkening landscape.
Beside the damaged vehicle, Korrin waved an orange signal flare frantically overhead, one arm protectively clutching a small girl to his chest. Another child stood behind him, older, visibly shaking but managing to remain upright despite the terror etched across her face.
Tarly didn't wait for proper landing alignment. He dropped the Alacrity on its repulsors in a maneuver that scraped paint and metal from the port side, the ship groaning in protest as it hovered dangerously close to the debris.
The Alacrity’s skids didn’t settle, Tarly was keeping her light, bouncing on repulsors to avoid locking into the unstable ground.
“Scip, give me micro-balance on the aft lift,” Tarly barked as he yanked the hatch open.
“I’ve got it!” Scip shouted, already bracing at the auxiliary controls. His narrow frame was tense, eyes wide but focused, fingers dancing across the trim relays. The Nausi youth held the hover steady, countering the tilt with subtle bursts from the stabilizers. “You’ve got a six-second drift window before the sink starts.”
Tarly hit the ground running.
He rushed forward and helped Korrin drag both trembling girls aboard, tossing the still-burning flare aside with little ceremony as the trees behind them lit up again with the telltale glow of incoming fire.
A blast cratered the edge of the ridge, too close for comfort, sending debris and superheated air washing over them in a suffocating wave.
Korrin's younger daughter shrieked in terror and buried her face deeper in her father's jacket, tiny fingers clutching the fabric with desperate strength.
As they slammed the hatch shut with a pneumatic hiss, Tarly dropped into the pilot seat, his movements precise despite the chaos. "Hold on to something. This won't be smooth."
The Alacrity roared skyward with a deafening surge of power just as another blast arc scorched the clearing they'd occupied seconds before. Dirt and fire rose in its wake, consuming the space they'd just vacated.
They cleared the kill zone by less than half a second, the ship's sensors screaming proximity warnings as they punched through the bombardment pattern.
"They made it," Arren confirmed, voice shaking with barely contained emotion as he monitored the tracking signals. "Cleared the ridge successfully. No tail signal detected. They're clean."
Bolen whooped triumphantly, thumping the console with a heavy fist. "Hell yeah! That's what I'm talking about!"
Elendril closed his eyes, allowing himself a moment of quiet gratitude. Three name, crossed off the ever-growing loss list. A small mercy in the midst of overwhelming tragedy. And yet, the reality remained inescapable.
The tally was still so devastatingly long.
The Solar Destiny turned back toward Tessellon, her hold packed with frightened evacuees.
“Got a cargo bay full of terrified people,” Bolen muttered, “and one brooding prince whose family’s trying to kill us. Irony must be flying co-pilot.”
Near the southern platform, Nira was directing a group of shell-shocked evacuees toward assignment rosters when she heard the desperate shouting cutting through the ambient noise.
"Nira! Nira!"
She turned quickly, blinking through layers of soot and the disorienting flicker of emergency headlamp glare that cast strange shadows across the compound.
Rook stumbled from the treeline, half-dragging a young boy with him. His clothes were burned in several places, a deep gash oozing blood on one arm, his eyes wide and red-rimmed from smoke and unshed tears.
"My family," he choked out, words catching in his throat. "Marros sector, my mom and baby brother, they were ahead of me in the evacuation line. They should be here."
Nira's throat tightened painfully, just for a second. She checked her wristband scroll methodically, careful not to let her fingers shake as she confirmed what she already knew.
"Marros sector went up twenty minutes ago," she said quietly, gentle but direct. "We confirmed total structural collapse. I'm sorry."
"No, no, that can't be right. They were right ahead of me. I just, I lost them near the fountain square when the crowd separated us..."
"I know," she said, stepping forward, placing a steadying hand on his trembling arm. "Rook... we scanned that sector twice after the collapse. There's no one left moving down there. Nothing survived."
He stared at her, his body shaking uncontrollably. The small boy beside him clung to his leg, face streaked with dirt and tears.
"I should've stayed. I should've gone back for them..."
"That boy's alive because of you," Nira said firmly. Her voice stayed level, professional, but her eyes drifted, just for a breath, toward the distant hills where she'd last tried her sister's signal hours earlier. "Whatever happened out there... it wasn't failure. It was war, and war doesn't care how hard we try or how much we love."
He sank to his knees in the dirt, holding the rescued boy like a lifeline, a tether to purpose.
Nira crouched beside him in the dirt, letting the terrible moment settle around them. The distant screams. The constant engine roars. The pervasive smell of ozone and ash that clung to everything.
Then she said gently, placing a hand on his shoulder, "We're moving this group to Tessellon's core zone. They need people who understand, people who care. Come with us."
"I have to do something," Rook whispered, his voice raw. "If I don't help somehow... I'll break apart completely."
"Then help," she said simply, conviction in her words. "Start there. That's enough for now."
She helped him to his feet with surprising strength, steadying him when he swayed.
"Still got lives to save, pilot."
Another shuttle came screaming into Skywell, this one listing noticeably on damaged repulsors, smoke trailing from one thruster assembly.
The skimmer's bay doors hissed open with a mechanical groan, hydraulics struggling against damage. Elendril reached out to help aboard the last refugees from the compound, hoping Elise would be one of them.
Elise clambered aboard awkwardly, soot-streaked and limping heavily, a fresh scorch mark along her sleeve revealing angry red skin beneath the torn fabric. Two more civilians stumbled in after her, dazed but miraculously alive.
"Sorry we're late," Elendril said as he reached forward and pulled her deeper into the relative safety of the craft.
"Not late," she rasped, her voice rough from smoke inhalation. "Just making an entrance. Always did have a flair for timing."
Behind them, another massive blast erupted across the ridge they'd just escaped, illuminating the sky with deadly brilliance. The shuttle tilted precariously with the pressure wave but somehow stayed aloft, a testament to its pilot's skill.
"Skimmer's barely registering in the green," Arren warned from his station aboard the Solar Destiny, eyes fixed on fluctuating readings. "She won't outrun a full sensor ping if they lock onto us."
"Launch burst package Epsilon," Elendril ordered without hesitation. "Buy her ten seconds of noise. That's all we need."
The flareburst pods detonated mid-descent, white heat blooming across the sensor field in a dazzling display designed to confuse tracking systems. The destroyer guns hesitated, momentarily blinded. That brief confusion was all they needed.
Inside the shuttle, Elise dropped heavily into a seat, one hand gripping the safety netting like it was the only thing tethering her to the world. Her other hand trembled uncontrollably until she tucked it beneath her coat, hiding weakness even now.
At the compound's central coordination hub, Marcan was shouting rapid-fire orders to a group of volunteers when he caught sight of the skimmer landing at the edge of the pad.
He turned toward it, then froze completely, disbelief washing over his features.
"Elise!"
She was already limping toward him across the compound, moving with single-minded determination. No words needed.
She just grabbed a fistful of his coat when she reached him and buried her face in his chest, her body finally allowing itself to shake with the emotions she'd been suppressing.
He held her like he'd never let go again, his arms forming a protective circle around her smaller frame, his own eyes closing briefly in profound relief.
Then there was silence. A stillness that made everyone stop and look up. And just as suddenly as it began the bombardment of Renga came to an end. Seconds later Raanu and his fleet entered a vectral shift and disappeared.
Later, aboard the Alacrity, now docked and powered down, Tarly sat in contemplative silence, the events of the day weighing heavily on his shoulders.
Korrin sat beside him in the cramped cabin, holding one of his daughters protectively, the exhausted girl curled up on his lap like she used to do as a toddler.
Her hair smelled of smoke and destruction. Her tiny fingers were wrapped tightly in his sleeve, even in sleep unwilling to let go.
"Thank you," Korrin whispered, the words inadequate for the magnitude of what had transpired. "I can never repay this."
"Of course," Tarly replied simply, the characteristic humor in his eyes temporarily replaced by something deeper and more solemn.
Then, quietly, half to himself, he began to sing, his voice soft but clear in the stillness of the cabin.
It was an old lullaby, ancient in origin. Something his own mother sang to him after a rough day.
Close your eyes, little flame,
shadows pass but stars remain.
Fields will sleep and skies may fall,
but morning listens when you call.
A stranger came on winds unsaid,
with silver eyes and steps like thread.
He warmed the stone, he stilled the rain,
he sang the dark to sleep again.
No crown he wore, no name he gave,
just kindness left in every grave.
He lit our hearth, then faced the gray,
he gave us light, then walked away.
The child's breathing slowed, settling into the steady rhythm of deep sleep. Her tiny hand slipped from his sleeve, finally unclenching in the safety of her father’s arms.
Elsewhere in the ship, Krell sat cross-legged on the floor of his enclosure, eyes closed, head tilted slightly. The lullaby filtered faintly through the vent system, meant for a child, but the prince, it seemed, was not untouched by its quiet sorrow.
And for the first time since the evacuation began, Tarly let himself feel the full weight of it all, everything they'd managed to save against impossible odds, and everything they'd failed to reach in time. Victory and loss, inseparable threads in the harsh weave of survival.
Chapter 15
Outside, what was left of the jungles of Renga smoldered, heaps of debris lying where whole villages had once stood. The sky burned orange and purple, a beautiful backdrop to unspeakable tragedy.
The Solar Destiny banked sharply away from the planet, her hull catching the firelight of a world still bleeding. The atmosphere shimmered in their wake, heat distortion warping the stars as Nira pulled them into ascent, hard and fast, climbing through the upper thermals like a blade rising from a wound.
Inside the cockpit, the bridge lights dimmed automatically to red as the ship transitioned to high-velocity maneuvering. Nira’s hands were steady on the flight yoke, twitching in subtle micro-adjustments, coaxing the vessel through turbulence that would have shattered lesser craft.
"ETA to the drop window?" Elendril asked, bracing against the acceleration curve.
"Six minutes," Nira replied, eyes locked on the readouts. "Assuming the nebula doesn’t change its mind about physics again."
The nav feed was a ghost map, half prediction, half inference. Nareth’s Veil flared ahead like a bruised curtain across the starscape, filaments of gas drifting with impossible grace. To sensors, it looked like a wall, a dead zone, which was the point.
Tessellon lay hidden inside, tucked deep in a pressure-stable corridor carved centuries ago by mining vessels, forgotten, then relegated to myth. No large ship could follow without chart data and the skill most nav systems had long since abandoned.
“Drift current’s accelerating,” Arren warned. “Field density’s up three percent. The entry corridor might be narrower than the last run.”
“I’m already flying it thinner than recommendations,” Nira said calmly. “Remind me again when I’ve ever cared about recommendations?”
Elendril smiled faintly. “Just don’t make me patch hull plating again. We’re still holding evacuees.”
The Destiny wasn’t hauling freight. They carried wounded too critical to wait. The direct route, dangerous, unshielded, nearly invisible to scanners, was their best shot at getting in unseen, and they had the pilot who could do it.
They hit the nebula’s boundary like a whisper, the hull humming as tendrils of charged gas licked harmlessly across her surface. Nira throttled back, bringing the Destiny into a controlled slide, matching the current’s rhythm rather than fighting it.
“Visibility dropping,” Bolen reported.
“Doesn’t matter,” Nira said. “I’m flying by pulse resonance. Old school.”
The Destiny glided through veils of green and violet haze, running lights dimmed, heat signature masked. Pulse beacons hidden in the gas fired microbursts, guiding them like breadcrumbs through the storm.
Moments later, the nebula thinned, and Tessellon appeared.
A desert planetoid lit indirectly by nebular firelight. Surface glinting with faint life, shield arrays hidden in craters, yards camouflaged as rock. Thousands of evacuees invisible to anyone not already looking.
Nira dropped them into orbit with surgical precision. No alarms. No pings. Just a quiet chime from the transponder.
“Welcome to Tessellon,” Elendril said, exhaling.
Nira cracked her neck. “And that, boys, is how you fly through a thunderstorm wearing a blindfold.”
Bolen let out a whistle. “Next time, maybe we take the long way.”
“We just did,” she smirked.
On the surface, Tessellon was a sprawl of domes and triage tents stretching across barren land like a patchwork quilt of desperation. No walls, no foundations, just dust and determination. Vulnerable, yet somehow still holding.
As the ramp lowered with a hiss, heat poured in, dry, acrid, laced with the tang of overworked fusion coils. Engineers swarmed forward, guiding arrivals, checking manifests, patching plasma welds with hands that trembled from exhaustion.
Elendril stepped off last, attire wrinkled and stained from the journey. He barely made it past the first med station when a child tugged his sleeve.
She was no older than ten, hair smoke-tangled, eyes far too tired to cry. “Did my grandmother get out?” she asked, steady voice rehearsed.
He crouched, grit biting his knee. “I don’t know,” he said gently. “But I promise, we’re still looking. Every ship that can fly is searching.”
She nodded once, then walked away, shoulders squared.
The triage tents blurred together after a while, identical domes of fraying synth-fiber and patched panels, each marked with a medic team’s sigil. Nira moved through them like a ghost, her steps quick, her face unreadable. She’d stopped asking for names. Stopped scanning manifests. Hope had teeth, and it had bitten too many times.
At the final row, where solar lamps flickered low, a medic glanced up as she held out a pendant on a chain, tarnished silver, an heirloom. Silent plea. Silent claim.
The medic’s expression softened, a single nod toward the tent flap.
Elendril watched her shoulders stiffen before she stepped inside. He lingered at the threshold long enough to see the way she froze, breath catching, then crumpled into tears as she embraced her sister. The sight was private, sacred. He turned away, letting them have their moment.
The med dome’s hum was constant, powered by overtaxed generators. Elendril entered to check on evacuees, and that’s when he noticed Krell.
The prince sat near a viewport, posture still as glass. But the stillness felt brittle. Around him, the wounded moaned, medics worked, and no one acknowledged him. Not hate, not deference, simply dismissal.
“Move, Your Highness,” a medic muttered, shouldering past with a supply crate. Another tossed a bloodied field dressing that landed near his boots. Krell didn’t flinch, didn’t correct, didn’t even seem to breathe.
Elendril paused, watching. The boy they’d once called heir to the Empire looked strangely small in the crowd.
When a child whimpered on a stretcher, bone fractured, sedation slow to take, Krell startled Elendril by moving, quickly, almost awkwardly, to the bedside. He bent low, murmured words too soft to catch, brushed tangled hair from the boy’s forehead, and let the child clutch his hand until his breathing steadied.
The medics worked. Krell stepped back. No thanks asked, none given.
Elendril’s brow furrowed. The prince hadn’t spoken much since Renga, but the silence now carried weight. Something in him was shifting, though whether it was breaking or hardening, Elendril couldn’t yet tell.
Nira joined them soon after, jacket hanging loose, eyes shadowed with exhaustion. She stood beside Krell, watching the chaos.
“You didn’t know,” she said flatly.
Krell’s jaw worked. He gave no reply.
“But now you do.”
He whispered something then, voice raw enough that Elendril strained to hear. “I thought my father would send for me. That he might even bring the Citadel.”
“He didn’t,” Nira said.
“Not even to stall?”
“No.”
The word fell like a stone between them. Krell closed his eyes, but when they opened again, Elendril noted how they lingered on the wounded, hungry, broken, yet alive. The prince stood rooted, absorbing sights his father would call collateral, but Elendril read the truth in his posture: Krell wasn’t looking at numbers anymore. He was looking at lives.
Outside, the camp stretched wide across the plateau, domes glowing faintly under nebular firelight. Children darted between tarps, laughter rising improbably in the dust.
Elendril caught the moment a boy, bandaged forearm, missing tooth, snapped into a cadet’s salute. Perfect form. Imperial muscle memory, not mimicry.
Krell froze. The boy beamed up at him, asking if he was really the prince. Krell’s lips parted, but no words came. The boy scampered off to join the game, leaving Krell rooted.
From his vantage, Elendril saw the tightness in Krell’s jaw, the faint tremor in his breath. A single gesture from a child had pierced deeper than combat or interrogation ever had.
Elendril didn’t intrude. He simply observed, filing the moment away. Krell was changing, and not because anyone demanded it.
By the next morning, Elendril found Krell at the operations tent. He didn’t enter with orders, or with the imperious tilt of chin that used to come so naturally. His sleeves were rolled, dust smudged across his collar.
Nira was bent over a logistics map with field coordinators, arguing ration routes. She barely looked up when he entered. Her hand hovered near her blade, instinctive.
“What do you want?” she asked.
“Work,” Krell said.
Elendril, watching from the edge of the tent, caught the way Nira blinked, just once, at the lack of royal inflection.
“Define work.”
“Anything that needs doing,” Krell said evenly. “But don’t give me comms, supply logs, or fleet channels. If I were you, I wouldn’t trust me either.”
That made her pause. Elendril saw her eyes narrow, weighing him.
Finally, she jerked her head toward a battered terminal in the corner. “Medbay grid’s overheating every fourth cycle. Go fix it. No glory, no headlines. Just wires and grime.”
“Where’s the toolkit?” he asked.
Her mouth twitched, almost a smile. “Find it.”
Krell nodded and moved without protest.
Later, Bolen caught him flat on his back under the generator matrix, coat tossed aside, soot streaked across his shirt. His arms were buried in a scorched junction box.
“You fry the wrong node, it’ll cook your brainstem,” Bolen grunted.
“Already met my father,” Krell said without looking up. “Hard to top that damage.”
Bolen snorted, half amusement, half reluctant approval. He didn’t help, just watched as Krell finished the delicate rewiring, sweat running down his temple. When Krell crawled out, hands raw and bleeding, Bolen set a flask on the table.
Krell only shook his head. “First rule of live current, don’t drink on the job. Torvan taught me that, I used to watch him fix everything all day back at the palace when I was a small child.”
Bolen left the flask anyway.
By evening, Elendril passed through the lower triage dome and caught sight of Krell again, barefoot this time, elbow-deep in coolant lines. His once-pristine boots sat neatly beside the hatch, scuffed now from real use. His fingers were blackened, stained, moving with surprising competence through oxidized piping.
He didn’t see Elendril watching. Or perhaps he did, and chose not to look. Either way, he kept working, hunched and muttering over the stubborn machinery like any field tech.
Elendril lingered in the doorway. He said nothing, but he noted it, the shift. Krell’s hands no longer looked like the hands of someone who had never carried weight. They were becoming the hands of a man who built, repaired, and endured.
That night, as Elendril sat alone with a cracked comm crystal, he found himself replaying the day. The boy’s salute. Krell in the med dome. The prince’s head bowed beside the wounded. And now this: boots dulled, hands blackened, pride quieted.
Krell hadn’t declared sides. He hadn’t sworn loyalty. But Elendril knew a truth taking root in him, one that might matter more than any oath spoken aloud.
Chapter 16
Over the next week, Elendril noticed Krell moving like a shadow through the operation zones. The prince, once spotless and untouchable, was now half-hidden in sweat and grime, working jobs no one else wanted. He rebuilt ration racks with methodical precision, cut through collapsed storage beams with a borrowed plasma torch, and spent hours hunched over inventory lists until his eyes went red.
No one thanked him. No one asked him to stay. But he stayed anyway, always silent, always busy.
When a quartermaster nearly shorted the burn ward’s protein packs, Tarly put Krell on supply verification. Elendril walked past once, catching the prince bent over a console, eyes narrowed in concentration as he matched serial numbers one line at a time. Later, when the manifest came back corrected, the quartermaster slapped a junior tech on the back for “good work.” Krell didn’t argue. He just moved on to the next task.
Nira handed him a ruined cryo-chiller coil one afternoon with a muttered, “No salvaging that.” Elendril happened to pass through later and saw Krell at a workbench, dismantling it piece by piece. Somehow he pulled two functioning subcells from the wreckage and rigged them into battered datapads so the med staff could log patients faster. When Elendril mentioned it to Nira, she only shrugged, but he noticed she’d stopped triple-checking Krell’s tool logs after that.
One evening, Elendril found him unloading wound gel with a couple of local teens. Krell’s sleeves were rolled, his pale arms darkened with sweat and dust, and for the first time Elendril heard something startling: the prince laughing at a crude Rengan joke about a malfunctioning gravity boot. The sound wasn’t bright, not full, but it was real.
Elendril crossed his arms. “Cargo’s heavy. You’ll break something if you keep dead-lifting without a grav sled. Not even resistance fighters are immune to physics.”
Krell straightened, blinking sweat from his eyes. “Then I guess I’ll learn how to fix backs next.”
“Try not to,” Elendril said dryly. “We’re running low on spine braces. Captain Tarly’s last raid didn’t exactly prioritize medical supplies.”
Krell gave a mock salute, two fingers, low and sloppy, nothing like the rigid palace gestures Elendril had seen before. Then he turned back to the crates, and the teens laughed again as he nearly dropped one.
That night, while checking the maintenance wing, Elendril saw a blue glow flickering through a half-open door. Inside, Krell sat crouched beside a recycler, fingers flying across a datapad, reprogramming leak detectors with old barge code. Arren leaned in the doorway, watching him work with the look of a scientist testing a hypothesis.
“You know we’ve got techs for that,” Arren said.
“They’re all fixing burns and bone-bonders,” Krell replied, not looking up.
Arren studied him a moment. “You could’ve just lied, you know. Played the reformed royal. Most would have.”
“Would it have worked?”
“No.”
“Then it doesn’t matter.”
Elendril shifted against the doorframe, caught between surprise and skepticism. Krell’s voice carried no defensiveness, no self-pity, just fact.
Arren tilted his head, still scrutinizing him. “Still don’t trust you.”
“I wouldn’t either.”
That earned the faintest pause, enough for Elendril to feel the air shift in the room.
Arren straightened at last, brushing dust from his hands. “Fair enough. We’re sealing a new cache tomorrow. Nira thinks it’s time you did a delivery run. No comms, no codes. Just carry what they need and come back. Tarly agreed.”
Elendril watched Krell blink, surprise flickering across his grime-streaked face.
“You trust me to run it?”
“No,” Arren said plainly. Then his mouth curved, just slightly. “But yes. You’ve earned that much.”
Chapter 17
The skimmer bay doors opened with a hiss, and Krell stumbled inside, holding the small, bloodied child close.
“Go. Now,” he said firmly.
Nira reacted immediately, she grabbed the controls and the skimmer lifted from the landing pad with barely a pause, weaving between the twisted trees and jagged rocks of the village’s outskirts. Arren was already at Krell’s side, sliding under the child to support her, checking her for major injuries and applying first aid even as they swerved and dashed between trees.
The warning sensors flared. There was movement along the perimeter coming up behind them, almost certainly First Shadow operatives in pursuit. Krell’s grip on the child tightened, eyes scanning the treeline.
“Don't slow down,” he said. “They will not stop until they have accomplished their mission."
Nira handled the controls on the console with the skill she was known for. The skimmer shuddered, banking sharply, dodging trees and rock spires, thrusters flaring.
They reached the clearing where the Solar Destiny waited, engines idling, the massive ship partially concealed by the terrain. Nira guided the skimmer down, touching the deck lightly before banking into position for a fast transfer. First Shadow ships were relentless; even as Elendril and the crew approached the partial safety of the Solar Destiny, they could see flashes of Itherian fighters in the distance, waiting for them to make a wrong move.
The child whimpered softly, but Arren murmured reassurance, bandaging a small wound as they moved.
Elendril’s gaze swept the cockpit. Nira was already in the pilot’s seat, hands on the controls, eyes scanning the skies for threats. No one hesitated, there was no time.
“Take us up,” Elendril said. His voice was calm, but the words carried authority.
The Solar Destiny rose with a quiet shudder, lifting up out of the valley they hid her in, and started climbing above the forest canopy. The planet spread out below them, mist curling over the treetops, silent except for the faint whine of distant wind turbines.
Then, sharp on the sensors: two sleek silhouettes slicing through the upper atmosphere. Phantom Raptors. Elite strike craft, black as void, their disruptor cannons charging, glinting with deadly intent.
“They’ve seen us,” Elendril said, eyes narrowing. “Nira, evasive, now!”
The raptors adjusted instantly, banking in perfect coordination, their disruptor pulses cutting closer with each pass. Nira responded with precise maneuvers: climbing, diving, corkscrewing, always staying just ahead of the lethal fire.
“You Got This, Nira!” Elendril said, voice steady. “We need to reach upper atmosphere before they get a lock.”
The Solar Destiny shuddered again as another disruptor blast tore a streak of blue through the mist. Elendril felt the tension tighten in the pit of his stomach, the weight of what would happen if they failed pressing down.
Minutes stretched. The Destiny twisted through the air, narrowly avoiding mountains and clouds, each maneuver calculated but chaotic. The raptors were relentless, each pilot as skilled and trained as legend suggested.
Elendril allowed himself a slow breath as the Solar Destiny broke free into open space. Stars filled the void ahead, and Sylvara fell behind them, partially obscured by the remnants of the upper atmosphere.
The moment the Solar Destiny breached the last wisps of atmosphere, the Itherian Fighters struck. Dark shapes against the void, their engines flared brightly and they came at the Destiny with lethal precision. Disruptor beams lanced through the black, zigzagging toward them as Nira twisted the ship in three-dimensional maneuvers, rolling and pitching every way imaginable.
The Destiny arced sideways, then looped over, narrowly dodging a cascade of blue bolts that seared past the hull. The ship rocked under the strain, warning lights flaring as shields absorbed glancing hits.
One fighter darted beneath them, firing a concentrated volley. Nira twisted, releasing an explosive ion burst that momentarily blinded the pursuer’s sensors. Sparks and small detonations erupted around the enemy fighters as it swerved to avoid collision with its own wing-men.
The Destiny sped forward, engines burning bright. Another raptor fighter closed in from port, its disruptor charging. Nira spun the Destiny in a dizzying barrel roll, pulling the enemy into a crossfire with its own comrade. Blue beams collided, fragmenting in a dazzling bloom of light that left both fighters reeling.
With a sudden burst of thrust, the Solar Destiny shot toward a nebula cloud on the edge of the system, masking their trajectory. The raptor fighters hesitated, wary of losing visual tracking. Nira held the course, heart hammering, until the sensor display finally showed the last pursuers breaking off, unable to anticipate the Destiny’s next move.
Bolen exhaled, shoulders dropping for the first time.
Elendril looked around the cockpit, taking stock: the immediate threat had passed, but the knowledge of First Shadow’s persistence remained. They would not stop, this was only a reprieve, not safety.
For now, though, they were free, and the Solar Destiny hummed through the quiet void, engines carrying them further from the planet and deeper into space.
Elendril’s voice cut through the tension, calm but firm. “Krell, tell me what happened.”
Krell straightened, keeping his tone measured. “An Imperial team came in through the forest while I was working," he said. "Their intent was not to rescue or even to capture me, but to execute me. Something about taking out resistance leverage."
He paused a moment regaining his composure. It was obvious that he was hurt to the core by this development.
"If I had delayed, the child, the village… and I would not have survived," he continued. "It was First Shadow. The Emperor's private assassin team, and worst of all a friend, someone I trained with. How could he send a friend?" Krell took another deep breath.
"Fortunately she hesitated long enough to allow us to escape, but the threat is far from over. None of the villages I work at can be safe while I remain a target.”
Elendril considered this for a moment, then nodded. “We should take you to Asherah. That is one location even the First Shadow will avoid. But first, let's get this little one to Tessellon where she can be cared for properly."
Krell looked down at the child, sleeping quietly in his arms. "Yes," he said, "I think that is a good plan."
Chapter 18
The Solar Destiny drifted in controlled silence, riding the thinner edge of a fractured lightfold route near the Merison Nebula. Beyond the forward viewport, bands of ionized vapor twisted like dragonfire across the void, luminous and slow-moving, as if space itself was dreaming.
Two weeks of navigation through contested space had left the crew stretched thin. Twice they’d been forced to drop out of lightfold to avoid Itherian patrols. The first time, they'd coasted beneath the magnetic wake of a frigate group, hiding in a field of shattered ice asteroids with only one shield grid running, Arren had called it “threading death with dental floss.” The second encounter, Bolen had to reboot the ship’s IFF scrambler mid-drift while upside down in a service tunnel with a live capacitor balanced on his chest.
They survived both, but they could feel their luck stretching and it felt like it might break. It just meant that Nira flew a little more carefully today, just in case.
In the cockpit, Nira adjusted their approach vector, fingers moving with unconscious precision across the console. “We made good time, all things considered,” she said. “Those new cuts through Merison shaved three days.”
“Risky nav pattern,” Elendril replied from behind her. “Good call.”
In the mess, Arren had transformed the central table into a research station. Crystal data rods fanned around him like the petals of some alien bloom. Above them, harmonic waveforms and cascading symbols pulsed in midair.
Bolen stepped in, paused, and squinted. “Still decoding your sonic math, Doc?”
Arren didn’t look up. “It’s not math actually. This is resonant waveform structuring tied to living harmonics. These files from Zinai... they suggest the Byni were cataloging biological entities that interface directly with harmonic fields. Not machines, organisms.”
“Like what?” Nira asked from across the room. She leaned against the bulkhead, arms crossed, watching the equations scroll.
“Resonant bioforms,” Arren said, now fully engaged. “Living species that don’t just hear sound, they are sound. Harmonic witnesses, the texts call them. Or Gate Singers. It’s where the term ‘Children of Dei’ might come in.”
Bolen raised an eyebrow. “That prophecy thing?”
Arren nodded, eyes flicking toward the nearest console where the decrypted lines still glowed faintly:
“In a time of great need
Thread the eye of stars
Find the veiled ones,
the Children of Dei”
“I still can’t crack what the last part means,” Arren admitted. “Volti didn’t just hide science, he hid context. It’s like trying to finish someone else’s equation when half the variables were sung instead of written.”
Nira’s eyes narrowed, something subtle shifting behind them. “So they’re not just poetic words?”
“Not remotely. It’s an encoded instruction. Something we’re supposed to find, or recognize, or awaken. But we don’t know how.”
Bolen smirked. “You just let me know when the singing monsters show up. I’ll start building soundproof walls.”
Krell stood alone at the glass. The stars here seemed... sharper. Like the silence of this system had a different gravity. A reverence to it.
Elendril approached quietly. “Nira says we’re twenty minutes out.”
Krell nodded once, but didn’t look away. “They’ll know me. You realize that?”
“They’ll know of you,” Elendril said carefully. “Not the same thing.”
Krell gave a humorless smile. “You know what we were taught about Seshat growing up? That it was cursed. That no Itherian ship was ever to set down there unless we were prepared to lose it. The Ten Year War wasn’t just a loss. It was a scar on the empire’s pride.”
“You sound like you admire them.”
“Of course I admire them, but I am also afraid,” Krell said, finally turning to face him. “Seshat didn’t win by outgunning the Empire. They outlasted us. Their warriors are... something else. My father called them 'fanatics in marbled skin.’ But he never tried to take them.”
Elendril nodded. “I’ve heard stories, it was so long ago, they were one of the first that Emperor Krelein tried to take, right?”
"Yeah." Krell looked back at the viewport. “They kept their monarchy. You know that? We outlawed sovereign titles across all Offworlds. Called it a unifying measure. But the Seshat Coalition made the Empire sign it into treaty, that they’d keep their Queen. Their culture. Their independence. It’s sacred ground to them. And now I, we, are walking into it.”
Elendril watched him for a long beat. “You worried about how they’ll treat you?”
"A little, but I’m more worried that I won't know how to treat them."
Then ahead, on long-range scans, Asherah began to resolve, a shining disc framed by its rings and moons, cradled in the center of the Seshat system.
A home not their own, but friendly ground. It would be nice to be planetside again even if it wasn't their planet.
The Solar Destiny passed into the outer rings of Asherah just as the Seshat beacon pinged across local comms.
The Coalition was already watching.
And they were always listening.
Chapter 19
The Solar Destiny touched down with gentle thruster pulses atop a spire that rose like a spiral shell from the mist-draped forests of the Seshat Coalition capital on Asherah. The iridescent alloy hull gleamed in the soft light, its photoreceptive plating absorbing the ambient energy of the afternoon light.
Wind harps chimed in the upper currents, long metallic tones without melody, yet still undeniably music, ancient Asheran instruments meant to capture sound and sentiment. Banners flared on distant towers, deep blue against a soft gold sky, their embroidered edges rippling with the symbols of unity hard-won.
Elendril adjusted the collar of his flight coat as he stepped down the ramp ahead of the others. His fingers traced the worn edge of his lapel, a nervous habit he’d never shaken. Behind him, Krell followed in silence, his bearing upright, gaze fixed forward. He looked like a cadet facing judgment, but there was steel under the surface now. Not pride. Resolve.
Across from them stood Queen Rythara, flanked by diplomats in flowing robes and armored sentinels clad in the signature ripple-metal of Asherah’s forges. No crown sat on her brow, none was needed. Her skin bore the mantle: red and obsidian stripes, regalia etched in biometal that flexed with her breath. The fleshy sensory appendages that swept back from her skull shifted subtly, reading the tension in the air like antennae tuned to unspoken truths.
Behind her, carved into the wall, was a great spiral star, ancient, simple, elegant, its grooves worn smooth by centuries of reverent hands. Elendril’s gaze lingered. He didn’t know its name, but the wind harps seemed to sing with it like they were listening to each other in a different language that those standing on this grand square would never understand.
Then the Queen spoke.
"Prince Krell."
Her voice was low, even, but it stilled the wind. Authority not taken, but earned, the kind that had held off the Itherian siege for ten brutal years. The ten-year war, as most called it now. Elendril had never fought here, but every soldier knew the story: how the Seshat Coalition had bled the Empire dry and won the impossible, autonomy, sovereignty… and something even rarer.
The right to still speak the word Queen aloud.
Krell bowed. Not a courtly flourish. Not military formality. A controlled dip of head and shoulder, respect, not submission. His voice was quiet but unwavering and his gaze never left hers.
"Your Majesty."
And with that, every Asheran in earshot went still.
They never thought they would hear those words out of an Itherian's mouth most of all the Crown Prince. If they had been spoken on any other planet to any other Sovereign it would have been the end of the speakers life because of the Itherians. On Asherah they could get away with it but only carefully and in private.
The wind harp notes shifted, as if even they understood something monumental had just happened.
Queen Rythara barely paused, she studied him for a long breath, her eyes taking in every detail of his posture, every micro-expression that crossed his face. "How do you feel about what has happened?"
Krell didn't answer immediately. His fingers twitched once at his sides, betraying the turmoil beneath his composed exterior.
"I think the Empire did what it always intended to do…"
"No," Rythara said, her voice gentle but firm, raising a hand adorned with intricate metalwork that spiraled up her wrist. "Not what you think. What you feel."
Krell's mask cracked, just a hair. His jaw shifted. His eyes dropped for the first time, revealing the vulnerability he'd been fighting to conceal since they'd left Renga's smoking ruins behind.
"I feel betrayed."
His voice was hoarse, but steady, each word carefully measured. "I believed in them. Not blindly, but... enough. I thought there were lines that wouldn't be crossed. But my father didn't just send Raanu to destroy Renga. He sent my friend to kill me." He met her gaze again, his eyes burning with sincerity. "My father didn't send an envoy. He sent an executioner. Someone I knew, and trusted. And when they came for me, they weren't trying to bring me home."
He took a breath. Sharper now. Harder. The wind harps caught the change, their tones shifting to something more discordant.
"They weren't trying to reclaim a son. They were erasing a liability."
His hands trembled once, then stilled as he pressed them together behind his back, knuckles whitening with the effort of control.
"I saw what they did to Renga. I heard the screams. I saw the people hurting. Normal people, not dissidents or rebels. And still, still, I thought maybe they'd come for me because they cared. Because he cared."
His voice broke on that last word. Just slightly. A hairline fracture in the imperial facade.
"He didn't."
He looked up again, and this time there was fire behind his eyes, the kind that doesn't burn out quickly but smolders, waiting.
"I was taught that the Empire brings order. That rebels were misguided. Dangerous. But what I saw was a father, my father, ordering an entire planet to burn. Not because of a threat. But because of defiance."
He stepped forward one pace, his boots scraping against the ancient stone of the landing platform.
"What I feel," he said, "is rage. And shame. And guilt. Because I wore the same crest that gave those orders. Because I believed the lies they told me. And now I need to know that it means something when I take it off."
One of Rythara's advisors stepped forward, face like stone, eyes narrowed in suspicion. "And we're meant to believe a boy raised in a palace has seen enough pain in a year to unravel nearly two decades of indoctrination? The marble halls of the Itherian Palace don't prepare one for true understanding."
Krell didn't flinch. "I wasn't indoctrinated," he said. "I was conditioned. And what breaks conditioning isn't time, it's truth."
He let that settle, the words hanging in the air like the mist that shrouded the forest below.
"I watched a jungle planet turned into a pockmarked ruin. I saw a woman who owed me nothing risk her life to spare mine. I carried a girl whose name I'll never know because it was the only thing I could do. And now I know, truly know, that the Empire isn't broken. It's functioning exactly as designed."
Silence.
Even the wind harps seemed to pause, their metal tongues momentarily still.
"I'm not asking for forgiveness," Krell said, his shoulders squaring. "But I can't go back. I don't want to go back. I want to make something out of this. Something better. And if I can't do that... I'll die trying."
He hesitated, then added, "That's your call."
Elendril said nothing. Didn't move. Just watched, his ears catching every nuance of the exchange, his eyebrows lifting slightly at Krell's words.
Rythara watched too, her fleshy appendages now completely still, a sign of intense focus among her people.
Then he said, very quietly, "They're preparing to test a gravitational disruption weapon, on Thirava. No strategic value. Minimal resistance. They want to see if they can crack open the planets crust. But I don't think it's just a test. I think it's a demonstration. A message."
Her gaze narrowed. "You're sure?"
"I'm more than sure," he said. "I read the packet. I recognized the field dispersion pattern in a prototype brief. I said nothing. I thought it was a defense tool."
His voice dropped to barely above a whisper, forcing everyone to lean in slightly.
"I was wrong."
Another long silence followed, but it wasn't doubt.
It was assessment.
Rythara said, "And what do you want in return?"
"To serve," Krell said. "Under resistance command. Under your command."
She tilted her head, the appendages shifting with the movement. "And if I say no?"
"Then I go alone. I'll find another way to fight them, even if it means my death."
She nodded once, a subtle gesture of respect. "And if I say yes?"
"Then I start undoing everything I helped build. I'll give you every piece of intelligence I have. Every weakness I know. Every secret passage in the Palace. Every code I remember."
Rythara's gaze flicked to Elendril, then back to Krell, searching for confirmation in the captain's expression.
"You may serve."
A breath caught somewhere behind them, Nira, maybe. Or Bolen. The tall engineer shifted his weight, his shadow stretching long across the platform.
But Rythara wasn't done.
"Thank you," she said to Elendril, her voice softening with genuine gratitude, "for returning him to the light. Even if he must still walk in shadow."
"The light," she added, gesturing toward the spiral sun etched into the wall, "is never gone. Only waiting."
Bolen muttered, "Still dramatic." His voice carried the affection of long acquaintance.
Nira elbowed him without looking, her pilot's reflexes as sharp as ever.
"We'll be in touch," Rythara said. "Go well, Captain Thorne. May the next stranger bring light, not fire."
Krell didn't look back as he was led away by two of the Queen's guards.
Neither did Elendril.
But the Queen's voice drifted with the wind harp's next chord.
"Begin the debrief. We may have very little time."
The wind harps still sang, their tones now shifting to something that sounded almost like the old Rengan verse, "Let them scorch the sky with flame, Let them curse our hidden name..."
Queen Rythara stood before the spiral sun etched in the wall, the symbol glowing faintly in the golden light, pulsing subtly with energies older than the Coalition itself. Her advisors had dispersed. Only one remained now, Advisor Shaen, lean, sharp-eyed, silent until spoken to, his ceremonial robes bearing the marks of a former warrior.
"He believes what he says," Rythara murmured, gaze fixed on the city's misty expanse, watching as the Solar Destiny prepared for departure, its iridescent hull catching the last rays of daylight.
Shaen gave a soft grunt. "That's what worries me."
She turned to look at him, her appendages flexing with curiosity. "You think it's an act?"
"I think he's too young not to mean it. And too dangerous to keep close. The son of Emperor Caani cannot shed his blood so easily."
Rythara was quiet for a moment, watching the horizon where the twin moons of Asherah were beginning to rise, their pale light filtering through the mist.
"He's cracked," she said. "But not broken. Not yet. His pain is real. His anger, deeper than he knows. I saw it in his eyes, the same look I've seen in a thousand resistance fighters who've lost everything."
"And when it turns?" Shaen asked, his voice dropping lower. "What if it turns toward us? What if this is all an elaborate ploy to infiltrate our ranks?"
She turned back, her expression unreadable, the metallic adornments on her skin catching the fading light. "Then we'll be ready. But we'd be fools not to hear what he can tell us in the meantime. About Thirava. About the weapon."
Shaen hesitated, his fingers brushing the ceremonial dagger at his belt. "You're going to use him."
"I'm going to give him a choice. If he stays, he serves on our terms. If not, he leaves with knowledge, not loyalty. Either way, we gain something we need."
"And what if he's still his father's son?”
Rythara's gaze hardened, her appendages flattening against her skull, a sign of resolute decision. "Then he'll learn the price of pretending to change," she said, "The Seshat Coalition wasn't built on mercy for traitors."
The wind harps shifted pitch, the sound like breath drawn through iron, they seemed to say:
"We have stars beneath our skin
That's the light they'll never win."
Chapter 20
The Solar Destiny approached the far side of Renga's moon under a haze of low orbit drift, the stars peeling away behind them in smudges of light. Nira sat at the helm, her jaw tight, eyes scanning the jagged, crater-pocked topography below. Her fingers danced across the controls with practiced precision, each adjustment minute but crucial as they skimmed dangerously close to the lunar surface.
At the last second, she cut hard to starboard, dipping under a stone arch that jutted from the moon's surface like the spire of an ancient castle, and then there it was, a tiny red light blinking ever so briefly through the darkness. Nira grinned, triumph lighting her features.
"Found it!" she called over her shoulder, not taking her eyes off the treacherous approach.
The Destiny slid through a rocky crevasse into the shadow of the old Seshat wreck, its twisted metal spires reaching out like petrified fingers grasping for the stars. Decades of cosmic radiation had bleached the hull to a ghostly pallor.
She brought the ship down clean, settling the Destiny into the landing zone with barely a tremor.
They stepped from the ramp into thin air and the low thrum of bass bleeding from within the craggy rock face. The vibrations traveled up through the soles of their boots, a heartbeat hidden within stone.
The smell of engine grease, fried rootsticks, and space dust enveloped them as they entered the concealed doorway, a sensory assault that marked the threshold of the Broken Compass. The air inside was warm and thick with stories, secrets, and the mingled breath of a dozen species.
Scattered light from mismatched fixtures cast long shadows across the crowded space, revealing faces both familiar and foreign in equal measure.
Corven Drell was already holding court near the center table, his scarred face animated as he laughed like he meant it and slapped backs like he didn't care if they cracked. His stories grew louder with each empty glass. Pirates from the Nightpiercer were halfway into a second bottle of something that glowed faintly amber, and across the room, a knot of green-jacketed recruits nursed drinks with the stiff caution of first assignments, their eyes darting nervously toward the veterans.
Bolen and Nira slid into a cracked booth along the wall, both of them carrying drinks and silence. The synthetic leather cushions wheezed beneath their weight as they settled in, finding themselves across the aisle from a pair of secretive Kymni trading sharp whispers in an unfamiliar dialect, their elongated fingers gesturing in patterns that seemed almost as meaningful as their words.
Their table's old interface flickered uselessly between two cracked glass panes, occasionally displaying fragments of outdated news or corrupted entertainment feeds. The glow from a hanging filament bulb cast a hazy wash over the tabletop, illuminating the countless scratches and stains that told the history of countless conversations before theirs.
"So," Bolen said, breaking the silence as he traced a finger through condensation on his glass. "The children of Dei. Got any theories yet?"
Nira exhaled slowly, her eyes drifting to a group of younger rebels laughing too loudly a few tables over. Their faces were still smooth, unmarked by the war they'd inherited. "It sounds like a story my grandmother would've told. Something half-wrapped in religion, half-coded for survival. The kind of thing you whisper when the Empire's listening devices might be in the walls."
"You think Volti meant it as a literal prophecy? Bolen's deep voice rumbled quietly, careful not to carry.
"I think he meant it as truth. But not the kind people understand right away." Nira leaned forward, her voice dropping even lower. "He knew Caelaxis would open again, and he wanted whoever went through to be looking for someone. He was playing the long game, centuries long."
Bolen swirled the drink in his glass, watching the liquid catch the light. His broad shoulders hunched slightly as he considered her words. "So who are the children of Dei? Us? Someone else? Some lost civilization we haven't even encountered yet?"
Nira shook her head, her eyes distant. "Could be us. Could be the people we meet on the other side. Or maybe it's not about people at all. Maybe it's about intent, about what we choose to become when faced with something greater than ourselves."
He tilted his head, brow furrowed. "Explain."
"Maybe it's not bloodlines or names that matter." Nira traced the rim of her glass with a fingertip. "Maybe it's about who chooses to carry the light. Who decides to build instead of destroy. Children carry the light. Maybe we become the children of Dei by our actions, not our birth."
Bolen nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "Okay. But how the hell do we get through Caelaxis in the first place? That thing eats fleets. It's a graveyard of ships and ambitions."
Nira sipped her drink, the bitter liquid warming her throat. "That's the part I don't know, maybe Arren can find a way with the new harmonic tech he discovered at Zinai. He seems to think there is hope for that at least. Either way, we're past the point of just fighting for scraps, of small rebellions and quick escapes. We're part of something bigger now, so if it can be done we kind of need it to happen."
Bolen leaned back and looked up at the dim light, shadows playing across his weathered face. "Yeah. That part scares me more than I want to admit. Being part of a prophecy feels like a weight I never asked to carry."
Nira didn't answer, her gaze drifting to the various faces in the Compass, each carrying their own burdens, their own hopes.
But she didn't disagree, either.
Across the room, Arren wandered to the bar and sat down, his slender frame perched on the edge of a stool that had seen better decades. The counter was worn smooth by countless elbows and spilled drinks. He had barely ordered when Captain Tarly came in and sat next to him, his confident stride parting the crowd like a ship's bow through water, he set down a scuffed bottle and gestured for another glass. He didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded a greeting like a man too tired for ceremony.
Arren glanced over, amused. “Here to warn me about the dangers of unsupervised relaxation?”
Tarly grunted. “You’re one of those who’s earned it. Figured I’d better not get in the way.” and that's when the crate hit the table with a solid thunk.
"A present," Tarly said, grinning with the satisfaction of someone who knew exactly what they were giving. "Something I thought might interest you more than old Byni tech manuals."
The crate gave a squelch, followed by a soft, melodic chirp that seemed to harmonize with the ambient noise of the bar.
Arren blinked, suddenly alert. "Is that alive?"
"Hope so. Otherwise, it's just a leaking box of nothing, and I've gone through a lot of trouble for a puddle." Tarly's eyes sparkled with mischief and anticipation.
Tarly cracked the lid with a theatrical flourish. Inside was a glowing creature only a little bigger than a curled fist, nestled in damp cloth and pulsing softly with bioluminescent light. Its translucent skin revealed intricate patterns beneath, shifting and flowing like liquid music made visible.
Arren leaned forward, scientific curiosity overtaking his usual reserve. It chirped again, a harmonic flutter that seemed to respond to his movement, the sound rippling through multiple tones simultaneously.
"It's a Mokki," Tarly explained, pride evident in his voice. "They are native to Sereneth but this one is from a mining site on Skelros. The miners were going to discard it, thought it was interfering with their equipment. This one started reacting to rhythm and field tests, and I thought of you. It might be language, and I thought you would be fascinated. Might even help with that harmonic science you're always going on about."
Arren stared, transfixed. "This... this is harmonic response. It's not just mimicking sound, it's processing it, restructuring it." His fingers hovered over the creature, hesitant but eager.
He ran a scanner from his wrist device over the Mokki. The readings danced across the small holographic display, patterns forming and reforming. The creature was mimicking his ambient vocal signature, but with variations that suggested understanding rather than mere repetition.
He smiled, a rare expression of pure delight. "Dretz," he said softly. "His name is Dretz."
"What does that mean?" Tarly asked, curious.
"It's what he called himself, in his own way. The harmonic pattern he's projecting, it's a signature, an identity. And I think I like it." Arren replied, not taking his eyes off the creature.
Tarly shrugged, satisfied. "Then Dretz it is.
Elendril passed by, glancing down at the glowing creature with a mixture of curiosity and skepticism etched on his features.
"That's a face only a scientist could love," he quipped, though his eyes lingered with interest.
"He's more than a face," Arren said, getting breathless with excitement. "He's harmonic-sensitive. The same principles I found at Zinai, he's living them. Like someone built a translator into a living creature! This could be the key to understanding how the Byni used harmonic science to create Caelaxis!"
"Just don't let it chew on the drive coils," Elendril muttered, but there was a spark of interest beneath his casual dismissal. "We've got enough problems without adding 'pet ate my hyperdrive' to the list."
Elendril joined them at the bar showing as much interest in Dretz as he could without admitting that the little guy was kind of cute.
Dretz chirped again in response. Then hummed. A soft, layered tone that seemed to echo the cadence of Elendril's voice, before nestling against Arren's palm as if claiming him. The creature's skin pulsed with light that matched the rhythm of the music playing in the background, a living embodiment of the harmonic science they sought to understand.
After Dretz settled against Arren's palm, a comfortable silence fell between the scientist and Elendril. Tarly went on to another table to talk with the crew of the Morning Sky about a supply run that needed to happen for Tessellon.
"Let's gather the others," Elendril said finally, his eyes lingering on the Mokki. "I want everyone to see this. Could be important for what's next."
Arren nodded, and putting Dretz on his shoulder followed Elendril over to where the rest of the crew was gathering.
Elendril moved through the crowded tavern, the press of bodies parting instinctively before his purposeful stride. He signaled to Nira and Bolen in their booth. There was something in his demeanor, a subtle tension that conveyed urgency without causing alarm, that had the crew responding immediately.
They converged on a larger table in the back corner of the Compass, where the ambient noise provided better cover for conversation. The mismatched chairs creaked under their weight as they settled in, their drinks migrated with them. Above them, an old salvaged light fixture cast a warm, uneven glow across their faces, highlighting the fatigue etched into each expression.
Then the comm pinged.
Elendril answered, pulling a small receiver from his coat.
A crisp voice came through, male, Asheran by accent. “Captain Thorne, this is Dahr, aide to Queen Rythara. I was present for your handoff. The prince left one additional note during debrief, he didn’t think it would matter, but I do.”
Elendril straightened. “Go ahead.”
“There is a nomadic community on Thirava. Small. Culturally isolated. The Empire does not register them as citizens, they consider the planet uninhabited. Prince Krell noted that if any were found, they’d be sent to Harkos 7.”
The table went still.
Nira set her spoon down slowly. “Too late to pull them off Thirava?”
“Highly likely,” Dahr said. “But Harkos 7… perhaps not. I understand you’ve extracted a prisoner from there before.”
A long breath escaped Bolen. “Yeah. They rescued me. And I'm damn lucky they did it fast. That place isn’t just a prison, it’s a death sentence. Poisoned ore. Breath it in long enough, it chews your lungs out from the inside.”
Arren’s brow furrowed. “But we got you out.”
“Barely,” Bolen muttered. “I was strong. Not everyone is. Most don’t make it past the first month.”
Elendril looked around the table. “Do we know how many were taken?”
“Unknown,” Dahr said. “But I can forward the last known sensor sweep. It recorded four ships exiting Thirava’s lower orbit three days ago. Two were military. Two were slave haulers.”
“They’re on-world by now,” Elendril said. “We’ll need a vector, access codes, and something big enough to get them out with.”
“I’ll send what I can,” Dahr said. “Rythara’s already in motion politically, but diplomacy takes time.”
“Which they don’t have,” Nira said.
“No,” Elendril agreed. “They don’t.”
The channel closed, and the Solar Destiny began planning their second Harkos 7 rescue.
Chapter 21
Elendril tapped the table once with the edge of his fingers, the sound crisp and deliberate even over the din of the Broken Compass. He leaned forward, his eyes sharp with focus.
"Alright," he said, his voice carrying that familiar hint of mischief despite the gravity of the situation. "We plan it here. Quiet, clean, no chatter. Bolen, you're up. You've been there. What do we need to know?"
Bolen leaned forward, massive arms crossed over his broad chest, his voice low and rumbling with the memory of his captivity. "They have undoubtedly fixed the breach we made. Probably increased guard around that back area of the yard. It's hell in there." His eyes darkened as he continued, "Electrified walls that'll fry you on contact, perimeter turrets with motion sensors that don't miss, guard towers on twenty-second sweep intervals, timed perfectly so there's never a blind spot. The mines run under the main yard and into the ridge spines, going deeper than any of our scans could penetrate. The air'll kill you slow, sulfur compounds that eat at your lungs, faster if you're not dosed right or don't have proper filtration."
Nira frowned, her slender fingers tracing invisible flight paths on the table's surface. "Automated defense grid?" Her posture was tense, already calculating angles of approach in her mind.
"Half," Bolen said, shaking his head grimly. "Turrets are keyed to internal trackers embedded in authorized personnel. If we intercept a shipment and sub one of our own in... we might sneak a team inside. But the layout's a mess, a labyrinth designed to confuse and trap. Tunnels that double back on themselves, blast corridors that can seal in seconds, access vents barely large enough for a child to crawl through. It was barely mapped when I was there, and that was years ago. They've likely changed it all."
Elendril looked at Arren, considering options. "Could we mask our entry? Use their own systems against them?"
Arren nodded, already pulling up schematics on his datapad, fingers flying over the screen. "If we get a hauler with the right signature pattern, I can spoof the transponder codes to match their expected deliveries. But we'll need someone inside to disrupt the local net, or they'll see through it in minutes. Their security protocols are adaptive, they learn patterns and flag anomalies almost immediately."
"I'll go," Bolen said without hesitation, his jaw set with determination. "I know the layout, at least the old one. If I get to the relay node in the central processing hub, I can drop the net long enough for you to get a shuttle down and get them out. But you'll have to move fast, lightning fast. Once they know we're there, they'll seal the mine doors with titanium blast shields that not even our cutters can breach."
Nira narrowed her eyes, her mind working through the tactical problems. "We split. One team plants an explosive distraction at the far end of the complex, something big enough to draw their security forces. Another gets to the prisoners through the maintenance shafts. We can use the same evac method we used on those people trapped in that mall on Renga, roof breach and tether winch. Quick extraction under cover fire."
Elendril nodded slowly, visualizing the operation. "We need a pilot who can hover in full gravity with less than a meter clearance between the shuttle and the roof, all while under potential fire. Someone who won't flinch when the countermeasures kick in."
Nira raised her hand, a confident smirk playing across her face. "Obviously. I can thread that needle in my sleep."
That earned her a few dry chuckles from around the table, breaking the tension momentarily.
Later, after the planning haze settled and the crew returned to the Solar Destiny, Arren lingered at the far end of the table, hunched over and staring intently at a series of complex charts on his datapad. The blue light from the screen cast eerie shadows across his concentrated features. Elendril passed by, his footsteps nearly silent on the deck, pausing just long enough for Arren to clear his throat.
"Captain..." Arren began hesitantly, "I've been working through something. Not about Harkos 7, something farther out. Bigger. Much bigger."
Elendril raised a brow, accentuating his curious expression. "Go on."
Arren turned the datapad toward his captain, displaying a complex overlay of Artron gate frequencies, resonance harmonics, and weapon pulse readings. The data swirled in intricate patterns, mathematical formulas flowing across the screen like water.
"If we time it right, we could short out the Artron Network. All of it. Every gate, every relay point, every transfer station they've built."
Elendril didn't speak, his eyes scanning the data with careful consideration, but he didn't walk away either. His stillness conveyed more interest than words could express.
"The Artron gates are synchronized," Arren said, voice quickening with the excitement of scientific discovery, "gravitic mesh overlays calibrated to harmonic balance, that's the principles Mishua Artron used in his Focus Conduit. It's stable, but barely. Like a house of cards balanced on a knife edge. If we push the right kind of energy, at the right frequency, through a decaying node like the one on Thirava..." he paused for effect, "the whole system will just fritz out. Cascade failure across the entire network."
He hesitated, then added quietly, glancing around to ensure no one else was listening, "Raanu's weapon has enough pulse mass. If we can redirect it into the Thirava gate at peak flux, the resonance will ripple through the harmonic connections. It won't just break that gate, it will break the whole network. The science is sound, I've run the simulations a dozen times."
Elendril's expression darkened, the glint in his eyes replaced by something more somber. "You're talking about blowing up their transport system from the inside? Destroying their ability to move between worlds?"
"Yes, but it's not a bomb exactly," Arren said, his fingers tracing the waveform patterns on his screen. "A resonance detonation. Harmonic destabilization at the quantum level. Their whole logistics web collapses in on itself. No more troop transfers. No reinforcements. The Empire becomes a stranded fleet, isolated pockets across dozens of systems with no way to coordinate or support each other."
Elendril's silence stretched, heavy with the weight of what such a plan would mean. The destruction of the Artron gates would cripple the Empire.
"The cost may be great," Arren added solemnly. “But if we wait, they'll fire that weapon. And next time..." he swallowed hard, "it won't be at an empty world. It'll be Renga, or somewhere else filled with people who oppose them."
He closed the datapad with a soft click. "I'll keep working on the model, refining the calculations. Just... wanted you to know it's possible. That we have this option, terrible as it is."
Elendril gave a single nod, thoughtful, not dismissive.
"Keep digging," he said finally, his voice low and measured. "Find alternatives if you can. But the Harkos 7 rescue comes first. Those people need us now."
"Agreed," Arren responded, relief evident in his voice that the conversation hadn't been shut down completely. He tucked the datapad away, the terrible knowledge it contained temporarily set aside for the immediate mission ahead.
Chapter 22
The skies over Harkos-7 were the color of old bruises, sickly green clouds clotted with soot, folding endlessly into each other like a malevolent tapestry. Every labored breath carried the sting of chemical rot, burning the lungs and leaving a metallic aftertaste that lingered long after exhalation. The planet's erratic magnetic fields made even the most reliable navisphere flicker and dance like dying candle flames caught in an invisible draft, rendering traditional navigation all but useless.
Down on the scarred surface, the Itherian labor camp squatted like an infected wound deliberately carved into the unyielding stone. Its perimeter bristled with motion-sensitive turrets that tracked any movement with mechanical precision and aerial drones that buzzed overhead in relentless patrol patterns. Beyond the crackling electrified fences sprawled the mine shafts, massive dark maws choked with billowing smoke, echoing with the rhythmic clang of tools against stone and the dry, hollow coughs of prisoners who no longer remembered what it felt like to breathe clean air, their lungs permanently scarred by the toxic atmosphere.
A battered hauler descended through the poisonous clouds toward the cargo intake platform, its old transponder bleating the carefully forged credentials of a Byni labor barge registered out of Melash Run. Inside the cramped cockpit, tension simmered like a pot about to boil over.
Elendril stood at the viewport, his dark business coat soot-dusted and worn at the edges, his normally proud posture deliberately hunched like a man who'd been hauling heavy power coils for weeks without rest. The "cover story" was meticulously sewn into every thread of their appearance, every detail of their demeanor: Byni specialists contracted by the Empire to install new shielding relays near the west shaft, technically civilians, but one precarious tier above the prisoners they'd come to rescue.
Elendril adjusted his respirator hood with practiced fingers, checking the modified ID tab that flickered dimly at his hip, its light barely visible in the dim cabin. His eyes, normally bright with confidence, now held a shadow of concern. "Are we sure these credentials are going to pass under active scan?" he muttered, his voice muffled behind the filter.
"They came from a dead crew that did the job last time," Arren replied, his skin appearing almost ashen in the harsh light of the control panel. "So unless their systems are smarter than advertised..." He left the sentence hanging, the implication clear, they were gambling with their lives.
He was seated cross-legged at a portable terminal cleverly disguised as standard mining sensor equipment. His fingers danced across the interface as he finished splicing a feedback loop into the ship's communication log, his face illuminated by the soft blue glow of the screen. "We get one trip through the grid," he said without looking up, his voice tight with concentration. "After that, any signal from Central Control tags us for a sweep. Their algorithms are getting better at catching discrepancies."
"Which means we don't linger," Elendril said firmly, "We plant the sensor relay, reach the mines, extract the civilians, and get out before anyone notices their headcount's light by three hundred. Simple in theory."
Bolen's deep voice came through the headset from his position below, already infiltrated into the facility. "I'm already inside. Relay node's at seventy percent hacked. Give me ten, and I'll blind their eastern security net for five minutes." The connection crackled with static, but his determination came through clearly.
"Five minutes?" Nira asked dryly from the pilot’s seat above them, "You're getting soft, big guy."
"No," Bolen responded, and they could almost hear the grim smile in his voice. "I just like you working under pressure. Makes you sharper."
A trio of guards met them at the bottom of the hill near the massive fortified front gate, armor-clad Itherians with polished shock batons hanging at their belts and expressions that flickered between contempt and boredom, the look of men who'd grown comfortable with cruelty.
One stepped forward, scanning their IDs with a lazy flick of his reader, the device casting an eerie red glow across his face. "More dust-eaters," he sneered, barely glancing at their faces. "Don't break anything expensive. If the rad filters fail again, it's your hides on the line, not mine."
Elendril offered a grunt and a submissive nod. No eye contact. No clever banter. Just another contractor, another cog in the Imperial machine. His natural mischievousness completely suppressed behind a mask of weary compliance.
Inside the compound, the world changed dramatically.
The smell hit first: oil, ozone, and decay, a nauseating cocktail that seeped through even their filters. Then the sounds assaulted their senses: heavy boots on rusted walkways, the menacing buzz of electric fences, the low collective groan of prisoners being herded from barracks to shaft like livestock. Harsh spotlights cut through the perpetual haze, turning the yard into a macabre shadow play of motion and implicit threat.
Their escort dropped them off at the western conduit ring with a dismissive gesture, right where Bolen had indicated they'd find access to the mine grid. The guard didn't even bother to watch them begin their work, confident in the prison's security systems.
Arren crouched near the relay panel, pulling the cover with practiced ease that belied years of hacking and tinkering with every kind of electronic device. He popped open a side vent, his nimble fingers threading sensor loops through the gap to feed false status updates to the mainframe, his expression one of intense concentration.
"Elendril," he whispered, his eyes darting to ensure no guards were watching. "We're live."
Elendril straightened slowly, adjusting his posture from the hunched contractor to the resistance captain he truly was. His gaze flicked east, past the workshop hangars with their rusted doors, to the yawning, ominous mouths of shaft twelve and thirteen, black holes carved into the planet's surface.
The holding pens were beneath them, according to their intelligence. That's where the Thiravan civilians would be kept before being sent into the mines.
Bolen's voice crackled in their earpieces, tense but steady. "Grid's blind. Five minutes start now. Don't waste a second."
The two men moved with practiced efficiency.
Past the hangars, staying close to the walls. Through shadow and billowing steam that provided momentary cover. Past a pair of guards distracted by a heated dispute over ration allocations. Down into the sub-corridors where the heat pressed in like a second skin, making their clothes stick uncomfortably to their bodies.
Inside the dimly lit holding area, they found the civilians crammed into holding pens that were barely more than cages stacked under rusting conduits dripping with condensation. A dozen small children with hollow eyes. Old men with stooped shoulders. Men and women with bruised faces and emaciated bodies. All still dressed in the clothes they'd been taken in, Thiravan beads and fabric dyed in tribal greens and golds, now smeared with ash and grime, silent testaments to their cultural resilience.
One woman stepped forward from the group, defiant even with dried blood crusting on her split lip, her eyes burning with a mixture of fear and rage. "More slavers?" she spat, her hands curling into fists at her sides.
"No," Elendril said, quietly but firmly, his eyes meeting hers with unwavering intensity. "We're Byni. We are from the Resistance. We've come to get you out."
Her eyes widened in disbelief, hope cautiously dawning across her features.
Arren moved with swift precision, hacking the maglocks while muttering calculations under his breath. Elendril distributed breath masks and injector tabs designed to offset the toxic air, explaining their purpose in hushed tones. When the doors swung open with a soft electronic chime, the civilians hesitated, even a few weeks of conditioning making freedom seem like another cruel trick.
A small child, no more than six years old, reached tentatively for Elendril's hand, eyes wide with a mixture of fear and desperate hope.
He took it without hesitation, his larger hand enveloping the tiny fingers with gentle reassurance.
"Extraction window closing in three," Bolen warned through the comm, his voice tense with urgency. "Guards are starting to notice the pattern disruption."
Elendril nodded, squeezing the child's hand once before releasing it. "Commence tether drop."
Above them, the Stellar Wind burst from stealth mode, punching through the storm layer with its shields flaring brilliant blue against the sickly green sky. Grapples fired with pneumatic hisses. Winch lines uncoiled through the open roof duct that Nira had pre-sliced on their approach. The cables swung wildly at first, bounced against the walls, then locked into position with a satisfying metallic click.
"Evac line one secured," Arren reported, checking the tension.
"Evac line two hot, go, go!" Elendril urged, beginning to organize the civilians into groups.
The guards noticed too late, their shouts of alarm echoing through the compound as sirens began to wail in the distance.
By the time they mounted an organized response, the first group of civilians was already mid-air, expressions of terrified wonder on their faces as they ascended toward freedom. Nira covered the final ascent with clean, practiced blaster fire, no kills, just enough suppressive fire to keep heads down and buy precious seconds.
As the last of the 300 civilians gathered under the loading ducts, huddled together in a mass of trembling hope, Elendril's hand hovered near his comm, his eyes scanning for any stragglers.
"Signal the winch," he commanded, his voice steady despite the chaos erupting around them.
Bolen didn't move at first.
He stood a few feet away, his tall frame rigid with tension, staring through the grates toward the adjacent shafts. His gaze fixed not on their mission objectives, but past the main wall. Past the people who weren't on the list. Who weren't part of the mission parameters. Who weren't going anywhere. His father had taught him to see every soul as worthy of rescue, and his first hand experience with this place made leaving them even harder.
Men with iron-burns scoring across their backs like brutal maps. Elders barely able to stand on swollen feet. Kids with respirators strapped too tight because there weren't enough that fit properly, their small faces pinched with discomfort and resignation.
His jaw tightened visibly, muscles working beneath the skin.
Nira holding the ship in tense formation above the rescue site followed his gaze, then glanced at him, understanding dawning in her eyes. "Bolen?" she asked softly over comms, a question and a reminder in one word.
He didn't answer immediately. The conflict played across his features, the mission versus morality, orders versus compassion. Finally, with obvious reluctance, he pressed the signal device, his finger hesitating for just a fraction of a second before committing.
The winch lines screamed as the evacuation began in earnest, the first groups of civilians disappearing into the belly of the waiting ship above.
Elendril looked at Bolen briefly, their eyes meeting in silent communication. He saw it all in his friend's face, the tension, the refusal to accept, the crushing guilt of leaving others behind. The same burden he himself carried after many missions.
He didn't say anything. Words were inadequate for such moments.
But he knew exactly what Bolen was thinking, years together on their father's freighters and thousands of conversations had given them the ability to nearly read each other’s mind.
And he knew with absolute certainty that this would not be the last time they stood in this place and in places like it, making impossible choices between those they could save and those they had to leave behind. It was the cruel reality of their resistance against an empire too vast to defeat in a single stroke.
As the last civilians ascended, the guards' shouts grew closer, and the team prepared for their own extraction, that knowledge hung between them like a promise, they would be back. For as many as they could save, as many times as it took.
Three days into their return journey to Renga, the Solar Destiny limped through the void, systems still recovering from the strain of their hasty departure from Harkos 7. The refugees they'd rescued had settled into whatever spaces they could find throughout the ship, turning cargo bays into makeshift dormitories and maintenance corridors into impromptu gathering places.
"Another five days at this speed," Nira reported from the helm, her fingers dancing across the navigation console with practiced precision. "The drive core needs time to cool before we attempt another full-power jump."
Elendril nodded, accepting the delay. Time spent in transit meant time for the wounded to heal, for the traumatized to begin processing what they'd endured. Sometimes, the journey itself was as important as the destination.
The Solar Destiny drifted in the quiet of deep space, systems humming at minimum power as the crew recovered from the Harkos 7 mission. Bolen stood alone in the observation deck, watching distant stars through the viewport. Each pinpoint of light represented worlds he couldn't save, people he couldn't reach.
Behind him, the door hissed open. He didn't turn, recognizing Elendril's footsteps.
"Can't sleep either?" Elendril asked, his usual commanding voice subdued as he joined Bolen at the viewport.
Bolen shook his head slightly. "Every time I close my eyes, I see their faces. The ones we left behind."
Elendril was quiet for a moment. "Three hundred saved, Bolen. Three hundred who would've died without us."
"And how many still in chains?" Bolen's voice carried no accusation, only weariness. "How many people still living the hell I went through?"
"Too many," Elendril admitted. He rested his hand on the viewport frame, studying his own reflection in the glass. "My father used to say something about burden-sharing. That even the strongest back breaks if it tries to carry the whole mountain."
Bolen finally turned, the ghost of a smile touching his lips. "Your father always did have a way with words."
"He had his moments," Elendril agreed. "He also said that saving one life doesn't obligate you to save all lives. It just means that one person gets to see tomorrow."
The ship hummed around them, a living thing carrying its own scars and triumphs.
"We'll go back," Bolen said after a long silence. "Not tomorrow. Not the next day. But we'll go back."
Elendril nodded, "I knew you would need to, so I already talked with Tarly about getting a team to help us do a larger rescue. You are right not to want to leave the others behind."
Chapter 23
The broadcast tower hung in low orbit over Eastri Prime, its relay arms fanned out like broken wings. It was elegant once, Imperial make, back when function still flirted with beauty.
Now it pulsed with half-truths and sharp-edged lies.
Elendril leaned forward in the co-pilot's seat of the Solar Destiny, eyes locked on the tower's central spire. "You're sure they'll go live in twelve minutes?"
"Unless they bumped the schedule to hide their shame," Arren replied, "They've already queued the footage."
"Renga?" Nira asked.
"Sanitized. Burn marks, sure, but no bodies. No children. They're calling it a 'volcanic tectonic event' followed by 'terrorist destabilization.'"
Bolen snorted. "Raanu's got all the creativity of a wet boot."
Elendril's jaw tightened. "We do this clean. No killing. No glory. Just truth."
The Solar Destiny drifted silently through the orbital lanes, its iridescent hull dimmed to a matte finish to avoid detection. Arren had manipulated their transponder signal to register as a maintenance vessel, boring, expected, invisible.
"Raanu will be watching this broadcast personally," Nira said, checking the ship's scanners for Imperial patrols. "He orchestrated the Renga attack. He'll want to see how well his propaganda team cleaned it up."
"Good," Elendril replied, his voice hard. "Let him watch what we do to his lies."
Bolen looked up from the engineering console, his tall frame hunched over the displays. "We'll have about fifteen minutes once we're inside before security protocols cycle. After that, they'll notice the override attempts."
Elendril nodded, his face set with determination. "Fifteen minutes to tell the truth. Should be enough."
Through the viewport, the broadcast tower grew larger, its spires catching the light of the Star that dominated its sky. The massive structure represented everything Elendril despised about the Empire, a beautiful facade concealing ugly intentions.
"Incoming transmission," Arren announced. "Docking control."
Elendril straightened in his seat. "Let's sell this."
They docked under a dead cargo flag, one of a thousand backdoor codes the Destiny had picked up during their years near the Compass. The tower had no dedicated garrison. It didn't need one. Who would dare attack a broadcast relay during a live planetary address?
Who indeed.
Inside, the corridors smelled like dust and ozone. The air was too clean, the lighting too symmetrical. Imperial propaganda machines always gave Elendril the same feeling, like walking through a sealed tomb where someone had scrubbed the bones for optics.
Nira and Bolen split off toward the power junctions. Their job was to sever the encryption uplink and make sure the system had to fall back on local overrides.
Elendril and Arren headed to the broadcast core.
"Two technicians on duty," Arren whispered, checking his portable console. "Standard rotation."
They rounded a corner and came face-to-face with an Itherian technician, her uniform crisp and her eyes widening in surprise.
"Maintenance inspection," Elendril said smoothly, flashing a forged credential chip. "We received reports of signal degradation in sector four."
The technician frowned. "I wasn't notified of any..."
Arren stepped forward, activating a small device in his palm. A soft pulse of energy washed over the technician, and her eyes glazed momentarily.
"Of course," she said, her voice slightly distant. "Sector four. I'll note it in the log."
"No need," Elendril replied with a disarming smile. "We'll handle the paperwork. Wouldn't want to trouble you."
The technician nodded vaguely and continued down the corridor.
"Seshat memory disruptor?" Elendril asked once she was out of earshot.
Arren nodded. "Temporary. She'll remember helping some maintenance workers, but the details will be fuzzy."
"Better than knocking her out," Elendril said. "Let's move."
They navigated through the sterile corridors, passing holographic displays of Imperial achievements and carefully curated news reports. One screen showed footage of Renga, but it was barely recognizable. The devastation had been digitally minimized, the smoking ruins replaced with images of "natural" damage and heroic Imperial relief efforts.
Elendril paused, his fists clenching at the sight.
"They're erasing them," he whispered. "Erasing everything."
Arren placed a hand on his shoulder. "Not for long."
They reached the relay chamber with three minutes to spare. The broadcast countdown glowed on the central holo: 02:47.
The second technician was slumped in his chair, snoring softly, courtesy of a sleeping agent Arren had released through the ventilation system.
Elendril pulled a small data crystal from his coat and handed it to Arren. "You're sure this footage will take?"
"I curated it myself," Arren replied. "You'll get twenty seconds of lead-in, just like we planned. I added your message at the end. Voice masked."
"Keep it masked."
Arren paused. "They should know who said it."
"They'll figure it out. But we're not building legends. We're building firebreaks."
Arren nodded and inserted the crystal into the broadcast system. His fingers flew across the control panel, bypassing security protocols and authentication requirements.
"Nira, Bolen, status?" Elendril said into his comm.
"Encryption uplink disabled," Nira's voice replied. "They're blind to what's happening until someone physically checks the relay."
"Power junction secured," Bolen added. "I've rigged a bypass that'll keep the broadcast running even if they try to shut it down remotely."
"Good," Elendril said. "We're live in two minutes. Get back to the ship."
Arren finished his work and stepped back from the console. "It's ready. Once the official broadcast begins, our footage will overlay it after twenty seconds. The system will lock into a loop that can only be broken by a physical reset of the entire tower."
Elendril stared at the countdown. "How many people will see this?"
"The entire Eastri system," Arren replied. "Every public screen, every private terminal tuned to the official channel. Millions."
"Millions who deserve the truth," Elendril said quietly.
The countdown continued its relentless march toward zero.
At exactly zero, the tower connected its pulse to the Eastri Prime grid. All screens across the system, public squares, private terminals, military lounges, flared to life.
"Following the destabilization on Renga, Imperial aid has been dispatched to assess the geological and security damages..."
Then the screen glitched, once, twice...
And then it flipped, to truth.
It started with a slow pan of the bombardment crater. The city of Calen was gone, just a smear of ash across blackened stone. No rebels. No military targets. Just homes. Children. Civilians trying to run.
A boy's face, eyes wide, lip split, buried to the waist in rubble.
A woman holding a soot-covered infant in silence.
And then… audio.
"My name is Sira Vel. I was eleven. I lived in Tower Block 8. We didn't fight. We just ran. They burned the sky."
Another glitch, deliberate.
Then came Elendril's voice, distorted but still fierce.
"The Empire calls it a geological fault. The survivors call it fire from above. The rest of us call it what it is: a massacre. You don't have to fight today. But don't believe them. Don't forget what they did. The truth will not be silenced."
In the background of the footage, barely audible beneath the narration, a haunting melody played, an old Rengan resistance verse, its lyrics transformed into a mournful instrumental:
Let them scorch the sky with flame,
Let them curse our hidden name.
We have stars beneath our skin,
That's the light they'll never win.
The images continued, buildings reduced to rubble, streets turned to glass by the heat of orbital bombardment, survivors with vacant eyes wandering through the ruins of what had once been their home.
Then, almost too quiet to hear, a child's voice singing in Old Rengan:
"Tolak ven ves'dahran... Shi'tol ren kiran..."
Raanu's comm burst came forty seconds later.
"Cut the feed. Lock the relay. Find the source and erase it."
Bolen's sabotage kicked in just after that, locking the tower into local broadcast loop. Every attempt to override just rebroadcast the same images again. And again.
And again.
In the broadcast control room, Elendril and Arren watched as the emergency comms lit up like a festival night. Imperial channels erupted with frantic orders, overlapping voices demanding explanations and solutions.
"Time to go," Elendril said, disconnecting from the console. "They'll have ships here in minutes."
They moved quickly through the corridors, avoiding the few staff members now rushing toward the control room. At an intersection, they nearly collided with a security officer, his hand already reaching for his weapon.
Elendril didn't hesitate. He stepped forward, a flash of movement too quick to track, and the officer crumpled to the floor, unconscious but unharmed.
"Sorry," Elendril muttered. "Nothing personal."
They reached the docking bay just as Nira and Bolen arrived from the opposite direction.
"Patrol ships are scrambling," Nira reported, already heading for the Solar Destiny's airlock. "At least three squadrons."
"They're taking this personally," Bolen added with a grim smile.
"Good," Elendril replied. "Truth should hurt."
Onboard the Destiny, Elendril watched from the viewport as patrol ships scrambled like angry wasps.
"They'll trace us in thirty seconds," Arren warned. "Maybe less."
"Prep the flare ghosts," Nira said, already keying the launch sequence. "We'll burn six trails. Let them chase static."
Elendril keyed in a final message burst, encrypted, regional.
To all resistance cells on Eastri Prime: The truth has breached the veil. If they speak again, ask them where the children went. You are not alone. – SD
Then they jumped.
The Solar Destiny vanished in a flash of light, leaving behind six decoy signatures that scattered in different directions. Imperial patrol ships divided their forces, each pursuing what they believed was the rebel vessel.
They found nothing but empty space and echoes.
Later, in a low-orbit refueling haven on the edge of Aern Vesh, Elendril caught a glimpse of Eastri Prime's surface broadcast from a smuggler's bar.
Every public screen was dark.
No imperial reruns. No state music.
Just a single banner, scrawled in cracked white:
WE REMEMBER RENGA.
Around him, the bar patrons watched in silence. Some wore the subtle markers of resistance sympathizers, a certain knot in a belt, a particular pattern of scars that weren't accidental. Others were simply civilians, their expressions a mixture of shock, grief, and something else: awakening.
A woman near the bar counter hummed softly, almost unconsciously. The melody was familiar, the same Rengan resistance verse from the broadcast. When she realized what she was doing, she stopped abruptly, looking around in alarm.
But no one reported her. No one moved away. Instead, an old man at the end of the bar picked up the tune, humming the next line.
Then another joined in. And another.
No words, just the melody. Plausible deniability. But everyone knew.
Elendril smiled into his drink, watching as the truth spread like ripples in still water.
"Think he's mad yet?" Nira asked, sitting beside him.
"Not mad," Elendril murmured. "Fractured, and this one mattered. Renga deserved to be remembered."
Nira grinned, a sparkle in the corner of her eye, and took another sip quietly.
Arren joined them, sliding a portable console across the table. "Imperial chatter is... interesting. They're blaming each other. Raanu's furious with the broadcast security team. The security team is blaming technical failures. No one wants to admit they were outmaneuvered."
"Pride," Bolen said, taking a seat. "It's always been their weakness."
Elendril nodded, watching as more patrons in the bar began quietly humming the resistance melody. "Pride and lies. They can't imagine a world where people choose truth over comfort."
"Where do we go next?" Nira asked.
Elendril's eyes gleamed with determination. "Wherever they're lying. Wherever they're hurting people. Wherever they think they're safe."
He raised his glass in a silent toast to the darkened screens displaying the simple, defiant message.
"We remember Renga," he whispered. "And we'll make sure no one forgets."
Just then his comm blinked and Elendril stepped outside to answer the call. When he returned he was smiling widely.
"Tarly has a team and a large freighter available immediately if we are ready to return to Harkos 7," he said.
They each stood quickly and headed back to the ship quietly. The look of eagerness in Bolen's eyes made it clear how they all felt about the mission ahead.
Chapter 24
The central table in the mess of the Solar Destiny was serving as a war room again today. A holo-map of Harkos-7 flickered over the center, threaded with pulsing red arcs and security patterns like spiderwebs. The perimeter was tighter now. Patrols doubled. Sensors remapped. Every node blinking danger, casting an ominous crimson glow across the faces gathered around the table. The iridescent alloy walls of the ship seemed to absorb the tension hanging in the air.
Nira paced slowly, arms crossed, fingers tapping a nervous rhythm against her forearm. She’d seen plans like this before, dangerous, near-impossible, but necessary. The memory drifted back unbidden: she’d been maybe ten, tucked in the corner of her father's study, listening as men spoke in low voices and mapped out operations much like this one. Tarly leaned against the wall, chewing gum, His Asherathi lieutenant Hollen Vess standing just behind him, silent but steady. Bolen sat forward, hands clasped, eyes locked on the map like it owed him something. His tall frame was hunched, shoulders tense with the weight of what they were planning.
"Two thousand," Arren said quietly, fingers sweeping over a data slate, his scientific mind processing the numbers with grim precision. "That's our new estimate. Miners, bonded workers, some slaves brought in from the Offworlds. Most in shafts 16 through 20, under direct Itherian supervision now. The deeper levels have the highest concentration of captives, which complicates extraction significantly."
"They've improved their patrol grid," Nira added, stopping her pacing to point at several flashing points on the holo-map. "Two gunships in permanent orbit. No-fly zones reinforced with automated defense turrets. Surface drones now scan on facial ID instead of movement. They've completely overhauled their security protocols since our last incursion."
"They know we're not done," Tarly said, his confident voice carrying across the room despite the gravity of the situation. The pirate captain's eyes gleamed with the familiar spark of rebellion. "And they're right. The Itherians may have tightened their grip, but that just means we need to be smarter, faster."
Bolen said nothing. Just stared at the map, his mind no doubt replaying memories of his own time in an Itherian work camp before Elendril had rescued him.
Elendril leaned forward, "We go back." The mischievous glint that usually danced in his eyes was replaced by steel resolve. His pointed ears seemed to twitch slightly as he studied the security patterns, looking for weaknesses.
"Same entry?" Arren asked, already calculating probabilities and scanning ancient texts in his mind for any historical parallel that might help.
"No," Elendril said, shaking his head decisively. "That won't work again. Too much heat. We ghost in from the ridge side, outside the old mag-haul tunnel. They've left it relatively unguarded, thinking it's structurally sound. Tarly, you'll need to run wide-fire over the eastern line, make it loud, make it big. Pull their birds off station. Your Alacrity has the speed to outrun their response."
Tarly smirked, running a hand through his hair. "I'll bring fireworks. The kind that'll have them chasing shadows all night.”
"I'll modify the old miner tags," Arren said, already typing furiously on his data slate. "Seed their registry with false positives, a dozen fake ID scans to keep their system bouncing. I can create ghost identities that will trigger their alerts in multiple locations simultaneously. Should buy us precious minutes of confusion."
"And I'll handle the det-caps for the west shaft cover," Nira added, her voice steady despite the risk. "We'll need smoke, misdirection, and some friendly chaos. I've been working on a new compound that burns bright but produces minimal heat signatures. Should blind their sensors without triggering the thermal alarms."
Finally, Elendril looked at Bolen, his oldest friend, understanding the personal stakes. "You ready for this? We can finally get everyone out. I know what that means to you."
Bolen's jaw flexed, muscles tight with determination and barely contained rage. "You know I am. I didn't escape just to leave others behind. Not when we can do something about it."
"Then we get them out. All of them." Elendril's words hung in the air, a promise and a battle cry rolled into one.
Twelve hours later, the sky over Harkos-7 exploded just before midnight, turning the perpetual twilight into a brief, artificial day.
Tarly's ship, the Alacrity, screamed in low and hard, strafing a depot north of the main grid, pure lightshow, just noisy enough to light up every orbital scanner. The Alacrity's engines left brilliant trails across the night sky. Gunships peeled from patrol arcs like hornets, roaring to intercept, their searchlights cutting through the darkness in frantic patterns.
And in the shadows of the southern rim, the Solar Destiny dropped its modified skimmer under the radar, its photoreceptive plating absorbing ambient light to maintain near-invisibility. Arren maintained a constant feed of security updates to the ground team's comms.
Through the breach, Elendril, Bolen, Nira, and a Resistance fireteam pushed through smoke and rock. The acrid smell of burning metal filled their nostrils as they navigated the twisting corridors, guided by Arren's hacked schematics. They reached the secondary chambers just as the mag-haul override tripped, releasing workers locked beneath the emergency bulkheads. The sound of grinding metal echoed through the tunnels as the massive doors slid open.
The civilians didn't hesitate. They'd heard the stories now. Knew what the last rescue meant. Knew this might be the only chance they'd ever get. Hope, long extinguished, flickered to life in their exhausted eyes.
One by one, they ran, a river of desperate humanity flowing toward freedom.
Tearful, stumbling, wounds too deep to carry, some with backs scarred from Itherian discipline, others with the hollow-eyed stare of those who had given up hope months ago. Children clutched to parents, friends supporting the injured, strangers helping strangers in the universal language of survival.
Two thousand lives, saved in less than fifteen minutes, a miracle of timing, planning, and the fierce determination of the Solar Destiny's crew and their Resistance allies.
But not everyone made it out.
The last evac group had just reached the lift when the drones swarmed back, their mechanical whirring a harbinger of death. Red targeting lasers sliced through the dusty air.
Elendril called for fallback, his voice sharp with urgency over the comms. Nira laid suppression fire, her blaster sending blue bolts through the corridor. Arren jammed their signal band with his portable console.
But it wasn't fast enough for Hollen Vess, one of the Resistance vanguards, a woman who had fought alongside Tarly for years.
She stayed behind to lay the final charge on the fallback tunnel, her face set with grim determination as she waved the others on. The explosive bought them the last six seconds they needed.
Just enough to lift off.
Just enough to survive.
Not enough to bring her with them.
In the cargo hold of the Solar Destiny, the evacuees were being fed, bandaged, and counted. Volunteers moved through the crowd, distributing blankets and water. But no one celebrated yet. Not until they were truly gone. Not until they knew the camp could never take another breath. The air was heavy with exhaustion and the peculiar silence of those who haven't yet processed their freedom.
In the ops bay, Elendril leaned over the weapons interface. Nira and Arren stood beside him, watching the targeting scope light up with soft orange arcs across the ridgeline. The ship hummed beneath them, maintaining a safe orbit as they prepared the final phase.
"You're sure it'll chain?" Elendril asked, his finger hovering over the trigger mechanism, his usual mischievous demeanor replaced by solemn purpose.
"The ore veins are laced with vaporite," Arren replied, adjusting his glasses as he consulted his readings. "Bolen's charge design uses a deep ignition, targeting the geological fault lines beneath the camp. It won't just burn, it'll flash. Enough to collapse the valley. And poison what's left. The chemical reaction will render the area uninhabitable for at least a decade."
"No rebuilding," Nira murmured, her eyes fixed on the screen showing the camp below. "No second wave. No more slaves to feed their war machine."
"Just a grave," Bolen said, stepping in behind them, his shadow falling across the console. His voice carried the weight of personal vengeance and justice long delayed.
Elendril's fingers hovered over the trigger. He didn't smile. There was no joy in destruction, only the grim necessity of ensuring the Itherians could never use this place again.
"For Hollen," he said softly, honoring their fallen comrade.
"For all of them," Bolen replied, placing a strong hand on his lifelong friend's shoulder. "For everyone who ever suffered under Itherian chains."
He pressed the control, the soft click seemed impossibly loud in the quiet of the ops bay.
Moments later, from orbit, they saw it through the Solar Destiny's panoramic viewport. The ignition was a flicker at first, a pinpoint glow deep in the shadows of the canyons, then it spread, a chain of detonations rolled through the hills like a slow-motion firestorm, blue-white flame spiraling up from beneath the stone as the poisoned ore veins erupted. Whole towers vanished in an instant, swallowed by the ground. The perimeter grid shattered, security lights blinking out one by one. The mine shafts collapsed inward like dead lungs, decades of Itherian exploitation erased in seconds.
The labor camp cracked apart, not with a scream, but with a deep, final shudder that seemed to resonate through the very fabric of space.
Then the fire took it all, purifying and destroying in equal measure.
And Harkos-7 burned, the flames visible even from space, a funeral pyre for a place of suffering and a beacon of resistance that would be seen across the sector.
Elendril watched in silence from the viewport, the dancing flames reflected in his eyes.
Behind him, no one cheered. This wasn't a victory to celebrate, but a necessary evil to ensure freedom.
But Bolen's voice, when it came, was quiet. Measured. "It's over."
Elendril nodded, his hand finding his friend's shoulder. "Now it is."
The hold was packed, tired bodies, soot-streaked faces, children asleep in their mothers' arms. But, they were alive. Tomorrow would bring questions of where to go, how to rebuild shattered lives, but tonight, they breathed the air of freedom aboard the Solar Destiny.
In the medbay, Bolen stood alone by the evac log, the blue light of the screen casting shadows across his weary face.
He didn't say anything. Just stared at the empty space under "Status: Hollen Vess." The stark finality of that blank space spoke volumes.
Elendril stepped up beside him, his footsteps nearly silent on the deck plating.
"You got them out," he said simply, acknowledging what they had accomplished against impossible odds.
"Not all," Bolen said. His voice was low. Rough with emotion he rarely displayed. "Hollen didn't make it. She knew what she was doing, but still..."
Elendril nodded, understanding the weight of command, of decisions that saved many but cost some. "She knew what she was buying."
"Two thousand for one." Bolen said, his engineer's mind reducing it to numbers even as his heart felt the loss.
Bolen closed the slate with a gentle touch, the screen going dark.
"It's not a bad legacy," he said finally. "But I'll make sure it's not forgotten. None of this will be."
Chapter 25
The shuttle doors hissed open to a wave of desert heat and the low murmur of thousands trying to rebuild their lives. Tessellon's refugee hub sprawled in mismatched tents and durasteel modules across a shallow plateau, backed by cliffs that shielded against the worst of the winds. Dust swirled around the landing pad, catching the harsh midday light and casting everything in a golden-orange haze.
Elendril stepped down the ramp, scanning the field, his ears adjusting to the cacophony of sounds, hammering, voices calling out orders, children crying and laughing.
He had been here several times before, but he barely recognized it. The transformation was nothing short of remarkable.
Where there had once been only barren, cracked earth, makeshift irrigation lines now ran between plots of nutrient-rich soil, supporting rows of hardy seedlings that somehow thrived in this harsh environment. Portable fusion cells buzzed faintly, their blue-white glow barely visible in the daylight as they fed power to kitchens and med bays. There was even a comm relay uplink on the ridge, cobbled from three different kinds of salvage, Itherian tech meshed with older Byni components and what looked like parts from a downed transport ship. None of it pretty, each piece mismatched and weathered, but every component working in perfect harmony.
And in the middle of it all, directing a supply line of children, medics, and volunteers with a datapad in one hand and a half-eaten ration bar in the other, was Rook. The transformation in him was as striking as that of the settlement itself.
His shoulders were straighter, his posture radiating a quiet confidence that hadn't been there before. His uniform was sun-faded but clean, with patches on the elbows and reinforced knees. He spoke with clipped precision to a tired worker unloading thermal blankets, then turned, his eyes catching the shuttle crew through the swirling dust.
Nira was already halfway down the ramp when she saw him, her footsteps faltering momentarily as recognition dawned.
"Well look at that," she murmured, adjusting her breathing filter. "The kid turned into a command post. Never thought I'd see the day."
Rook spotted her and jogged over, dusty boots skidding slightly on the cracked stone. His face was leaner, weathered by sun and responsibility. "You brought them?" he asked, already looking past her at the line of disoriented Harkos refugees stepping hesitantly into the heat, their eyes wide with uncertainty.
"Just got in," Nira said, gesturing back toward the ship. "They need water, shelter, meds, most haven't had a proper meal in days. The Empire didn't leave much behind."
"I've got Sector 3 cleared for quarantine. And the southern med tent's still running at full capacity." He paused, running calculations in his head. "We had a heat flare yesterday, had to reshuffle power from the eastern modules, but we'll make it work. We always do."
The interior of the command shelter was cramped, hot, and louder than anyone wanted. Portable fans hummed from rigged ceiling mounts, stirring dust rather than moving air, creating tiny dust devils that danced across the floor. Outside, voices clashed with the whine of supply loaders and the bark of comm relays bouncing off solar shields. The smell of sweat, disinfectant, and the metallic tang of recycled water permeated everything.
At the center, a folding table served as makeshift war desk, its surface buried in datapads, ration inventories, camp maps, and what appeared to be hand-drawn schematics of water purification systems. Coffee stains marked the corners of several papers, evidence of long nights and longer decisions.
Elise stood over it with one hand on her hip, the other jabbing at a screen. Her hair was pulled back in a tight, practical knot, and smudges of dirt marked her forearms. Deep circles shadowed her eyes, but her voice was steady and authoritative.
"Sector four's water filters are choking again," she snapped, zooming in on a blinking red indicator. "We need a tech down there before people start drinking from the runoff trench. Last time that happened, we had twenty-seven cases of intestinal distress and not enough medical supplies to go around."
"I've got three mechanics already rotating between power cells," Rook said, leaning over the opposite end of the table, his fingers dancing across his own datapad as he reshuffled assignments. "Unless we conjure a fourth out of spare parts and prayer, which I'm not opposed to trying at this point,"
"We don't need a mechanic," she cut in, her tone brooking no argument. "We need someone who can follow instructions and has basic technical knowledge. Send Mara. She ran filtration for a relief ship on Kalros Prime for three years before the blockade. She knows her way around these systems better than half our engineers."
Rook paused, then nodded, impressed by her recall. "Done. I'll redirect her from inventory duty."
They moved like that, quick-fire decisions, no ceremony, no wasted words. Different energies, her sharp precision against his adaptable leadership, but perfectly in sync, like gears in a well-oiled machine.
"Do I even want to know how you memorized the whole volunteer roster and their complete employment histories?" Rook asked, dragging a hand through his dust-caked curls, leaving them standing at odd angles.
"You sleep. I don't," Elise replied flatly, already pulling up a fuel routing schematic on her datapad, the blue glow illuminating the tired lines around her eyes. "Get me a redirect from medical to kitchen storage. They're burning two cells a day just heating water, and we can consolidate if we reroute through the secondary grid."
"Copy that. And Elise?"
She looked up, her expression guarded but attentive.
"I'm glad you stayed. Couldn't have done this without you."
Her expression softened for just a second, the armor cracking to reveal something genuine beneath. "Yeah. Me too. Someone had to make sure you didn't blow up the whole moon."
A chime sounded, three short bursts followed by a longer tone. Another shuttle was inbound. Another hundred mouths to feed, bodies to shelter, lives to rebuild from scratch. Neither of them hesitated or showed a moment's doubt.
Back to the board. Back to the work.
Elendril stepped through the doorway, ducking slightly under the low frame. He paused for a beat, watching Elise issue a series of orders like she'd been doing it her whole life, her movements efficient, her voice certain.
"Didn't expect to find you here," he said quietly, his goatee twitching with the hint of his characteristic mischievous smile. "Marcan mentioned you'd gone off-world."
Elise didn't look up from the datapad, her fingers flying over the surface. "Didn't plan to stay. But plans broke with the rest of the world. Someone needed to make sure these people had clean water and working power cells."
Nira stepped in beside him, arms crossed, expression unreadable beneath her layer of travel dust. "You running logistics now? Last I saw you, you were talking about joining a transport crew out near the Rim."
"Running survival," Elise replied, her voice matter-of-fact. She finally glanced up, meeting their gazes with unflinching directness. "Rook handles the diplomacy, the speeches, the hope. I handle the pipes, power, and people who think this place builds itself. We all find our purpose eventually."
A long pause filled the space between them, heavy with unspoken acknowledgment.
Then Nira gave a single, sharp nod, respect evident in her eyes. "Good. We need more of that. Pretty speeches don't keep the lights on."
Elendril offered her the faintest smile, his features softening. "Marcan's still loud, if you're wondering. Still organizing resistance cells and talking too much at meetings."
Elise smirked, a flash of familial recognition crossing her face. "Figures. Just tell him I'm still alive. And busy. And that his idea about the water reclamation system actually worked, though I'll deny saying that if you quote me."
Elendril stepped beside her, taking it all in, the maps, the schedules, the organized chaos of a settlement built from nothing but determination and necessity.
"This place," he said softly, genuine wonder in his voice. "It wasn't like this. Last time I passed through, it was barely more than an emergency landing zone with a few shelters."
"It wasn't," Rook agreed, his voice low, weighted with memory. "After Renga... after watching everything burn... I couldn't leave it behind. So I stayed. And I got angry. Then I got busy. Then others joined, and it became something else entirely."
He looked back toward the field through the open doorway, people gathering under solar shades, children chasing each other with scraps of old foil wrappers fashioned into toys, elderly refugees teaching younger ones how to tend the small garden plots.
"It's not perfect," Rook added, pride and exhaustion mingling in his voice. "The power grid fails twice a week. We're always short on medicine. But it's better than it was. They have something to hold onto now."
Nira clapped a hand on his shoulder, a gesture of genuine respect from someone who rarely offered it. "You made this. They're standing because you stayed. Don't ever forget that."
Rook gave a small smile, faint but sure. "I didn't build it alone. But... yeah. I'm part of it now. For better or worse, this is home."
As he turned to organize a second group of arrivals, Elendril watched him go, the sun catching the edge of the datapad in his hand like a badge of office.
Tessellon wouldn't be the same without him. The thought passed through Elendril's mind with absolute certainty.
Later that night, the nebula’s aurora swirls shifted from lavender and orange to deep purples and crimson, Tarly sat on a storage crate near the landing gear, arms resting on his knees, one boot tapping rhythmically against the metal. His jacket was half-unzipped despite the rapidly cooling air, eyes fixed on a group of children lining up at the ration tent across the field, their small faces solemn as they waited patiently for their turn.
Elendril approached, stopping a pace behind, letting his presence be felt without intruding immediately on the captain's solitude.
"They settle in okay?" the captain asked without turning, his keen awareness of his surroundings evident.
He didn't look up, his gaze still fixed on the children. "As well as people whose whole lives have been taken from them can settle. They're alive. That's something, I suppose."
A beat of silence stretched between them, filled only by the distant sounds of the camp settling into evening routines.
"I used to hate the quiet after a mission," Tarly added, softer now, his usual bravado nowhere to be found. "Felt fake. Like the galaxy was pretending it didn't just eat another piece of itself. Like we were all supposed to go back to normal when there's no such thing anymore."
Elendril didn't interrupt, understanding the rare moment of vulnerability for what it was, a glimpse behind Tarly's carefully maintained facade.
Tarly finally looked over. His usual grin was gone, replaced by something raw and honest. Just tired eyes, worn deeper than usual, carrying the weight of too many battles and too many losses.
"You ever keep a list?" he asked, his voice barely audible above the evening breeze.
Elendril blinked. "A list?"
"Of names. Places. People you couldn't save. Worlds that burned while we were busy somewhere else." Tarly's fingers twitched, as if counting invisible tallies in the air.
Elendril nodded, slow and deliberate, understanding filling his eyes. "Not on paper. But here," he tapped his temple, "and here," his hand moved to rest briefly over his heart.
Tarly nodded once. "Yeah. Me neither. Wouldn't be enough paper in the galaxy, would there?"
He stood up, tugged his coat straight, and let the facade slide back into place like armor settling over old wounds, the transformation so practiced it was almost seamless. Almost.
"Come on. If I sit still too long, I might start thinking again. And nobody wants that. Especially not me." The ghost of his usual grin flickered across his face, not quite reaching his eyes.
Elendril offered the barest smile in return, understanding the need to keep moving, to outrun the quiet moments when memories caught up. "Yeah, let's keep moving," he said. "I heard they managed to salvage some Rengan ale. Probably tastes like engine coolant, but it might be worth investigating."
Chapter 26
The Obsidian Vault wasn't on any map.
It floated in geosync orbit above Valikor Minor, hidden beneath a magnetic dead zone, shielded by kinetic clouds and misinformation. The station hung like a dark specter against the backdrop of space, invisible to all but the most sophisticated scanning equipment. Officially, it was an old mining control node. Unmanned. Unimportant. A forgotten relic from a bygone industrial era, left to slowly decay in the void.
Unofficially? It was Raanu's private dungeon, where high-value threats were disappeared, interrogated, and scrubbed from history. The Primarch's personal house of horrors, where the enemies of the Itherian Empire vanished without a trace, their screams swallowed by the vacuum of space, their names erased from all records.
And Elendril was going to rip it open.
Nira skimmed the Solar Destiny over the dead zone, her fingers dancing across the nav panel with the precision of a concert pianist. The captain stood behind her, watching the sensor readings with narrowed eyes as the ship's iridescent alloy hull reflected the distant starlight. "Hull integrity's holding, but this magnetic crosswind is eating our stealth buffer," Nira reported, her voice tense but steady. Her heritage as the daughter of a resistance leader from Bari 4 had prepared her for moments like these, calculated risks in the face of overwhelming odds.
"We'll have eight minutes max once we breach atmosphere," Arren added, checking readouts on his station. The scientist's eyes darted between multiple screens, his mind already working through contingencies and probabilities. "Any longer and they'll have missiles locked. The Itherian response protocols are brutal in this sector."
"Seven's all I need," Elendril said, a hint of that characteristic mischievousness playing at the corner of his mouth. His confidence was palpable, filling the cramped bridge of the Solar Destiny like a physical presence.
"He says, moments before everything catches fire." Bolen grunted from the lower hold, where he was securing the exfil box. His voice carried through the ship's internal comms, tinged with good-natured skepticism. The tall, strong engineer had seen enough of Elendril's daring plans to know that they rarely went exactly as intended, but he'd follow his lifelong friend into the void itself if asked.
They dropped fast and dirty, the Solar Destiny's quantum drive unit powering down to avoid detection as they glided just above the station's sensor ring. The Vault looked like a rusted bullet sunk into a crater, ugly and featureless, its surface marred by micrometeorite impacts and the harsh conditions of space. Only one visible dock. No exterior guns. The station's true defenses lay in its secrecy. It didn't need obvious weapons.
Nobody knew it was there.
Until now.
The ship's resonance shielding adapted to the magnetic interference, allowing them to approach without triggering the automated defense systems that would normally detect any vessel within a thousand kilometers.
They breached through a vented cooling port at the station's underbelly, Bolen and Nira rappelling in with charge dampeners while Elendril followed, carbine tight against his shoulder. The captain's features were set in grim determination, his ears alert for any sound that might signal discovery.
Inside, it was ice and shadow.
No signage. No locator lights. Just sterile black walls and narrow halls that hummed with unnatural silence. The prison wasn't built to hold many, it was built to hold specific people, for as long as Raanu wanted. People whose knowledge or influence made them too dangerous to kill outright, but too valuable to simply release. People who might still be useful, once broken.
Arren's voice crackled in Elendril's ear through the secure comm channel. "Local grid decrypted. I'm ghosting their camera loop. Cell 9 is third corridor, left branch." There was a pause, then: "He's still breathing. Barely. Vital signs indicate severe malnutrition and signs of prolonged neural interrogation."
Elendril's jaw tightened. Raanu's methods were infamous, even by Itherian standards.
They reached the cell in under two minutes, moving through the corridors like wraiths.
Vos Tellar was strapped upright in a restraint rig, barefoot, half-starved, his skin marked with faded burns and stimulant injector scars that formed a grotesque constellation across his torso. His once-powerful frame had withered, muscles atrophied from disuse. His beard was streaked with white, far more than his age should warrant, and his left eye was glazed, unmoving, damaged beyond repair by some cruel interrogation technique.
But his right one locked onto Elendril instantly, sharp with intelligence and suspicion.
"Who the hell are you?" Tellar rasped, his voice dry as ancient parchment from disuse.
"Elendril. Captain of the Solar Destiny. I'm here to get you out." The words were delivered with that straightforward honesty that characterized Elendril.
Tellar didn't blink. "That supposed to mean something?" Despite his weakened state, defiance radiated from him like heat.
Nira cut the restraints with practiced efficiency, her movements quick but gentle. Bolen handed over a stim kit and a flask, his eyes scanning the corridor for any sign of guards. "It will," Elendril said, helping the prisoner to his feet. "But explanations can wait until we're not in Raanu's private hell."
By the time they reached the extraction shaft, alarms had finally started.
Not internal ones. External.
Raanu's patrol ship had dropped out of orbit, its massive silhouette casting a shadow over the station as it approached.
"He's early," Arren said through comms, tension evident in his voice. "Patrol schedule indicated another three hours before rotation."
"He's paranoid," Elendril corrected, his features hardening.
The outer corridor exploded behind them, a controlled breach designed to flush them out. Bolen dropped a smoke pellet and hoisted Tellar onto his shoulder without waiting for permission, the engineer's powerful frame making the burden seem light.
"This guy better be worth it," he muttered, ducking as debris rained down from a secondary explosion.
At the docking port, Nira held the line with precise covering fire while Elendril punched in the manual override. The Solar Destiny was already rising on auxiliary thrusters, Arren had started the launch before they were even aboard.
"Six pursuit ships launching," Arren said as they scrambled aboard, the hatch sealing behind them with a pressurized hiss. "I'm scrambling transponder echoes, but they'll be right on us. Itherian interceptors, heavily armed."
"Can we jump?" Elendril asked, sliding into the captain's chair as Nira took over piloting controls.
"Not yet. We have to clear the dead zone. The magnetic interference will tear us apart in lightfold."
"Then go full burn," Elendril said, his voice carrying that tone of absolute authority that had made him a legend among the Resistance.
"And hope the hull holds," Bolen muttered, already strapping in and preparing for the stress of atmospheric breach at dangerous speeds.
They broke atmosphere with a hull temperature that cracked three exterior plates. The Solar Destiny groaned in protest as Nira pushed it beyond recommended tolerances, the photoreceptive plating glowing with absorbed energy as they climbed higher. One pursuit ship got a missile lock, its targeting systems penetrating their scrambled signature.
It never fired.
Because Elendril activated the last piece of the plan.
A coded flare burst, relayed across three shadow satellites strategically positioned months ago, triggered a relay jamming storm in the upper ionosphere, borrowed tech from an old Rengan trick that Elendril had traded for during one of his many missions connecting resistance cells.
The blackout gave them five seconds.
Enough.
The Solar Destiny vanished into lightfold, leaving nothing but confused Itherian pursuers and Raanu's rage in its wake.
Vos Tellar didn't speak for a long time.
When he finally did, it was in the dim quiet of the medbay, where Arren had been treating his injuries with a combination of advanced medicine and ancient healing practices learned during his studies.
"You risked your lives for a man half-dead. A name most of the resistance has forgotten." His voice was stronger now, but laced with bitterness and suspicion.
"Not forgotten," Elendril said, leaning against the doorframe. "Just hidden. Like too many. The Resistance needs its heroes, especially now."
Tellar's gaze sharpened. "You think one extraction and a pretty name means I'll follow you? That I'll just fall in line with whatever crusade you're running?"
"No," Elendril said with that characteristic straightforwardness. "I think when you're ready to lead again, you'll decide for yourself who's worth following. The Resistance isn't built on followers, it's built on people who refuse to be broken." He pushed off from the doorframe. "Rest. Heal. The galaxy will still be there when you're ready."
Tellar looked away. But his grip on the flask tightened, knuckles white with emotion or determination, perhaps both.
The next day, encrypted messages rippled through the resistance network, bouncing from freighter to outpost, from hidden base to sympathetic ear:
Commander Vos Tellar is alive. Rescued by the Solar Destiny. The fire didn't go out. It just needed air.
The message spread like wildfire across planets still chafing under Itherian control, whispering hope into places where it had long been extinguished. In safe houses and resistance cells, people spoke Elendril's name with renewed reverence, the captain who dared to raid Raanu's secret prison and lived to tell the tale.
Chapter 27
One evening, while the crew indulged in a rare moment of respite at the Broken Compass, Elendril slipped away from the rowdy main hall. The tavern's characteristic magnetic anomaly seemed particularly active that night, causing the decorative compasses on the walls to spin and twitch erratically, as if warning of something unseen. The ambient noise, laughter, clinking glasses, and hushed conversations between resistance members, faded behind him as he made his way toward the back rooms.
These secluded chambers served multiple purposes within the resistance network: sometimes hosting tense strategy meetings where planetary liberation plans were hatched, other times providing sanctuary for exhausted runners who collapsed onto the sparse but clean beds tucked discreetly in the corners. The worn floorboards creaked beneath his polished boots, testament to countless clandestine footsteps that had passed this way before.
As Elendril moved down the dimly lit corridor, under the glow of the vintage wall sconces, he passed an office door that stood slightly ajar. His keen eyes caught something unusual: a small light blinking rhythmically in the darkness beyond the threshold. The pulsing illumination cast intermittent shadows across the hallway, beckoning him with its silent urgency.
The console buzzed once, faint and almost imperceptible against the ambient hum of the tavern's ancient air circulation system. Then again, with slightly more insistence, like a trapped insect seeking escape.
Elendril tilted his head, a reflex honed from years of detecting Imperial patrol ships before they appeared on scanners.
Manual override? No, that wasn't it. The pattern was wrong, too irregular for a standard system alert, lacking the methodical precision of Itherian tech.
He stepped in quietly, boots making no sound on the worn floorboards, a skill he'd perfected during countless infiltration missions across Itherian outposts. His fingers, which had once reprogrammed security protocols under the pressure of alarms and approaching guards, hovered over the device as he looked closer at the blinking light. He'd expected to find a comm message waiting, perhaps an urgent update from one of his many resistance contacts, but instead, the interface displayed the telltale markers of a recent file save that had not been completely closed, the data hanging in digital limbo, neither secured nor deleted.
There, beneath a misaligned panel with an almost imperceptible seam, was a recessed handle, the kind of detail only someone looking for secrets would notice. With deft fingers that had outmaneuvered Itherian patrols countless times, he slid it open, the mechanism yielding with a soft click that seemed to echo in the stillness of the room.
Inside was not a weapon as he'd half-expected. Not a map to hidden resources or rebel strongholds. But something far more dangerous, far more precious in a galaxy where memory itself was contraband.
A collection of sealed records, some analog on materials that had weathered centuries, some encoded in crystalline strata that shimmered with data when the light struck them just so. With reverence, he tapped one. The name pulsed once in ancient Byni script, the characters glowing with a faint bioluminescence that resonated with something deep in his blood: Volti.
Elendril held his breath, expression giving way to one of profound awe. He whispered, his voice barely disturbing the air, "What did you leave us, Sovereign?"
Another module, tucked behind the first as if deliberately hidden from casual discovery, bore a handwritten label in ink that had faded but refused to disappear completely. Captain Ors. Whisperwind. Final Campaign Logs. The name stirred something in his memory, stories whispered throughout the resistance, legends of defiance when hope seemed lost.
With the care one might show a newborn star, Elendril set it gently on the console's surface like it might break under too firm a touch. His fingers, usually so confident when piloting the Solar Destiny through impossible odds, trembled slightly as he activated the playback.
The logs didn't start with strategy or tactical assessments as military records should. They started with a song, a resistance ballad he'd heard fragments of throughout his life but never complete.
Faint. Hollow. Off-key. Sung by a voice strained but steady, as if recorded in haste or in hiding, yet determined that these words would outlive their singer.
"Let them chart our skies in fire,
But we will write in shadow's ink.
We carry stars inside our ribs,
And they are more than tyrants think."
The words resonated in the quiet space, a defiant echo from a time when the Itherian Empire's grip had seemed unbreakable. Below the lyrics, displayed on the console's screen, the names were blacked out. Dozens of them. Intentionally obscured with a precision that spoke of careful planning. Not forgotten, but protected from those who would hunt them or their descendants.
He scrolled through the logs, Thelan's light filtering through a nearby viewport and casting prismatic patterns across the ancient data as if the cosmos itself was reading along with him.
Battle maps of long-forgotten conflicts. Dissent codes used by resistance cells. An encrypted transmission from Volti himself:
"We knew they'd burn the books. So we wrote them into people."
Elendril stood in silence, the weight of history pressing on his shoulders. These weren't just records, they were a testament to the resilience of those who came before. The courage of those who preserved knowledge when preservation meant death.
These were not ghosts haunting the edges of history. These were architects who had built the foundations upon which he now stood.
And he was not their equal. But he was their continuation, another link in the unbroken chain stretching from Volti's time to his own.
With reluctance but renewed purpose, he returned the logs to their hidden place, sealing the panel again so that others might discover it when the time was right. The console resumed its ordinary appearance, secrets once again concealed beneath its surface.
But not before Elendril whispered to those long-gone architects, his voice carrying the same determination that had once fueled theirs:
"Still listening. And still fighting."
He stood a moment longer, letting the quiet settle in his chest like a vow. Not everything needed to be shouted to shake the stars. The Sovereign had understood that. Captain Ors had too. Quiet work. Lasting work.
If there was one thing Elendril had never done well, it was wait. But maybe the resistance needed more than blasters and bravado. Maybe it needed carriers of memory as much as carriers of fire.
Chapter 28
From orbit Thirava looked like it was dying, or maybe already dead. The planet barely stirred: ashen seas, cracked ridgelines, and a thin band of dirty clouds that seemed to hang lifelessly in the atmosphere. The surface was a desolate tapestry of grays and browns, with occasional flashes of dull orange where molten material had broken through the planet's fractured crust. No energy signatures registered on their scanners, no orbital defenses protected its airspace, the Itherians had written it off decades ago as a worthless rock. However, the Empire had recently evacuated the last nomadic Thiravans, shuttling them to a notorious hard labor camp, Harkos-7 under the guise of a rescue from ecological collapse. In reality, it was a cleansing, cold, calculated removal of witnesses. A stage meticulously set for a weapons test of devastating proportions. They would claim to the galaxy it was mercy for a dying people. But that wasn't the truth. The Solar Destiny crew knew from what they learned from Prince Krell that Primarch Raanu's interest in Thirava wasn't humanitarian, it was in the planet as a test site for stronger bombardment weapons that could shatter worlds.
Around the mess table of the Solar Destiny, screens flickered with tactical data as Arren projected a rotating schematic of the Empire's test platform, a massive, angular structure anchored in high orbit above Thirava's equator. The holographic display cast eerie blue shadows across the crew's faces as they studied the weapon.
"They're running brute-force pulses," he said, his fingers dancing across the controls to highlight specific components of the platform. "Low-band energy spikes, like trying to split a planet with a tuning fork made of explosives. The resonance patterns are designed to penetrate deep into the planetary core."
"Looks like a standard strike to everyone else," Nira added, leaning forward from her position at the tactical station. Her eyes, sharp and calculating, narrowed as she studied the transmission logs. "No fanfare. No broadcast. They're keeping this quiet, running it as a routine operation in their logs."
"They don't want anyone to realize what they're really testing," Arren said, adjusting his glasses as he pulled up additional data streams. "It's not about destroying Thirava. It's about seeing what happens when they do, gathering data on planetary fracture points, and core destabilization. This is a prototype for something much bigger."
Bolen folded his muscular arms across his broad chest, his expression darkening with each word. The engineer's hands, calloused from years of work, clenched into fists. "So what, we just sit here and let them play gods with a dead world? Let them perfect a weapon they'll use on populated planets next?"
Elendril shook his head, his eyes gleamed with that familiar mischievous spark, but there was something harder beneath it now. "No. We flip the blade. We turn their test against them."
Arren pulled up a new schematic with a few quick gestures, an orbital scatter grid layered over the planet's exosphere, a complex web of energy nodes and reflection points.
"This is the plan," he said, his voice carrying the excitement of scientific discovery tempered with the gravity of their situation. "We reflect the beam of the weapon Primarch Raanu will fire and redirect it to a new location. One where their own forgotten tech will cause the collapse of their entire Artron Focus Conduit network."
"The gate," Elendril said, stepping closer to the hologram, his finger tracing the location on the planet's surface.
Arren nodded, bringing up ancient schematics overlaid on current geological surveys. "Far off on a forgotten plateau. Abandoned since the conquest. Rusted, fractured, but still active according to scans. The Artron node embedded in the continent's crust was never decommissioned. Just ignored, buried under centuries of sediment and forgotten by everyone except those who know where to look."
Nira's brow furrowed, creating deep lines across her forehead as she processed the implications. "And if we hit it with the weapons beam? What exactly happens then?"
"It shorts out. We overwhelm the relay core and force a collapse." Arren's voice was tense, even for him, his fingers drumming nervously on the edge of the console. "That gate is a stabilizer in the conduit network. The Empire doesn't know it, hell, we barely understand it ourselves, but once that node goes, the whole Artron chain loses phase sync. Every transit corridor they've established will destabilize."
Bolen grunted, his eyes narrowing as he studied the projections. "How fast?"
"Instantly. The network operates on quantum entanglement principles. When one node fails catastrophically, the others respond in real-time."
They turned to the main viewscreen where Thirava drifted beneath them, silent, empty, steeped in ghostlight. The dying world seemed to be waiting for its final moment, suspended in the void like a memorial to its own forgotten history.
No one else had to die.
At least, not today.
"Strike window in two minutes," Nira reported from her station, her voice steady despite the tension evident in her rigid posture. Her fingers flew across her controls, making minute adjustments to their position.
Arren took his station, bringing up the specialized controls for the redirect matrix. "Target grid is locked. Harmonic frequencies calibrated to maximum efficiency."
Elendril stood at the center of the bridge, arms folded across his chest, his voice low but carrying the weight of command that had earned him the loyalty of his crew.
"Let's end this."
Outside, the Destiny remained low key, hidden in the shadow of a ruined moonlet that provided both cover and a gravitational mask for their signature. From the deck, they could see Raanu's flagship adjusting angle, sleek and surgical in its movements. The massive Imperial vessel gleamed with malevolent purpose, its weapons systems powering up with an ominous glow.
"The test pulse is aligning," Arren said, eyes fixed on his readouts. "Still in range. Energy signatures building to critical levels."
A silver-white lance streaked from the cruiser's underbelly toward Thirava's upper atmosphere, cutting through the void with terrible precision. The energy beam was beautiful in its way, pure destruction wrapped in elegant light.
Arren's hand hovered over the activation key, his finger trembling slightly above the glowing button.
He paused.
Just long enough to wonder if theory would become execution, if calculations would translate into catastrophe. Just long enough to feel the weight of what they were about to do.
Then he pressed it.
The pulse diverted. Energy shooting across the sky like inverted lightning, lacing the clouds in unnatural light that pulsed with harmonic resonance. Bolts redirected according to their carefully plotted pattern. The radiation washed over the planet's surface like an invisible wave, seeking out the ancient technology buried beneath millennia of neglect.
Far off on a forgotten plateau, the Artron gate lit up with sudden, unexpected life. The ground around it cracked as energy surged through circuits long dormant, then flickered, patterns of light dancing across its weathered surface as systems tried to compensate for the overwhelming power.
Then it died, the light extinguishing as if snuffed out by an invisible hand.
What came next wasn't an explosion.
It was a collapse.
Thirava's crust trembled, rippling like water disturbed by a stone. Fractures opened along its equator, spreading like veins across its surface. A ripple shivered outward, not with fire, but with a deep, bone-level absence, as if reality itself was being unmade.
Then the planet's gravity signature folded, warping inward, and with it, its lock in the Artron web that connected the Empire's vast network of gates.
The effect was immediate.
Across the galaxy, the network buckled. On the Solar Destiny's communications array, channels that had been silent suddenly erupted with panicked voices.
Open comms screamed across multiple frequencies:
"Shushni corridor's gone, we lost four ships in transfer… just disappeared mid-transit!"
"Command routing scrambled, transit relays nonresponsive… can't establish connection with Central!"
"Echoes aren't syncing, feedback's bouncing off dead nodes… the whole system's collapsing!"
"Is this part of the test? Did we overfire? Someone respond!"
"Gate drift escalating, fallback links failing… we're losing control of the entire network!"
"Everything's going dark… all gates shutting down simultaneously!"
On the Solar Destiny no one moved. They stood transfixed by the unfolding catastrophe, their faces illuminated by the emergency lighting that had activated when the power fluctuated.
Bolen whispered, "It worked," his voice a mix of awe and horror as he watched the cascading failures across the Imperial network.
Nira's jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, her knuckles white where she gripped the edge of her console.
Arren's fingers hovered above the console, tight, twitching, like he could stop it if he reversed time by sheer will. His eyes were wide, watching numbers and readings that told a story of collapse far beyond their predictions.
Elendril watched the void where Thirava had been. The planet hadn't exploded, there was no debris field, no spectacular destruction. There was simply nothing.
No fire. No fragments.
Just nothing.
A hole in the galaxy where something had been, a perfect sphere of absolute emptiness that defied all sensors and logic.
"We turned their test into a knife," Elendril said, his voice barely audible over the continued chaos of the Imperial communications.
No one replied.
Because they all knew the weapon they fashioned from the Empire's own technology cut far deeper than they intended.
Chapter 29
They entered the Artron gate like they always did, formed in a tight formation, full gear, silent and lethal. Every movement practiced to perfection, every breath measured and controlled. The familiar hum of energy fields pulsed around their armored forms as they approached the shimmering threshold.
Dari went first, always first. Her red-accented helmet marking her as the point, the tip of their deadly spear. She'd crossed a hundred gates before this one, each time feeling that momentary electric tingle across her skin as molecules separated and reformed.
The target didn't matter. Some outpost. A kill order. No chatter, no delays. In and done. Just another mission for the Emperor's elite squad. The gate hummed around her as expected, resonant pulse, flash-shift nausea, the taste of ozone bitter on her tongue. The familiar disorientation that came with molecular transport washed over her senses, a momentary discomfort she'd learned to ignore.
But then, it changed. The hum became a scream.
The gate's normal hum pitched upward loudly, vibrating through her armor, rattling her teeth. Her HUD glitched, then failed. Numbers and targeting systems dissolved into static before blinking out completely. Pressure spiked against her suit, crushing, suffocating, then disappeared so suddenly she felt her lungs expand painfully in the vacuum.
Dari's breath caught, compressed to a pinprick in her throat. The sensation of wrongness flooded her combat-honed senses. Something ruptured in the gate structure, not here, off-world somewhere. She knew that instinctively, the way you know a blast door's going to fail just before it does. The subtle shift in air pressure, the microscopic changes in sound that only veterans recognize.
Then she felt the gate rip. A tearing sensation that seemed to pull at the fabric of reality itself, a violent shudder that coursed through the very essence of the transport field.
Her thoughts tried to follow orders. Her body didn't.
Training demanded she maintain formation, protect the squad integrity. But physical laws were breaking down around her. They were no longer inside transit. They were nowhere. Suspended in a place that didn't exist.
No temperature, no noise, just discontinuity. Like falling without falling. A sensation of movement without reference points, of existence without substance.
"I have crossed thousands of times," she thought, but it wasn't a thought, it was more like trying to find breath in a collapsing tunnel. A desperate grasping for something familiar in this impossible space.
She couldn't move, couldn't scream, couldn't feel her team. There was no Fero, no command feed, no vector. Emperor Caani would be waiting for their report, but now there might never be one. The military precision that had defined her existence evaporated in this formless void.
Something else took hold.
She saw light, wrong light, bent at angles she'd never trained to track. The echo of the beam that started it all rippled across her vision, though she couldn't have known its name. A rerouted weapon fired across a distant world, and now it echoed in her bones. Her body arced through space like a lost signal, carried by systems no longer obeying protocol. And in that moment, some quiet, alien part of her whispered, "This was not meant for you."
The light fractured and reformed, casting impossible shadows that seemed to stretch across dimensions rather than surfaces. Colors she had no names for bloomed and faded in her vision, pulsing with a rhythm that felt almost alive, almost conscious.
Then, a face.
A man, haloed in sound. Still, focused, watching something far beyond her. He stood inside the light, his features both strange and familiar simultaneously. His expression serene amidst the chaos, as though he alone understood the patterns in this madness.
Just for a breath, his eyes shifted, like he sensed her. Like he almost turned. Recognition flickered across his face, or was it her imagination? His lips parted as if to speak, his hand beginning to rise in a gesture that might have been warning or welcome.
And then the void swallowed it whole. No more light. No more face. Only the fall. The sensation of being pulled downward at impossible speed, reality rushing back toward her with violent intent.
Impact.
Stone, gravity, wind, sound slammed back in. Dirt, heat, blood, the world materialized around her in a brutal collision of senses and surfaces. Her armor cracked against something unyielding, the shock absorbers overloaded by the force.
She hit the surface of the world hard enough to black out.
The darkness was merciful, if brief. Pain dragged her back to consciousness, insistent and throbbing. When she came to, she wasn't alone. Two of her team checked their gear with mechanical efficiency. One lay motionless, armor cracked, face frozen in surprise. The last… gone. Not a trace remained.
They had no comms, no map, just the low red sky of a planet she'd never seen. The air tasted wrong, thinner, in fact so thin she was struggling to get her breath.
Twin moons hung low on the horizon, too close, too large to be anything from anyplace she knew of.
And none of it made sense.
Dari stood up slowly, exhale tight and controlled, her military training asserting itself even as her mind reeled. Blood trickled down her temple, but she ignored it, scanning the alien landscape with narrowed eyes. "What is this place.” She asked no one in particular.
They barely had time to register the terrain, jagged obsidian ridges, sulfur vents hissing in the near-vacuum, before the air shimmered. Not around them, on them. Like a second skin of static, the shimmer crawled over her armor and eyes and bones.
"Movement!" Ryshal barked, too late.
The world folded, not outward, but inward, as if the horizon imploded.
Then silence.
Reality snapped again, dragging them through layers of perception until the world settled, hard, stark, and controlled.
When Dari blinked, she was staring at reinforced walls, stark lighting, and sanitized angles.
They must be in a brig on some starship.
Her weapons were gone. Her knees gave out for a breath before training caught her again. The others materialized seconds later, one retching, one gasping for breath as his rebreather pack failed mid-transit.
“Someone is really in for it now,” she thought.
Chapter 30
The ship was still flying, but no one felt like they were going anywhere.
Drifting in the dark between worlds, the Solar Destiny had become more tomb than vessel. Systems worked. Engines hummed. Life support cycled. But no one spoke unless they had to. The usual banter and laughter that once filled the corridors had been replaced by a heavy silence that seemed to press against the bulkheads. Even the soft hum of the ship's systems felt muted, as if the Destiny herself was in mourning.
It had been weeks since Thirava collapsed, and the galaxy was not recovering. The crew moved through their duties like ghosts, their eyes hollow, their movements mechanical. Each status report brought more grim news, each transmission from allied ships carried the same undercurrent of dread.
Gate collapses continued across every major corridor. But that wasn't the worst of it. Now the gates were opening on their own. The phenomenon defied all known physics, all established theories about gate technology. Unstable rifts tearing through space-time without warning or reason.
Neutral planets. Peaceful moons. Space stations with no strategic value. Portals bursting open mid-atmosphere, dragging orbital infrastructure into fire. No patterns. No warnings. Just random, devastating tears in the fabric of reality. Scientific teams across multiple systems were baffled, unable to predict where the next catastrophe would strike.
Elendril hadn't left his quarters in two days, not since the flare maps showed a gate rupture over Mirae's Cradle, a civilian agricultural colony that never once aligned with the Resistance or the Empire. His burgundy skin had taken on a grayish cast, his usually bright eyes dulled with the weight of what they'd witnessed.
There were no survivors. Not one. A thriving colony of eight thousand souls, gone in moments.
The feeds didn't show bodies. Just drifting greenhouse domes. A child's toy stuck against a viewport. Agricultural equipment spinning silently through the void. Hydroponic gardens still lush with crops no one would ever harvest. The absence of life somehow more horrifying than visible carnage.
Elendril didn't speak to the crew. Didn't answer Arren's knock. Or Bolen's fourth. His door remained sealed, the captain's absence a physical void that echoed through the ship. The crew respected his silence, understanding the burden he carried, but they felt adrift without his guidance.
In the science suite, Arren hadn't slept in two days. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his hands trembled slightly as he adjusted settings on his console. Empty stimulant packets littered his workstation, testament to his desperate pursuit of answers. Screens surrounded him, each displaying a different aspect of the catastrophe unfolding across the galaxy.
Dretz was sprawled across the resonance stabilizer, his bioluminescent pulse shifting in slow, deliberate patterns. The small creature's hum was no longer reactive. It was intentional. Purposeful. Each tone fed into Arren's scanners like brushstrokes across a canvas. The Mokki's body glowed with subtle pulses that seemed to follow some complex rhythm only he understood.
"He's not just listening anymore," Arren whispered, voice hoarse from lack of sleep. "He's correcting." He leaned closer to the console, watching as Dretz's patterns synchronized with anomalous readings from across the sector.
The data confirmed it. Each anomaly echoed a unique vibrational signature. At first, it looked like noise. But when Arren filtered through the harmonic frequency overlays, Dretz's song was already there, threading through the static like a countermeasure. The patterns were too precise, too intentional to be coincidence. The Mokki wasn't simply responding to the harmonics, it was actively manipulating them.
The solar injector relay, one of the ship's most temperamental components, flickered on his console. It was misaligned. Again. The warning light pulsed an angry red, indicating imminent system failure if not addressed.
Dretz blinked. Shifted pitch. His body flashed a series of complex patterns, almost like a visual representation of the harmonic frequencies he was producing.
The relay realigned itself with a soft chirp. The warning light faded to green.
Arren's eyes widened. "He just... tuned it." He stared at the Mokki in wonder, mind racing through implications. "That's impossible. That's..."
He slammed the intercom. "Bolen, cancel that repair order on injector three. It's stable. I'll explain later." His voice cracked with excitement, the first real emotion any of them had shown in days.
Bolen's voice crackled back, thick with confusion. "How? You didn't send an override. I'm looking at the diagnostics right now, and they show a full realignment."
"Just trust me," Arren said, his fingers flying over the console as he recorded the phenomenon. "And tell Elendril, I know what's happening. I can explain Thirava." He paused, heart pounding. "I think I can explain everything."
The crew assembled on the bridge without needing to be told. Bolen had already pulled the feeds, his large frame hunched over the tactical station as he compiled reports from across the sector. Nira stood at her pilot's station, fingers tapping restlessly against the console.
Elendril stepped out of the lift, more shadow than man, but something in Bolen's voice had pulled him back from silence. His usually impeccable appearance had given way to rumpled clothing and unkempt hair. Yet despite his disheveled state, his presence immediately shifted the energy on the bridge, the captain had returned.
"Eleven confirmed incidents," Bolen reported, his deep voice steady despite the gravity of his words. "Unstable portals. Just… opening. No requests. No targets. All in neutral zones." He tapped one with a shaking finger, bringing up a holographic display of a mining outpost. "This one pulled an atmospheric dome off a mining colony and slingshotted it into orbit. Three hundred and forty-two people. Gone in seconds."
"They're opening into nowhere," Nira said, her pilot's keen spatial awareness making the pattern clear to her. "Empty space. Some don't even lead to stable systems. It's like the net's reaching for planets that aren't there anymore." She manipulated the display, showing the erratic nature of the gate openings. "No navigational logic. No stellar alignment. It's like watching a blind man try to thread a needle."
Arren added, "They were calibrated to Thirava's node. Not all of them, but enough. That conduit, whatever tech was running it, held things together across half the quadrant." He pulled up his findings, the data streaming across the main viewscreen. "The harmonics are unmistakable. There's a resonance pattern that connects all these incidents."
Bolen sat back, rubbing his jaw. "We didn't see it. We just… didn't see it." His voice was hollow with realization. "All that planning, all that intel, and we missed something this fundamental."
The silence that followed wasn't blame.
It was weight. The crushing responsibility of unintended consequences.
"I'm the one who gave the go," Elendril said, his voice rough from disuse. "We moved without HQ. Without support. I carry that." His shoulders squared slightly, the captain taking responsibility even as it threatened to break him.
"But you didn't fire it," Arren said quietly. "I did." His fingers curled into fists on the console, knuckles white with tension.
"You followed my nod," Elendril replied, meeting Arren's gaze directly. "That makes it mine." The words were firm, absolving his crew of blame.
Nira shook her head, her pilot's braid swinging with the motion. "No. We were all here. We all agreed. We all thought we were just taking down a military installation." Her voice was fierce with loyalty. "None of us could have known."
"Doesn't change what it cost," Bolen muttered, his engineer's mind already calculating casualties, tallying the destruction. "Doesn't bring back Mirae's Cradle."
Arren stared at his console, watching a new wave of erratic gate data unfold. The patterns were becoming clearer to him now, a terrible symphony of destruction playing out across the stars.
In the corner, Dretz chirped softly, just once. Off-key. Weak. The Mokki's usual vibrant glow had dimmed, as if the effort of whatever it was doing was taking a physical toll.
Arren reached over and touched his back, concern evident in his gentle gesture. "I think… he did." He looked up at his crewmates, a new understanding dawning in his eyes.
They all looked, attention drawn to the small creature that had become such an unexpected part of their crew.
Arren turned the holomap, overlaying fresh phase scans and spreading radiation trails. The display transformed, showing not just physical locations but harmonic resonance patterns connecting them all.
"Because we broke something older than the Empire," Elendril said, his voice gaining strength as understanding dawned. He stepped closer to the display, his pointed ears tilted forward in concentration.
"And more delicate," Arren added, excitement building in his voice. "Maybe more complex and valuable than the Artron network. Something that wasn't designed to be fought over. Just… tuned." His hands moved through the holographic display, highlighting connections that had been invisible until now.
He pivoted the holo-table, projections of harmonic stress spinning into place. The data formed a complex web of interconnected frequencies, pulsing and shifting like a living thing.
"This," he said, pointing to the cluster of expanding anomalies, "is the result of what we did at Thirava. We thought we were just shorting out an old Artron gate with Raanu's weapon, overloading the grid to collapse the network." His finger traced the spreading pattern of disruption. "But we triggered something much more fundamental."
Nira frowned, her pilot's instincts making her skeptical. "We did short it out. It collapsed. We all saw it happen." She gestured to the recordings still playing on a secondary screen. "The whole installation went up."
"Yes," Arren said, nodding vigorously. "But we missed something." He zoomed in on the Thirava installation, enhancing the structural layout. "That gate was built on top of ancient Byni architecture. A harmonic stabilizer node the Itherians never understood, and never dismantled." The image revealed layers of technology, the newer Itherian systems built directly atop much older foundations.
"I didn't know that node was connected to anything harmonic. I thought it was old infrastructure, maybe Artron-based, but inert." Elendril's voice carried a rare note of uncertainty, his usual confidence shaken by the revelation.
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself. His fingers traced the edge of the console.
"No one knew," Elendril said finally, straightening his shoulders. "This goes beyond Imperial intelligence or Resistance networks. This is something older."
"You're saying it wasn't just infrastructure?" Bolen asked, his engineer's mind already working through the implications. "It was functional? Active?"
"It was a linchpin," Arren said, his voice gaining certainty. "When we redirected Raanu's weapon we didn't just burn out the Artron Focus Conduit network. We triggered a harmonic cascade that destabilized phase coherence across the entire quadrant." He expanded the display, showing how the disruption had spread from Thirava outward, like ripples in a pond.
He turned to Elendril, his expression intense. "The anomalies we're seeing? They're not just malfunctions. They're echoes. Interference waves. The harmonic network is trying to reestablish itself, but without the stabilizing node at Thirava, it's creating these catastrophic resonance patterns."
"And Dretz?" Elendril asked, glancing at the small creature who seemed to be following their conversation with unusual attention.
Arren glanced toward the Mokki, resting comfortably beside the stabilizer array, humming in low sync with the ship. The creature's bioluminescent patterns had taken on a complex rhythm that matched the harmonic displays on the screen.
"He understands it. Maybe instinctively. Maybe genetically. I don't know. But he's been tracking the echoes, and now, he's correcting them." Arren pulled up readings from the ship's systems. "Look at these patterns. Every time a system destabilizes, Dretz emits a counterharmonic that brings it back into alignment."
Nira raised an eyebrow, skepticism clear in her expression. "You're saying that little glow-worm is holding the galaxy together?"
"I'm saying," Arren said, with careful precision, "he's trying to."
Dretz sang one clear, steady tone. The sound resonated through the bridge, pure and crystalline.
Every panel on the bridge flickered green. Systems that had been struggling suddenly stabilized, displays clearing of error messages.
Elendril's brow furrowed, his eyes lighting with the first spark of hope they'd seen in days. "Arren… if he can correct the echoes, could he stabilize the whole thing?"
Arren hesitated. Then nodded. "In theory? Yes. If we bring the ship into the center of the anomaly, and Dretz resonates at the right interval, he might be able to realign the fractures and collapse the convergence point before it overloads." He pulled up navigational data, plotting a course to the heart of the disruption. "It would require precise positioning and timing, but the mathematics support it."
Nira folded her arms, her pilot's caution evident. "That's a lot of might." She studied the projected course with a critical eye. "We'd be flying into the eye of a harmonic hurricane."
"On paper, it holds," Arren said, acknowledging her concern. "But the window's going to be narrow. If we're off by a second or a degree"
"It folds in on itself," Elendril finished. "Takes us with it." His voice was steady now, the captain returning fully as a plan formed.
"It'll need a pilot who can thread gravity waves through a field that doesn't obey physics," Arren said, looking up from his calculations.
Elendril looked to Nira, the question unspoken but clear in his eyes.
She didn't smile. But she didn't look away. Her hands flexed once, as if already feeling the controls beneath her fingers.
"Guess it's a good thing we've got one of those." Her voice carried absolute certainty, a pilot's confidence in her own abilities.
The comm chimed, breaking the moment. The message bore an Itherian seal. Encrypted, high-priority. The crew tensed, exchanging glances.
Elendril opened it, his expression unreadable.
"Thorne."
Raanu's voice was low and venomous. He wasn't shouting. He didn't have to. Each word dripped with cold fury, the kind that had frozen worlds and shattered resistance cells.
"You think you're clever. You think that little parlor trick at Thirava made you a hero. Let me tell you what it did, it got me hauled in front of Caani and stripped of command in front of my crew. Me. Raanu. After everything I've done for the Empire." The Primarch's voice trembled slightly with barely contained rage.
A pause, filled only with the sound of measured breathing.
"They called it 'a strategic failure.' Said I should've known better than to use a 'historical node.' They don't even know why it collapsed. But I do. I know it was you." The accusation hung in the air, heavy with menace.
Static fuzzed the edge of his breath. In the background, there was movement, the sounds of a ship preparing for departure.
"They told me to stand down. Walk away. Reassign quietly. Let the Resistance keep your little ship of relics." Bitterness colored every syllable.
His voice dropped to a whisper that somehow carried more threat than a shout.
"I don't do quiet."
"I'm coming for you, Thorne. Not for the war. Not for the orders. For me. For the crew I had to look in the eye after you made me a footnote." The words were precise, measured, each one a promise of retribution.
"You started this."
"I'm going to finish it."
Chapter 31
The anomaly didn't look like a wound.
It looked like a scream, held open by unseen hands, frozen mid-collapse, a terrible beauty that defied comprehension.
Twisted arcs of glowing debris spun through a sky that wasn't sky at all, just fractured space, looping in on itself. Starfields stretched into spirals, bent sideways by gravity distortions that made the Solar Destiny shudder with every pulse. Ribbons of light, remnants of matter torn apart at the quantum level, danced in patterns that hurt the eyes to follow. The very fabric of reality seemed to be unraveling thread by thread at the edges of the anomaly.
This wasn't just a breach.
It was a puncture in the universe itself, a violation of natural law that threatened to swallow everything it touched.
And they were flying straight toward it, the bronze hull of the Solar Destiny gleaming in the unnatural light as they approached the impossible.
"Nira, status," Elendril said, bracing himself against the forward rail, his voice taut but steady, betraying none of the anxiety coursing through him as he stared into the maw of chaos.
She didn't glance at him. Her eyes remained locked on a screen that no longer obeyed normal physics, the display warping and shifting with each pulse from the anomaly. Her fingers gripped the controls with white-knuckle intensity.
"Thrusters unstable. Forward drift pockets are reversing every twenty seconds. Lateral controls are stuttering under subspace drag. Which means," she added, jaw tight, a muscle twitching in her cheek, "I'm going to do this blind and pissed."
"Good," Bolen muttered from engineering, the sound of his voice crackling through the comm system. "She flies better angry." His massive frame hunched over his station, monitoring systems that were flickering between green and red faster than the eye could track.
The Solar Destiny plunged into the outer ring of the anomaly field. The moment they crossed the boundary, space breathed, pulling at the ship with shifting, contradictory force. The sensation was disorienting, as if the ship were being tugged in multiple directions simultaneously, each vector competing for dominance.
The hull groaned in protest, the metal itself seeming to vibrate at frequencies that made teeth ache and vision blur.
Alarms began a low, continuous whine, not shrill, but anxious, like the ship itself knew they didn't belong here, a living thing expressing its distress at being forced into this unnatural space.
Time ticked forward in lurches. Seconds stretched into minutes, then compressed back into fragments of moments. The chronometers on the bridge flickered wildly, unable to maintain a consistent measure.
Nira's fingers danced across the controls, fighting the current with every correction. Sweat beaded at her temples, trickling down her face. Her jaw locked as she wrestled with forces that defied conventional piloting techniques, her training and instincts pushed to their absolute limits.
"Dretz," she snapped, "I could really use a key change." Her voice carried the strain of concentration, of battling physics itself with nothing but skill and determination.
Behind them, the little Mokki rose from the amplifier bed, his small form radiating a subtle glow. He let out a note, steady, rising, then broke into a tritone hum that carved clean through the static, like sonar slicing fog. The sound filled the bridge, not just heard but felt, resonating in bones and settling into the very structure of the ship.
Arren's readings surged. Symbols danced across his screen, chaotic, then snapped into form, aligning with Dretz's harmonics. His fingers flew over his portable console, translating the patterns into navigational data.
"That's it!" he shouted, excitement breaking through his scientific reserve. "He's mapping the core. He's feeding us a harmonic corridor! The frequencies are stabilizing the local space-time fabric!"
Nira's voice was clipped, her concentration absolute. "Then tell the map to hold still! The drift's shifting in non-Euclidean arcs, I'm flying by song, not physics!" Her hands made minute adjustments, responding to changes before they fully manifested.
Elendril stood beside her, unshaken, his presence was a pillar of calm amid the chaos, his confidence unwavering. "Adjust heading five degrees starboard. Ride the resonance up like a thermal." His intuition, honed by years of navigating the impossible, guided his commands.
Nira didn't ask how he knew. She trusted his voice, his instincts that had pulled them through countless dangerous situations before.
"Copy."
The ship banked, its movements graceful despite the turbulence surrounding them.
Then, jerked sideways.
Not spatially.
Temporally.
For a half-second, Elendril saw stars he didn't recognize, constellations that had never existed in their universe. The bridge was different. Older. Dusty. Panels cracked and displays faded with age. Nira screaming in a voice she hadn't spoken yet, her face lined with years she hadn't lived. Arren was missing, his station empty and covered in a fine layer of dust. Dretz was… everywhere, his form multiplied across the bridge, each version slightly different, as if caught in different moments of time.
Then they snapped back into the present with a disorienting lurch, reality reasserting itself.
The Destiny reasserted itself with a metallic clang that echoed through the decks like the toll of a bell, reverberating through every compartment, every corridor, calling them back to the now.
"Three seconds from the collapse vector," Arren said. His voice was thin but determined, fingers flying over his console as he interpreted the data streaming in. "Dretz is syncing harmonics across the ship. The amplifier's peaking, but it's still holding. If it overloads, we'll lose our only navigation guide through this mess."
Elendril stepped closer to the console, his eyes fixed on the heart of the anomaly, drawn to it with a mixture of scientific curiosity and something deeper, more primal. "Get me closer."
Nira gave a grim chuckle, the sound lacking any real humor. "Closer," she repeated. "Sure. Why not. Because we're not flirting with total molecular disintegration already." Despite her words, her hands were already making the adjustments, trusting Elendril's judgment even as she questioned it.
The Destiny dove through a swirling arc of matter, shards of a shattered moon, or maybe the bones of a station that never had a name, fragments of reality that had been caught in the anomaly's grasp and twisted into new forms.
Lightning flickered between field edges, arcs of energy that danced between the fragments, connecting them in patterns that seemed almost deliberate, almost intelligent.
Dust shimmered with entropy, particles decaying before they hit the hull, vanishing into harmonic vapor, their existence erased from the timeline itself.
Dretz's hum changed.
It turned pure, crystalline in its clarity, a single perfect note that seemed to resonate with the very structure of space itself.
Arren's eyes widened as data flooded his screen, cleaned and structured, the chaos of the anomaly translated into patterns he could interpret. His expression shifted from concentration to awe.
"He's calling the anomaly to heel," he whispered, voice barely audible over the ship's systems. "He's not guiding anymore. He's commanding. The harmonics are reshaping the quantum field itself."
Nira threaded the ship through a collapsing wavefront with the elegance of instinct, her movements fluid despite the erratic nature of the space around them. The shields screamed, energy crackling across their surface. Every bolt rattled, the ship protesting the impossible stresses being placed upon it. But they didn't rupture, holding together through sheer engineering brilliance and Bolen's constant adjustments.
Arren's fingers hovered as he stared at the harmonic readouts, his scientific mind struggling to process what he was seeing. "This isn't just any rift," he said, awed by the implications. "This is the root tear, the original breach from Thirava. Everything else we've seen since? Echoes. Fractures radiating from this exact point. We're at ground zero of the universal disruption."
Elendril's gaze locked forward, understanding dawning in his eyes. "So if he seals this one…"
"It seals the pattern," Arren confirmed, excitement building in his voice. "He's harmonizing the frequency that caused the rupture in the first place. That's why Dretz can do it, because the wound itself was made by resonance. It's not just song. It's symmetry. The perfect counter-frequency to the original disruption."
Bolen muttered from engineering, his voice tight with tension, "Then let's pray his pitch is perfect. One wrong note and we're scattered across six dimensions."
"There!" Arren pointed at a swirling vortex of energy at the heart of the anomaly. "That's the resonance throat, center of the convergence spiral. The eye of the storm. All the harmonic lines converge at that single point."
Nira narrowed her eyes, focusing on the target with predator-like intensity. Her breathing slowed, becoming measured and controlled. "I can get us there." The words were simple, but carried absolute conviction.
Elendril touched her shoulder. Firm. Steady. A gesture of trust and confidence. "I know you can." Four words that carried the weight of years of shared danger and triumph.
She pushed the throttle forward, committing them fully to their course.
The Destiny arced one final time, its movements graceful despite the chaos surrounding it.
They spun through the core spiral, inertia folding around them in ways that defied conventional physics. The ship flipped belly-up, dodged a skipping gravitic well that appeared and disappeared like a hiccup in reality, then slammed forward into the center of silence, the one point in the maelstrom where everything seemed perfectly, impossibly still.
The anomaly pulsed, a living thing sensing their presence at its heart.
And Dretz sang.
It wasn't just sound.
It was structure.
A blueprint in vibration. A net cast in resonance. The mathematical perfection of creation expressed through sound.
His body lit like a filament submerged in starlight, glowing from within with energy that seemed to flow through him rather than from him. His voice shaped the air, creating patterns visible to the naked eye, concentric rings of harmonic force. Every panel on the bridge dimmed, then brightened, syncing with the rhythm of his song, the ship itself becoming an instrument in his orchestra.
The anomaly shrieked once, a sharp, desperate pulse that caused the entire ship to shudder.
Then the rings began to collapse inward, not in panic, but in submission. They folded like flower petals in reverse, drawn back to their source, the tear in reality slowly knitting itself closed.
The sensors screamed for a moment, overwhelmed by the data surge, then fell silent, as if in reverence of what they were witnessing.
The pressure that had been pulling at them from all sides released, like a held breath finally exhaled, the tension bleeding away into the void.
Arren whispered, "He's doing it." His voice held the wonder of a scientist witnessing the impossible made manifest.
Elendril stared through the viewport as the breach, once a violent maelstrom of chaotic energy, now shimmered with quiet, stable light. The edges of the wound began to draw together, stitching themselves shut with threads of harmonic energy.
They closed not with fire, or with force, but with song, a melody that spoke of wholeness and restoration.
Somewhere in the back of Elendril's mind, the old song lingered, half-forgotten lyrics recorded in a fading voice, meant to survive when nothing else did. Elendril didn’t hum it aloud, but it threaded through his thoughts like a protective charm. The Sovereign hadn’t built monuments. He’d left melodies and metaphors, encoded truths. We carry stars inside our ribs... And now Elendril knew what it meant. He was one of the carriers.
The Rift faded before their eyes. It became a glimmer, then a shimmer, then a faint trace of light, and then it was gone, leaving behind only the stars, silent and still, unmarred by the wound that had torn through reality itself.
There was no anomaly, no collapse, only peace, as if the breach had never existed. On the bridge of the Solar Destiny a relieved silence fell over the crew, each processing what they had just witnessed in their own way.
Dretz curled into a slow spiral on the amplifier bed, his energy spent. His glow dimmed to a soft blue, and his hum faded gently, like breath settling into sleep, the effort of his impossible feat taking its toll.
Arren wiped his eyes, moisture gathering there not just from strain but from the profound beauty of what they had witnessed.
Bolen exhaled like he'd been punched, a sound that carried all the tension he had been holding throughout the ordeal.
Nira squinted at her screen, professional to the end even in the aftermath of a miracle. "We're clear of the collapse vector, but… I'm still getting residual harmonic echo. Something's still out there, vibrating at the edge of detection."
Arren tapped his console, frowning as he analyzed the readings. "Localized distortions, too. Minor, but persistent. Looks like the structure held, but we've got noise bouncing along the subspace lattice. Like ripples in a pond after the stone has sunk."
Elendril nodded slowly, his expression thoughtful. "The wound's closed. But the scar's still there." His voice carried the weight of understanding that some marks never truly vanish, even when the damage is repaired.
He rested a hand on Nira's shoulder, a gesture of appreciation and solidarity.
"Well flown," he said, simple words that carried profound respect.
She gave him a look, not smug, or proud, just fierce, acknowledging what they had accomplished together.
"Well led," she said, the two words encompassing everything that didn't need to be spoken between them.
Chapter 32
The anomaly was gone, sealed. The convergence wave had collapsed.
No one celebrated. They only exhaled, a quiet, collective breath of relief.
But the moment didn’t linger.
Arren stood silently, a datapad idle in his hands, forgotten. “It wasn’t just a fix,” he said softly. “That was a proof of concept.” His voice barely cut through the stillness on the bridge.
Elendril turned, slow and tired. “What do you mean?”
“Dretz didn’t just stabilize the anomaly,” Arren said, eyes wide with implication. “He restructured it. Tuned a sustained closure curve in real time. That’s harmonic threading on an interdimensional scale. No one’s ever done that.”
Elendril exhaled, low and controlled. “And now you want to go to Caelaxis.”
Arren nodded. “Just a sweep. Let Dretz try tuning it, no jumps, just resonance. If I’m wrong, Caelaxis stays closed. But if I’m right, then it was always waiting for someone like him.”
Nira cracked one eye from where she was resting at the helm. “He just closed a hole in space with a lullaby, and you want an encore?”
Arren hesitated. “I’ll monitor him. We’ll be careful. But I think... he’s already in harmony with it.”
Elendril considered him for a long moment, then gave a tired but steady nod. “Set a course.”
It was not a long passage to the nebula, and the void between was eerily clear. The anomaly had swept the lanes clean; no other traffic dared its shadow.
When they reached it, the bridge fell silent.
Dretz stirred, his soft, gelatinous body glowing with blue pulses. The bridge lights dimmed slightly, as if the ship itself sensed something sacred. A hum rolled through the air, deep, low, bone-felt.
He sang.
The harmonics rose like a tide, subtle at first, then folding into complexity. Caelaxis shimmered. Swirled. Responded. The chaotic frequency patterns stabilized, and the swirling void at the gate’s center softened into a spiraling tunnel of light.
“He’s doing it,” Arren whispered. “He’s not unlocking it, he’s tuning it. Like a living interface.”
The entire crew stood frozen, caught in the unfolding miracle.
On the main display, the gate settled into symmetry.
“Confirmed stable,” Arren said. “Dretz completed the harmonic key. It’s open.”
No one spoke.
Then Nira whispered, “So what now?”
Elendril stepped forward, close to the viewport, his gaze hard on the pulsing corridor of stars. “We don’t go through. Not yet. We come back. When we’re ready.”
He turned to Arren. “Log the signature. We may need it soon.”
Arren nodded, already moving.
And behind them, Dretz collapsed.
His humming cut off mid-pulse. The glow that had suffused his small body flickered, then blinked out like a dying star. He slumped sideways on the amplifier bed with a soft fwump, limp and silent.
Arren dropped the datapad and lunged.
“Dretz!” He caught the little Mokki in both hands. “He’s burning out. His field’s collapsing!”
Bolen was there in an instant, his voice calm but urgent. “Back him off the harmonics. He’s overextended.”
Arren’s voice cracked. “I shouldn’t have let him,” He swallowed hard. “Not this soon.”
Elendril knelt beside them. “He chose this. But he didn’t need to do both in one day.”
Arren gently lowered Dretz to a soft coil of fabric. “He’s alive. But drained. Like... like a power cell pulled too far. He is just running on instinct.”
Elendril watched the tiny, breathless form. “He gave us Caelaxis,” he said softly. “Now we let him rest.”
The crew stepped back, giving space to the small, bioluminescent creature curled beneath the console lights. Still, silent, nearly weightless against the dark metal around him.
In that moment, surrounded by gleaming tech and endless stars, Dretz looked impossibly fragile.
But they all knew what he’d just done.
Chapter 33
The ceremony had no name, not one spoken aloud. It happened when it needed to, after deep losses, before daring strikes, or sometimes just to remember. But tonight, it had a purpose: Commander Vos Tellar had returned from the Obsidian Vault, alive but altered. And the pirates at the Broken Compass needed to see him.
In one of the back rooms Elendril stood, half-shadowed by a hanging coil of cabling that swayed gently with the station's subtle movements. A ceremony older than him was about to start, a ritual passed down through generations of resistance fighters, whispered about in hushed tones across a dozen worlds. The platform below wasn't a stage, just a welded scaffold ringed in old signal beacons and hung with tatters of reclaimed banners. Some bore faded insignias of fallen ships, others displayed symbols known only to those who had fought in forgotten battles. No one saluted. No one gave a speech. The silence itself spoke volumes.
Instead, one by one, survivors stepped forward.
Not to speak.
To show.
A woman with eyes that had seen too much unrolled the sleeve of her coat to reveal the latticework of skin grafts that climbed her forearm. The pattern told a story, Itherian interrogation burns, methodically applied, precisely spaced. She had not broken under that pain.
A man, his face weathered by cosmic radiation, lifted his tunic to show where scar-flesh mapped across his ribs like a ghost star chart. The wounds were distinctive, shrapnel patterns from Imperial sonic grenades, the kind banned on civilized worlds but used freely on the Offworlds.
A child, no more than nine, stood silent, clutching a photograph worn nearly translucent from constant handling. The image showed a smiling family before an Imperial raid had taken them. He didn't cry. He didn't need to. The tears weren't the point. His small fingers trembled but his gaze remained steady, defiant beyond his years.
Each scar, each silence, each gesture was a line in a language older than the war, a dialect of pain and resilience understood by everyone in the room. It transcended words, more powerful than any speech.
Elendril didn't move. Didn't interrupt. His mischievous demeanor had given way to solemn respect, his usual teasing tone silenced by the weight of collective memory. He felt the air grow thick with unspoken stories as each person laid bare what they had endured. This wasn't mourning. It was something deeper, more primal, more necessary.
It was memory as resistance.
When a blind veteran stepped forward, his milky eyes unseeing but somehow making eye contact with everyone present, and tapped the beacon with his fingers, three times, slowly, deliberately, a quiet murmur of recognition rippled through the group.
Nira leaned close, her breath warm against Elendril's ear as she whispered, "That means he served under Captain Ors." Her voice held reverence, the kind reserved for legends.
Elendril's breath caught in his throat. His eyebrows raised slightly.
The Whisperwind.
That wasn't just a ship. It was legend. Vanished twenty years ago while running supplies through an Imperial blockade. No wreckage. No distress signal. No bodies recovered.
Just a name that lived in rebel code channels like a warning and a blessing both, a phantom that haunted Imperial commanders and inspired resistance fighters.
Near the edge of the room, Vos Tellar stood still, one arm in a soft brace, the other crossed over his chest. His gaze was unreadable, but he hadn't looked away once, not during the scars, not during the silence. For all his reputation, he made no effort to command the moment. He was simply there, enduring it, letting it wash over him like everyone else.
The blind man's voice rasped through the silence, carrying farther than seemed possible from his frail frame. "You want to honor the fallen?" he asked no one in particular, addressing everyone. "Then remember what we stood for. Not vengeance. Not purity. We stood for choice." The word hung in the air, vibrating with meaning.
He stepped forward with surprising sureness, tapped the base of the signal beacon with two knuckles. A metallic ring echoed through the room, sharp, simple, piercing.
Another followed. A woman with a prosthetic leg.
Then another. A pilot with burn scars crawling up his neck.
The platform rang again and again, as one after another crew stepped forward, tapping the beacon in their turn. Each beat a memory. A heartbeat left behind. A name unspoken but remembered.
The rhythm grew. Syncopated. Defiant. It became a pulse, a living thing that filled the cramped space of the back room, bouncing off the metal walls and ceiling.
Then someone sang, voice raw with emotion but strong with conviction.
"Let them scorch the sky with flame,
Let them curse our hidden name…"
A second voice joined. Then five. Then fifty. The harmony was imperfect but powerful.
And the Broken Compass became a cathedral of sound, loud, raw, and fearless. The magnetic anomaly outside seemed to resonate with their voices, amplifying them, sending them into the void where no Imperial sensors could detect them.
"We have stars beneath our skin,
That's the light they'll never win.
Books will burn and banners fall,
Still we rise and still we call.
Not with silence. Not with fear.
We write truth where none appear."
Vos stepped forward. Slowly. Deliberately. Not to sing, not to speak, but to be seen. His uniform was simple. Unadorned. His hair cut shorter than it had been in the field, his eyes darker than memory recalled. He turned his left wrist, revealing the branded number the Empire had seared into his skin while he was imprisoned, burned deep beneath where any cuff might hide it.
But below that was another mark.
Someone had etched a small starburst into his skin, the lines fresh, still healing. A silent reminder that he was not just a survivor of the Empire, he was part of something greater now. Again. Still.
They sang the song like a battle cry now. A promise. A map written in verse, leading straight through the void. Some voices cracked with emotion, others boomed with defiance. Together they became something greater than themselves, the very spirit of resistance.
Elendril didn't join the song, but he stood and listened, his mouth trembling slightly with the emotion he contained. His eyes scanned the faces around him, people who had suffered under the same Empire he had spent his life fighting. As the last chorus rang off the steel beams overhead, he felt the weight of his own purpose renewed.
He thought of Captain Ors singing into the dark, voice shaking but steady. No map. No army. Just words carved into memory like stone. Elendril didn’t need to be a legend. He just needed to last long enough to make the next link in the chain. To write something someone else could follow.
One by one, the crews of the Compass turned and left, each with their ship, their scars, and their purpose. They disappeared into the shadows, back to their vessels hidden among the asteroids and debris fields, carrying this moment with them like a torch.
And the beacon kept pulsing, steady and warm, its light catching on the tears some finally allowed themselves to shed.
Chapter 34
The Solar Destiny swept low through the clouds over Zinai's mountain range, not in the same way they came the first time sneaking in like a ghost, but like a guardian returning home. The ship's bronze-tinted hull caught the dying sunlight, casting a warm glow across the misty peaks below as it descended with purpose and confidence.
The peaks still curled in the mist, the ledge still bore the scars of age and wind. Ancient erosion patterns traced stories across the stone face, telling tales of millennia that had passed while Volti's secrets lay hidden within. But Zinai Station itself was quiet from this distance, a deceptive stillness that belied the activity within. They knew as they approached it was actually a very busy place, humming with the careful work of preservation and recovery.
They came back to help, and to finish what they started. To bring Zinai's treasures; scientific, historical, mythical, safely back to Byn before the Empire could even guess what had been hidden here. Artifacts that spoke of a civilization's brilliance, knowledge that could rekindle the flame of Byni innovation after centuries of enforced dormancy under Itherian rule.
Elendril stood behind Nira in the cockpit, his tall frame casting a shadow across the navigation console as she brought the ship down to a gentle rest on the tiny landing ledge. His face caught the glow of the instrument panels, highlighting the intensity in his eyes as he watched their approach. Arren was already moving, his pack half-slung over his shoulder, data tools clipped in place, fingers twitching with barely contained excitement.
"It'll go faster this time," he said, adjusting the strap of his pack with practiced efficiency. "I've got the archive mapped and half the files pre-partitioned for transfer. The harmonic resonance patterns are already calibrated to match Byn's storage facilities."
"We get in, we get out," Elendril agreed, his voice carrying that familiar mix of authority and mischief. "No sightseeing. The Empire's patrols have increased in this sector since our last visit."
The Resistance shuttle team met them as they walked up to the station's entrance, their faces a mixture of reverence and determination. The team was smaller than before, just six specialists instead of the dozen who had initially surveyed the site, and had already been busy loading cases: delicate memory cores with crystalline lattices that held millennia of Byni knowledge, sealed prisms containing light-based data that hadn't been accessed in centuries, and carefully dismounted wall panels inscribed with ancient Byni dialect placed onto grav-pallets with reverent precision. Each artifact was wrapped in protective material that shimmered with energized dampening fields.
Zinai's heart was being carried out, piece by careful piece, each fragment a testament to what had been lost and what might yet be reclaimed.
Arren darted between the workers, his slender frame weaving through the organized chaos, calling out calibration specs and shielding protocols with the authority of someone who had spent years studying what others had forgotten.
"No photonic exposure above Class Four! Those mural fragments still contain embedded bio-reactive nanostructured pigments! The harmonic resonance could destabilize if they're exposed to direct light!" His voice echoed against the ancient walls as he supervised each crate with meticulous attention.
"Yes, I labeled them," a technician muttered, wrapping a crystalline shard in static weave, her fingers moving with practiced precision despite her annoyance. "This isn't my first extraction, you know. I was recovering artifacts from Itherian destroyers while you were still studying textbooks."
As the last of the artifact crates were being loaded onto the Destiny's grav-pallets, their contents secured with specialized harmonic dampening fields to prevent degradation during transit, Elendril turned to Arren. His expression shifted to something more solemn, more purposeful.
"There was one room we didn't open last time," he said quietly, his voice barely audible over the hum of equipment.
Arren blinked, his hands freezing mid-gesture over a data tablet. "You mean the sealed chamber behind the north vault? The one with the harmonic lock that wouldn't respond to any of our decryption sequences?"
"Yes," Elendril said, his gaze steady and determined. "It's time. We have something now that we didn't have before." He glanced meaningfully at Dretz resting easily on Arren's shoulder.
The team stepped off the lift into Zinai's deeper vault halls, the kind etched not with names, but with intentions. Ancient symbols lined the walls, pulsing faintly with internal light that seemed to respond to their presence. The corridor leading to the sealed chamber was narrow, pressure-locked, and lit only by internal phosphor veins that traced patterns reminiscent of constellations across the ceiling. Dretz rode on Arren's shoulder as he usually did, his eyes glowing like a reflection of the walls themselves, amber and mysterious.
They stopped in front of the final door, a massive barrier that seemed to absorb the light around it rather than reflect it.
No visible controls. No etched commands. Just a smooth curve of metal that appeared both ancient and somehow timeless, as if it existed partially outside normal space.
Dretz paused, his tendrils extending toward the door, sensing something the others could not. And then he sang.
A soft, unique note, somewhere between curiosity and welcome, a harmonic vibration that seemed to ripple through the very molecules of the air around them.
The door didn't open.
The wall dissolved, molecules rearranging themselves in response to the harmonic key as if they had been waiting millennia for the right song.
And the chamber exhaled, releasing air that had been sealed away since before the Itherian Empire had spread its shadow across the stars.
No alarms. No surge of light. Just stillness, and the quiet reverent sound of memory itself, a gentle hum that seemed to vibrate at the very edge of perception.
They stepped into the circular room together, their footsteps echoing on a floor inlaid with spiraling patterns of iridescent material. The room was high-domed and built from interwoven bands of crystal and harmonically conductive metal that caught and amplified every sound, every breath. No overt tech. Just pure, seamless design. A resonance of purpose that spoke of the Byni's advanced understanding of harmonic science.
At its center, a raised seat, half throne, half amplifier, anchored the space, its surface etched with symbols that seemed to shift and change depending on the angle from which they were viewed. Above it floated hundreds of crystalline memory orbs, each one unique in size and luminosity, drifting in slow orbit like stars trapped mid-thought. Each one pulsed with faint light, each singing the gentlest thread of emotion: joy, grief, confession, defiance. The air itself seemed charged with the weight of countless lives and stories, preserved in perfect fidelity.
Arren's breath caught, his eyes widening with academic wonder and personal awe.
"I've only ever seen illustrations," he whispered, afraid that speaking too loudly might somehow damage the delicate harmony of the room. "Lirae Vell, my professor, she used to talk about resonance cradles like this. Said they weren't data cores. They were remembrance systems. Compressed thought, stored as harmonic lattice. You don't just read them," he added, voice soft as he reached out, not quite touching the nearest floating orb. "You feel them. They transmit directly to consciousness, bypassing language entirely."
Bolen crossed his arms, his engineer's mind trying to reconcile the technology before him with anything he understood. "What kind of person leaves a chair like that behind? The power requirements alone would be..." He trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief.
Arren tilted his head, his expression thoughtful. "One who wants history told by survivors. Not empires. This isn't just data storage, it's testimony. Unalterable, uncorruptible. You can't edit emotional truth encoded in harmonic patterns."
Near the pedestal, a slim crystalline console hummed faintly as they approached, responding to their presence like a sleeping animal stirring. As Arren stepped closer, glyphs lit in sequence across its surface, subtle, like a system waking from sleep after centuries of dormancy.
"I've only ever seen this interface once," Arren said, his fingers hovering over the glyphs with reverent hesitation. "In a corrupted fragment at Solasis. Everyone thought it was metaphor, but Lirae... she believed in this. She risked her career, her freedom, to teach us about harmonic technology when the Byni Council had banned all mention of it."
He trailed his fingers near the edge of the console's pulse, careful not to actually touch it yet.
"This is what she meant. This is the proof she didn't get to see."
The room vibrated faintly, like the station itself was listening, evaluating their intentions through subtle shifts in the harmonic field that permeated the chamber.
"Thought archives aren't binary. They're harmonic. Semi-sentient. They don't store facts, they preserve feeling. The emotional truth of experience. And they only open if they recognize truth in the one who seeks access."
Dretz let out a low, chiming note, his tendrils extending toward the floating orbs with obvious fascination. One of the orbs glowed slightly brighter, responding to his harmonic signature, and drifted toward him as if drawn by an invisible thread.
It pulsed once, its light intensifying... and opened, unfurling like a flower made of light and sound.
A young Byni woman's voice whispered into the air, not from speakers, not from projection, but like it was being whispered directly into the soul of each person present, bypassing their ears entirely and resonating within their minds with perfect clarity.
"They bombed us from orbit while we were still moving elders to the shelters. The sky turned red, then black with smoke. I told my mother we'd make it... She was singing when the roof came down. Her voice never broke, even at the end. We never buried her. There was no earth left to bury anything in. Just glass where the ground had melted."
Elendril didn't look away, his jaw tightening as the testimony washed over him, not just the words, but the raw emotion behind them, preserved perfectly across centuries.
Another orb pulsed and floated toward Nira, drawn to something in her presence, her essence. This one didn't speak, it sang. A lullaby in old Byni dialect, the ancient sacred words flowing like water, each syllable laden with love and desperation. Breath-thin. Fading.
"You're going to grow strong, little star.
Strong enough to live past memory.
If you hear me, know this:
I loved you loud.
Louder than the bombs,
louder than the silence that followed.
Remember our songs, even when I cannot sing them."
Nira blinked, jaw clenched against unexpected emotion. She didn't say anything, but her eyes never left the orb, tracking its gentle movements as the song faded back into silence.
Then came another, drifting toward Bolen as if recognizing something in his engineering mind, his practical soul.
Bolen didn't need to hear it all. He turned toward it the moment it spoke, his posture stiffening.
"My name was Tren Kovo. I was Seshat once. I built weapons. Not just tools, genocides. I helped design the resonance cracks that shattered Alukari's moons. I saw the aftershocks. The tidal disasters. The millions who drowned when the seas rose. I didn't stop. But I left. I gave them the blueprints and I left. This... this is me saying I knew it was wrong. And I'm sorry. It will never be enough, but I need someone to know I saw what I had done."
Bolen stood in silence for a long moment after it faded, the weight of the confession hanging in the air around him. His hands opened and closed, the engineer in him understanding all too well how knowledge could be twisted. Then finally, he nodded once, a gesture of acknowledgment to a long-dead colleague.
Arren approached the pedestal, drawn by the central focus of the room. One orb lay dormant in the cradle at its center, unlike the others, it didn't float or pulse with light.
"I think this one's different," he said, studying it without touching. "It's not stored memory, it's waiting. It's designed to receive, not transmit."
Nira tilted her head, her pilot's instincts making her wary. "Waiting for what?"
"For someone to sit," Arren murmured, gesturing to the throne-like chair. "These chairs don't activate for just anyone. The chamber resonates with intention. If your intent is true, it accepts your story. If not..." He shrugged. "I imagine the consequences would be unpleasant."
"We seal this room," he said at last, his voice carrying the weight of decision. "Leave it undisturbed."
Arren nodded, understanding the wisdom in this choice. "It's grown into the stone. Integrated with the mountain itself. Even if we tried to remove it, we'd fracture the harmonics. Some things aren't meant to be taken, they're meant to be visited, experienced in their proper place."
Nira looked to the door, practical concerns surfacing. "And how would someone open it again? If we leave it here?"
"You'd need a Mokki," Arren said, glancing down at Dretz, who had settled contentedly at his feet. "To sing it open. Their harmonic range includes frequencies the rest of us can't even perceive."
Elendril's gaze swept the chamber one last time, taking in the floating constellation of memories.
"Then only those who walk with truth... will ever hear it. As it should be."
They stepped back into the corridor, one by one, each carrying the weight of what they had witnessed, what they had felt.
Behind them, the archive pulsed, quietly. Patiently. Still listening. Still remembering. The wall reformed, sealing the chamber once more until someone worthy would come again.
By nightfall, they were airborne again, the Solar Destiny rising through the atmosphere with its precious cargo secured. No alarms, no interference. Zinai had surrendered its treasures to those it deemed worthy, guardians who would protect rather than exploit.
But the skies were not empty.
Bolen was the first to catch the blip on the scanner, his experienced eyes narrowing at the readout. "We've got movement. Two ships, Itherian signatures. Patrol class, armed but not heavily. Not on an intercept course yet, but they're scanning. Sweeping the sector in a standard search pattern."
Nira frowned, fingers already on the throttle, ready to execute whatever maneuver might be necessary. "If they tag our cargo hold, they'll assume we're smugglers or raiders. The energy signatures from those artifacts are distinctive."
"Which," Bolen noted with a wry smile, "we technically are. Smuggling cultural treasures right under Imperial noses."
"Only when it's fun," Nira muttered, her eyes never leaving the scanner. Then looking toward Elendril, her expression questioning, she asked, "Do you want evasive? I can thread us through the canyon system to the south, use the mineral deposits to mask our signature."
"No," Elendril said, his decision immediate and confident. "We play it straight. If we run, they will chase, we don't want that! We drift casual, slide through the ridge cloud, and pretend we're just here for cargo hauls. Regular freight business, nothing unusual. If they press, then we'll answer."
The Itherian scouts veered closer, their sleek, predatory shapes becoming visible through the viewport as they approached. One peeled off and scanned the Destiny's undercarriage, the beam sweeping across their hull in methodical patterns.
"Standby ping," Bolen confirmed, monitoring the communications array. "They want us to hold position for inspection. Standard procedure in this sector."
"Hold it," Elendril ordered, his posture relaxed despite the tension in the air. "Let them take a look. We've got nothing that should catch their eye. Our cargo manifests show authorized salvage operations."
Nira let the ship coast, maintaining their course but reducing speed to comply with the inspection request. The scanner beam traced the cargo bay, probing for contraband or unauthorized technology.
Then, it passed, the beam shutting off as suddenly as it had appeared.
The scout ships reformed their formation and faded back into the ridge cloud, apparently satisfied with what they had, or hadn't, found.
Everyone exhaled, the tension draining from the cockpit.
"Guess they're not trained to recognize cultural salvage," Nira said with a slight smile. "Too busy looking for weapons and rebel communications equipment to notice ancient history right under their noses."
They jumped to light fold as soon as they cleared the system's gravity well, and an hour later they were requesting landing clearance for Byn's main port, transmitting the authorization codes that would allow them to bypass the usual customs inspection.
When they brought the Solar Destiny in for a landing, the city lights glowed across the planet's surface like a net of golden threads, weaving between the towering jungle vegetation that characterized Byn's landscape. The Destiny came down in the shadow of the capital's cliff face, where Resistance workers and scholars were already waiting beneath concealed floodlights, their faces alight with anticipation and hope.
As the bay doors opened with a hydraulic hiss, the crew was met not with suspicion or silence, but with applause, a spontaneous outpouring of gratitude that echoed against the hangar walls.
Elendril stood quietly as the Byni archivists eased the recovered artifacts onto velvet-lined tables, their movements slow and reverential. One, a cracked glyph tablet with intricate carvings that seemed to shift in the light, drew hushed gasps as a scholar traced its edge with reverent fingers, tears welling in her eyes. "This was Volti's," someone whispered, voice thick with emotion. "From the final rotation before the invasion. This... this is real. His actual handwriting, his thoughts preserved."
Rhiv, an elder with violet ceremonial bands on her sleeves and silver threading her dark hair, looked up from the tablet, her voice tight with restrained emotion. "Two hundred years we pretended to be broken. Two centuries of hiding our true capabilities, our history, our potential. Volti chose silence so the Itherians would see nothing worth stealing. He gave us obscurity to save everyone else, sacrificing our legacy so that we might survive at all."
Nira tilted her head, her pilot's directness coming to the fore. "And now? What happens when the galaxy learns what the Byni were capable of? What you might become again?"
"Now we're seen again," Rhiv said, her gaze steady and unflinching. "And that will either save us, or cost us more than we've already given. Knowledge is power, but it also makes us a target. The Empire may be weakened, but it still hungers for advantages."
Another scholar nearby muttered, his voice carrying a harder edge, "We've sacrificed enough. It's time the galaxy remembers who we were. What we achieved before they tried to erase us. Let them come, we won't hide again."
Rhiv's gaze didn't flinch, though her expression softened slightly. "It remembers now. That's why it must be protected. Not hidden, but guarded. Shared wisely, with those who will use it to heal rather than harm."
Elendril didn't speak. He only watched, sensing the weight of a culture cracking open, not from ruin, but from resurrection. The return of possibilities long thought lost, and the responsibility that came with them.
Beneath the city, down in the cooled caverns carved beneath the cliffs where natural ventilation kept the air fresh and temperature stable, Zinai's legacy found shelter. Scholars began the painstaking work of cataloging, preserving, and understanding what had been recovered.
"They'll study these for generations," Arren said, standing beside Elendril as they watched the archivists at work, his expression one of professional satisfaction and personal wonder. "What we pulled out, it's more than memory. It's hope. A foundation to rebuild what was lost."
As the Destiny broke orbit the following day, its mission complete, Arren tapped in the final notation to the mission log, his fingers moving deliberately across the console:
Vault ZN-9: Resonance Archive. Sealed. Not for transit. Truth remains in place. Accessible only to those who come with harmony and respect. Coordinates encrypted, access restricted to authorized personnel only.
The ship curved away from Byn, its next destination already plotted, the crew settling into the comfortable rhythm of space travel.
Bolen tossed a packet onto the crate beside Elendril, breaking the contemplative mood with news from elsewhere. "Incoming logistics report. Guess who's got more fuel than we do?"
"Elendril's ego?" Nira offered with a smirk, not looking up from her navigation calculations.
"Close. Marcan. Apparently stole a grain freighter mid-jump and rerouted it to the Renga flotilla. Packed it full of evac food and recycled med gel. Enough supplies to keep the resistance cell there operational for another three months at least."
Arren raised an eyebrow, looking up from his data analysis. "How'd he manage that? Those freighters are usually heavily guarded, especially in Imperial space."
Bolen shrugged, leaning against the bulkhead with casual ease. "Told the crew they were being commandeered by the Resistance. No weapons. Just paperwork. Forged Imperial transfer orders that looked legitimate enough that the captain decided it wasn't worth risking his neck over. By the time they realized the deception, Marcan had already offloaded half the cargo."
Elendril smiled faintly, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "That sounds like him. Always finding the path of least resistance, literally."
"Quiet hero type?" Nira asked, glancing over her shoulder with curiosity.
"Dead serious with a good bluff hand," Elendril said, his tone warm with affection for his old friend. "And stubborn enough to drag a system back from the edge when everyone else has given up. The kind of man who makes impossible things happen through sheer force of will."
Arren nodded, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. "We should all be that kind of dangerous."
The Solar Destiny accelerated, leaving Byn's star behind.
Chapter 35
As they prepared to lift off, the comm light blinked insistently on the Solar Destiny's bridge console.
Encrypted. Resistance relay. From Captain Tarly.
Elendril tapped the key, his fingers hovering over the controls for a moment before the connection established.
The captain's voice came through, clipped but clear, the familiar timbre carrying across light-years of space with unmistakable urgency.
"Elendril. Cinoth is in Raanu's sights because of what happened at Thirava, and he's coming fast. No delays, no hesitation – he's mobilized everything."
"Resistance comm techs intercepted command traffic this morning. Raanu told his fleet not to fire when they arrive, not yet. Said he wants the captain of the Solar Destiny to see Cinoth burn. His words, not mine. He's making this personal, Elendril. This isn't just about conquest anymore – it's about you."
Tarly's voice stayed level, but underneath, there was a pulse of tension that betrayed the gravity of the situation.
"If you're thinking of staying clear, don't. You know he's going to torch it whether you show up or not. He'll reduce that world to ash just to prove a point. At most it might buy a minute if you stay away but we would lose the Solar Destiny helping with the evac so not better in the long run."
Another pause, heavier now, laden with the weight of thousands of lives hanging in the balance.
"The fleet is already in route to start the evac and put up what little defense we can. I expect to see you there shortly."
Elendril stood silent, watching the display flicker back to idle, processing Tarly's words. His reflection in the darkened screen showed his skin ashen with concern, his small goatee tightening as he clenched his jaw.
Outside the viewport, Byn's stars glowed steady against the velvet backdrop of space, indifferent to the crisis unfolding across the galaxy. Elendril's homeworld, rotated peacefully below.
"Let's get there as quickly as we can!" Elendril said, his voice cutting through the silence with renewed determination. He straightened his well-tailored jacket.
"You got it, Captain," Nira replied while throwing the throttle to full, her slender fingers dancing across the controls with practiced precision. The engines rumbled beneath their feet, a reassuring vibration of power. "If we take The Rift, we can make it in half the time."
Nira's fingers danced over the nav console, eyes locked on the flickering vector lines, her face bathed in the blue glow of holographic projections. The daughter of a resistance leader from Bari 4, she'd inherited both her parent's courage and their recklessness. "I've flown the edges of this thing, once. Not this deep. The gravitational eddies get unpredictable toward the center."
"The Rift's that unstable?" Arren asked, gripping the back of her chair, his scientific curiosity momentarily overriding his concern. The scientist's eyes darted across the readouts, already analyzing the spatial anomalies ahead.
Nira snorted, a harsh sound that carried no humor. "It's not a place, it's a dare. Smugglers, stormriders, and two kinds of fools use it: the desperate and the doomed. We'll try to be the first kind." Her fingers never stopped moving, plotting a course through what most navigational systems classified as suicide.
Elendril leaned in beside her, voice low enough that only she could hear. "That's reassuring. Any other comforting thoughts before we plunge into a spatial anomaly?"
She grinned without humor, the expression tight and fierce on her face. "Strap in. This won't be gentle, and I can't promise we'll come out the other side in one piece."
The Solar Destiny jolted violently as it dropped over the Rift's Edge, an unstable vein of spatial compression threading between quasar turbulence and volatile gravitational tides. The iridescent alloy hull shimmered as its photoreceptive plating absorbed energy from the surrounding chaos.
Outside the viewport, the stars didn't move. They shuddered, warping and stretching like reflections in disturbed water. Reality itself seemed to bend around them, creating ghostly afterimages that lingered too long.
Nira gritted her teeth, hands white-knuckled on the controls, her body tensed against the ship's erratic movements. Sweat beaded on her forehead as she fought against forces that defied conventional physics.
"I told you this corridor was cursed," Bolen muttered over comms from the engineering deck below, his deep voice crackling with static. The ship's tall, strong engineer had survived Itherian work camps; a spatial anomaly wasn't about to defeat him, but that didn't mean he had to like it.
"It's not cursed. Just mathematically unwise," Arren replied, his fingers flying over his portable console, calculating adjustments faster than the ship's computers. "The probability matrix is simply unfavorable. Fascinating, really, how the quantum field."
The rift snapped again, like the universe inhaled, then forgot how to exhale. Reality compressed, then expanded too quickly.
The ship groaned, a deep metallic protest that reverberated through every bulkhead. Warning lights flashed across every console, bathing the bridge in ominous red.
Bolen's voice rang from engineering, tight with urgency. "We've got pressure creep on the ventral hull! Shearing force in the flex struts, fifteen seconds before we start tearing out bulkheads!”
Dretz, suddenly perked up from his perch on the scientist's shoulder. He let out a short, firm tone that seemed to ripple through the air. Then another, higher this time, pulsing like a heartbeat.
The strain eased, almost magically. Warning lights dimmed from critical to cautionary.
Nira blinked in surprise, her hands momentarily loose on the controls. "... Did he just realign our inertial dampeners?"
"Partially," Arren confirmed, watching his companion with newfound respect. "He's stabilizing the inner hull harmonics. Not holding the ship, just letting it flex without breaking. The Mokki have an intuitive understanding of resonance patterns that our technology barely comprehends."
Bolen cursed colorfully over the channel, the words lost in a burst of static. When his voice returned, it carried grudging admiration. "He's buying us time. That doesn't mean this thing won't collapse around us. The structural integrity field is still fluctuating wildly."
"Then we fly faster," Elendril said, stepping up beside Nira, his confidence unwavering despite the chaos surrounding them. "How far to the exit vector?"
"Four jumps. Two gravitic ricochets. And a spatial lensing field that's about as stable as Bolen's temper." Nira's eyes never left the controls, her focus absolute.
"Good," Elendril said calmly, placing a reassuring hand on her shoulder. "You're at your best when everything's falling apart. I've seen you thread needle-holes in Itherian blockades."
Nira gave a sharp grin, fierce and determined. "Then you're in luck. This is about as apart as things get."
The Destiny sliced through the corridor like a scalpel, threading tidal forces, banking hard against gravity wells that shouldn't have existed. Every burst of thrust came half a second before the numbers said it should, guided by Nira's intuition as much as her skill. The ship's quantum drive unit hummed at frequencies that defied standard operating parameters.
Bolen rerouted power mid-burn, his hands moving with surprising delicacy for their size, coaxing extra energy from systems never designed for such stress. Arren kept Dretz in phase with the ship's core, the scientist and his Mokki friend creating a harmonic bridge between biological intuition and mechanical necessity.
And Nira? Nira flew as though the ship were an extension of her own body, anticipating spatial distortions before sensors could detect them.
Twice they spun sideways through compressed time-space pockets, the ship rotating on its axis with precision that defied the chaotic environment. Once they dodged a ripple so dense it distorted the forward view into memory echoes. Elendril saw himself at twelve, laughing at a story his mother used to tell about Byn's ancient forests, then blinked, and it was gone, leaving only a strange melancholy in its wake.
Three hours later, the Solar Destiny broke free of the corridor with shields sparking and hull plates singing in protest. The view snapped back to normal starfield with a disorienting suddenness, and ahead, just beyond the Caelaxis nebula's event horizon, Cinoth hung like a jewel against the darkness.
Its twin moons glinted like watchful eyes, orbiting protectively around a world of barren deserts and volcanic mountain ranges. The city's outer arcs shimmered with faint energy signatures, barely a defense grid, but holding, a testament to Princess Bara Ph'Ticia's determination to protect her world.
The message arrived during third shift, when most of the crew was asleep. Arren, monitoring communications during his watch, stared at the decoded text in disbelief before immediately waking Elendril.
By the time the full crew assembled on the bridge, resistance channels across three sectors were exploding with the news.
"It can't be verified," Arren said, his voice tight with controlled excitement as he pulled up intercepts on the main display. "But the reports are consistent. Emperor Caani is dead. Fero Tranii has claimed the throne."
"Tranii?" Bolen frowned, the name unfamiliar on his tongue. "Who the hell is Tranii?"
"Palace guard commander," Elendril replied, his expression thoughtful as he studied the fragmented reports scrolling across the screen. "Career military, but not one of Caani's inner circle. Not someone anyone would have expected to make a move for power."
"How?" Nira asked, the practical question cutting through speculation.
Arren shook his head. "Details are scarce. It appears to have happened overnight. The palace announced Caani's death and Tranii's ascension simultaneously. No warning, no struggle, no visible coup."
"Clean," Elendril murmured. "Too clean."
"What matters is what comes next," Nira said, arms crossed as she leaned against her console. "Is this just another tyrant with a different name?"
The comm system crackled as a new transmission cut through their discussion, a broadcast on all Imperial frequencies, something unprecedented in recent memory.
Tranii's face filled the screen, stern and composed. Unlike Caani's theatrical displays of power, Tranii stood alone, without the usual backdrop of Imperial might. His uniform was austere, bearing only the essential insignia of his new rank.
"People of the Empire," he began, his voice steady and measured. "Emperor Caani is dead. I, Fero Tranii, have assumed leadership of our people. Effective immediately, I am ordering all military forces to stand down from offensive operations. The conquest ends today."
Stunned silence filled the bridge as the crew exchanged glances of disbelief.
"The Empire has lost its way," Tranii continued. "We have conquered without purpose, destroyed without reason, and ruled without wisdom. This ends now. We will rebuild what we have broken, starting with our own worlds."
As the proclamation continued, outlining immediate policy changes and restructuring of Imperial forces, Elendril's expression remained guarded.
"Do we believe this?" Bolen asked, voicing the question on everyone's mind.
"It doesn't matter what we believe," Elendril replied, his eyes never leaving the screen. "What matters is what happens on the ground. Words are easy. Change is hard."
"It could be a trick," Nira said. "A way to make us lower our guard."
"Or it could be genuine," Arren countered. "Empires do fall. Leaders do change course."
"We proceed with caution," Elendril decided, his tone brooking no argument. "We watch. We wait. We verify every claim with our own eyes. And we remember that even if Tranii means every word, there are those in the Empire who won't accept this new direction."
As if in answer to his words, another alert flashed across Arren's console.
"Speaking of which," Arren said grimly, "we're picking up movement from Primarch Raanu's fleet. They're not standing down. They're accelerating toward Cinoth."
Elendril's jaw tightened. "Then we have our answer. At least for Raanu."
"Which means," Elendril said, his expression hardening, "that Cinoth is still in danger, regardless of who sits on the throne."
"The Empire is in chaos," Arren observed, sorting through the streams of data. "Half the Imperial command structure is acknowledging Tranii's orders to stand down. The other half is waiting for confirmation or outright refusing."
"Perfect conditions for someone like Raanu to go rogue," Elendril said, pacing the length of the bridge. "The chain of command is fractured. Officers are choosing sides. And in that confusion, a Primarch with a personal vendetta can easily slip away with his loyal forces."
"So Tranii might be genuine," Nira said, "but that doesn't mean the entire Empire falls in line overnight."
"Exactly," Elendril replied. "Empires don't change course like fighters. They're more like massive freighters, slow to turn, with momentum carrying them forward even after the engines cut power."
Bolen looked up from his station. "And Raanu's using that momentum to finish what he started at Renga."
Through the viewport, they could see the resistance fleet beginning to arrive, a ragtag collection of vessels of all shapes and sizes converging on the threatened planet. Captain Tarly and Princess Bara Ph'Ticia were already visible on the command channel displays, their faces grim as they coordinated the desperate evacuation.
Nira leaned back, shaking out her arms, which trembled with fatigue after hours of fighting against impossible forces. "Six hours to spare, give or take. Assuming Raanu's fleet doesn't cheat and find some shortcut we don't know about."
"They won't," Elendril said with the certainty of someone who had spent years outmaneuvering Itherian forces. "They're used to using the Artron Gates, but those don't exist anymore after the conduits were destroyed. I doubt they ever developed a backup system. The Empire is too arrogant to believe they'd need one."
Bolen grunted, his voice coming through clearer now that they were in normal space. "We'll need every minute we can get. The princess has millions of people to evacuate, and we've got ships for thousands at best."
Elendril nodded, his eyes fixed on the planet below, the devastation from the empire’s exploitation already nearly killing the environment.
Resistance scouts had already begun their fallback, small ships darting back toward the main fleet with intelligence on Itherian movements. Civilian transports were mid-evac, wideband frequencies choked with panic, course corrections, and desperate final departures. The skies above Cinoth became chaos barely held together by hope and the thin thread of resistance coordination.
Before they dove into the fray, Elendril took a minute to think. This could be just another scramble to evac people from an entire planet and then lose so many of them when Raanu showed up, or maybe it could be the beginning of doing things differently. The mischievous glint returned to his eyes, the look that always made others wonder what he knew that they didn't.
He radioed Captain Tarly, leaving him a message on a very busy channel, his voice carrying a confidence he barely felt.
"Hey Tarly, Solar Destiny has arrived. I am requesting a couple hours to pursue a solution that I believe will change everything. If I am wrong, you can be mad at me for as long as you want. If it turns out to be nothing I will be back quickly and help with the evac. But I think I've found something in the harmonic frequencies around Cinoth that might give us an edge Raanu isn't expecting. Elendril Out,"
Chapter 36
Silence fell over the Solar Destiny bridge. They had expected to jump right into the evac chaos but they all knew what Elendril was thinking and hope was growing that it just might work. They had all seen what Dretz could do. He had collapsed a galaxy-threatening wound into harmony with nothing but his peculiar resonant abilities. There was no doubt in any of their minds that he could open Caelaxis and lead them safely through to the other side, threading the eye of stars, but what would they find on the other side?
"We should go through," Arren said quietly, his eyes fixed on the small Mokki pet. He wasn't touching the console, just watching Dretz, who had already begun to hum, softly, idly, like he was tuning the air itself. The scientist's fingers hovered over his instruments, but they weren't needed. "The gate's responding. It's aligning on its own. The harmonic frequencies are... perfect."
"Of course it is," Bolen muttered, crossing his massive arms as he leaned against his station. The engineer's face was a mixture of disbelief and reluctant acceptance. "We've got the choirboy of the cosmos right here. Probably thinks this is just another afternoon stroll."
Nira, at the helm, didn't turn. Her fingers danced across the controls with practiced precision, her posture rigid with focus. "Course is plotted. Caelaxis is stable. Resonance readings are stronger than I've ever seen them." She paused, then added, "We can do this."
Elendril stepped to the forward rail. Caelaxis shimmered ahead, a spiral blooming outward with slow, resonant breath. The swirling energies cast prismatic reflections across his face, highlighting his pointed ears and the determination in his eyes. He stared into it as though memory might live there, as though Volti himself might be watching from the other side.
"We know what's behind us," he said, his voice carrying that hint of mischief even now, at the precipice of such a momentous decision. "Raanu's coming. His fleet will strike Cinoth. But likely not until we show ourselves. The Primarch has always been... predictable in his obsessions."
"They want us," Arren said, finally looking up from Dretz. "Not the planet. They've been hunting the Solar Destiny since Thirava."
"And if we go through," Nira added, the weight of responsibility evident in her tone, "we're not here to stop them. Princess Bara's people will be defenseless."
"Unless," Elendril said slowly, a plan clearly forming behind his eyes, "we find a way to stop them before they strike. Something more powerful than what we have now."
He turned to Arren, the skin around his eyes crinkling with intensity. "You said Volti left more than theories. More than just the frequencies."
Arren nodded, excitement flickering across his features. The scientist straightened, his encyclopedic knowledge of ancient texts and mythologies coming to the fore. "He left a prophecy. A promise. It said:
"In a time of great need,
thread the eye of stars,
find the veiled ones,
the children of Dei,
then all that was, shall be.
The Children bear Seir’karael
The light that guards in song.
Elendril breathed that in like something remembered, the words settling in his chest as though they'd always been there, waiting to be reclaimed.
"They're real," Arren said, his voice gaining confidence. "The children of Dei, I believe that! And if Volti was right, if they remember what we've forgotten, maybe they can help us stop this. Maybe they have harmonic science beyond what we've discovered." His eyes gleamed with the possibility of new knowledge, new discoveries.
Bolen snorted, the sound echoing in the tense bridge. "So we're betting the planet on a bedtime story. Great. Perfect plan." Despite his words, he began checking the ship's systems, preparing for the crossing.
"No," Elendril replied, turning to face his old friend with unwavering certainty. "We're betting on the truth inside the story. The way we did just now, coming through Orr's Rift.”
A quiet settled over the bridge, broken only by the soft hum of Dretz's harmonic resonance and the gentle ping of instruments.
Outside, Caelaxis yawned open, not violently, not with fanfare, but like a breath finally released after being held too long. A spiral corridor unfolded through the void, shimmering, and alive with possibilities. The cosmic anomaly pulsed with energy that seemed to call to them, beckoning the Solar Destiny forward.
Elendril looked at each of them in turn, his gaze lingering on each crew member's face, silently asking the question.
No one flinched. No one looked away. They were ready, perhaps more ready than they had ever been.
He turned to Nira, who sat poised at the helm, waiting for the command.
"Take us in."
She grinned without humor, her fingers already moving across the controls. "About time. I was beginning to think we'd admire it all day."
The Solar Destiny leaned into the light, its iridescent alloy hull catching the ethereal glow as Dretz's voice rose in clear, crystalline tones, not testing, not guessing, not searching for the right frequency.
Just leading, with the confidence of someone who had always known the way.
The ship creaked as it crossed the event horizon, its hull reverberating with tones not born of any mechanical origin, a living song, deep and vast, threading through the ship's bones like ancestral memory. The portal flared, a toroidal gyre of light and cloud, spinning with impossible hues: colors that did not exist in their native spectrum, fracturing thought as they poured through the viewports, washing over the crew in waves of sensation.
Dretz's voice, more vibration than sound, sustained the note, a resonant key that hummed in their teeth and hearts and memories. His small form seemed to glow from within, channeling energies and sounds beyond comprehension as he guided them through.
For a heartbeat, they were nowhere, suspended between realities, between breaths.
And then everywhere, all at once, experiencing the vastness of existence.
Time pinched and stretched like taffy. Stars inverted, becoming voids in a luminous sky. A sense of falling, upward, pulled them through a gossamer tunnel of harmonic glass that sang with the music of creation itself. The ship's systems flickered, displays showing impossible readings as reality itself recalibrated around them.
Each crew member glimpsed something personal, abstract: Bolen saw his father's freighter, sailing through unfamiliar stars. Arren glimpsed ancient texts written in perfect clarity. Nira felt the wind of Bari 4, against her face.
The ship jolted, one sharp, precise note from the singer spiking across the void, and the light cracked like a cosmic eggshell, fragmenting around them in a shower of crystalline reality.
They emerged in silence, the harmonic reverberations fading into the new space around them.
A different universe. Still space, still the endless void between stars. But very different stars stared back, constellations unknown to any of their star charts, patterns never before witnessed by their eyes. The cosmos had been rewritten around them, or perhaps they had been rewritten within it.
They had arrived in the place mentioned in the prophecy, the home of the children of Dei they hoped.
Chapter 37
It took a moment for Elendril to fully realize what they had accomplished.
The ship was intact, miraculously. He could feel the hum of the stabilizers catching rhythm again, Dretz's harmonic tone still trailed like a thread of starlight through the consoles. The quantum drive unit hummed beneath his feet, settling into a steady rhythm that suggested they had, indeed, survived the impossible passage.
Stars, unmapped, distant, wrong, filled the viewscreen, but it was what wasn't there that chilled them to their cores. Caelaxis behind them was gone. The instruments on the Solar Destiny's navigations console showed a signature but there was nothing to see with their eyes. No way home without the mokki. The emptiness where Caelaxis should have been gaped like an open wound in the fabric of space, a stark reminder of what they had risked in this journey.
"Confirming gate closure," Nira murmured, her voice barely audible over the gentle beeping of the ship's systems. Her fingers trembled slightly as they moved across her station. "Harmonic field decay complete. We're... cut off." The weight of those last two words hung heavy in the air, a reality none of them had fully prepared to face.
Arren's fingers danced across the console with practiced precision, his brow furrowed in concentration. "Getting readings..." he announced, his scientific curiosity momentarily overshadowing the gravity of their situation.
A field of sensor data burst into holographic bloom around him, casting his face in an ethereal blue glow as complex patterns of information materialized in the air.
"Gravitational anchors are Corevalis-class," he said slowly, eyes widening as he processed the implications. "We're in a deep orbital trough. System is unregistered in our charts." He paused, looking up at Elendril with a mixture of awe and apprehension. "Captain, I believe we've actually done it. We've crossed over. And look, what is this? If these readings are correct, time doesn't pass the same way here as it does at home."
"Faster or Slower?" Nira asked.
"Faster by a lot." Arren replied, "In fact we have almost a month before we need to go back through Caelaxis in order to be there when Raanu arrives."
"We don't want to go too soon and meet ourselves." Bolen quipped, "That might be disastrous."
A moment passed, heavy with the weight of their achievement.
They all stood, frozen in a tableau of disbelief and wonder.
Suddenly a ship filled the screen.
Not Itherian. Not Resistance. And certainly not like anything they had ever seen before in all their years traversing the stars of Myrios.
It didn't glide, it loomed, massive and commanding, like a city turned on its side and hurled into the stars. Its circular hull gleamed with intricate, tiered panels, a light chased itself around the outer edge at incredible speeds and made the outer edge pulse with life and energy. No visible engines, no weapons raised, just quiet power that seemed to bend the very space around it. It was less a ship and more a statement.
He leaned slightly forward, pulse quickening with a mixture of caution and fascination.
That...is not from our galaxy. Nothing in Myrios had ever approached this level of elegant design combined with sheer power.
Even Nira stopped breathing, her hands hovering motionless above her controls.
The crew stared at it in silence as its image sharpened on the main screen, revealing more details of its magnificent construction. The intricate patterns on its hull seemed almost like writing, like a story etched into metal and light.
No weapons locked. No alarms screamed.
Just... awe that permeated the bridge of the Solar Destiny like a physical presence.
Suddenly the nearby planet shimmered and then a shield of light encased it. The light was blinding for everyone on both ships.
And then, a shimmer, a channel opened, a flicker in the air coalesced into a holographic bridge, and the crew of the BrightLight materialized in front of him, their forms translucent yet detailed enough to make out their expressions of curiosity and caution.
"My name is Captain Raki of The Alliance Starship Bright Light. State your intentions, Did you just put a barrier on the planet Nemani?" said the man in the center of the room. He stood there with calm authority waiting for Elendril's answer, his posture conveying confidence tempered with diplomatic restraint.
Elendril barely had time to catalog his expression, the measured gaze, the subtle lines around his eyes that suggested experience rather than age, before a gesture was made and a holographic link activated, the technology seamlessly bridging the gap between their vessels.
And just like that, he was standing, digitally, on their bridge, surrounded by a crew whose uniforms and demeanor spoke of discipline and purpose.
He took in their faces, their uniforms, their cautious tension. The bridge was immaculate, technology humming with quiet efficiency, stations arranged in a circular pattern that suggested harmony and communication rather than hierarchy.
He smiled, letting his natural charm shine through the digital projection.
"I am Captain Elendril of the Solar Destiny," he said, letting a hint of melody color the words, his voice carrying the subtle accent of Byn. "I come in peace, seeking conversation and perhaps a little company, and I know nothing of the barrier that covers your planet." His eyes twinkled with mischief, a trait that had served him well in countless delicate situations.
The words felt light on his tongue, humor as armor. A tension-breaker. A test, he didn't mention Cinoth or the Itherians, not yet, first he needed to determine if these people might be Volti's Children of Dei. The caution was instinctive, born from years of navigating the treacherous waters of resistance against the Empire.
Then behind the captain a tall slender young officer with an intricate blue tattoo adorning his forehead and skull dropped to his knees, his robes billowing around him as he descended in a fluid, practiced motion.
Elendril blinked, momentarily thrown off balance by this unexpected display.
Wait!? what? This was not the reaction he had anticipated from a first contact situation.
"Apologies my Lord," the officer said, speaking over his own captain, his voice trembling with reverence. "This man's captain is unaware he is speaking to the Great Sovereign Volti." The young man's eyes were downcast, his entire posture one of deep, religious devotion.
Elendril's smile twisted into a laugh before he could help it.
Not cruel. Not mocking.
Just stunned at the absurdity of being mistaken for a historical figure he had always admired, but only read about in ancient texts.
Volti? he echoed, tilting his head in genuine confusion. "That's a name I did not expect to hear on this side of Caelaxis." His ears twitched slightly, a subtle tell of his surprise that those around him today might not recognize.
He crouched, studying the young man, noting the intricate tattoo and wondered if it marked him as someone of significance among his people. The blue design seemed to pulse with the beating of the officer's heart, or perhaps that was just a trick of the light.
Elendril's mind was already spinning. The pieces were falling into place. This world, these people, they knew the old names. Or some version of them. The implications were staggering, suggesting a connection between their universes that went far deeper than he had imagined.
Not lies. Echoes, distorted by time and distance and the natural evolution of storytelling across generations.
"But no, my friend," he added gently, his voice softening with compassion. "I'm just a humble ship captain." Though the words were simple, they carried a weight of truth and a touch of regret for disappointing the young officer's evident faith.
Raki's brow furrowed, his gaze flicking toward Adric, still kneeling. His voice lowered, more puzzled than challenging, the authority in it momentarily overshadowed by genuine confusion.
"Captain…can you explain why my First Officer is bowing to you and calling you by the name of his god." Raki hesitated, clearly navigating unfamiliar territory. "This isn't something I ever expected to see. What do you know of Volti?" The question hung in the air, laden with implications neither captain fully understood.
Elendril straightened. Still smiling. But alert now, reading the dynamic between the captain and his kneeling officer, sensing the delicate balance of authority and respect that characterized their relationship.
"Oh, that? Just a little misunderstanding, I'm sure. But," he added with a glance back to the young officer, his expression softening with genuine curiosity, "if you'll permit me, Captain, I'd be delighted to meet this fine young man in person. It seems he has quite a story to tell." His voice carried both charm and sincerity, he truly wanted to understand this unexpected connection.
A silent command from Raki, with a twist of his wrist and a motion of his hand, he invited Elendril forward into the holographic bridge. "Step into the hologram Captain, it will bring you here directly." The offer was both a gesture of goodwill and a calculated risk, allowing this stranger onto their ship while maintaining the advantage of home territory.
Elendril stepped into the holographic interface without hesitation, trusting in the diplomatic potential of the moment. The edges of his vision blurred momentarily as the transport technology engaged.
The actual air of the Bright Light washed over him a moment later, carrying subtle notes of recycled atmosphere that told stories of long journeys through the void.
Clean, toned, with that faint sterile scent of perfectly calibrated atmospheric scrubbers. The lighting was slightly warmer than standard. Elegant, designed for comfort during extended missions. The soft hum of advanced technology surrounded him, speaking of engineering prowess beyond anything in the Myrios universe.
And all eyes were on him, a mixture of curiosity, caution, and in the case of the kneeling officer, something approaching reverence.
He materialized with a soft thrum, stepping forward, his usual theatrical self at a gentle simmer. The transition between ships had been flawless, another testament to the advanced technology of this universe.
He let the light catch on his burgundy skin and dark curls, his long fingers loosely clasped behind his back, ears twitching just enough to remind them, he was not one of them. His every movement was calculated to project openness and friendliness while maintaining a dignified presence.
He moved toward the kneeling officer, acutely aware of the crew's watchful eyes tracking his every move.
"Still kneeling. Stars help me." he thought. This was going to be more complicated than he had anticipated.
"Well now," Elendril said, letting warmth infuse his voice, crouching slightly to be at eye level with the young man. "Let's start with your name, shall we?" He extended a hand, an invitation to rise and meet as equals rather than as supplicant and deity.
The young man rose, shaky, reverent, but composed, his tall, slender frame unfolding with grace despite his evident emotional turmoil. The intricate tattoo on his blue skin seemed to shimmer under the bridge lighting, emphasizing the alien beauty of his features.
"I am Adric Balme, First Officer of The Bright Light, child of Kusi first among Nemanoi glassblowing artisans, and a humble servant of Volti." His voice was steady now, though his eyes still held a mixture of awe and confusion as they met Elendril's gaze.
Adric Balme, Elendril repeated internally. A nice name he thought, rolling it around in his mind. There was something about this young officer that intrigued him, a sincerity that cut through the awkwardness of their unusual meeting.
"Adric," he echoed aloud, savoring it. "Tell me, what exactly do you believe about me, or rather, about Volti?" He gestured casually around them, including the watching crew in this conversation that had suddenly become far more significant than a simple first contact.
He needed to hear it. Not out of ego, but out of curiosity, out of concern for what this misunderstanding might mean for both their peoples. The historian in him hungered to understand how Volti's legacy had transformed across the divide of universes.
"Volti is the Great Sovereign, the protector of the Nemanoi people," Adric said, steadying himself with each word, his training as an officer helping him regain his composure. "It is said that he watches over us from the Watcher's Eye Gate, granting us peace and prosperity. His presence ensures the balance of our world. He created Nemani, opened the Gate so he could care for us, and values honesty and integrity in all of our dealings. When we die, we believe we travel through the Watcher's Eye to live with him and our ancestors." His words carried the weight of deep belief, recited with the certainty of someone who had never questioned their faith.
Elendril exhaled slowly, processing the implications of what he was hearing. The transformation of historical fact into religious doctrine was fascinating and concerning in equal measure.
So much myth. And yet... not wrong. Just... reinterpreted through generations of oral tradition and the natural tendency to deify great leaders of the past. The core truths remained, wrapped in layers of spiritual significance.
"And you've always believed these things?" He asked softly, genuinely curious about the depth of this faith that had apparently transformed a political leader on his world into a deity in this far off place.
"Yes," Adric answered firmly, standing taller now as he spoke of his beliefs, the initial shock of the encounter giving way to the certainty of his convictions.
"From childhood, I was taught that Volti's love and protection are the cornerstones of our survival. Every Nemanoi child learns of his wisdom and guidance. Our entire society is structured around the principles he established, honesty in our dealings, care for our legacy, and reverence for the Watcher's Eye." His voice carried pride and devotion, the sincerity of a lifetime of unquestioning faith.
Elendril's heart ached with something he couldn't quite name, a mixture of fascination, sympathy, and a strange sense of responsibility for the truth that might shatter this young man's worldview.
"It's fascinating, really," he said, half to himself, his voice taking on a thoughtful quality. "How stories change and grow over time. How history becomes legend, and legend becomes faith." His eyes met Adric's, gentle but unflinching.
"What do you mean?" Adric asked, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features for the first time, as if sensing that his foundations might be about to shift beneath his feet.
"Volti," Elendril said, the playfulness quieting as he chose his words carefully, aware of the weight they carried, "was one of my people's greatest Sovereigns. A leader of exceptional vision and courage, yes, but a mortal like every other.
His leadership, his vision, they were unparalleled. He was the last Sovereign before the Empire's shadow fell over us. When the Empire severed our connections, isolating us from the galaxy, it was Volti who kept us going. He led us through an era of profound hardship, stockpiling resources, safeguarding our scientific discoveries, and making preparations we couldn't fully comprehend at the time. Without his wisdom and foresight, my people would not have survived." His voice carried respect and admiration, but not worship, the distinction between honoring a great leader and deifying him clear in his tone.
He let the memory unfurl, drawing on historical accounts he had studied in his youth, trying to convey the reality of Volti as a flesh-and-blood leader rather than a divine being.
The burden, the brilliance, the bitter wisdom of preparing for a storm you'll never see end. The very deep courage it took to face overwhelming odds and still plan for a future you might never witness.
"There's also another myth about him," he continued, his voice taking on the cadence of a storyteller, inviting Adric and the others into the narrative.
"It is said that he wielded a magical staff and, in a moment of divine inspiration, pierced a hole in the sky. On the other side of the sky, through that hole, he found a sanctuary, a world inhabited by a kind and noble people." His eyes twinkled as he recounted the tale, acknowledging its mythic qualities while hinting at the kernel of truth that must lie beneath.
He shifted tones again, lighter, wrapping reverence in humor, trying to ease the potential blow of his words.
He looked at Adric again, taking in the intricate tattoo that marked him as Nemanoi, the flowing blue robes that spoke of his heritage's love of color and movement.
"The depictions I've seen of those people in our ancient texts," he said with a smile, "bear a striking resemblance to you. Tall, elegant beings with a love for flowing fabrics and vibrant colors, known for their honesty and integrity in all dealings." His words were gentle, building a bridge between myth and reality that might help Adric cross from one understanding to another.
A murmur rippled through the nearby crew, the implications of Elendril's words spreading like ripples in still water. Captain Raki watched intently, his expression thoughtful as he observed this unexpected cultural exchange unfolding on his bridge.
Behind Elendril, the faint hum of the Solar Destiny still whispered through the holographic link, a reminder of the journey that had brought him here and the home that waited across an impossible divide.
Adric stared at him, his mind visibly reeling, centuries of belief colliding with this stranger's matter-of-fact account. "So you are saying... you're not Volti?" The question was simple but laden with complex emotions, confusion, doubt, perhaps even the first tremors of a faith being questioned.
Elendril chuckled, stepping back and spreading his arms theatrically, his natural charm coming to the fore once more.
"I'm saying I'm me. Elendril, captain of a fine ship and explorer of the stars." then gently, his voice softening with compassion for the young officer's evident struggle, "Volti wasn't a god, but he is still remembered among my people as an extraordinary leader. And as for Caelaxis, your Watcher's Eye gate," he added with a sly grin, hoping to soften the blow with a hint of wonder, "it seems the stories are true. He did open a hole in the sky. And on the other side I think, he found your people, Adric.
"What about the barrier?" Adric asked. "It came over my home when you arrived."
"I don't know what that is about." Elendril answered. "My science officer is undoubtedly studying it now to try and understand it. Perhaps we could join forces on that project. It would give us an opportunity to work together and get to know one another, which I would like very much."
Chapter 38
Later Elendril asked Raki to use his communication array to get a message to his people beyond Caelaxis. Raki led him to his office on the starboard side of the bridge. Elendril stood outside the small office for several seconds before stepping inside.
He didn't pace. He didn't rehearse. His posture remained perfectly still, exuding the confidence of a man accustomed to making difficult decisions. He simply activated the encrypted relay and entered a familiar set of override codes, his slender fingers moving with practiced precision as he flagged the transmission under priority diplomatic clearance.
Queen Rythara answered almost immediately.
Her holographic form coalesced from the center of the ship's Star-weave array, elegant and composed even in translucent shimmer. The blue-tinted projection captured every detail of her travel cloak and ceremonial armor, the latter always a sign that she was thinking like a strategist, not a monarch. The intricate patterns on her armor caught the light, creating an almost hypnotic effect as she regarded him.
"Elendril," she said, her voice clear despite the vast distance between them. "You're alive. That's always a good start." The subtle curve of her lips betrayed a fondness beneath her formal demeanor.
He offered a tired smile, the small goatee on his chin accentuating his weary expression. "Barely. But alive, yes." His golden eyes reflected the glow of the hologram, revealing the exhaustion he was trying to mask.
Her eyes narrowed slightly, the projection capturing the subtle shift in her expression. "I take it this isn't a social call." Her voice remained steady, but there was an undercurrent of concern.
"No, Your Grace." He stepped closer to the projection, his pointed ears catching the blue light as he moved. "I need your help with something... delicate." The word hung in the air between them, weighted with implication.
She gestured slightly with an elegant hand, her version of granting the floor. The movement was minimal but carried the authority of someone accustomed to command.
"We've made contact with a ship from the other side of Caelaxis. They call themselves the Galactic Alliance." Elendril's tone shifted, becoming more measured now, his natural mischievousness giving way to gravity. "One of their officers, Adric Balme, is of a species called the Nemanoi." He paused, his upswept eyebrows drawing together. "The Nemanoi believe Volti, is their god."
Rythara's eyes widened, but she said nothing, her disciplined demeanor allowing only this small indication of surprise.
"Apparently he came through Caelaxis once, Volti, I mean," Elendril continued, his hands moving slightly as he spoke. "He must've reached them, made an impression. But now two centuries later, everything's changed. The stories have turned to scripture. When Adric saw me, he thought I was Volti returned, and he tried to worship me." The discomfort was evident in his voice, his usual confidence momentarily shaken.
"Elendril…" Rythara's voice held a warning note, understanding immediately the ethical implications.
"I told him the truth," Elendril said quickly, his skin darkening slightly with emotion. "I am not Volti. But I am Byni. And that alone..." he spread his hands expressively, "was enough to shake him to his core."
"And now he is destabilized," Rythara finished, reading him easily, her holographic eyes piercing through his defenses.
"Somewhat," he admitted, adjusting the cuff of his business-like attire. "Adric's a believer, but he's not naïve. He asks questions. He listens. I think others might too, if given time." Hope colored his words, revealing his genuine concern for the Nemanoi officer.
She folded her hands, the gesture deliberate and thoughtful. "Do we have time?" The question cut to the heart of the matter.
"That's the thing," Elendril said, his voice dropping lower as he leaned toward the hologram. "Cinoth is in danger. Raanu is coming." His expression darkened at the mention of his nemesis. "And Adric's people, the Nemanoi, they're powerful. They have technology and ships that could be the difference between holding Cinoth... or losing it, and at the very least their ship could evacuate so many more Cinothians than we can." The urgency in his voice was palpable, his natural leadership qualities emerging as he outlined the stakes.
Rythara was quiet a long moment, her holographic form perfectly still as she considered. Then, with measured gravity: "And you want to tell them their god is just a man. A man who died two hundred years ago, with no afterlife, no divine plan… just physics and memory."
"I don't want to lie to them," Elendril said, his eyes reflecting his inner conflict. "But I also don't want to strip away something that anchors their world, especially not when we need them. The Nemanoi have a structure, a faith that's kept their society stable for generations." His voice carried the weight of a man caught between necessity and conscience.
Rythara's voice softened, the change subtle but meaningful. "You've changed."
Elendril blinked in surprise.
"Six months ago, you'd have made a joke about cults and collapsed belief structures and done whatever you pleased, anyway. But now you're asking. That matters." Her holographic features softened with something like pride.
He exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing slightly under her approval. "So what would you do?" The question was genuine, respectful.
She didn't hesitate. "I'd tell the truth. But gently. And not all at once." Her holographic fingers traced a pattern in the air, as if mapping out a strategy. "Let Adric help you. If he's the kind of man you say he is, then he could be a bridge. Use him, earn his trust, let him guide his people to the truth on their own terms. And when they do…"
"…ask them to help us," Elendril finished, a spark of understanding lighting his eyes.
Rythara nodded, the movement decisive. "Exactly."
Elendril smiled. Just barely, but it reached his eyes, making the skin around them crinkle. "You always did see the whole board."
"I am the Queen," she said, dryly, though her holographic lips curved upward. "But I also know people. Faith doesn't die easily. But it can evolve."
He bowed his head, a gesture of genuine respect. "Thank you."
"Go be the hero I know you are," she said, her formal demeanor giving way to a moment of warmth. "You got this!"
Her hologram flickered, scattering into countless points of light before vanishing completely, leaving the office suddenly darker.
Elendril stood in silence for a beat, the weight of responsibility settling on his shoulders. Then, with newfound resolve, he squared his shoulders, as he turned toward the door, ready to face whatever challenges awaited him on the bridge.
Chapter 39
Adric had been walking past the Captain's Office when a voice, Elendril's voice, caught his attention. The door was slightly ajar. He wasn't trying to eavesdrop, not at first. But the name Nemanoi stopped him cold in his tracks, like a physical blow that froze his tall, slender frame in place.
He stood motionless.
"I don't want to strip away something that anchors their world," Elendril was saying, his voice carrying that familiar mischievous tone, though now tempered with unusual gravity. "Especially not when we need them. The Nemanoi have a structure, a faith that's kept their society stable for generations."
Adric stepped closer, his breath catching in his throat. There was someone else on the call, female, measured, confident. Someone used to being in leadership, maybe? They were discussing his people, his faith, like it was a matter of logistics, a problem to be solved rather than the foundation of an entire civilization.
"The cultural implications are significant," the woman replied. "But we can't ignore the strategic value their involvement would bring."
Elendril's voice again, lower this time, barely audible through the crack in the door. "They could be the difference between holding Cinoth... or losing it. and at the very least their ship could evacuate so many more Cinothians than we can."
The last words settled in Adric's chest like a weight, heavy and cold. He wasn't sure how long he stood there, his bright blue robes hanging motionless around his tall frame, before the comm went silent and the holographic relay shut down with a soft electronic hum.
He pushed the door open with more force than he intended, the metal panel sliding back with a hiss.
"You can't just decide that," he said, his voice sharp, angrier than he meant, but not wrong. His normally gentle demeanor cracked, revealing the turmoil beneath. "You can't just... manipulate an entire people's beliefs for tactical advantage."
Elendril turned. He looked surprised, but not defensive. His ears seemed to perk up slightly. "Adric, I was hoping to talk with you about this. I was going to come find you after the call."
"You think you're doing what's best for everyone," Adric went on, his fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of his robe, "but to you, my people are just a variable, our faith, a complication that needs to be managed. Something inconvenient that stands in the way of your plans."
"I never said that," Elendril replied evenly. "And I wasn't trying to have this conversation behind your back, I just didn't know if you were ready for it. After everything you've been through since we met..."
Adric stepped inside, fists clenching at his sides. The door slid closed behind him, sealing them in privacy. "You think I'm not ready because I still believe. Because when I saw you, I didn't know what to do with what I felt. Because I looked at you and saw the face of my god."
There was pain in his voice now, threaded through the anger, a raw vulnerability that he rarely showed. "You don't understand what Volti means to us. He's not a figure, not a myth. He is everything. Our origin. Our destiny. Without that belief, our history unravels. Everything we are just ends. Our businesses, our families, our entire way of life is built on his teachings."
Elendril didn't answer right away. He moved around the desk, leaning on it, facing Adric without posture or performance. His business-like attire contrasted with Adric's flowing robes, yet both men carried themselves with dignity.
"I don't pretend to understand what that faith has given you. Or how it's shaped your world," Elendril said finally, his tone softening. "But I do know this: you're not blind. You ask questions. You want to protect your people. That matters more to me than what you believe for religion. It's why I trust you, Adric."
Adric's jaw tightened, the muscles visibly working beneath his opalescent blue skin. "And what do you want? For me to go down to my home world and start unraveling a civilization because you say it's time to evolve? Because a man who looks like our god says our entire history is a misunderstanding?"
"I want you to decide what's true for yourself," Elendril said, his eyes never leaving Adric's. "But I also want you to know what's at stake. Cinoth is not long from invasion. The Resistance is fractured. And your people might be the only ones who can turn the tide. Their honesty, their integrity, those aren't just cultural quirks, Adric. They're strengths the Resistance desperately needs."
Adric looked away, his gaze falling on the star-filled viewport behind Elendril. "You want our help."
"Yes," Elendril said plainly, without artifice. "But not as pawns. Not because you're followers and a god is asking. Instead because you're here, because you matter, and because you can choose to help shape what comes next. The Nemanoi could be partners, not subjects. There's a difference."
The silence hung thick between them, punctuated only by the distant hum of the ship's systems.
Then Adric shook his head. Not in rejection, but not in acceptance either. His hand moved unconsciously to where his family broach rested on his shoulder.
"I need time."
Elendril nodded, his expression understanding. "Take it. This isn't a decision I'd want anyone to rush into."
Adric turned toward the door, then paused, his back to Elendril, the blue tattoo visible on the back of his skull where his robe didn't cover.
"I don't know if I can change what I believe. It's not just faith, it's who I am."
"Then don't," Elendril said gently. "Just be open to understanding what else might be true alongside it. Sometimes truth is more complex than we first imagine, and I believe that it is more important to discover truth than to protect a previous understanding of that truth."
Adric left without another word, his robes flowing behind him as the door slid open and then closed.
Elendril watched the door slide shut behind him, his shoulders sagging slightly once he was alone.
No victory. No resolution.
But maybe a beginning. A fragile bridge between two worlds that desperately needed to understand each other.
Chapter 40
Elendril stood beside the central console, his focus split between the tactical overlays of Cinoth's situation, relayed to them by the Solar Destiny, and the quiet, charged conversation with Captain Raki. The holographic displays cast a soft blue glow across his features as his fingers traced the outlines of refugee corridors, and supply routes running dangerously thin.
He could feel Raki's tension, tightly coiled beneath his practiced calm. The man had the discipline of a soldier, but Elendril had learned to read more than faces. He saw it in the subtle weight of his stance, the way his fingers flexed behind his back whenever the subject of resource scarcity or refugee loss came up. The Eliad captain's perceptiveness was legendary among the crew, but right now, his usual adaptability seemed strained by the magnitude of what they faced. This wasn't just strategy to Raki. It was a planet’s survival.
"Princess Bara Ph'Ticia has requested additional medical supplies," Raki murmured, his voice low enough that only Elendril could hear. "Cinoth's reserves are nearly depleted."
Elendril sighed, things were getting desperate on Cinoth and he was too far away both in time and space to do much about it.
More data came in from the Solar Destiny over the comms that Arren was monitoring faithfully.
"The galaxy's shifting beneath everyone’s feet," Captain Raki observed as they studied the tactical display. "Tranii's rise has created a power vacuum that's rippling through every sector."
"And into that vacuum steps Raanu," Elendril said grimly. "Acting on his own authority now, with whatever First Legion forces remain loyal to him."
"Which makes our mission even more critical," Raki added. "If Tranii truly wants to change the Empire's course, stopping Raanu becomes important to both sides."
"I wouldn't count on Tranii's help," Elendril cautioned. "Whatever his intentions, he's fighting his own battles right now, consolidating power, dealing with internal resistance. We're on our own against Raanu."
"As we've always been," Nira's voice came over comms. "Nothing new there."
The Captain's office doors hissed open with a soft pneumatic sigh, interrupting their deliberation.
Elendril turned, and saw Adric enter the bridge.
The young Nemanoi officer moved with more composure than before, but Elendril didn't miss the exhaustion lining his features, or the slight tremor in his fingers as he straightened his uniform. The intricate blue tattoo across his forehead seemed to stand out more starkly against his pale skin. No longer fueled by righteous anger, Adric looked... lost, hurt, searching. The crisis of faith that had shaken his foundation was evident in every careful step he took into the room.
Their conversation earlier had shaken something loose, but Elendril hadn't known whether Adric would return, or what shape he'd be in if he did. The revelation about Volti, that the deity the Nemanoi had worshipped for generations was merely a historical figure from another world, wasn't the kind of truth one simply absorbed and moved past.
Adric stopped a few paces away. The silence stretched between them, filled only by the soft hum of the ship's systems.
Then, quietly he said, "The people of Myrios are really hurting, aren't they?" His voice carried the gentle cadence typical of his people, though it wavered slightly with emotion.
Elendril's gaze met his. Not a challenge, or a confrontation. Just truth, hanging in the air between them like a fragile thread.
"Yes," he said. "And we're desperate enough that we're risking everything to make new allies. Including bringing our ship through your Watcher's Eye Gate. That wasn't an easy decision, I assure you." He gestured toward the tactical display where countless red indicators pulsed with urgency. "Two hundred years of Itherian rule has left wounds that won't heal overnight."
He kept his tone measured, even gentle. This wasn't the moment for cleverness or the mischievous banter he often employed. It was time for honesty, the kind that Adric's people valued above all else.
Adric looked down, as if the floor might offer answers the stars could not. His blue-tinged robe-like uniform shifted with his breathing. "We were taught that the Watcher's Eye Gate could not be crossed," he murmured. "That it was a sacred boundary between our world and the divine. But now... now I don't know what to believe anymore. Everything feels... fragile." He ran a hand over the tattoo on his head, a gesture that seemed unconscious, a reaching for identity.
Elendril nodded slightly, his expression sober, the mischief in his eyes replaced by understanding.
He knew that feeling well. The disorientation when everything you believed crumbles. The vertigo of finding yourself suddenly without anchors.
Raki didn't interrupt. The Captain's stillness was deliberate, a quiet perimeter around a conversation that needed space to breathe. His Eliad intuition serving him well, knowing when to step back and let truth find its own path.
Adric's voice came again, steadier this time. "I may not understand everything yet. But I know this: If the Nemanoi can make a difference, I want to be part of it. If our legacy is to be more than just a story, then I will help my people live up to that." His slender frame straightened slightly, a glimpse of the leader he was becoming visible beneath the uncertainty.
Elendril watched him closely, noting the subtle shift in his demeanor. The young man who had stormed into the Captain's office, wounded by truth, had become something else in the short time since. Not resolved. But beginning. The honesty that was so fundamental to his nature was now being directed toward a new purpose.
"It won't be easy," Elendril said, stepping forward, his voice low and steady. The soft light caught on his face as he moved. "The galaxy isn't what it was. Trust takes time. Answers don't come all at once. But if you're willing to stand with us, not just in word, but in effort, it could mean something real. A new beginning. For all of us." His hand absently touched the portable console in his pocket, where he kept the ancient documents from Zinai Station's archives that had led him through Caelaxis in the first place.
Adric lifted his chin. "Then I'll help," he said. "But we do it honestly, or not at all. Whatever part I play in this, it will be in truth."
Elendril felt something shift, not in Adric, but in himself. A quiet realignment. Something about the Nemanoi's unwavering commitment to honesty, even in the face of personal crisis, resonated with his own journey.
He extended his hand, the gesture bridging more than just the physical space between them.
"Fair enough," he said, and meant it.
Adric took the offered hand without hesitation. His grip was firm and spoke of his newfound conviction. Elendril glanced toward Raki. The Captain gave no sign, but Elendril could feel the subtle approval radiating from him like a steady current, the kind of unspoken affirmation that made his crew follow him with such loyalty.
There was still a long road ahead. Still truths to face, and wounds to reopen. The tactical display behind them continued to pulse with urgent needs, planets struggling under the aftermath of imperial collapse, refugees seeking safe harbor, resources stretched beyond breaking.
But for the first time since Thirava, Elendril felt the stirrings of something he hadn't dared name till now, hope. Not just for the mission, but for the possibility that bridges could be built where once there were only walls.
Chapter 41
The Solar Destiny drifted closer to the shimmering veil surrounding Nemani, its hull gleaming beneath a fractured spectrum of light. From the bridge, it looked as though the stars themselves bent around the planet, drawn into a cocoon of brilliance that pulsed like breath.
Elendril had seen planetary shields before, flickering energy lattices, magnetic domes, auroras that wrapped besieged worlds in haunts of color. But this wasn’t that. This was light, living, layered, and alive.
Christine, Eco, and Jabari had joined the away team for this mission to a mountainous section of Nemani in the hopes that the science equipment on board the Brightlight and the knowledge they carried would help them understand this strange phenomenon.
Adric and Christine stood at opposite consoles, each watching the spectacle with very different eyes. Christine was analytical, already dissecting frequencies and patterns. Theories and hypotheses flowing freely through her mind as she looked for answers about how the shield got there and what it was. Adric, however, was still and quiet, his gaze fixed, his expression unreadable.
“It’s beautiful,” Nira said from the pilot’s seat, squinting against the glare. “But that’s not just light. It’s doing something.”
Arren stood near the main display, his hands gliding over the interface. “It’s frequency modulated. Not static. The harmonics shift in response to, well, everything.”
Elendril stepped forward, eyes narrowing with curiosity. “Modulated how?”
Arren brought up the spectral readouts. Color and motion bloomed above the bridge like a silent aurora. “Thousands of frequencies, all layered. A living filter. Musical. Defensive. Theoretically it would repel even high-energy strikes.”
“Bounce them back?” Bolen asked, arms folded.
His expression was grim, obviously thinking of the same defensive applications that had crossed all their minds. Arren finally turned, his face illuminated by the dancing colors of the display.
"Yes, I think it would. Possibly with amplified force."
"Amplified?" Nira arched a brow, swiveling her chair to face the conversation fully.
"It's keyed to reject frequencies associated with energetic discharges," Arren explained, his hands moving through the air to illustrate. "Like a smart mirror, tuned to reflect a punch instead of light. It discriminates between harmful and benign energy patterns."
Elendril crossed his arms, leaning against the console. "So... it only looks peaceful. A velvet glove concealing a titanium fist."
"Yes. But beneath that beautiful exterior, it's ready to punch back with twice the force. Elegant and deadly."
They all fell into silence, the weight of what they were witnessing settling over them like a second atmosphere.
“If we could give this kind of protection to Cinoth…” Nira said quietly, her voice trailing into the hum of the sensor feeds. The thought of Princess Bara Ph'Ticia’s fragile world shielded by this living light tugged at something deep in her.
Christine studied the pulsing barrier, awe creeping into her tone. “Adric… this is Nemanoi tech, right?”
Adric shook his head slowly. “No. We build with symmetry, clarity, function but always with physical substance, not sound.”
Christine frowned. “Then who built it?”
“I don’t know,” he admitted, the words slow and heavy. “But it wasn't us. And that concerns me.”
The away team descended a short time later, their shuttle settling on a high ridge above a smooth plateau. Heat shimmered in rhythmic waves, bending light around clusters of stone. As they stepped out, Elendril was struck not by silence, but by a sound that wasn't quite sound, a low, crystalline hum that seemed to rise from the stones themselves. It wasn't loud, but it was everywhere, like the planet was breathing through harmonics only partially audible. Not dead. Not silent. Listening.
“It’s like we’re being observed,” Christine murmured, adjusting her visor.
Nira wrinkled her nose. “Something feels... off.”
Adric moved slowly. Not fearful, reverent. He touched the stone with one hand and whispered something in a Nemanoi dialect that even the translators didn't catch.
They established a base camp near a ring of standing stones. Tents unfolded, panels extended, sensors planted.
Nira sat with a ration tray balanced on her knees. She peeled open a protein pack and dropped her spoon next to it.
“That rock just hummed at me,” she said.
“Likely harmonic feedback,” Arren called back without looking up. “Or a pressure vent.”
“Yeah?” Nira muttered. “Well, my snack’s vibrating.”
She paused. “Wait, where’s my spoon?”
She looked down. Then around.
Gone.
“I just had it.”
Adric, seated calmly nearby, didn’t even glance up. “You left it still.”
“What?”
He gestured with two fingers. “If an object is not moved, it may be taken.”
“Taken by who?”
“The Children of Dei. We give what we no longer use. They leave what is needed in return.”
Nira blinked. “You’re saying invisible little thieves stole my spoon because I stopped fidgeting?”
Adric’s expression was mild. “Stolen implies unfairness. We call it an exchange.”
Christine looked over, thoughtful. “Has this always happened here?”
“Always,” Adric said.
That evening, as the camp lights flickered beneath a copper sky, Arren sat in front of the monitor feed, reviewing the readings. Patterns had emerged, faint displacements. Small changes. Items moved by centimeters. Some things vanished entirely.
Christine joined him, folding her arms. “You see it too.”
He nodded slowly. “But I don’t understand it yet.”
Not far away, Nira sat on the edge of a supply crate, absently flipping her ration wrapper between her fingers. Her gaze drifted toward the standing stones beyond the camp.
“You ever think about the prophecy?” she asked softly.
Elendril, sitting nearby, looked up. “Which part?”
Nira didn’t answer immediately. Then, almost to herself, she murmured, “In a time of great need... thread the eye of stars... find the veiled ones...”
Elendril’s eyes darkened with thought. “...The Children of Dei.” He paused, the pieces falling into place in his mind. “Then all that was, shall be.”
Nira nodded once. “We found the veiled ones, didn’t we?”
Elendril didn’t reply, because he couldn’t deny it.
Across the camp, Eco stood perfectly motionless beneath the sensor mast. The team had grown used to his occasional stillness, but tonight, it felt different, deliberate.
Elendril stood and approached quietly.
“You okay?”
Eco’s eyes flicked toward him. “Yes. I am listening.”
“To what?”
Eco looked out toward the stones. “To time. It hums.”
Elendril studied him for a long moment. “You thinking what I think you’re thinking?”
“I believe I could follow where the spoon went.”
Elendril smiled faintly. “That’s a hell of a way to put it.”
Eco looked back at the camp. “May I attempt it?”
Elendril opened the comm to Captain Raki. The reply came fast: permission granted.
They set up a small platform at the edge of the clearing, sensor rings arranged, artifacts gently placed: a stylus, a ration bar, a carved Nemanoi stone.
Eco stepped into the circle.
Christine watched, breath held. Arren adjusted the sensors. Adric simply bowed.
After several minutes of standing perfectly still, Eco’s form dimmed, light draining from him until only the outline of his chassis shimmered against the darkening air.
Then... silence.
A soft hum.
And he was gone.
In his place, a crude wooden figure sat on the platform. Its round face bore a rough but unmistakable imitation of Eco’s features.
Adric picked it up, examining it with something close to reverence.
“They welcomed him,” he said.
Chapter 42
At first, there was nothing. No fanfare. No stutter of light. No dramatic sound cue to indicate temporal displacement had occurred. Eco simply... wasn’t where he had been.
The plateau stretched beneath him, the same crushed-grit dirt and low scrub, but the shadows had shifted. Slightly off-angle. Brighter somehow, as though Nemani’s star itself had been replaced with a more vibrant twin. The wind whispered in a different key, carrying unfamiliar scents that hinted at forests and flora he couldn’t name. Things began to shift , the landscape around him remained largely unchanged, but his friends slowly dissolved from view like mist in morning light. The objects he’d brought that weren’t in direct contact with his body phased in moments after his arrival, materializing with a subtle ripple in the air. The colors of the sky deepened unnaturally, like they’d been painted by someone with a heavy hand and no concept of subtlety , a cerulean so rich it bordered on violet, streaked with impossible amber clouds.
Well, he thought, his internal processors cataloging every detail of this altered reality. That’s promising.
And then he saw the ears.
They came from the trees.
Short, furred, wide-eyed creatures, each with expressive features that seemed caught halfway between curiosity and perpetual disapproval. Their bodies were compact, covered in downy fur ranging from russet to deep umber, with twitching noses and paws that gripped tools with surprising dexterity. The first one , robed in woven plant fibers dyed in earthy tones, with bones and polished stone beads woven into its dreadlocked hair , stepped out cautiously, a staff of twisted wood clutched in its nimble fingers. The staff was adorned with feathers and small crystals that caught the strange light, casting prismatic reflections across the dirt.
Eco didn’t move, his systems running a silent analysis of these beings.
The rest crept forward behind their leader. Eventually, maybe a dozen Jimenna, circled him in a wide arc, peering at him from under thick, expressive brows, sniffing audibly with twitching noses. Their movements were synchronized, as though performing a ritual they’d practiced for generations. One poked his leg with a carved stick tipped with a polished stone. Another tugged at the hem of his utility cloak, grunting softly in a language that seemed composed of clicks and soft vowels.
Translator module engaged, Eco noted. A scatter of partial matches flickered across his HUD. Nothing stable yet. Still, the baseline phonemes came through:
“Hinak… lorru… neh-neh…”
Eco tilted his head. “Greetings,” he tried aloud, voice neutral, modulated calm.
Every single Jimenna jumped and let out a strange vocalization, something akin to a communal startled sneeze. They scattered in a fuzzy, panicked explosion, ears flailing wildly at the sides of their heads, staff-like tools clattering to the ground as they abandoned everything in their terror. One of them tripped over another and went rolling down a small incline, tumbling in a ball of fur and limbs before coming to rest against a boulder, where it lay momentarily stunned.
Eco sighed, his servos whirring softly. “That went well.”
They returned within minutes.
This time, much more solemn, their earlier panic replaced by what appeared to be religious awe. The robed one , clearly a shaman or elder, his fur graying around the muzzle , approached cautiously, ears perked attentively, head slightly bowed in deference. His eyes, amber with flecks of gold, never left Eco’s face. Then, to Eco’s bewilderment, he dropped to his knees, pressing his forehead to the ground, and the others followed his example in perfect unison, creating a circle of prostrate, furry bodies.
“Oh stars,” Eco muttered, lowering his vocal processor. “Please don’t worship me.”
Too late.
They began to chant. Rhythmic, soft, melodic.
“Hinak K’lira… Hinak Seir’ka… Tunali Lorru…”
Eco’s translator overlay flickered unstable. Song of light… song of the shield… death from the sky. His servos vibrated with the resonance, frequencies so exact they reminded him of the schematics and samples Arren showed him from what they found in Zinai Station. They lifted him, reverent paws supporting his weight with surprising strength, and he decided that resistance would likely be interpreted as heresy or worse.
So Eco allowed himself to be carried, his metal body gleaming in the strange sunlight as they bore him toward a mountain in the distance.
The cave was carved by ancient hands, or perhaps by time and reverence. The entrance, barely visible from a distance, opened into a vast chamber with walls polished smooth by countless generations of touch. Crystalline strands dangled from the ceiling like veins of light, pulsing gently with an inner glow that cast dancing shadows on the walls. Intricate pictographs covered every surface , images that looked startlingly like Caelaxis, and a little, pointy-eared figure that could only be Volti, staff in hand.
And there, at the heart of the chamber, the small device hovered where gravity itself seemed inverted. Dust and loose pebbles drifted upward toward it, spiraling into its glow before dissolving into sparks of harmonic discharge. It hummed with power, casting a blue-green light that painted the Jimenna’s fur in otherworldly hues.
The Seir’Karael.
Eco recognized the frequency immediately, his sensors picking up the distinct harmonic signature. This was it, the shield node.
He turned to the Shaman and gestured carefully, trying to keep his movements slow and non-threatening.
“I need it off. No more singing, yes?”
Blank stares. Ears twitched.
“Hinak lorru… neh-neh…” the Shaman said softly.
Light… danger… friend? the translator guessed.
Eco pointed at the Seir’Karael, then mimed an explosion with his hands, fingers splaying outward dramatically. The Jimenna flinched collectively, several dropping to the ground in fear. He followed with a big shake of his head, trying to convey reassurance. Then he pointed to the sky, drew the outline of a ship with his fingers, the Electhor’s distinctive silhouette, and gave a reassuring thumbs-up.
Miraculously, the Shaman got it. His eyes widened, ears perking forward. After much muttering among the tribe, head-tilting, and a few hopeful pokes at the artifact with his staff, the Shaman approached the pedestal. He began a different chant, lower and more complex:
“Lo-kai, neh-neh, lo-kai…”
The Seir’Karael’s glow dimmed, just a notch, then another, until it finally went still. The barrier above would be gone now, allowing Elendril and the others to land safely.
Progress.
The Jimenna shifted uneasily, their ears angling back as if something sacred had just been broken. The Shaman touched the ground, drawing a spiral in the dirt that pointed toward the sky. “Hinak Volti… lorru k’lira.”
Eco’s translator pulsed with partial clarity: Volti said… eye brings death.
The elder raised his staff, tapping it twice against the floor, then gestured toward the cave wall. Pictographs there showed the Eye, the gate, carved in jagged strokes. A ship coming through the eye was shooting at the planet and some of the people in the image were laying prone as if dead.
“Volti must have told them to raise the shield if anything ever came through the eye, and they interpreted that to mean that the eye is dangerous and causes death. Maybe that is why they won’t look at it when they talk about it.”
The Shaman’s ears folded low. He mimed someone staring at the Eye, then struck his staff down hard against the dirt: doom. The tribe responded with a soft, fearful chorus:
“Tunali… tunali lorru…”
Danger… death from sky.
Eco tilted his head, recalculating. They had followed Volti’s instructions with fanatical precision, protecting their world from a threat they never truly understood. The Seir’Karael had become less a tool than a cultural scar, an object of awe and dread.
He softened his voice. “No more doom. Not today.”
But Eco wasn’t done.
Next came the hard part: communication. Complex intent. Trust.
He took a stick and drew in the soft dirt: a stylized image of Volti, small, pointy-eared, staff raised. Then himself, distinctive silhouette. Then the Seir’Karael, with concentric rings. Then the sky, with stars and what he hoped they’d recognize as Caelaxis.
The Jimenna crowded close, ears twitching. One mimicked his drawing, another sneezed on the stick, but the Shaman understood. He used his own staff to draw a matching sequence in the dirt: Volti, Seir’Karael, Eco… and a spiral leading up toward their version of Caelaxis.
Permission.
Eco bowed slightly. The gesture seemed to please them.
He reached for the device. Warm. Aware. It pulsed once against his palm, as if acknowledging him.
He sat cross-legged in the dirt, placing the Seir’Karael in his lap, and initiated his still cycle. Preparing for the temporal shift that would return him to his own time.
At first, the Jimenna wouldn’t leave him alone. They tapped his face, tugged his sleeves, one youngster tried to braid his cable. The Shaman scolded them sharply, “Neh! Hinak!” before setting a perimeter of bones and crystals.
Eventually, the tribe withdrew. A vigil. Offerings of food and water.
Eco sat in stillness, only the faint hum of his systems betraying life.
The shift began. Colors blurred, sounds receded, the Seir’Karael in his lap grew both heavier and less substantial. The resonance bridged the temporal gap.
Back in their own time, Elendril and Nira were watching and wondering how long to wait for Eco to return. Elendril paced the plateau, his burgundy skin catching the sunlight as he moved, occasionally glancing at the spot where Eco had vanished. Nira sat on a rock, her fingers nervously tapping the communicator they'd been using to try to contact their missing companion.
"We'll give it a day," Elendril decided, his voice carrying a weight of authority. He ran a hand through his hair, looking up at the sky as if searching for answers among the clouds. "If he doesn't return by then, we'll have to consider alternatives."
The team didn’t argue. A quiet unease had settled over the camp, the kind that made time feel heavier. Nira moved through the supply packs with distracted efficiency, unpacking provisions without her usual commentary. Arren sat by the sensor console, cycling data and muttering half-finished theories to himself, while Adric stared at the standing stones, unmoving, as if expecting them to answer some ancient question.
Elendril marked their position on the holomap again, though they hadn't moved. It was something to do, and it made the silence feel less final.
Hours slipped past in fragmented conversations and restless pacing. Shadows lengthened across the plateau.
Then, without warning, the air shimmered.
A ripple passed through the clearing like heat rising from sun-baked stone, silent, but undeniable.
And Eco reappeared.
He was seated cross-legged in the exact center of the circle, the artifact cradled in his arms like a child returned from some sacred pilgrimage. The Seir’Karael pulsed faintly, its crystalline structure catching the light in soft harmonic hues.
Eco opened one eye, the optical sensor glowing softly in the afternoon haze.
“Did I miss anything?”
Arren stepped forward slowly, awe in every movement. He took the artifact with both hands, his expression caught somewhere between surprise and certainty. “This is what the prophecy meant,” he whispered. "The Children bear Seir’Karael. The light that guards in song."
Elendril straightened, already turning toward the shuttle. “Then we’re done here. Let’s get back to the Brightlight. Cinoth doesn’t have time to wait.”
Chapter 43
Within minutes, the team was aboard the shuttle. Liftoff was smooth, the sky above Nemani streaked with amber as they broke atmosphere. Eco was stable. The Seir’Karael, secure.
As the others stowed their gear, Christine lingered by the uplink console, watching the artifact’s glow fade beneath Eco’s motionless hand.
“It’s beautiful,” she murmured, nodding toward the Seir’Karael. “Not just engineered, composed.”
Adric glanced over, his voice solemn. “And freely given. That means something.”
The shuttle slipped into BrightLight’s docking bay and settled into its berth. Without pause, the team disembarked, their stride quick and purposeful as they made for the bridge. The mission had succeeded, but that success was only the beginning.
By the time they arrived, the crew was already maneuvering BrightLight into Nemani’s orbit. On the central display, a channel flickered open, awaiting the Nemanoi Board of Directors’ response to their request for a summit.
Elendril approached Captain Raki, the Seir’Karael cradled carefully in his hands. He gave his report, though the absence of the shield around Nemani made the outcome obvious to everyone in the room. Raki drew the officers in close around his command station, his voice steady with authority.
“I’ve been in contact with Galactic Alliance Command,” he said. “They want us to take the Electhor through the gate and aid the people of Myrios.”
A ripple of reaction moved through the bridge. The Electhor was more than a ship; it was the Alliance flagship, a marvel of science and design. Entire decks of environmental labs and research facilities made even the high-tech BrightLight seem like a child’s toy by comparison.
“I’ve requested a full crew transfer,” Raki continued, his tone measured yet warm with the confidence that had earned his crew’s loyalty. “All hands on deck. We’ll need a seamless transition, once we cross Caelaxis, things will move quickly, and only those who understand the stakes will keep pace.”
Elendril inclined his head in acknowledgment, stepping aside as Adric joined them. The younger officer’s robes, rooted in Nemanoi tradition, but cut for Alliance service, brushed softly against the deck as he approached. Raki met his eyes with a respectful nod: not sympathy, but recognition.
“Elendril will brief the crew,” the captain said. “I’ll coordinate from the Electhor. Myrios is still bleeding from what the Empire took. They need more than food and medicine, they need restoration. Forests. Oceans. Ecosystems stripped bare by centuries of Itherian exploitation.”
Elendril turned to Adric, his tone steady but carrying the wry undertone that had once kept hope alive in darker times. “Some of those worlds haven’t seen a functioning ecosystem in decades. Entire species gone, watersheds poisoned, soil turned sterile. Terraforming engines can repair the chemistry. Gene-vaults can reintroduce life. But unless trade and culture are rebuilt alongside them, it won’t last.”
“The Electhor carries the tools,” Raki added, gesturing toward the viewport, where stars shimmered like promises waiting to be fulfilled. “Environmental labs. Specialists. Our mission here would have been much the same, restoration, renewal, response. But Myrios faces devastation on a scale the Galactic Alliance has never known. That’s where our work is needed.”
Adric’s hand drifted absently to the pocket where Tika, his pet kivu, nestled against his chest. She stirred as if sensing his unease. When he finally spoke, his voice carried a soldier’s concern.
“What about defense?” he asked quietly. “The Watcher’s Eye Gate is a choke point, and my homeworld sits nearly on its porch. If the Itherians break through… if they find Nemani unguarded…”
Elendril didn't interrupt. He let the question hang a moment in the recycled air of the bridge, then gave a single, solemn nod that acknowledged the gravity of Adric's concern. "We're not naïve. The new Emperor Tranii seized the throne and issued a stand-down order to his military, dismantling much of the oppressive regime's infrastructure. But that doesn't mean we're safe. The Resistance recently intercepted a transmission from Primarch Raanu, and he's still coming. He has a personal vendetta, one I've been on the receiving end of for years. He wants Cinoth, and he wants the Solar Destiny."
Adric's expression hardened, the gentle demeanor giving way to the resolve that had seen him through the revelations about Volti and his own faith. "Then we can't assume the war is over."
"No," Elendril said, "We're assuming the fight has changed shape. That's all. There will always be those who cling to power."
He moved back to the console with practiced grace and pulled up the holomap again. Points of light flared into view, movement data.
"These are Resistance cells," he explained, gesturing with slender fingers.
"For decades, they've fought in isolation, each world believing they were alone in their struggle against Itherian dominance. But now? They're starting to talk. Share intelligence. Coordinate relief efforts. For the first time in living memory, we're becoming more than survivors. We're becoming allies, a network that can heal what was broken."
He looked back to Adric, searching the Nemanoi's face for understanding. "Caelaxis is also defensible. And its access is more than technology. It's harmonic, tied to frequencies and resonances that can't be brute-forced or calculated. Volti encoded it and buried the access protocols in resonance signatures only Dretz and other Mokki can generate. Without a mokki on each ship, it's just another ship eating anomaly in space, a beautiful but impassable barrier."
"But if the Empire, or what's left of it, figures that out?" Adric asked, his honesty compelling him to voice the concern that others might have kept silent. "If they capture a Mokki, study it, replicate the harmonic frequencies..."
"They most likely won't," Elendril replied, a hint of his trademark confidence returning to his voice. "The Mokki have protected their secrets for centuries. But if Itheria does try anything, they won't be facing isolated cells of resistance anymore. They'll be facing every world they underestimated. Every voice they tried to silence. The Resistance is stronger now than it's ever been, and with the Electhor's technology and expertise, we can fortify Caelaxis like never before. We're not letting them through to conquer a whole new galaxy."
He let the silence settle for a moment, the quiet hum of the ship's systems filling the space before adding, more quietly, "We're done playing defense. It's time to protect what's left and rebuild what we lost. That's where your people's expertise in harmony and integrity will be invaluable, Adric."
Adric hesitated, eyes narrowed slightly as something surfaced in his memory, a detail from the religious teachings he had once accepted without question. "You said we need a mokki on each ship to cross the Gate?"
Elendril nodded. "Dretz can guide the Solar Destiny through. But without a second Mokki to harmonize for the Electhor... the current plan is to dock Solar Destiny inside your ship and let Dretz help the Electhor so we can fly as one. Not ideal, but workable."
"That might not be necessary," Adric said slowly, his voice gaining confidence as he spoke. "There's... another Mokki."
Elendril looked up in genuine surprise.
"In the Nemanoi Temple," Adric continued, his words measured as he shared what had once been sacred knowledge. "She's old. Hasn't sung in a long time. But she's still there, kept as a living relic. We call her Lurra. She was given to the temple generations ago, by Volti himself, if the stories are true.
A silence passed, filled only by the quiet hum of the holomap and the distant thrum of the Liberty-class vessel's centripetal drive.
"She's still alive?" Raki asked, his voice low with wonder as he immediately grasped the implications.
"Barely," Adric said, unconsciously stroking Tika through his pocket as he spoke of another small creature.
Elendril gave a slow nod, already rethinking the logistics, his mind working with the quick adaptability that had kept him alive during years of outrunning the Empire. "If Lurra could be encouraged to sing well enough to open Caelaxis then we don't need to dock the Destiny at all. Two ships. Two Mokki. Aligned and in tandem. The harmonic resonance would be stronger, more stable, it might even make the crossing safer."
Raki's gaze moved from one to the other, then to the stars beyond the viewport, where the future of two universes hung in the balance. His leadership style had always been about bringing people together, finding the strengths in each crew member. Now that approach would span galaxies. "Then it's time to consider including her. Adric, you'll need to make arrangements with the temple, approach this with the cultural sensitivity your people deserve."
Adric nodded.
Chapter 44
That evening, Elendril stepped into the grand chamber of the Nemani Board of Directors, the doors parting with a stately hiss. The room was a fusion of reverence and precision: carved wood panels inlaid with ancient symbols wrapped the upper walls, while luminous data streams floated above the central table, tracking planetary and economic metrics in real time. Twelve directors sat in a curved array, their expressions reserved but alert. The air carried the scent of Nemanoi cedar incense, meant to evoke clarity and contemplation. Light from the Caelaxis gate streamed through massive crystal windows along the eastern wall, casting prismatic patterns across the polished floor, a deliberate reminder that all who entered stood under Volti’s watchful gaze.
To Elendril, the space felt shaped more by faith than governance. The eyes that followed his entrance were not merely political, they were eyes of believers, struggling to reconcile myth with flesh. It was the same mixture of reverence and uncertainty he had seen on Adric’s face only hours earlier.
He moved deliberately, each step echoing in acoustics tuned to carry the weight of solemn words. Adric walked at his side, tense but composed. When they reached the center, Adric bowed slightly, his flowing uniform settling around him.
“It cannot be…” whispered Director Menji, his voice faint but perfectly carried.
“By the Heavens,” murmured Veltren, his composure faltering. “He is as Volti himself.” His hand reached forward as if to touch a mirage.
Some directors sank to their knees, robes pooling like colorful lakes. Others only stared, wide-eyed. One raised her hand in the traditional gesture of reverence, fingers pressed to her forehead before extending toward Elendril.
“Esteemed Directors,” Adric said, his gentle voice clear, “thank you for receiving us. I bring before you Elendril of Byn, a traveler from beyond the Watcher’s Eye.”
Murmurs stirred like wind through leaves. Several touched their family brooches in instinctive protection.
Veltren, eldest among them, leaned forward in his golden robes, his lined face marked with concern. “You requested an audience on urgent matters, Adric Balme. You stand here as one who turned from his family’s legacy. Speak wisely.” His gaze narrowed as he studied Elendril. “And you, who stand with him in his disgrace, bear the likeness of the sacred image in the Hall of Founders. The resemblance is… unsettling.”
Elendril inclined his head, his burgundy skin catching the chamber’s light. “That image, I believe, was inspired by Volti, our Sovereign, a great Byni explorer who came here long ago. I carry no divine title. I am no god. But I come as he did: with purpose.”
A hush fell, heavy and profound. The directors exchanged glances, torn between hope and fear. Some clutched ceremonial scarves. Others sat frozen.
Elendril drew a breath, steady beneath the weight of their faith. “I am honored by your reverence. But I must speak plainly. Volti was no god. He was a seeker, like me. A traveler who found something remarkable in your people.”
Director Larin placed her palms on the table, her violet robes rustling. Her brooch, intertwined glass spirals, caught the light. “We have followed his memory for generations. He was the foundation of our faith. Our society rests on his teachings.” Her voice trembled between devotion and doubt.
Adric stepped forward, his gentleness underscored with resolve. “And what he began can still mean something real, but not if we build on a lie.” His tattoo pulsed faintly in the chamber light. “Truth can strengthen us, not diminish us.”
The tension sharpened. Menji’s gaze fixed on Elendril. “Then you deny Volti’s divinity?”
“I do,” Elendril said, firm yet compassionate. “And I hope that does not close your ears to what comes next.” His eyes, so often mischievous, held solemn weight.
He stepped into the pool of brilliance cast by the crystal windows. “The gate you call the Watcher’s Eye leads to the Myrios Universe, my home. And it is in ruins. For two centuries the Itherian Empire ruled by conquest, breaking worlds, silencing cultures, exhausting resources. Volti disappeared from your universe because they took his home. He sacrificed himself to protect you, to keep the Itherians from crossing through the gate.”
A wave of quiet horror rippled through the chamber. Some clasped hands for comfort; others sat stunned, the revelation reshaping their faith in silence.
“The Empire is faltering now,” Adric said, his calm voice threading through the tension. “But the damage remains. Survivors rebuild from ashes, and they need allies.”
The chamber erupted, fear, disbelief, outrage colliding.
“You say Volti was no god?” cried one director. “The Empire ruled an entire universe?” asked another, pale with shock. “What protects us if they come here?” demanded a third, rising in fiery orange robes.
Veltren struck the table, the sound like thunder. “Enough.”
Silence fell. The directors leaned back, troubled but listening.
Adric lifted his chin. “We are not asking for blind allegiance. Nemani has the chance to be more than an observer. Trade through the Watcher’s Eye could bring hope to worlds that have none, just as Volti once opened it for trade.” He gestured toward the data streams above the table. “Your prosperity could lift others from despair.”
Director Gorda scowled, drumming thick fingers against the table. “Hope won’t stop an invasion,” he muttered.
Elendril met his gaze, steady. “The Watcher’s Eye is not unguarded. Its locks are harmonic, and only a mokki’s song can open them. On this side, the Galactic Alliance stands ready, including the Nidah, Fraxions, and even the Shogoth already, and others will join in time. My people have suffered enough. We seek partners, not conquest.”
Adric’s voice rose with conviction. “We are not alone. And we are not asking you to carry the burden, only to help lift it.”
Gorda’s jaw unclenched. His fingers stilled.
Menji rose, his tall frame casting a long shadow. “And if the people of Myrios turn against us? If this partnership becomes subjugation?”
Adric turned to him, calm but resolute. “Then we face it together. That is what alliances are for. That is what faith is for, not blind obedience to myth, but trust in each other.”
A long pause followed. The light shifted, casting new patterns across the floor. The directors weighed not just policy but the foundations of their belief.
Finally, Veltren leaned forward, aged hands pressed to the table. “We will deliberate. But what you offer, Elendril… it is not a burden. It is a turning point. A chance to honor who Volti truly was, not who we imagined him to be. If we choose to partner with you, we will test you and your people to ensure we are not exploited.”
Elendril nodded, solemn yet touched with his familiar spark. “And I welcome it. That is how trust is earned. The sooner it exists on both sides, the better for all.”
Veltren inclined his head. “Then one last matter. Adric tells us you would borrow our mokki, Lurra, for this mission?”
“Yes,” Elendril said simply. “She could make everything safer, for both crews.”
Veltren glanced around the table. Seeing no dissent, he nodded. “I will allow it. It is an opportunity for her to do again what she was born for, and I think she would like that at her age. Treat her as the valuable spiritual treasure she is.”
“Of course,” Elendril said, then glanced at Adric, signaling that all points had been addressed.
Adric bowed slightly, and together they withdrew.
The chamber doors hissed shut behind them, leaving silence in their wake. In the corridor, they walked side by side, carrying the weight of a truth that could reshape not just one world, but two universes.
Chapter 45
Arren took Dretz and went with Adric to find Lurra. They walked together down a curved corridor flanked with glimmering stone glass murals in the Nemanoi Temple. The passageway seemed to tell stories through light and color, ancient scenes of Volti's arrival, a scene of Volti gifting the Nemanoi leaders with a small Mokki, the founding of Nemanoi society, and the sacred connection between faith and commerce. The tone had softened, curiosity replacing reverence, questions taking the place of proclamations. The air itself felt different here, cooler and charged with a subtle vibration that made the fine hairs on Arren's arms stand up. They stopped outside a circular chamber that pulsed faintly with ambient light, casting gentle shadows that danced across their faces.
"She's in here," Adric said softly, his tall frame silhouetted against the doorway. "We don't speak of her often. Out of reverence. Or perhaps confusion." His voice carried the weight of something long held sacred yet not fully understood. "The elders consider her presence a blessing beyond measure." He stepped aside, gesturing for Arren to enter first. Inside the chamber rested a low basin of mineral water, surrounded by elegant carvings depicting constellations and twin spirals that seemed to move if you looked at them too long. The room smelled of something ancient and otherworldly, like ozone after a lightning strike. At its center curled a luminous form, translucent blue with bright yellow tips on her appendages, faintly glowing but dimmer than Dretz had ever been. Arren stepped closer, drawn by both scientific curiosity and something deeper he couldn't name.
"Another Mokki?" he whispered, his voice echoing slightly in the sacred space. Dretz stirred in his pack, sensing the presence of his kind.
The elder Mokki stirred slightly, her glow flickering like starlight through fog, beautiful but somehow diminished. Though smaller than Dretz, her presence felt older. Deeper. There was something primordial about her energy that made Arren's scientific mind race with questions and theories.
"She used to shine brighter," Adric said, a note of sadness in his gentle voice. "But lately... she's grown dim. Our healers have tried everything in our knowledge, but nothing seemed to work. Some fear she might be reaching the end of her existence."
Arren crouched by the basin, his fingers hovering just above the water's surface. Dretz emerged quietly from his pack, sliding forward with unusual grace until he hovered near the edge. The two Mokki regarded each other in utter stillness, like ancient beings recognizing their own kind across a vast gulf of time. Then Dretz hummed. A single clear tone that vibrated through the chamber. Lurra answered. Soft, wavering, fragile but real, like an instrument long unplayed finding its voice again. The tone grew, layered, harmonized. She shimmered brighter with each passing moment, her glow beginning to illuminate the carvings around the basin. Adric blinked in astonishment, his tall frame leaning forward. "She's responding. She hasn't done that in years. This is... remarkable."
"She's been cut off from the harmonic field," Arren said, his scientist's mind quickly connecting the pieces. "She's lived in kindness, but not resonance. That's what she needed all along, connection to her own kind, to the frequencies that sustain her species."
The room filled with quiet song that seemed to resonate with the very molecules of air around them. Two Mokki. Two keys unlocking something ancient and powerful. Arren watched in fascination as Lurra pulsed in sync with Dretz, growing stronger by the breath, her light now casting shadows against the far wall.
"She's waited for that for a long time," Adric said quietly, his voice filled with wonder. "Our records say she arrived with Volti himself, a living light to guide our people."
"And now," Arren replied, watching the harmonic dance between the two beings, "she has a purpose again. And perhaps answers about your Sovereign that have been waiting centuries to be discovered."
Chapter 46
The comm station aboard the BrightLight buzzed to life, stabilizing as encrypted uplinks locked into place. The holographic projectors hummed with a subtle vibration, casting a blue-tinged glow across the command deck. Captain Raki stood at the center, posture straight but not rigid, radiating quiet confidence. Elendril remained a silent, watchful presence beside him.
One by one, the faces of the Alliance’s ambassadors materialized around them, their holographic forms forming a circle of authority and influence.
Admiral Kelvenn of Frax appeared first, his weathered features severe and unflinching beneath the gleaming crest of the Galactic Space Alliance. His uniform was immaculate, every medal and insignia aligned with precise discipline, a visual testament to decades of service. Next came Ambassador Marcel, the human delegate, relaxed as ever, his posture suggesting both comfort and attentiveness. Ambassador Tyrix of the Nidah followed, statuesque and meticulous, her gaze sweeping the chamber with sharp calculation. Finally, Ambassador Vel’Sorr of the Shogo emerged, armored in ceremonial regalia that gleamed even through holographic projection, silent and imposing as a drawn blade.
The air in the command deck felt charged with anticipation as Raki began without ceremony, his voice clear and measured.
“We’re preparing a jump through the Watcher’s Eye Gate, near Nemani. We’ve confirmed a safe traversal from the other side, in the Myrios universe beyond.”
He paused, letting the significance register before continuing.
“Passage isn’t possible without a Mokki. Their resonance song is the only way to open the Gate safely. With one aboard, the crossing is secure. Without, it’s impossible, ships are torn apart at the molecular level.”
His gaze swept across the delegates.
“Now that we know how to cross safely, what we need is strategic support, infrastructure, and long-term coordination for what lies ahead.”
He turned slightly, extending an open hand toward Elendril, inviting him into the conversation.
“This is Captain Elendril of the Solar Destiny. He crossed from Myrios to seek our help in rebuilding a galaxy devastated by centuries of tyranny and exploitation.”
The introduction was simple, but carried the weight of an entire universe’s suffering.
Elendril stepped forward with the fluid grace and impish charm of his people, his eyes meeting each ambassador’s in turn. His voice was calm yet precise, carrying gravity without melodrama.
“The Itherian Empire is brutal, massive in reach. For two and a half centuries they ruled by fear, five militarized core worlds feeding a war machine that left deep scars across hundreds of systems: ecological devastation, cultural genocide, economic collapse. Until recently, they had a technology allowing near-instant movement across vast distances. That advantage is now gone. Rumors speak of a coup, and the new Emperor seems less inclined toward conquest, but we have not confirmed it with certainty.”
Admiral Kelvenn leaned forward, his holographic form shimmering slightly.
“You say seems. What’s the current threat level to both our universes? I need specifics, Captain.”
Elendril folded his hands.
“Mostly stable...for now. The new Emperor has ordered a military stand-down, but Primarch Raanu has disobeyed, and he’s en route to strike Cinoth, just beyond Caelaxis. We are racing to intercept him. If any Itherian commander discovers Caelaxis can be crossed safely, they will see it as a pathway to new conquests. Their empire is faltering, and desperation could make them dangerous.”
Raki stepped forward again, his voice steady, the holographic light sharpening his features.
“You all know my record. I don’t escalate lightly or request resources without genuine need. This is not only a humanitarian crisis, it’s a containment priority of the highest order. Instability on the Myrios side could bleed into our space if left unchecked. We either help stabilize it now, with controlled intervention, or wait until the breach widens beyond our ability to manage.”
A long silence followed, heavy with calculation.
Vel’Sorr spoke first, his modulated voice carrying surprising warmth.
“Captain Raki, you speak with conviction. The Shogo recognize both threat and opportunity. We will deploy an outpost to monitor the Gate from Nemani orbit immediately. We will keep vigilant watch.”
Tyrix inclined her head, precise and formal.
“The Nidah can prepare fleets and logistics within the week. But there is one critical limitation, is there not?”
Her gaze settled on Elendril.
He nodded.
“Yes, Caelaxis cannot be crossed without a Mokki aboard each vessel. Only their song can sustain the harmonic corridor. Without them, no crossing is survivable.”
Admiral Kelvenn’s tone sharpened.
“Explain this limitation.”
“Caelaxis operates on harmonic resonance,” Elendril said. “The sequence must be sung, organically generated, not mechanically simulated. Only a Mokki can sustain it, without their song, dimensional forces will tear a ship apart. Currently, only two Mokki are in Nemani space, and both are committed elsewhere.”
Ambassador Marcel lifted a brow.
“And the rest, where are they?”
“Still in Myrios,” Elendril replied. “On their homeworld of Sereneth. Once we return, I’ll send a team there to secure their cooperation. With their aid, we’ll establish a permanent presence at Nemani so Alliance vessels can cross safely.”
Vel’Sorr inclined his head, light glinting across his armor.
“Then we wait and prepare. Our fleets will stage in Nemani orbit until your return.”
Raki stepped forward once more, his voice quiet but firm.
“In the meantime, the Electhor will continue stabilization and relief in Myrios. But until additional Mokki join us, the corridor is limited, one vessel at a time.”
Kelvenn looked to each ambassador in turn. One by one, they gave assent, Tyrix with a precise nod, Marcel with a brief dip of the head, Vel’Sorr with a formal salute.
“Coordinate closely with the Nemanoi,” Kelvenn concluded. “They will need reassurance about activity near their sacred Gate. We will prepare staging plans and await your signal.”
The comm link dissolved, holograms fading one by one until the command deck returned to its normal lighting.
The weight of expectation remained, hanging in the air between Raki and Elendril.
Chapter 47
Elendril stepped into the launch bay and let the silence of the Solar Destiny wash over him like a tide. It was strange, after hours aboard the BrightLight, his old ship felt smaller, dimmer, less polished. But not lesser at all. The familiar scent of recycled air mingled with the faint metallic tang that had become as much a part of him as his own heartbeat. Each dent and repair in the hull told a story, of narrow escapes, of victories snatched from the jaws of defeat, of moments when hope seemed lost but somehow prevailed.
He ran his fingers along the edge of the docking platform as he passed, grounding himself in the familiar metal, in the humming thrum of systems that hadn't changed. The cool surface beneath his fingertips connected him to countless memories, frantic takeoffs under Itherian fire, jubilant returns after successful missions, quiet moments of reflection in the depths of space. The Destiny had saved them more times than he could count, carried the broken and the bold across space no sane person would willingly venture through. This ship had history, soul, a personality forged through trial and triumph. The BrightLight? It had vision, gleaming, optimistic, untested by the harsh realities of resistance life.
The crew of the BrightLight were quickly changing ships however and the Electhor was an impressive upgrade. He had glimpsed her when she docked and was especially impressed by how huge she was. He had believed the BrightLight must be the largest starship in existence when he first saw her just a few days ago, but now the BrightLight was dwarfed by the massive Electhor.
As he made his way to the bridge, the corridor lights came up to meet him, warm and responsive, recognizing his presence like an old friend welcoming him home. The familiar creaks of the deck plates beneath his boots, the subtle shifts in temperature as he passed different systems, all of it spoke of a vessel that knew him intimately. The doors opened with a soft hiss, and his crew looked up as one, their expressions a mixture of relief and anticipation.
Nira, leaning against the pilot's station with a half-eaten protein bar, her fingers absently tapping complex flight patterns on her thigh. Bolen, arms folded across his broad chest, pretending he hadn't been pacing, though the slight wear pattern on the deck betrayed him. Arren, already rising from the science console, data pad in hand, eyes bright with questions and discoveries waiting to be shared.
"Took you long enough," Nira said, arching a brow, but the concern behind her casual tone was evident in the way her shoulders relaxed at his arrival.
"Had to tear myself away," Elendril admitted, He turned, facing them fully. "The Electhor isn't just a ship. She's a miracle of engineering. Circular hull, gravity-stabilized drive system. A particle accelerator looping the outer edge of the ship to power faster-than-light transit without drain. She runs clean and quiet, and when she fires up, you can feel the quiet power in your bones." His voice carried a note of wonder that was rare for their typically unflappable captain.
He dropped into the command chair, the worn contours molding perfectly to his form, fingers steepling as he leaned forward, his gaze intense and focused.
"We will be making a quick trip over to the Electhor to meet your counterparts so you can work together easily.”
He tapped the holo-control, and a projection bloomed between them, bathing the bridge in ethereal blue light, Nemani, Caelaxis, the overlapping lines of supply routes, sensor pings. The holographic display flickered slightly, another reminder of the Destiny's age and character compared to the Electhor's flawless systems.
"The Board of Nemani is on the edge of decision. Their people still think Volti is a god. But the truth is seeping in, and Adric's the one helping them integrate new information. He's pushing for Nemani to stand with us. The gate will be a route for trade, and for the Galactic Alliance aid ships to come to Myrios." His fingers traced the projected route, illuminating the path that could connect two universes permanently.
"And us?" Nira asked straightening, her eyes reflecting the holographic light as she studied the projection with the intensity of someone calculating flight paths in her mind.
"We'll breach Caelaxis together," he answered, expanding the hologram to show both ships in formation. "Electhor begins restoration ops on Cinoth as soon as we're secure, habitat cores, atmospheric processors, medical relief. The Alliance has more to offer than weapons. Adric's people have vaults of species catalogues and ecological diagnostics that could jumpstart whole biomes. They can heal damage we thought permanent."
Arren exhaled sharply, a sound somewhere between disbelief and hope. "Real restoration protocols. Not just survival patches." His fingers moved rapidly over his datapad, already calculating possibilities.
"Exactly," Elendril said, nodding toward him. "The Solar Destiny will stay to assist in the first phase. Then we'll split, head deeper into resistance territory and evaluate new risk factors while the Electhor focuses on long-term support. We know the terrain, the people, the hidden dangers they don't."
"I told Raki to prepare to be busy," he added, his expression hardening slightly. "We'll keep Cinoth stable, but we can't ignore the wider front. And we're not going to sit still while Tranii talks peace with one hand and grabs power with the other. His reforms may be genuine, but the power vacuum he's creating is dangerous."
"We're still going to take fire from Raanu," Nira said, tossing her protein bar wrapper into the recycler with perfect aim. "That's not changing just because Tranii slapped a new banner on the same broken Empire. Raanu's forces have been waiting for this opportunity."
"No," Elendril agreed, his eyes meeting each of theirs in turn. "But we'll be ready. And we won't be alone. Not anymore."
He leaned back in his seat, eyes drifting to the viewport and the glowing silhouette of the Electhor, docked like a guardian above the dark. The massive circular ship dwarfed their vessel, its pristine hull reflecting starlight like a beacon.
Once the BrightLight’s transfer was complete, Raki opened a secure channel to the Solar Destiny. His voice carried the calm weight of command.
“Elendril, the Electhor is ready. Bring your crew aboard, we’ll brief together.”
Elendril’s lips curved faintly. “Understood, Captain. We’ll use the Slipcuffs.” He glanced at his crew, lifting the slim metallic band encircling his wrist. The devices had been gifted by Alliance engineers, transport tech unavailable on the BrightLight but second nature aboard the Electhor. “Keep them synced. One misstep, and you’ll materialize in the wrong deck.”
Nira raised a brow, flexing her hand inside the cuff. “Better than climbing airlocks.”
Before anyone could reply, the Slipcuffs activated. A shimmer engulfed them, space itself folding with a cool pressure that passed through their skin and bones. In an instant, the Solar Destiny’s familiar hum vanished. They rematerialized inside the Electhor’s command ring, the new ship greeting them with a low vibration that thrummed through polished alloy under their boots.
The difference struck Elendril immediately. Where the Solar Destiny creaked and hummed like an old companion, the Electhor radiated precision and strength. She was sleek, confident, alive, every surface gleaming with efficiency, every system pulsing with purpose. His own ship had soul, patched together by survival and memory. But the Electhor was something else entirely: the vision of a future he’d barely dared to imagine.
Officers from both vessels stood gathered around a central holo-projector. Its light painted their faces in shifting hues as resonance schematics spiraled above the table, layered patterns of frequency waves, anchor points, and stress fractures. To the untrained eye, it might have looked like a storm of music trapped in glass. But everyone in the room knew it meant one thing: the knife’s edge between survival and annihilation.
Raki began without preamble, his voice carrying the gravity of someone who had led crews through impossible odds. “We have one chance to put two ships through the Gate together. No docking. No fallback. Both Mokki must hold resonance at threshold levels, or we scatter across a thousand broken dimensions.” His gaze swept the room, steady and unyielding.
Elendril stepped forward beside him, sharper, fiercer, his crew instantly recognizing the fire in his tone. “That means every system, every adjustment, every twitch of the helm must align. Harmony is the only way through. No machine can fake it. It’s you, working together, or nothing.” His eyes flicked toward Dretz, perched on Arren’s shoulder. The little bioluminescent creature glowed softly, his neon-blue body pulsing with a steady hum, yellow-tipped appendages quivering like tuning forks in anticipation.
A tall woman stepped forward, posture crisp, voice calm. “Emi. Helm, Electhor. Twelve years at the stick. Specialized in anomalous navigation.”
Nira uncrossed her arms and nodded, her tone steady, not challenging but sure of herself. “Nira. Helm, Destiny. I fly by instinct, and I know how to move quick when the fire’s heavy. We’ve had to, more times than I can count.”
Emi’s expression softened, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “Then we’ll be in good hands. The Electhor handles differently than what you’re used to more power, less drift. You’ll feel it when we sync.”
From just behind her, a younger man grinned broadly, his easy manner cutting through the tension. “Jabari. Navigation, flux-map specialist. Elendril says your maneuvers make charts read like tall tales. Looking forward to seeing the truth of it, with my jaw still attached, hopefully.”
Nira’s mouth twitched. “Only when I’m bored. Or being shot at. Which is most days.”
The line drew a ripple of quiet amusement from both crews, tension loosening for a heartbeat.
Elendril seized the moment, letting the levity settle before stepping forward with renewed authority. “Enjoy the introductions while they last. But remember this: no solos. No improvisation without communication. Break sync, and harmony shatters. And when harmony shatters, so do we.”
Bolen gestured toward the rear systems panel, his broad frame commanding attention without effort. “I’ll need engineering-level access to your Centripetal Drive. Eco and I have cross-checks to run. Your tech’s more advanced, sure, but the principles should line up if we calibrate correctly.”
“Already flagged,” Jabari said, fingers flying over his console as the codes transferred. “Eco’s waiting for you in core systems. He’s been itching to compare notes on the resonance patterns you’ve been holding together. Please do not enter the Centripetal drive systems room, that is why Engineers on Galactic Alliance starships are android, the environment in those rooms is toxic to organic life.”
“Good to know.” Bolen’s eyes were already locked on the schematics, scanning with the practiced focus of someone who had kept ships alive with spit and sheer determination. “This ship’s bigger than the last city I lived in. If she starts bucking, we need to know before she screams. And she will scream, if the harmonics aren’t perfect.”
Raki’s gaze swept the assembled crew, steady and uncompromising. “You’ve got hours. Maybe less. Make it work. I know you can, or we wouldn’t be here.”
The group broke apart with quiet determination, the hum of focused activity rising around them as specialists paired off. Hands flew over consoles, voices traded quick notes, systems aligned that had never been designed to coexist. Piece by piece, impossible edges began to fit. Through will and expertise, the improbable was becoming real.
Chapter 48
The call came in just as the final preparations for the jump through Caelaxis were being made. Captain Raki frowned at the flickering holo on the Electhor's main bridge as the seal of the Galactic Alliance Command dissolved into the sharp-jawed face of a logistics officer. The officer's expression was tense, his uniform collar pulled tight against his neck as though the gravity of his message physically weighed upon him.
"Captain Raki, reroute to rendezvous with the StarLace. You'll receive a small detainment unit, Commander Dari and her team. Found on Oratheon, barely alive, claiming allegiance to the Itherian Empire. They invoked the name directly." The officer's voice dropped an octave. "Command doesn't want them in Corevalis a second longer than necessary. They're considering this a Level One security breach."
Elendril, standing just behind the nav array, stiffened. The name alone was enough to coil dread around his spine like a serpent tightening its grip. Commander Dari was commander of the First Shadow. Her presence in Corevalis was nothing short of catastrophic.
Raki gave no sign of surprise, his Eliad features remaining composed despite the tension that now permeated the bridge. His fingers tapped a quick sequence on the arm of his command chair. "Coordinates received. Prisoners will be transferred under full isolation protocol. I'll personally oversee the containment measures."
The comm ended with a sharp click, leaving behind a heavy silence that seemed to press against everyone's ears.
Elendril didn't wait for a cue. He stepped in low, voice even but laced with an urgency that only those who knew him well could detect. "Itherians? In this universe? How did they breach the barrier without harmonic tech?" His face had paled noticeably, making his goatee stand out in stark contrast.
Raki exhaled through his nose, a grim look in his perceptive eyes as he turned to face his cultural advisor. "Apparently. Found half-dead on Oratheon which is impressive considering the circumstances." He lowered his voice. "Oratheon is Q class, barely habitable even with full environmental suits. Command flagged the name the moment they started ranting about vengeance and Itheria. Something about 'claiming what was promised.'"
Elendril's stomach turned, a cold sweat breaking out across his forehead. This was exactly what Volti had sacrificed everything to prevent, the very nightmare scenario that had haunted Elendril's thoughts since he first discovered Caelaxis' secrets.
"Keep them isolated," he said, unconsciously straightening his business attire as if preparing for a confrontation. "Whatever they know about Caelaxis, we can't let them see anything. Not the crew, not the Mokki. Especially not the transition. If they understand how to manipulate the energy veil frequencies..." He left the thought unfinished, the implications too terrible to voice aloud.
Raki nodded, his leadership instincts immediately grasping the severity of the situation. "They'll be held in the Electhor's brig. Locked systems. No comms. No windows. I'll have the datacore isolated from that section entirely, they won't even know what ship they're on, let alone where we're going."
Later, as the transfer was underway, Elendril lingered near the brig access under the guise of overseeing lockdown procedures. But he was listening, his pointed ears straining to catch every word, his mischievous demeanor completely absent as he pressed himself against the corridor wall.
Through the half-shielded barrier, he heard Commander Dari's voice, crisp, low, agitated, every syllable dripping with imperial training despite her disorientation.
"The energy readings were off the charts. Something ripped us from normal space mid-transit." Her voice carried the unmistakable cadence of military precision, even in confusion. "One minute we were in the Artron corridor, the next, nothing but twisted space and impossible angles."
Her second-in-command responded, voice tight with pain. "What could cause that kind of displacement? Some kind of weapon?"
"I don't know," Dari admitted, frustration evident in her tone. "But the distortion patterns matched something I once saw in a classified briefing, spatial fracture patterns similar to theoretical models for cross-dimensional transit. Whatever happened, it wasn't a standard malfunction."
Elendril's blood went cold. The pieces were falling into place with horrifying clarity. He turned away, careful not to show himself, heart pounding so loudly in his chest that he feared they might hear it as he retreated into the corridor. His mind raced through calculations and possibilities, each more terrifying than the last.
The harmonic cascade on Thirava hadn't just collapsed the Artron network. It had done something far worse, it had torn open a path into Corevalis. It had punctured the veil that had protected this universe for 250 years, the barrier that Volti had sacrificed everything to maintain.
For a moment, he couldn't breathe, his lungs refusing to function as the full weight of realization crashed down upon him. He leaned against the wall, his normally confident posture crumpling under the burden of knowledge.
"All that Volti worked for and sacrificed to keep the Itherians out of Corevalis and now here they are. And it's my fault," he thought, self-recrimination washing over him in waves.
The observation lounge was dimmed to night cycle, the stars outside casting more light than the ship's systems. Arren sat cross-legged on the floor, Dretz curled beside him, both watching as Elendril paced the length of the viewport.
"We should have anticipated this," Elendril said, his voice tight with controlled fury, at himself more than anyone else. "The Artron network collapse. The fracture. We broke the barrier Volti created, and now they're here. Dari is here."
Arren adjusted his position, careful not to disturb the resting Mokki. "We couldn't have known. The mathematical models didn't predict this kind of quantum echo."
"We should have been more careful!" Elendril's fist connected with the bulkhead, the sound sharp in the quiet room. He immediately regretted it, flexing his fingers as pain bloomed across his knuckles.
Dretz stirred, emitting a soft, concerned hum.
"You're scaring him," Arren said mildly.
Elendril exhaled slowly, forcing his shoulders to relax. "I'm sorry." The apology was directed at both of them.
He sank into a chair, suddenly looking exhausted. "Everything we've done... everything I've pushed us to do... it's all been about opening doors. Finding answers. And now I've let the worst of Itheria into Corevalis."
"You also brought help," Arren reminded him. "The Electhor. The Alliance. Resources that could save millions."
"At what cost?" Elendril gestured toward the stars. "If Dari found a way through, others will follow. The Empire will never stop hunting for new worlds to conquer."
Arren was quiet for a moment, his fingers absently stroking Dretz's luminescent form. "My old professor used to say that knowledge isn't inherently good or evil. It's like water, it can drown you or save you from dying of thirst. The difference is in how you use it."
"Poetic," Elendril murmured, "but not particularly helpful right now."
"Actually, it is," Arren countered. "We opened Caelaxis. We discovered how the harmonic frequencies work. That means we understand them better than anyone, including Dari and whatever Imperial forces might follow her."
Elendril looked up, the first flicker of his usual curiosity returning to his eyes.
"We know how to close doors as well as open them," Arren continued. "Maybe that's what Volti was trying to teach us all along."
Dretz hummed softly, the sound rippling through the air like a question, or perhaps an answer.
Elendril watched the small creature, his expression thoughtful. "Maybe you're right." He stood, straightening his jacket with an unconscious gesture. "We need to secure Caelaxis. And we need to understand exactly how Dari got through."
"One problem at a time," Arren said, rising to his feet as Dretz floated up to perch on his shoulder. "That's all anyone can do."
Chapter 49
When Lurra arrived the event was quiet, reverent, a hushed ceremony that stood in stark opposition to the chaos that had preceded it.
Two temple-robed priests accompanied the ancient creature, Lurra, through the airlock with slow, ceremonial steps. Their movements were practiced and deliberate, each gesture carrying the weight of tradition. Lurra rode on a small, ornately decorated pillow like a diminutive princess surveying her new surroundings. Her leathery skin caught the light as she looked around calmly, taking in every detail of the unfamiliar environment with ancient, knowing eyes. When she spotted Dretz across the science lab, her demeanor shifted instantly, her body tensed with recognition and she started to hum, a melodic vibration that seemed to ripple through the air. Dretz responded immediately, his own harmonics rising to meet hers. Their duet filled the science lab with resonant frequencies that danced along the walls and equipment, creating patterns of sound that seemed almost visible. Arren and Falnora exchanged glances, both breaking into appreciative smiles at the unexpected harmonic display that confirmed what their instruments had only suggested about Mokki communication.
With the prisoners securely locked away in the holding cells and Lurra safely aboard, Elendril and his crew returned to the Solar Destiny, slipping into her familiar halls like a man rejoining his own bones. The transition from the Electhor's pristine corridors to the Destiny's well-worn passages brought an immediate sense of rightness, of belonging. The familiar scent of recycled air tinged with the faint aroma of Byni spices that had permeated the ship's ventilation system over years of use welcomed them home.
The crew found their places quickly, falling into the choreography of pre-flight with practiced ease. Nira settled at the helm, her fingers dancing across the controls with intimate familiarity, running through her pre-flight checklist with methodical precision. Bolen took up his station in engineering, already grumbling about hull diagnostics and muttering calculations under his breath as he assessed the ship's readiness for gate transit. Arren busied himself syncing the harmonic scanners, carefully calibrating the delicate instruments that would be their lifeline through the energy veil, his eyes narrowed in concentration as he worked.
Dretz chirped softly as Elendril entered the bridge, the small Mokki's luminous eyes turning meaningfully toward the viewport and the Watcher's Eye beyond it. The gate hung in space like a promise, or a threat, its energy signature pulsing faintly against the backdrop of stars.
"It's time," Elendril said, his voice carrying that particular mix of determination and mischief that had become his hallmark. He settled into the captain's chair, posture straight but relaxed, radiating confidence. "We go first. Quietly. The Electhor follows only after we've cleared the channel and confirmed safe passage."
He paused, glancing once more toward the gleaming arc of the Eye, its energy signature flickering across the sensors like a heartbeat. The enormity of what they were about to attempt, crossing between universes with precious knowledge that could change everything, weighed on him, though his expression betrayed nothing but resolve.
"Whatever happens next," he added, his voice dropping to a tone that carried throughout the bridge despite its softness, "we make sure the ones who shouldn't follow... never find the way." The implication hung heavy, the Itherians must never discover the harmonic frequencies that would allow them access to the Corevalis universe.
Dretz blinked his luminous eyes slowly, thoughtfully. Then hummed, a single perfect note that seemed to resonate with the ship itself.
Beyond the viewport, the Gate began to stir, energy patterns shifting and coalescing as if responding to their presence, or perhaps to their intentions. The swirling energies brightened, forming intricate patterns that hinted at pathways through impossible dimensions.
The final pre-jump preparations proceeded in quiet efficiency. Not solemn, just... deliberately methodical. Each crew member focused intently on their tasks, aware that the slightest miscalculation could mean disaster when navigating the treacherous energies of the gate. The familiar hum of the Solar Destiny's systems provided a comforting backdrop to their work, a reminder of all the impossible situations they had survived together.
Chapter 50
Dari sat cross-legged on the brig floor, her muscles taut beneath her seemingly relaxed posture, eyes fixed on the rhythmic pulse of the shield cycling dimly against the wall. The blue-white energy flickered with metronomic precision, each pulse a countdown to their moment. Her team was still, coiled like cables before a surge, each one a weapon waiting to be unleashed. Drenek leaned against the far bulkhead, his broad shoulders pressed against the cold metal, counting seconds with his breath, each exhale measured and controlled. Ryshal crouched by the guard console, fingers hovering millimeters above its surface, waiting for the exact moment they'd mapped in the internal cycle loop, the split-second vulnerability they'd detected during their captivity.
"I didn't see a single constellation I recognized," Dari said flatly, her voice carrying the weight of their impossible situation. "We're not just lost. We're in a different universe entirely. Something... unexplainable happened when we crossed through." Her eyes narrowed as she recalled the violent distortion of space around them.
"The gate destabilized," she continued, piecing together the fragments of memory that remained. "I think someone forced a collapse, or maybe it was a result of Raanu's experiment on Thirava."
Her second-in-command stiffened visibly, shoulders squaring. "Thirava? I thought that sector was off-limits even to elite units."
She nodded grimly. "Primarch Raanu was testing new crust-buster lasers on the planet's surface. Thirava was already dead, no inhabitants for generations. But I'd wager it's nothing but a debris cloud now, scattered across that system."
Their plan was textbook, brutal in its simplicity.
"Break the brig. Take the ship. Secure an extraction. Deliver the future to the Empire."
Dari didn't entirely agree with every element of the strategy. The violence troubled her more than she'd admit. But she hadn't stopped them, either. Duty came first, always had.
When the shield flickered, a microsecond longer than its normal pattern, Ryshal moved, fast and clean like flowing water. The first guard didn't even have time to register surprise, let alone scream. Drenek took the second before his hand could reach the comm panel, a swift, practiced motion that ended with terrible efficiency. The bodies dropped silently to the deck.
No alarms. No witnesses.
Dari stood, suppressing a wince. Her joints ached with a deep, penetrating pain. Sickbay had repaired the broken bones, but not the lingering effects of the Slip. She was certain she'd dream in impossible angles and non-Euclidean geometries for at least a season.
They moved like shadows through the corridors, slipping behind environmental manifolds, bypassing civilians with practiced ease, following textbook Itherian breach doctrine. A few crew members passed within meters of them, none raised the alarm, none saw the predators in their midst.
When they reached the bridge, the pressure in the air shifted. Dari felt it before she saw it, a change in the very atmosphere, a sense of purpose and focus radiating from the command center.
The main holodisplay dominated the room, filled with swirling nebulae rendered in breathtaking detail, and at its heart, the anomaly. The same impossible shape she'd seen in Primarch Eju's most classified reports, the ones whispered about in war rooms but never spoken of openly.
They're not seriously planning to go through that…?
(No. You don’t react. You’re Itherian. You take control. That’s what you were trained for.)
Cythera moved first, her massive frame belying her speed as her blade slashed across Drenek’s shoulder. His reinforced armor saved him, but the impact sent him reeling. They collided again, two predators locked in brutal close-quarters combat, each strike measured, each counter deadly.
Dari moved. Fast. She wrenched a weapon from a stunned bridge officer’s holster and pressed it to the nearest guard’s temple. Cythera froze mid-strike. Drenek shoved her back, retreating to a defensive stance.
Dari turned the weapon on Captain Raki, but stopped short, her finger hovering on the trigger.
Around her, officers raised their sidearms in eerie unison. Calm. Steady. This wasn’t their first time with an armed intruder.
She stepped back slowly, lowering the weapon as reality set in.
Raki advanced with measured calm, hands raised but eyes steady. His voice carried no fear, only command.
“You don’t want this fight,” he said evenly. “We’re on final approach. Your people will be taken home. No blood needs to spill here.”
Dari’s gaze flicked toward the swirling anomaly. “Home? Through that? I’ve seen the reports. Nothing survives.”
Raki’s voice never wavered. “Not unless you know exactly what you’re doing. We do. That’s why you’re still alive to argue with me.”
“I don’t believe you,” she snapped. “I’ve flown half the galaxy. No one crosses a fracture like that.”
The comm panel chirped. Raki tapped it without looking.
Elendril’s image shimmered into the air, his golden eyes catching the light. “Status?” he asked, his voice laced with the familiar Byni lilt.
Raki gave Dari a pointed glance before answering. “Not yet. Hold position.”
Elendril’s gaze flicked across the bridge, landing on Dari. His eyes widened with sudden recognition.
“You,” she breathed. “You’re the one I saw. In the Slip. In the Artron Gate.”
Elendril’s expression sharpened with interest, but Raki cut the channel before another word passed. The projection dissolved into motes of light.
Raki turned back, his tone as calm as ever. “As I said. We know the way.”
Dari’s weapon hand trembled slightly, though she kept her expression composed. “You expect us to trust that?”
“You don’t have to trust me,” Raki said. “You only have to understand this: the crossing requires absolute precision. One miscalculation, one mistuned system, and we all die. There are no second chances. No rescues. Just nothing.”
His words hung in the air like a blade. He wasn’t pleading. Just stating fact.
Drenek suddenly lunged, slamming his fist onto a glowing console. Red alarms screamed across the bridge, bathing everything in pulsing light. Officers moved instantly, some for weapons, some for controls.
“Drenek, hold!” Dari barked, her voice snapping through the chaos.
He froze, armored hand hovering over the controls. “Commander?”
“Hold.” Her eyes flicked to Raki. His calm had not wavered, even in the strobing light of the alarms.
She tasted the words before forcing them out. “He knows more about this… thing… than we do. We need him. For now.”
The silence that followed was heavy, taut with danger. But Dari had made her choice.
Drenek hesitated, then stepped back slowly, his posture still coiled for action. The officer he'd shoved returned cautiously to his console and killed the shrieking alarm.
Raki keyed the comm with practiced efficiency. "All hands: brace for Gate travel. Falnora, you're up."
He closed the channel with a decisive tap. Another opened immediately, the connection humming with strange energy.
And from the ship's depths and over the comm from the Solar Destiny came a shriek of unholy noise that made Dari's skin crawl.
At first it was pure chaos, groaning, wheezing, insectile harmonics that seemed to bend the very air. Then a second layer of sound emerged, and a third, weaving together in patterns that defied conventional music theory.
It wasn't music. Not to her ears. Not to any civilized ears.
It was madness given voice, ancient syllables that seemed to reach into her mind and twist her perceptions.
As the ship angled toward the anomaly, the sound building to an impossible crescendo around them. She forced her spine straight, jaw clenched until it hurt. She would not show weakness. She would not let the crew see her recoil.
If I survive this, she thought grimly, I'm going to find that Byni captain... and kill him myself.
Chapter 51
Elendril stared at the darkened comm, jaw clenched. His thoughts raced. What had happened aboard the Electhor? Could Raki retake control? Would Dari turn the ship against them?
Then, from somewhere deep in the ship, Lurra began to sing.
The first note floated gently through the still air, soft, warm, achingly steady. A moment later, it was joined by a second voice: Dretz's Mokki harmonics, threading through the comm systems like woven light. The duet drifted between the ships, crossing the void in seamless, resonant unison.
Lurra’s voice, rich and unwavering, merged with Dretz’s alien tones, forming something that transcended music. It was harmonic science made manifest, sound and frequency reshaping space at the molecular level. The Solar Destiny responded with a hum of its own, hull vibrating subtly in resonance.
Elendril didn’t need confirmation. The song told him everything: the bridge had been reclaimed. The Electhor was theirs again.
He exhaled slowly, letting the fear unravel inside him as he turned toward the stars. Then the message came from Captain Raki. “All hands: brace for Gate travel.”
"Here we go," Nira whispered, her hands steady on the controls, her heritage as a resistance fighter evident in her unflinching composure.
Dretz's hum surged, clear and commanding, the small creature's body illuminating with inner light as he channeled harmonic energy through his very being.
And the ships jumped.
Light folded, space inhaled, gravity bent and stretched, cradling both vessels in a moment outside of time.
Then, Lurra faltered.
Just for a breath.
The harmony cracked, and the surrounding corridor rippled with chaos. Warning lights flashed across both bridges, and for a terrifying moment, it seemed the passage might collapse around them.
Dretz didn't miss a beat. He shifted pitch, volume rising in a stabilizing swell that resonated through the ships' hulls. For a heartbeat, all held still, suspended between realities, between destruction and salvation.
Then, Lurra found him.
Her voice returned, fragile but true, weaving back into alignment with Dretz's harmonics. The warning lights dimmed, systems stabilizing as the harmonic balance restored.
Harmony held.
A breath later, they emerged, two ships, one path, into the stars of the Myrios universe.
Cinoth appeared on the sensors, its once-lush forests now devastated by Itherian exploitation, its people desperate for the miracle they'd been promised.
Chapter 52
The Solar Destiny curved into high orbit above Cinoth, its iridescent alloy hull gleaming like tempered steel beneath familiar stars, trailing a slow, elegant arc of blue-tinged exhaust behind it. The photoreceptive plating absorbed the distant starlight, pulsing with subtle energy as the ship maintained its trajectory. Behind them, the Electhor emerged from Caelaxis in tandem, its massive circular form elegant and imposing, pulsing with light that rippled across its thermoplasma-armorite hull. The energy veil of Caelaxis flickered once, shimmering with prismatic intensity, then collapsed into stillness, leaving only the void of space in its wake.
Below, Cinoth spun quietly in its orbit, a world of dead oceans and rust-colored landmasses, choking under a cloud of pollution, and bracing for an attack it could not withstand. The planet's atmosphere shimmered with the faint glow of defensive systems that would prove woefully inadequate against Itherian firepower.
Inside the Destiny's cramped but functional cockpit, the crew held their breath. Screens flickered with sensor data, casting blue-white light across their tense faces.
"They're going to see us and think we're the whole show," Arren said from the nav station, half in awe, his fingers dancing over the patched-together console.
Elendril stood behind Nira's pilot chair, his small goatee accentuating his thoughtful expression. His hands braced against the back of her seat, knuckles slightly whitened with tension. His gaze swept methodically across the readouts, waiting for the next threat, the next telltale flicker of Itherian drive signatures that would herald destruction.
They hadn't come yet.
That was the miracle, or perhaps the warning. In Elendril's experience, silence from the Empire rarely meant safety, it meant they were planning something worse.
Then the comms lit up, a soft chime cutting through the tense atmosphere.
A voice cut through, confident, grounded, unexpectedly familiar, filling the cockpit with its resonant tones.
"Solar Destiny, this is Solace Minor Evac Command. You are green-lit for orbital approach. Landing Platform C is clear and civilian staging is operational if needed. We've got medical facilities standing by if you're carrying wounded."
Nira blinked, her hands hovering over the controls. "Solace Minor? That's a copy..." Her brow furrowed as she tried to place the name in her memory. It wasn't on any standard charts they'd reviewed.
She flicked controls with practiced precision, overlaying sensor data onto the main viewscreen. A moon materialized in the holographic display, Cinoth's smaller satellite. The readouts showed stable tectonics, sealed environmental domes, old mining infrastructure that had been recently repurposed, never fully abandoned, but transformed into something new and vital.
"Someone's built an entire evac grid up there," she said slowly, her voice tinged with disbelief and growing admiration. "Life support for thousands, defense systems, supply chains... this isn't improvised. This was planned."
Elendril leaned forward, as he read the ID tag on the transmission.
"Command unit listed as... Rook." His upswept eyebrows rose slightly, the hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
A beat of silence filled the cockpit as the name registered.
Nira's eyes went wide, her hands stilling on the controls. "No way. Not our Rook?"
"Put him through," Elendril said. "Let's see what our young friend has been up to."
The comm hissed once with static, then cleared with crystalline quality.
Rook's face appeared on screen, older but unmistakable. The nervous edge that had once defined him was gone, replaced by quiet command and self-assurance. His curls were shorter now, his face more weathered, his posture confident and grounded. But the core of him, the earnest kid who'd once flown jittery behind Captain Tarly's ship, uncertain of his place in the resistance, remained intact beneath the newfound authority.
He grinned as soon as he saw them, his eyes lighting up with genuine warmth and recognition.
"Didn't think I'd beat you here," he said, his voice deeper than they remembered. "But I figured if Cinoth got the same treatment Renga did, we'd need backup before help could arrive. The patterns were too similar to ignore, Itherian comm chatter, supply movements, troop deployments. All the same warning signs."
"You coordinated an entire evac camp?" Nira asked, stunned, leaning forward in her seat. "On a moon? By yourself?"
Rook nodded, a little sheepish, running a hand through his shorter hair. "Tessellon taught me what people need when everything's falling apart. The lessons stuck with me. So I took what we had. The domes were mostly intact from the old mining days. Water reclamation systems still worked with some coaxing. We patched what we could, reinforced structural weaknesses, spread rations, created medical protocols. Built something that could hold a few thousand people, maybe more, if we stack beds and skip showers for a while."
Another figure stepped into view behind Rook, half-shadowed in the comm feed's edge. She was lean, smoke-scarred, with dark hair pulled into a rough tie and a datapad braced on one forearm. Her eyes held the hard-won wisdom of someone who had seen too much destruction.
Nira blinked, recognition dawning. "Elise?"
The woman looked up from her datapad and gave a quick, efficient nod.
"Marcan said you were off-grid," Elendril said, a hint of surprise coloring his usually controlled tone. "Said you'd disappeared after the Renga evacuation."
"Was. Didn't stay that way for long." Elise's expression softened slightly. "Someone had to keep Rook from turning the hydro regulators into food processors. Kid's got vision, but sometimes his enthusiasm outpaces his engineering."
Rook grinned sheepishly, the old boyishness briefly resurfacing. "Only did it once. And it almost worked."
Arren let out a low, appreciative breath, shaking her head in wonder. "You did all that with refugee labor? In this timeframe?"
"Most of them wanted something to do," Rook said, his expression growing more serious. "People need purpose, especially when they've lost everything. And this felt like it mattered. I didn't know if it would hold off a full Itherian attack, but if people had to run again, I wanted them to have somewhere to run to. Somewhere that wasn't just another temporary shelter, but a place that could sustain them."
Elendril nodded, his throat visibly tight with emotion, his usual demeanor replaced with genuine respect. "You did more than that. You gave them hope when they needed it most."
"And you're still going by Rook?" Nira said, recovering her grin, trying to lighten the moment. "After all this?"
Rook scratched his head, bashful again despite his new authority. "Yeah, well... habit, I guess. Never really thought about changing it."
"No," Nira said firmly, her expression growing serious. "Not anymore."
They exchanged a look across the crew, unspoken but unanimous in their agreement. Something had changed, and the name no longer fit the man before them.
"You built something that gave people hope," she said, her voice gentle but firm. "You saw a storm coming, and instead of running, you built a shelter. For everyone."
"Solace," Elendril said, quiet and sure, the word carrying weight beyond its syllables. "That's your call sign now. It's who you've become."
"For the place," Arren added, gesturing to the moon on their sensors. "And for what you give the people who come here."
Rook looked down, blinking hard against sudden emotion. Then looked up again, smiling through it, his eyes bright with unshed tears and newfound purpose.
"I... I'll try to live up to it. Every day."
"You already did," Elendril said, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Long before we arrived."
Behind them, visible through the viewport, the Electhor hovered like a guardian angel, its massive circular form cinched with energy, waiting to become something more, a shield, a sanctuary, a statement to the Itherian Empire.
Chapter 53
On the ground, Captain Tarly and Vos Tellar stepped out from the command tent of the Cinoth evacuation zone and looked skyward. Tarly’s breath caught in his throat.
The sky shimmered.
First came the Solar Destiny, sleek and resolute, cutting through Cinoth’s dusty atmosphere like a silver blade. Its manta-like silhouette shone with photoreactive shimmer, absorbing energy and casting refracted light across the scarred land below.
Then came the Electhor.
A colossus in orbit, its circular form blotted out the sun as it settled into geostationary hold. The glow of its particle path, a necessary part of the centripetal drive system, now pulsed with redirected harmonic energy. It was capable of so many things, Elendril found himself constantly amazed, both by Captain Raki’s resourcefulness and by the ship’s capabilities.
Tarly tapped his comm. “Elendril, you copy? What in every burning timeline is that thing? Did you steal a small moon?”
Static, then Elendril’s voice. Calm. Measured. Focused. “That’s the Electhor. I brought help. The real kind. But we’re almost out of time, where’s Raanu?”
Tarly’s humor faltered. “Delayed. But he’s coming. Interference, maybe sabotage. His scouts are starting to show up on long range, he should be here any second.”
On the bridge of the Solar Destiny, Elendril looked to the tactical display. Red signatures multiplied. Seven Itherian ships. Low orbit. Weapons charging.
Nira’s voice cut through the tension. “Raanu’s fleet just dropped. First volley in five minutes.”
The deck trembled from deep within. A hum, low and haunting, echoed through the vessel.
Dretz had moved to the center of the bridge. The Mokki’s small frame pulsed with inner light, ears flicked back, vocal cords resonating with precise, practiced vibration. A tone, not fearful, not urgent. Foundational.
Elendril turned. “What’s he doing?”
Arren, already pulling data from internal sensors, answered, “I think… he’s offering the first note.”
Waveforms danced across his screen. They matched archived patterns from Eco’s return. The Seir’Karael, still inert, rested in a containment field within the Destiny’s core, but its harmonic rings had begun to tremble. Reacting.
“It’s reacting to him,” Arren whispered. “He’s not powering it, he’s aligning with it.”
Elendril moved to the console. “Is it enough?”
“No,” Arren said. “It’s listening. But it will need a duet.”
"Open comms to the Electhor," Elendril said. "We need Lurra to hear him so she will join in."
Nira pushed the comms on her console and the song went out over the air waves. Strong and confident. Soon they could hear Lurra's voice coming back over the comms from the Electhors lab, uncertain at first, wavering, but real. A harmony decades in the making. The Seir’Karael began to spin, slow at first, then faster, a corona of translucent energy forming around its edge.
Falnora’s voice echoed from the Electhor: “Spikes across every ley point. Resonance paths forming. It’s not just local, it’s planetary.”
Arren’s fingers flew across his console. “Feed it into the planetary lattice. Link the pulse modulator to Cinoth’s crust. It’s not defense, it’s a voice. We’re just letting the planet speak again.”
Above, the Electhor’s Starweave Array realigned. Its vast, concave dish spun in gentle rhythm, echoing the Mokki song, reshaping light and gravity into music. The Seir’karael released its charge, not in a beam, but in a ripple, spherical and soft, expanding outward.
Across Cinoth’s surface, the air shifted. Dust lifted. Stones vibrated.
Subharmonics echoed along magnetic ley lines, reactivating forgotten channels buried beneath ash and ruin.
Raanu’s fleet opened fire.
Crimson beams descended from orbit, lances of annihilation aimed at the planet’s last cities.
And vanished midair.
No detonation. No fire. Only light, refracted harmlessly in prismatic curves, breaking apart like shattered rainbows. The Seir’karael had accepted its new song, and in turn, had shielded the planet not through resistance, but through resonance.
The Itherians, unprepared for a defense they could neither see nor counter, descended into comms chaos.
Arren listened in: “Impact failure, systems confused, what is that noise?” “Can’t acquire target, field’s jamming the sensors,” “Is this... music?”
Elendril watched from the bridge, his hands still. No weapons. No retaliation.
Just a song remembered.
Below, on Cinoth,
The skies shimmered with protective harmony. People stood in silence as the heavens sang above them.
In the capital square, Princess Bara Ph’ticia fell to her knees, not from fear, but from wonder. The soil beneath her hands felt warmer, alive again. Her breath caught as the melodies continued to unfold above, a complex harmony laced with memory and protection.
And softly, almost like prayer, she recited the old resistance verse:
No’shar tol’reil skal,
Skan’skal sha’we,
rei’tor fal.
Tar ren’skai dor sha’we
Vak’sa, vak’sa
rek’tan.
Let them burn it all to ash,
Strike our names,
forget us fast.
But stars remain beneath our skin
We whisper, we whisper
evermore.
Chapter 54
They were home. Or something that looked like it.
The stolen Electhor shuttle, Prism Runner's airlock hissed open, and masked troopers met them with leveled rifles. Dari didn't flinch. Her team stood tight behind her, Drenek to her left, his shoulders tense beneath his worn combat vest, Ryshal to her right, sweat still drying on his brow after the launch. He'd flown the shuttle like a madman to match Itherian code burns, his hands dancing across the controls with desperate precision as they approached, praying the old authentication sequences hadn't been purged from the system.
The officer didn't ask names. Didn't salute. His helmet visor reflected Dari's face back at her, fragmented and distorted. Just said, "You're coming with us," in a voice scraped clean of any warmth or recognition.
Raanu's ship was colder than she remembered. Or maybe she had changed. The recycled air carried the metallic tang of military-grade disinfectant and the underlying musk of too many bodies confined in steel corridors.
As they were marched through the passageways, boots echoing against the metal grating, she saw the older symbol still carved into the bulkheads: the crest of the First Legion, untouched by recent design reforms. The jagged edges of its emblem caught the harsh overhead lighting, casting shadows that seemed to move with predatory intent. That said something about Raanu's loyalties. And when they were locked into a long, low-ceilinged room with nothing but a bench bolted to the floor and a red-lit cam node blinking accusingly from the corner, she understood everything else.
He doesn't trust us.
Raanu knew her. They'd fought near Ishan Vale once, years ago, when the sky rained ash and the ground trembled with orbital bombardment. She'd pulled his second out of a firestorm, dragging the wounded officer through collapsing terrain while plasma rounds scorched the air around them. She'd earned a single nod at the after-action briefing. That was all. No warmth. No debt. Just cold recognition from eyes that calculated her value as a tactical asset.
So of course he'd lock her down until he could be sure she hadn't gone soft during her time away, hadn't been compromised by whatever forces had pulled her from her assigned post.
Drenek paced the confines of their makeshift cell, his boots wearing an invisible path in the metal floor, fingers twitching at his sides where weapons should have been. Ryshal sat cross-legged against the wall, pulling a twisted comm relay from the lining of his sleeve with nimble fingers. "Give me two minutes," he muttered, squinting at the delicate circuitry. "I can ping a command beacon. Maybe get them to flag us for pickup. The encryption's old, but it might still work if I can bypass the primary authentication protocols."
"Don't," she said, but her voice lacked conviction, and she didn't stop him. Sometimes options were all you had left when everything else was stripped away.
The floor shuddered beneath them, a tremor that started small and built into something more ominous.
"What was that?" Drenek asked, freezing mid-stride, his head cocked to one side.
They all heard the shift in tone, the background hum rising in pitch like an instrument being tuned to a higher, more dangerous frequency. A ship charging weapons. Firing solution locked. The unmistakable vibration of massive energy weapons drawing power from the core.
Dari turned toward the wall, pressing her palm against the cold metal as if she could feel the intentions of the vessel through its skin. "He's firing."
"Who?" Ryshal said, looking up from his improvised work, fingers suddenly still.
"Raanu. Targeting something big. Probably Cinoth." She could feel it in her bones.
They waited.
Minutes bled into what felt like hours, boxed in by silence and the sterile glow of containment field walls. No guards came. No interrogators. No voice crackling through a speaker demanding answers or issuing threats. Just the low hum of the ship and the distant sense of momentum, a beast moving toward something dreadful.
Dari paced the length of the cell twice, then stopped. There was no point. Whatever misunderstanding had landed them in the brig of an Itherian warship, in Raanu’s armada, no less, no one seemed in a hurry to clear it up. She could scream for a ranking officer, demand protocol, cite field commission codes if she wanted, but who would answer? Who would even care?
So they waited.
And then, everything snapped.
A scream of metal, primal and deafening. The deck jerked sideways, throwing them against the walls. The structure around them cracked and peeled as if pried by unseen hands, stress fractures spider-webbing across the ceiling. The lighting failed in a stuttering heartbeat, then darkness and stars tore through the chamber as a section of the hull was ripped away, exposing them to the merciless void.
Breach.
Dari grabbed Ryshal by the collar, yanking him off the floor as Drenek threw himself against the far wall for cover. A howl of suction tore through the chamber, pulling debris and precious air into the stars, loose equipment, fragments of wall paneling, and the desperate prayers of three soldiers facing the emptiness of space, until it didn't.
They stopped falling.
A golden shimmer surged around them, enveloping their bodies in a cocoon of light. A containment field? No, more fluid, more deliberate in its movements. A net. A folded magnetic barrier catching them mid-air like insects in amber, suspended between life and death.
Her ears rang with the sudden pressure change. Her lungs burned with every shallow breath, the oxygen thin and inadequate. But they were alive, suspended in the void yet protected from its killing embrace.
Outside, through the fractured bulkhead, a ship hovered, black-armored and wreathed in light that spilled across the debris field like liquid gold. Sleek. Massive. Its predatory wings arched with menace, weapon ports glowing with barely contained energy. Unmistakably Imperial.
The Citadel of Dei.
Her stomach churned, a cold dread spreading through her veins like ice water, Caani must want to make an example of them.
No. That can't be…
And then she saw him.
Standing at the viewport, framed in the glow of starlight, was Fero. His tall, slender figure unmistakable even at this distance, his posture military-straight, shoulders squared beneath what appeared to be command armor emblazoned with crimson accents, the forbidden color, the Emperor's color.
His expression was blank. No relief. No fury. Just stillness that seemed to extend beyond his physical form, as if he existed in a different current of time.
Their eyes met, across the void, across everything they hadn't said, across the impossible chasm of what he appeared to be now.
I'm hallucinating again, she told herself, blinking against the stinging vacuum. Why would Fero be there? Even if it was his cycle to serve... he'd never be given that kind of honor. Never be standing on the bridge of the Emperor's own warship, wearing the Imperial Crimson.
You aren't supposed to be here, she thought toward him, a silent accusation hurled across the stars.
Neither are you.
Was it his voice replying in her mind? The impossible intimacy of thought meeting thought?
Or just the echo of her own disbelief, her consciousness fragmenting under the strain of oxygen deprivation?
And then the net reeled them in, golden tendrils of energy contracting, pulling them through the breach toward the waiting ship, and the stars went dark as consciousness fled.
Chapter 55
On the Electhor, Lurra collapsed, unconscious but alive. Dretz seemed to know, even with the distance and ship hulls between them, a lullaby rose from him, quiet and raw. The melody flowed from his small form, ancient Sereneth notes weaving through the recycled air of the ship, a song of rest, of healing, of the space between heartbeats where strength returns. The notes vibrated with a harmonic resonance that seemed to transcend the physical barriers separating him from Lurra, carrying his concern across the void.
Across Resistance frequencies, voices shook with joy, crackling through comms systems that had known little but desperate warnings for years.
"Cinoth held." "They didn't fire back." "They... sang it shut." The disbelief in these transmissions carried equal parts wonder and exhaustion, fighters who had prepared for death now stumbling into the unexpected dawn of survival.
Elendril closed his eyes at the command rail, fingers pressed against the cool metal. He didn't feel victorious. The usual rush of adrenaline that accompanied outmaneuvering Itherian forces was absent. Instead, there was something deeper, more fundamental.
He felt in tune. As though, for the first time, he was part of something larger than rebellion, part of a cosmic harmony that had always been there, waiting to be heard.
Elendril and Vos Tellar walked beside Princess Bara Ph'ticia through the streets of her world, past market ruins where blackened awnings still fluttered in the breeze and once-burned plazas where scorch marks traced patterns like dark constellations. She didn't speak. She didn't need to. Her stride matched theirs, not out of formality, but out of shared understanding, the silent language of those who had witnessed both devastation and rebirth.
Children played with stick-drawn stars in the dust, their small hands etching constellations of their own making, trailing laughter between street vendor stalls reclaimed from rubble. They chased each other through narrow alleys where flowers now pushed through cracks in the pavement, resilient as the people themselves. Elder voices drifted in slow, cracked melodies from doorways and balconies, old garden songs, barely remembered but never truly gone, passed down through generations despite Itherian attempts to silence them.
This was peace, not in proclamation, but in practice, not in grand speeches or formal treaties, but in the simple act of children playing without fear and elders singing without looking over their shoulders.
Of Commander Dari, little more was learned in the days that followed. She and her team said almost nothing during holding reviews, their faces masks of military discipline. But Elendril hadn't missed the way her eyes lingered on Corevalis's unfamiliar constellations whenever she thought no one was watching, like someone realizing they were impossibly far from home, calculating distances that couldn't be measured in mere light-years.
Arren crouched near a low stone wall, his fingers moving with precise elegance as he sketched resonance stabilizer schematics with a Corevalis Universe engineer in the sand. Dretz perched nearby, watching with curious eyes as the two brilliant minds worked. Their conversation was layered, technical, filled with jargon that would baffle most listeners, but beneath the complexity lay unmistakable hope.
"They'll need paired emitters if the crust profile matches Voltan strata," Arren said, adding another series of calculations to their growing diagram. "The harmonic resonance patterns are almost identical."
The other man nodded, his expression shifting from skepticism to consideration. "We've seen it on Kirel Nine. But never used music to fix it." He tested the word "music" as though it were a foreign concept in engineering.
Arren grinned, the expression lighting up his face. "You'll get used to it. Harmonic science isn't just theoretical, it's the oldest technology in this galaxy. We just forgot how to listen."
Bolen was half-submerged in the forward turret of the Solar Destiny, his broad shoulders barely fitting through the access panel. Grease-smeared and muttering colorful curses to the bolts that refused to cooperate, he yanked at a particularly stubborn piece of the quantum drive unit.
"If we're sticking around to fix things," he grumbled, his voice echoing metallic and hollow from inside the compartment, "might as well start with this damn engine." He grunted as something finally gave way with a satisfying clank.
His voice was sharp with frustration, but when he emerged for a breath of fresh air, he was smiling, the smile of a man who understood that rebuilding was its own form of resistance.
Nira stood on a half-crushed tower, her silhouette sharp against the brightening sky. Her eyes remained fixed skyward, arms crossed defensively across her chest as clouds rolled past the edge of the planetary shield. She knew better than to trust peace too quickly.
Suddenly it was just there.
No warning preceded it. No fanfare announced its arrival.
Just a shadow descending through the cloudbreak, impossibly vast, shaped like a giant bird with its wings arched in eternal vigilance. The Citadel of Dei materialized like a myth made real, its ancient hull reflecting daylight in patterns that seemed to speak in a language older than words.
People across Cinoth fell silent. Children stopped their games. Merchants froze mid-transaction. Even the wind seemed to pause in deference.
Raanu's fleet had failed in its attempt to seize control, and now this had come.
The Emperor's flagship, older than most planets, passed from ruler to ruler like a crown forged in orbit, its very presence a declaration of imperial will. The vessel that had overseen the subjugation of countless worlds now hung above a planet that had dared to defy the Empire.
Everyone knew what came next. The destruction. The example made. The terrible lesson written in fire.
Except it didn't come.
Not for them.
The Citadel rotated with deliberate slowness, engines silent as prayer, and aligned with Raanu's remaining ships. Its movement had the ceremonial quality of an executioner raising an axe.
A hum passed through the air, felt more than heard, vibrating through bone and soil. Then white-gold fire lanced from the Citadel's ribs, clean, surgical, and final, a judgment rendered without hesitation.
Raanu's armada broke like glass beneath a hammer, ships twisting and falling, debris streaking toward the desert beyond the northern cliffs in fiery arcs that carved new constellations across the sky.
A volcano bloomed with the impact, the mountain responding to heaven's violence with violence of its own.
Then silence again. Complete. Absolute.
The Citadel didn't linger to witness the aftermath of its intervention.
It folded out of space like a god leaving a sermon half-finished, its message delivered without need for elaboration.
And the people of Cinoth knew, with bone-deep certainty: That wasn't mercy. That was a message. Emperor Tranii was making his position unmistakably clear, the old ways might be over, but his power remained absolute.
By the lakeside on Cinoth, dusk fell gently, brushing the horizon with hues of violet and amber. Wind stirred the reeds. The soft hum of Dretz threaded the air, gentle and low, like a lullaby remembered.
Children’s laughter echoed from the nearby market. Fish rose lazily toward the surface, drawn by harmonics older than civilization. Their scales caught the moonlight, and for a moment, the lake shimmered like it was made of stars.
Above them, the sky was quiet now.
Caelaxis had closed.
Its spiraling light, once carved open by song, had faded gently, folding in on itself with the grace of a completed verse. Only those with harmony in their hearts could summon its path again. And until then, Caelaxis would rest, waiting.
Elendril stood at the water’s edge, the Seir’Karael, still faintly warm sat on a nearby stone table.
They had threaded the Eye of Stars. They had found the Veiled Ones. The Children of Dei had answered. And the Seir’Karael had returned to light the way.
The prophecy was no longer myth. It was motion.
Behind him, Christine and Adric conferred quietly with Captain Raki, preparing aid for the wounded planets of Myrios. Arren and Nira would leave at dawn for Sereneth, seeking new Mokki, willing guides who might one day open Caelaxis from both sides. On Cinoth and Nemani, they would be protected. Honored. Never used.
Elendril smiled faintly at the thought. The Itherians, with all their power and prejudice, would never stoop to consort with “slimy creatures,” as they called them. That irony alone might be enough to tip the balance.
It was the beginning of something new, a bridge between broken worlds, a promise of restoration, a light that guards in song.
And in the hush that followed, Dretz hummed softly beside the lake, his voice threading through the reeds and starlight.
A verse still being written.
How Caelaxis Came To Be
This universe is dedicated to my father, Frank Wells.
He’s the one who opened the stars to me, first through Star Trek, then through countless late-night conversations about time paradoxes, interdimensional theory, and the kinds of mind-bending questions sci-fi was made to ask. Those talks shaped the way I think about stories, possibility, and the strange mechanics of hope.
One day, I lost something. “I put it right here,” I said, frustrated. “How can it just be gone?”
Dad laughed. “Maybe it slipped into another dimension,” he said. That joke sparked a week-long discussion about where things go when they’re lost… and eventually, the idea of Time Slots was born.
Years later, that seed became a short story for a college writing project set in the Star Trek universe. For a long time, I thought it could only live there. But when I discovered World Anvil, the story bloomed into something far bigger, its own world, its own voice, its own future.
I wish I could share it with him now. I know he’d be proud. I know he’d love what it has become.
Thanks, Dad.
RIP