《The Endless Dark: The First Ember》


 Prologue ∞

    Darkness is a weight that clings to the soul. I will let it move through me and fall away; for in its absence, only the light will persist.


    Fear is a shroud that envelops the spirit. I shall walk through it, for beyond it lies the path of the Ascended and only its chosen shall prevail.


    Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more.


    I shall be still and know the truth that echoes beyond death, beyond darkness. I am more than flesh; I am more than thought. I am the finite spark of the Eternal Ember, a thread in the tapestry of the infinite.


    Through surrender, I am exalted.


    Through stillness,


    I shall prosper.


    - Elenthea Aetherwyn, First Keeper of the Temple of the First Ember

 1 | The Scattered Weave

    Edran''s Relics & Repair second-hand junk shop and home was tucked away on a long stretch of storefronts on level 12 in the Commerce District, on a small unassuming corner. It didn''t look like much from the outside. A tall metal wall with an automatic door and a barred window. It had Edran''s neon blue logo of nanodriver and despite it being out of the way from the lower engineering levels, he was well-respected for his expert repairs and cheap prices.


    The Commerce Districts atmosphere was thick with the scent of recycled oxygen and hulking asteroids loomed outside as miners returned from the outside after days away at the mines.


    From the outside, the Weave dominated the black void, a colossal star-station spanning over thirty kilometers with asteroids and mining ships clumped together close to the blue star Tyrmos that gave the Weave its faint, shimmering blue glow. It was responsible for native Weavers dark, black coal-like eye color. Its vast rings spun in entrancing synchronization, mimicking the orbit of a distant moon.


    The docking bays alone stretched for miles, their platforms crowded with freighters, shuttles, and warships. Lights glimmered from countless windows across its surface, a lattice of brilliance that seemed to outshine the stars themselves.


    It was in no way glamorous, at least, not anymore, but it was home. Syra had grown so used to it that she barely noticed what once marveled her.


    Their shop got their fair share of foot traffic, but most days were fixing things no one bothered to look sideways at, or commissions from the council for malfunctioning bots that wandered too far from their garbage targets.


    That was just the way Syra liked it.


    Unassuming. It was good for...other kinds of business.


    She stretched, letting out a low groan as she eased herself off the creaky cot in the back of her father''s shop. She rubbed the stiffness from her neck, blinking blearily out of the small port window. Time in the Scattered Weave followed the slow rotation of the station, mimicking the rise and fall of a day. As the station turned, one side faced Tyrmos, bathing the sprawling structures in a cool, sapphire light. On the opposite side, night fell. Tyrmos''s glow faded, leaving the station in shadow. Auxiliary lights flickered on - soft blues and purples lining the streets and corridors, casting a calming, station hue.


    The cycle was deliberate, a mechanical imitation of linear time despite being so far away from it, but for those who lived here, it felt just as real as living on a planet. Tyrmos, though distant, provided their sun and their anchor, in the endless sprawl of the Weave.


    Rubbing her eyes, Syra pulled her faded work jumpsuit from the floor and stepped out into the cluttered expanse of the shop. The place was a maze of old tech and scrap, with shelves stacked high with everything from rusted parts to half-fixed machinery, all of it waiting to be salvaged, sold, or put to use.


    At the centre of it all stood Edran, her father, hunched over a disassembled cybernetic trash unit that was spread out across the workbench like an open-heart patient. He had a long intricate Kessaryon braid that dipped underneath the collar of his shirt and he wore goggles, matte-black and small with adjustable magnifying lenses on each side, like a favourite hat. With a quick flick, the auto-adjust lenses could stack for stronger magnification, revealing even the tiniest nano-parts in sharp detail. Each lens glowed faintly blue, giving a clear view of circuits and mechanisms.


    His left arm, the mechanical one, whirred faintly as he fiddled with the circuitry inside the cybernetic units chest. His flesh-and-blood hand held a thin nano-driver, which he used with the kind of focus that made it seem like the world beyond his work didn''t exist.


    "Morning, papa," Syra said, kissing his cheek as she passed him in familial affection.


    Edran kissed her cheek back instinctively, without looking up, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "Good morning, jara. Sleep alright?"


    Despite living in the Weave for most of her life, he still carried the heavy accent of their home world, Kessyra, roots that made him stand out in the Weave. Not many Kessaryon''s made it off planet, not with the meagre credits and hard farming life that came with it. Syra still didn''t quite know how they made it to the Weave.


    Syra padded towards the small square kitchenette, "I had a dream I got stuck in the elevator on the fifth floor and Arleen Mast came to save me but the whole time she was lecturing me about not doing a better job on the escalator contract I did last week. Then suddenly the whole star station had no walls, and everyone was floating around as if nothing was wrong. And I was standing there thinking ''what the hell, do they not see that they''re floating?''," she stretched her arms over her head, grimacing as her shoulders cracked loudly. "Also, that bed is killing my back."


    Edran snorted and adjusted the goggles over his eyes, the blue glow from the magnifying lenses casting a sharp, cool light across his face. His gaze narrowed as he leaned closer to the delicate nano-parts, the lenses whirring softly as they clicked into focus. "Don''t know who you got your imagination from. Certainly wasn''t me. And I told you, you could have the upstairs bed, and I''ll sleep on the cot while you get back on your feet."


    She set a pot of water to boil and began rummaging for the granulated caffeinated Yava beans in their cluttered cupboards. "No, papa. You''re getting old, you need it more than me."


    "I''m not getting old," Edran scoffed defensively and then made a face, "Well, maybe the years are just going by too quick."


    Syra looked sideways at her father who proceeded to tentatively stick his nano-driver into the chest piece causing a spark. "What time did you get up?"


    "Early," he replied, his tone nonchalant, but she knew that could mean anything from dawn to the middle of the night. He had a habit of losing track of time once he got his hands on a project.


    "You''re supposed to rest, remember? Doctor Vern didn''t put you on that medicine for no reason."


    "Resting''s for when you''re dead," He waved his mechanical arm, the fingers not quite in sync, at the disassembled unit. "Besides, this one''s close to being functional again. A few more tweaks and we might actually get some decent credits for it."


    "You''ve been saying that for weeks."


    "Well, the damn thing is stubborn, that''s for sure."


    Syra didn''t argue, though she couldn''t help but sigh quietly. She stirred the brown liquid, the comforting warm smell of warming Yava energizing her. She poured some cream into hers and a sugar into Edran''s mug. She walked over, placing the mug on the table beside him. "At least eat something this morning. I''ll make breakfast."


    Edran took the cup and gave her a look-part grateful, part resigned. "You worry too much, kid."


    "Someone has to. Especially when you''re up at all hours like a vengeful spirit."


    He grumbled something under his breath but didn''t protest further.


    They fell into a comfortable routine - Syra cleared space on the cluttered workbench to set out the modest breakfast she''d prepared: toasted Felka bread, Bawken egg fry packs, a protein bar, and a small cup of processed fruit. Edran sipped his drink while he read the morning news slate. "Have you seen the news?"


    Syra had heard bits and pieces of political drama but tried to stay away from the mental drain of it all. But one thing was made abundantly clear. "I heard that Malwood Harwes is running for Overseer again."


    "Uh-huh. Shora v¨¦ Syrali." What now, Syrali? "And on the same day the TLA are protesting mechanical rights."


    The Liberty Association and Mr. Malwood Harwes were two ends of a spectrum.


    The Liberty Association advocated for oppressed and discriminated species and fought hard for rights most races didn''t care for, despite some obvious complications to the species. Malwood advocated for new space stations, strict interspecies restrictions and costly amenities paid for by rising taxes though eighty percent of the Weave wouldn''t see those changes and they paid for amenties on level 20. The finance district. The wealthiest part of the Weave, where the wealthy looked down on the workers keeping the Weave afloat.


    Syra would advocate for the TLA if there were some hard concrete evidence that the bots were sentient. But so far, it was all based on one eye-witness account, and they were in the middle of political warfare. A


    "Oh come on," Syra said, looking in the small mirror above the sink to fix the braids in her hair. "Mechanical rights? Are we going to start giving rights to our ovens, our lights, our...nano-drivers? It''d be different if these machines were alive but they''re just metal and code. Let them come and work in a shop for a day and see how alive they think they are."


    Edran sipped his coffee. "Well, they''re convinced one of them asked for help. Was frantic, apparently. It sounds like a recipe for a bot uprising. Like that film slate that just came out. Uhm...oh what was it called..."


    "The Steel Giant." Syra said. Edran clicked his fingers. Syra continued, "Where''d you hear that?"


    "I saw Mr. O''Amra yesterday. He was out walking with one of the new service models on 13. Must''ve cost him a year''s wages. Almost mistook it for human if I hadn''t noticed the way it was movin''. Gives me the creeps."


    "Well, I''d like to start charging them rent then with how much power they take up on our utility bill."


    "Well, word is Malwood is trying to push for them out in the mines. Says they get work done quicker."


    "He can''t do that...can he? What about the people already asking for more work? I mean people will lose their jobs. They still have to feed their families. You start kicking people out of their livelihoods and you will have an uprising."


    "Syrali to''venya." He murmured in agreement, head resting against his fingers as he swiped midair to scroll to the next article. Syrali, show us the way.


    It never failed to bewilder Syra at her father''s persisting faith to their Kessyra''s patron goddess Syrali, even after seeing the universe beyond his world. Syra took one look at the vast open expanse of space and believed simply in the cosmic anonoly that is space. Edran believed so much that he even pushed for her to be called Syra, after Syrali, meaning bringer of rain, a common name in their village.


    They ate in companiable silence and then Syra got to work organizing the shop and sorting through the piles of scrap that had accumulated in the back. She checked the inventory logs, marking down which parts had been sold or scavenged and needed to be restocked. It was a tedious task, especially since Edran preferred to forget about it or sporadically update it, but it kept the place running smoothly. With so many traders, miners, and wanderers passing through the Weave nowadays, business was steady, if not unpredictable.


    The doorbell jingled as the first customer of the day wandered in-a grizzled asteroid miner from level 6, still in his dusty work clothes. "Jharis," he greeted, nodding to Syra.


    "Morning, Anders." His face was kind and fatherly and reminded her of her own father. His eyes were dark, so dark they were almost black, hiding behind thick brows. A tell-tale sign he was born in the Weave. Syra absently thought of his three young troublemakers with the same eyes, who, on more than one occasion, tried to sell her faulty data chips.


    "Heard you''ve got some new grav stabilizers in stock. My rig''s been acting up like it pays the damn bills, and I need a replacement."


    "We only have two in at the moment," Syra replied, already walking toward the far wall where a row of stabilizers hung. "Not the latest model, but they''ll hold up."


    "That''s all I need," Anders said, scratching at the stubble on his chin. "The thing doesn''t need to be pretty, just needs to keep working."


    "I''ve got an Arcadian Stabilizer for two thousand credits. It''s a good deal considering it''s only five years old and runs like a dream. Ooor...I''ve got a second-hand model down for one thousand fourteen but it''s not¡ª


    ."


    "I''ll take the second hand, whatever''s cheapest."


    Syra shot him a wry smile, "Unless you want to be in here in another couple of weeks, you may as well spend the little extra on the Arcadian. It''s stable, reliable, you won''t have to pay double the credits next time if it doesn''t work out."


    "I know what you''re trying to do-"


    "All I''m saying is you''ll get a lot more out of it. Twice the life, saves you credits in the future. So I don''t have to see you for a good six months rather than next few weeks. And Sovereigns Day is coming up - I know how a few extra credits for the kids goes a long way. This is me looking out for you."


    Anders simply chuffed, "You''re something else, you know that. I''ve not been in here five minutes and you''re already trying to haggle me out of my last credit. Fine. But just because I need Malwood off my back, and because I don''t want this issue in a week."


    Syra flashed a smile. "You won''t regret it."


    "I''ll be bringing it back if it fails."


    "It won''t. Dad fixed it himself."


    Anders grinned, "The Jharis special, huh? Who knows, thing might last me ten years."


    Syra rang him up on the small touchscreen data pad and held it out for him to complete his transaction. He waved a sleek black band around his wrist over the screen, and it accepted. 2000 credits deposited. "Receipt?"


    "Please," he tucked his hat in his back pocket and took the stabilizer under one arm, "You know we''ve got work down on level 6 if you ever need it," Anders said. "I heard what happened to you on Thenia. For what it''s worth, you did a damn fine thing. You served with honour."


    Syra smiled faintly; the sting still raw. "Thanks Anders. But it was reckless. I could''ve gotten a lot of people killed, including my team, on a decision that wasn''t mine to make. And I lost my entire career over it. The fact that it went right was pure luck." Syra printed off a receipt and slid it over to him, "And thank you for the offer but I don''t think your engineers could handle a woman down there."


    Anders waved a dismissive hand in the air, "Bah, that''s bullshit Dominion has drilled into you, and you know it. My wife''s cousin was on one of the transport ships you pulled off the surface. Instead of dying in a crushed mass of ship parts and red rock, he got to see his kid be born this week. You may not know it Syra, but you changed the course of so many people''s lives. Just know most everyone on level 6 respects the hell outta you."


    Syra smiled, but her eyes stung and she looked away, clutching onto her clipboard. The unsettling dark pit her dishonored discharge left her never quite went away, even after five months out of service. Everything she worked so hard for, gone in an instant. "Thanks, Anders. Really. Don''t be going all soft on me though. You need any help fitting it?"


    "Nah, that''s what the apprentices are for." He grinned. "Remember what I said, eh? You''ve got a lot more people on your side than you realise. Cheers for the stabilizer. Say hi to your dad from me."


    She watched him leave with the stabiliser under one arm and then glanced over to where her father was still bent over the bot. Edran was in his own world. She envied his ability to lose himself like that, to just focus on one thing and block out everything else.


    Syra wiped her hands on a rag and moved back to where her father was working. She needed him to head out back for a few hours, so she could deal with some business of her own. "You know," she began, keeping her tone light. "I could handle the customers while you take a break. Maybe even get some sleep."


    Edran didn''t look up. "I''m fine."


    "Papa, you''re not a machine," Her gaze drifted to his mechanical arm, which gleamed in the faint light. "Not entirely, anyway."


    He chuckled at that, a dry sound that seemed to echo through the cluttered shop. "That''s debatable," he said, but he set down his tools. "Alright, alright. I''ll take a break. Happy?"


    "Yes, thank you," Syra replied, giving him a small, satisfied smile.


    The rest of the afternoon passed in much the same way: customers trickling in and out, parts traded or bartered for, the shop''s cluttered shelves gradually shifting with the flow of business. Syra liked the routine; it kept her grounded, gave her a purpose in a place that often felt like it was drifting aimlessly in the void. There were always repairs to make, parts to salvage, and people looking for a deal.


    Syra turned back to her father, who was already seated at the workbench at the back, fiddling with a small circuit board. She shook her head, letting out a quiet laugh and she called out to him, "I thought you were taking a break."


    "This is my break," he said without looking up. "I''m just...finishing up."


    "Sure, you are," she replied.


    Edran waved her off with a grunt, but as she turned away, she saw the faintest hint of a smile on his lips.


    She stood behind the cluttered counter with an old spacer module, turning it over in her hands, feeling its worn edges and faded markings. She carefully pried the casing open, examining the tangle of circuits and wires inside. With a small screwdriver, she nudged at a few loose connections, hoping to coax the old device back to life.


    The door hissed open, and Syra glanced up - a lanky Anaxian with marbled translucent coloured skin, nervously glancing around the shop. Its three small eyes blinked rapidly as it slid a small box across the counter with one of its four arms, trying not to meet her gaze.


    A small colony of Anaxian''s settled in the Weave nearly a century ago and were still treated poorly by the general population, despite providing over 30% of the workforce. They worked for meagre credits, usually down in the ship bay where they offered cleaning services and chaperoning.


    What he was doing here, Syra didn''t know.


    She recognized it as one of their nanotech tool kits, small adaptive screwdriver kits - the kind used specifically for bots and utility units. Not just anyone bought these.


    She gave the male a once-over, her expression unreadable. She''d never seen him before. "You got the credits for this?"


    The alien stammered, shaking its head. It''s voice was melodic, watery sounding, distinct to their race. "Just need to make a quick trade..." He placed a metal case onto the table as his trade, "I heard from Savros Valen you also..."


    "You heard nothing," Syra interrupted quietly. Savros hauled in generally legal goods, occasionally bending the rules to earn some extra credits. Syra occasionally let others pass through the cracks undetected for a hefty fee. She''d have to talk to him about handing her name out.


    The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    Behind her calm exterior, Syra''s mind worked quickly. The metal case was inconspicuous, branded with a Dominion sigil. A four-pointed star with an infinity knot in the center to represent the Sovereign''s Ember implants. The four Sovereigns of Sennia were each equipped with an implant, placed at the base of the neck, each designed to enhance the skills needed to rule an empire.


    Unity, the current reigning sovereign, helped connect with people and unify different factions, strengthening alliances and reducing conflict.


    Valor boosted courage, ensuring the sovereign can make bold decisions and lead in times of war or crisis.


    Fortune guided decisions toward prosperity, giving them a keen sense of opportunity and wealth.


    Justice ensured fairness, helping uphold laws and maintain balance, preventing corruption.


    Together, they once ruled as Four, their Ember implants enhancing and amplifying skills and traits they already possessed. It was said the Ember chose their host, where it had been bitterly torturous for those who weren''t worthy.


    During the Interstellar Convergence, a time long before Syra and her parents, where the Sovereign''s mother planet Cerbus was destroyed by their dying sun. The surrounding planets also abandoned their homes. headed in the direction of ripe, habitable planets and colonized them. Kessyra being one of them. A planet made up of four different religious and planetary races. Many years after the creation of their Ember implants, Valor''s decisions changed the entire galaxy by destroying six planets loyal to the Valeri system, essentially wiping the slate clean for the Valeri star system, a move seen as problematic by many major houses, despite their loyalty to Sennia. He turned the tide for Sennian loyalties and ensured any who defied would be met with the swift end of atomic planetary destruction. Syra didn''t study hard enough to remember all the stories but it''d been brutal enough for it to be considered cursed to speak aloud about it.


    "Where''d you get this?"


    "Dominion War ship shipwrecked on the coast of Anaxia. Dominion quantum battery."


    They cost a pretty credit on Sennia, and they were so regulated that getting them fitted into a non-Dominion ship was like trying to shoot fish with your fingers. But if you could get your hands on one it would supply a lifetime of renewable starship energy.


    She weighed her options. Her ship could use some upgrades and getting a battery like this was rare and would help power a better jump drive model. After getting it shot out in a skirmish with the other smugglers, her ship may as well be shipwrecked too - stuck in her cozy corner of the Galaxy. She knew this offer didn''t come without another favor, "Where do you need me to be?"


    "Outpost 13. Two nights from now. Patrols start at 1100 hours but break away for an hour period at blue break." Blue break, when the asteroid began to face the pale icy hot glow of Tyrmos, signalling the start of everyone''s morning.


    She couldn''t afford to make deals like this with her father watching too closely. They were part of her side business, a quiet arrangement for certain smuggling contacts who passed through the Weave. Syra got paid big credits for a five-minute operation opening the gates for their cargo to slip by unseen by the Weaves security.


    Tech could be bought, it was the right contacts that truly held value.


    She leaned in closer, her voice a low murmur. Due to the nature of her work, the trouble she could get into and what little reputation she still had, the battery seemed like a rip off. "Throw in a deluxe ship wash and it''s a deal." Before the Anaxian could reply Syra quicky continued, "And you fix the hull...and fit the battery."


    The Anaxian nodded eagerly, snatching the box of nano-drivers and stuffing it into a worn satchel, its three eyes blinking in rapid succession as it made for the door. "Bring it down to the ship bay next couple breaks. I''ll have it powered up and shining like a star."


    Before the stranger was even out the door, Syra saw a flicker of movement. Edran''s figure emerged from the dimness, his heavy boots clanking against the metal flooring. She straightened up, quickly hiding any trace of the transaction as the Anaxian disappeared out onto the streets.


    "Who was that?" he grumbled, looking like a strange space man with his goggles still over his eyes, wiping his hands on an oil-streaked rag. He flipped up his visor and his sharp gaze fell on the figure retreating and then back to her.


    Syra smiled innocently. "Just a wanderer. Didn''t have the credits, so I told ''em to come back another time."


    Edran grunted, unconvinced. "Don''t go givin'' away the goods for just anything, jara. Everyone must work for what they have. We don''t run a charity here."


    She bit back a sarcastic retort, nodding instead, knowing if he found the Dominion battery pack tucked under the counter, he''d lose his mind. Edran had once lived and breathed Dominion; her family had a small legacy of proud pilots, each one dedicated to the fleet like it was a birthright. Her grandfather who still resided on Kessyra, had been a point of honour, a scientist at heart but a pilot during the peak of his career. Her father was an engineer. It was something Edran used to carry with pride. It was something Syra used to carry with pride.


    Now, it was a bitter reminder.


    Syra''s gaze drifted to the Dominion battery, sleek and functional, humming faintly with the energy it stored. It was efficient, reliable - everything the Dominion promised to be. But her father saw it differently, saw it as a cruel reminder of what they''d taken from him and the proud lineage they''d let fade.


    To him, every bit of Dominion tech was a symbol of betrayal. If he knew she had it... she didn''t want to think about the argument that would follow.


    So she kept quiet, nodding along as he grumbled.


    "Of course, papa."


    Edran cleared his throat, wiping his hands on an oil-stained rag as he walked over.


    "You''re quiet today," he said casually, leaning against the counter. "Too quiet."


    Syra glanced up, arching a brow. He didn''t hear her, did he? "You want me to start humming or something?"


    Edran chuckled, shaking his head. "Not exactly, but it''s not like you when you''re not grumbling about something. Thought maybe you were sick."


    "I''m fine," she said.


    He watched her for a moment, then picked up a loose bolt from the counter and tossed it lightly in the air. "So," he started, "have you spoken to your mother recently?"


    Syra froze mid-motion, her fingers gripping a circuit board tightly. "No," she said, her voice a little sharper than she intended. "Why?"


    Edran gave her a measured look, tilting his head. "Because she''s been sending slate messages. Wants to talk to you."


    Syra let out a frustrated sigh, setting the board down with more force than necessary. "Of course she does."


    "She sounded...earnest," Edran said, his tone careful. "Not her usual cryptic Eternal Light stuff. Just...like she wanted to talk."


    "She always wants to talk," Syra muttered, crossing her arms. "But you don''t know what it''s like on the Aurora, papa. They''re a bunch of weird sex feigns-"


    "Eh, eh eh," he waved her off at her wording, "Syra, must you be so crude?"


    "It''s the truth. It gives me the creeps and grosses me out. And whenever we talk it''s always the same thing. ''The Eternal Light saved me, Syra, it can save you too.'' as if she''s trying to indoctrinate me into her sex cult. Her own daughter. Like it''s some miracle cure for abandoning your family."


    Edran''s mouth twitched, but he didn''t comment on her bitterness. Instead, he leaned a little closer, his voice softer. "Your mother lived a hard life, Syra. Before you, before me. She was half-happy half-sad at any given moment and as much as I tried, there was nothing I could do for her. I have had to accept that for my own peace of mind. I think - I have to believe - if she hadn''t turned to the light she would be buried in darkness by now and I must accept this was the choice she made in order to save herself. I''m not saying you have to forgive her. But maybe hearing her out wouldn''t hurt."


    Syra shook her head, pushing back from the counter. "I''ve heard all of her excuses. She made her choice. I don''t like or agree with it so she can leave me out of it."


    "She''s still your mother," Edran said gently. "And I know you. I see how it affects you, jara."


    Syra''s jaw tightened, and she turned away, pacing a few steps before stopping. "Why are you even bringing this up? I thought you hated her for what she did."


    Edran shrugged, his expression unreadable. "I was angry. Still am, sometimes. But people make mistakes, Syra. And sometimes people make choices for themselves that seem selfish to others but are the only way they can cope."


    Syra let out a short, humorless laugh. "And what about my life? You think she can fix this with some half-hearted apology and a speech about enlightenment?"


    "No..." Edran said honestly placing down the mail slate on the counter. "But I think she''s trying. And maybe that''s worth something."


    Syra didn''t respond right away, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. The slate still sat on the counter, its screen dark but its presence heavy. She could feel the weight of her father''s gaze, patient and unyielding.


    "I''ll think about it..." she muttered finally.


    Edran nodded, stepping back to give her space. "That''s all I''m asking."


    He turned and went back to his work, leaving her alone with her thoughts. Syra stared at the slate for a long moment before picking it up and shoving it into her pocket. She wasn''t ready to open it - not yet.


    Edran gave her a long look before turning back to his project, but she could feel the weight of his doubt lingering in the air. She exhaled, releasing the tension in her shoulders once he disappeared behind the wall of parts again.


    Syra''s gaze lingered on the spacer module in front of her. Her chest tightened, a familiar weight settling over her as memories clawed their way to the surface.


    She didn''t need to see her mother to know what it would feel like¡ªthe subtle, unspoken disappointment that radiated off her, like a shadow she could never step out of.


    It wasn''t hate Syra felt for her. Not exactly. But it was a type of exhaustion that never quite went away. The kind that came from years of feeling like she wasn''t enough. That her doubts, her choices, her very existence, were a rejection of something greater. Her mother had never yelled, never lashed out, but her calm certainty had been sharper than any blade. "You''re walking away from salvation." The words had replayed in Syra''s mind more times than she cared to admit.


    The Aurora wasn''t just a ship. It was a reminder of everything her mother had tried to mold her into. Of the life she was supposed to embrace, the religion she was supposed to accept, the belief she was supposed to bow to. It was a weight she had shrugged off years ago, but the scars of it still pressed on her, invisible but heavy.


    No, she couldn''t step foot on the Aurora. Not yet. Maybe not ever.


    She glanced at the small communicator in her pocket, checking the encrypted messages for any updates from the Anaxian but there were none. There was a big haul of rare parts docking at lunchtime though, and she''d have to move quickly if she wanted to get the first pick of stock.


    She shot another glance toward the back of the shop, her smirk fading into a calculated calm.


    Syra ducked under a low-hanging conduit as she made her way through the crowded interior of the shop. It was an organized mess, a maze of mismatched starship parts, rusty gears, and bits of forgotten tech piled high on every shelf. Neon lights flickered above, casting an electric-blue glow over everything and giving the place a gritty, cluttered feel.


    She glanced at Edran, who was hunched over a small cart engine from the local grocery store. "I''ll be back later," she called out, grabbing her jacket off a nearby hook.


    "Don''t get into too much trouble, Syra." That was his way of telling her he loved her.


    "No promises."


    The shop door hissed open, amplifying the hustle and bustle of the massive station, as she stepped out into the busy lanes of the Scattered Weave.


    As she walked, the sights and sounds of the asteroid settlement buzzed around her - mail carts zipped through the air above, vendors shouted out deals, and the hum of ship engines reverberating through the air. The sky above was a patchwork of metal structures and floating platforms, all illuminated by their star through massive paned glass walls.


    As she reached the edge of the market, her handheld comm device buzzed at her hip. She pulled it out, frowning as she saw the message: "Clear the way. Incoming."


    No name, no sender ID. Just cryptic words.


    Syra''s eyes narrowed slightly as she scanned the skies above the docking bays, searching for any sign of an unfamiliar incoming ship. She didn''t usually get anonymous transmissions from people. She''d have to get to her ship to figure out who was trying to get in touch.


    Syra wound her way through the familiar maze of massive corridors, her boots echoing against the metal floors as she descended deeper into the belly of Astra Nexus, the Weave''s largest asteroid station.


    She knew these paths like the back of her hand, each turn, each corridor, each rusted-out bulkhead. The overhead lights flickered sporadically, casting an uneven glow that made the metal walls shimmer with an almost eerie luminescence.


    As she approached the docking yard, the faint hum of engines and the distant hiss of pressurized air grew louder.


    Finally, the narrow hallway opened into the massive expanse of the ship dockyard - a cavernous space that stretched further than the eye could see, layered with platforms and docking bays as far as the dim lights allowed.


    This was the heart of Astra Nexus, a sprawling of ships, each docked in its designated space, some pristine and well-kept, others patched together from decades of salvaged parts. Ships of all sizes rested in their berths, from sleek cargo haulers to battered smuggler vessels, their exteriors varying from polished metal to weathered, scratched panels.


    The Anaxian''s were already out in force, moving methodically between the ships, performing their maintenance routines with quiet precision. They were a stoic species, the primary workers here, dressed in their standard-issue four-sleeved jumpsuits and thick gloves, moving in rhythm with each other as they cleaned ships in the wash bay.


    Syra watched as one of them operated the spray cannons, blasting away layers of grime and space dust with streams of high-pressure water, while another buffed a nearby hull to a dull shine. The Anaxian''s were meticulous, practically born for this work, and though they rarely interacted with the other residents of the Weave, their presence was a constant.


    Syra adjusted her flight jacket as she passed by a few of them, nodding in acknowledgment. They gave her a slight nod in return, their faces mostly unreadable, focused on the task at hand.


    She saw them nearly every day but still didn''t know their names.


    Taking a sharp left, she weaved through the rows of ships, her path guided by the markers etched into the floor, directing foot traffic away from maintenance zones.


    The lights overhead changed from amber to green as she approached the docking area, a sign that the protocols allowed her through. The green light meant an all-clear for foot traffic, a signal that no ships were set to depart or land in this section.


    She continued on, glancing at the protocol panels stationed every few meters. One panel flashed a blue light, indicating a lockdown on the third platform. She was used to these signals-the blue was a warning for fuel containment, yellow for restricted entry during unloading, and red for immediate evacuation. It was an intricate dance of lights, a safety net in a place as chaotic as the Weave.


    Finally, she spotted her ship, nestled in its usual spot at the far end of the dockyard. Syra grinned remembering the Game of Stones that won her this ship. Poor bastard, she thought. Lucky me.


    The Nebula. It was a small, rugged vessel with chipped paint and a few scorch marks from rough landings, but it was hers and it was in better shape than many ships in the docking bay.


    Her fingers brushed the hull almost affectionately. This was her freedom, her ticket out of the Weave whenever she needed. Though she wasn''t going anywhere far with her jump drive out of commission.


    She pressed a button on the ramp control, her sleek band acting as a key and the door hissed open. Taking one last glance around, she muttered to herself, "All right, let''s see who''s knocking."


    She made her way to the cockpit, a small square control station. She pushed open a hidden compartment in the Nebula''s side wall. The familiar hum of the ship''s engines vibrated beneath her boots, a constant companion in her life among the stars.


    Syra opened the compartment, revealing her gear. EMP grenades, jammers, and the latest in anti-surveillance tech gleamed in the low light. She began pulling out what she needed for the job, her mind already racing through the plan.


    Just as she finished, the ship''s comms pinged. She glanced up at the console, her breath catching when she saw the name flash across the screen.


    Colt.


    Of course.


    Her heart gave a small, disobedient flutter, but she tapped the comm button before it could betray her any further.


    Outside the wide viewport, the sprawling neon lights of the Weave''s Undercity flickered like stars trapped in a never-ending twilight. Her shop was tucked away somewhere down there, buried deep beneath layers of steel, corruption, and opportunity.


    The comms crackled to life, breaking the quiet.


    "Well, well, if it isn''t my favourite pilot," he drawled, that familiar smirk practically audible. "Syra. It''s been too long."


    She smirked, recognizing the familiar smooth voice and vividly recalled their last passionate three-day reunion that had her sore for a week.


    "Colton Harven, you sly dog," she replied, her tone light and laced with amusement. "You''re still alive? Thought one of your backwater deals would''ve gotten you killed by now."


    "You know you could have a little faith in me," She could see his smile already. Too wide, too charming for everybody''s own good. "But you know me, I''ve always been good at slipping through the cracks. Speaking of which..."


    She leaned forward, adjusting the comms signal, making sure their conversation stayed private. "Go on," she drawled, eyes narrowing in anticipation. "What trouble are you dragging me into this time?"


    "There''s a back entrance to the Undercity," Colt began, his voice lowering as though someone might be eavesdropping. "Outpost 47."


    "Yeah, I know it," Syra replied, her voice cooling ever so slightly. She knew the entrance all too well - a narrow, unmarked passage through the old infrastructure. Dangerous, yes, but lucrative. It was a discreet way to move goods, bypass checkpoints, and - if you had the right contacts - get in and out without so much as a whisper.


    "I need it clear for a couple of hours tonight. You know the drill. A few shipments coming through tonight, nothing you haven''t handled before. Easy credits."


    Syra rolled her eyes, leaning back in her chair, letting the silence stretch just long enough to keep him on edge. "And what''s in it for me this time, Colt? Last time I got undercut and your buddy was getting a little too friendly. You know I don''t do charity work."


    "First off he wasn''t my buddy and I ended up reimbursing you."


    "I remember you telling me you were going to."


    "C''mon, Syra, you''ll be well compensated. Your shop stays protected, and you and your old man stay off anyone''s radar. I''ll even throw in a little extra this time-hazard pay, considering it''s a bit more...risky."


    She raised an eyebrow, enjoying the game, but also well aware of the stakes. Colt was smooth, always had been, and she had once been more than willing to let him charm his way into her bed, but that was before things got more complicated. Not that she minded a little flirtation now and then, but business was business.


    "Hazard-pay? What kind of hazard are we talking about?"


    He paused, a brief hesitation that told her there was more to this than he was letting on. "It''s nothing to worry about. A couple of ships have been poking around. I heard there was a Dominion ship in the vicinity."


    That wasn''t good. "Dominion ship? I haven''t heard anything about a Dominion ship docking today?"


    "Yeah, well that''s because I''ve got better contacts," he said teasingly causing her to roll her eyes. "Listen, it could be nothing. I haven''t seen it yet, but it feels like someone''s watching the routes. We''ve been keeping an eye out and so far so good. Nothing you can''t handle, though."


    "Don''t think you can sweet talk me into taking on more heat without a little something extra."


    "Goddamn, Sy, you know how to empty a man''s pockets," he conceded. "Double the credits. Fourteen thousand. Plus, a little something personal, just for you."


    She chuckled, shaking her head. "Still trying to buy your way into my good graces, I see."


    "Can you blame me?" he replied, his tone softening. "A woman like you...worth every credit and then some."


    Syra let the compliment hang in the air for a moment, her eyes flickering to the small picture on the dash - her father and eight-year-old Syra standing outside their shop, blissfully unaware of the deals that kept their livelihood safe. She didn''t like having to play both sides, but it was necessary. Her shop, her reputation, and her survival all depended on keeping a certain balance.


    "Alright, Colt," she finally said, her voice smooth and confident. "I''ll clear the way. But you owe me - big time. If this gets messy, I''m not taking the fall for you."


    "You''ve got nothing to worry about," he replied smoothly. "I knew I could count on you, Syra. Always a professional."


    She leaned back, feeling a sense of satisfaction as she tapped a few buttons, prepping her ship''s systems. "Is that what we''re calling it now?"


    "Among other things," Colt said, "I''ll owe you a drink when we touch back down in the Weave."


    "Make it two, and maybe I''ll let you buy me dinner." She smirked, though there was no attachment there. Not really. They''d grown up together but taken opposite paths. Colt was useful; a fun distraction, but that''s all it was, and he knew the deal.


    "Deal," he replied, his voice full of promise. "I''ll send the details in a minute. And Syra?"


    "Yeah?"


    "Stay safe out there."


    She rolled her eyes. "I always do."


    The comms clicked off, and Syra exhaled. Colt always had a way of getting under her skin though she''d never admit it to his smug face.


    Her thoughts already moving to the task at hand. Clearing the way wasn''t hard, but it meant keeping her head down and making sure the wrong people didn''t notice. Colt was good for credits, and those credits kept the shop running, but there was always a risk - especially now that security was heating up around the Weave with everything going on politically.


    As the engines hummed back to life, she couldn''t shake the feeling that this was just another layer of complication in a life already full of them. But credits were credits.


    Flirtations and favors aside, Syra knew exactly what she was getting into. And as she headed toward the Undercity, she couldn''t help but smile at the thrill of it all, the danger and the rewards intertwined in a way that excited the hell out of her.


    Syra sat in the cockpit of the Nebula in a quiet discreet corner bathed in the soft blue light of the control panels as she waited for Colt to arrive. Her eyes flicked over the readouts, fingers hovering over the controls as she prepared to do what she was best at: making things disappear. Colt''s ship, sleek and silent, was waiting in the distance, its outline barely visible against the backdrop of stars.


    "Alright, let''s get this done," she muttered into the comms, pulling up the interface she needed to disable the Weave''s sensor grid. Tricks she learnt from Dominion itself.


    The Weave was a tricky place to navigate, filled with tight corridors of space where sensors constantly monitored ships passing through. Smuggling anything through without detection was nearly impossible - unless you knew how to scramble the system just right. Syra did.


    She brought up a series of old codes, hidden under layers of data that most wouldn''t bother to find. They were tucked away like treasure in a forgotten vault, and Syra knew exactly where to dig. The screen blinked as she bypassed the first set of protocols. A proud grin spread across her face - she was in.


    With a few precise commands, Syra activated the pulse disruptor embedded in the Nebula. It was a custom job, designed to send out just the right frequency to momentarily scramble the Weave''s sensors.


    A temporary blackout, like a ripple in the air, letting anything slip by unnoticed. She had about five minutes to pull this off before the system reset itself.


    "Time to disappear, Colt," she whispered, eyes narrowing with focus.


    As the disruptor hummed to life, the Weave''s sensor grid flickered, then dimmed, like the stars themselves had blinked out for a moment. She could see Colt''s ship-a dark, ghostly silhouette-begin its slow glide through the now-blind sector of space. Her heart raced, watching as he slipped through undetected.


    The tension held as his ship moved past the last of the Weave''s perimeter sensors. Seconds stretched. Her grip on the controls tightened, feeling the pulse of adrenaline thrum through her. If anything went wrong, Colt''s ship would light up on every radar for miles, and they''d both be done for.


    But then, Colt''s ship disappeared completely into the stars, undetected, as if it had never been there at all. The sensors flickered back to life, and the Weave''s watchful eyes resumed their surveillance-none the wiser.


    Syra let out a breath she didn''t realize she''d been holding. The job was done.


    She leaned back in her seat, staring out into the vast expanse of space where Colt had been moments before. The cockpit was quiet again, save for the hum of the Nebula''s systems returning to their normal state.


    A crackle came through the local channel. She flicked a switch, and Colt''s voice filtered through, smooth and laced with that familiar cocky edge. "Damn, Syra, you''re good. Almost makes me miss working with you."


    She smirked, not bothering to hide it. "Almost? You owe me more than that, Colt."


    "I know, I know," he replied. "I''ll make it up to you. Drinks when you get back. That''s a promise."


    Shaking her head, she leaned forward, toggling the comms off. It was never just about the drinks with Colt, but that was a problem for later. Right now, she had to make sure her tracks were covered. No one could know what had just happened.


    Syra pulled up the final protocol and wiped the logs clean, scrubbing any trace of the disruptor pulse from the system. A few keystrokes, and it was as if she had never been there either.


    With the job done and Colt safely through the gate, Syra set a course back to the Undercity.

 2 | The Undercity

    The Undercity had a scent all its own¡ªa heady mix of oil, recycled stale oxygen and machinery. Neon lights flickered and buzzed overhead, lighting the narrow streets in jagged splashes of artificial color.


    Syra moved through it effortlessly, her boots near soundless against the slick pavement. A knowing smirk played at her lips. She''d been here too many times before. And she knew exactly where to find Colt.


    The bar, known as The Drift, was tucked into one of the lower levels of the Level 10, its entrance marked by a battered old sign and an automatic door that didn''t open or close when it was supposed to. It was popular with locals¡ªminers, scavengers, pilots and everything in between¡ªfolks who needed a drink after a long day of wrangling the unpredictable chaos that came with living in the Weave.


    Inside, the air was thick with smoke and laughter, the scent of strong liquor curling through the room. Syra pushed her way in, eyes scanning the crowd with the confidence of someone who belonged. Down here, everyone knew her. The tech she traded and the doors she opened had bailed more than a few of them out of trouble, and she''d earned her stripes in the shadows of the Undercity.


    Syra pulled her jacket tighter around herself as she descended the narrow metal stairs leading to the bar. The familiar hum of distant machinery and the murmur of voices reached her ears. She pushed open the heavy door, and the atmosphere hit her at once¡ªa blend of synth-beat music, low chatter, and the clink of glasses.


    Inside, the Drift was dimly lit, with mismatched tables and chairs scattered around the floor and a bar lined with bottles of questionable planetary origin. The ceiling was low, and old holoview projectors flickered above, casting a faint nebula atmosphere over the patrons, in an attempt to give the place a sense of style.


    It wasn''t fancy - Syra had seen some incredibly utterly mesmerizing holoviews in the bars in Sennia - but it was comfortable, and the kind of spot where no one cared too much about who you were or why you were there.


    Syra spotted her friends near the back, gathered around a circular table. Juni and Dorn were deep in conversation, leaning in close to hear each other over the music.


    Juni, a freighter pilot who worked the mining routes, was gesturing animatedly, her curly hair bouncing with every word.


    Dorn, a lean mechanic who had a bit of engine grease on every piece of clothing he owned, was nodding along, a faint smile tugging at his lips.


    Syra made her way over, weaving between tables and dodging a couple of miners already half-drunk and laughing loudly. As she reached the table, Juni looked up, her face lighting up in a grin.


    "Sy! About time you showed up," Juni said, scooting over to make room. "I was starting to think you were buried under a pile of scrap at the shop."


    "Nah, just same old same old," Syra replied with a smirk as she took a seat, tossing her jacket onto the back of the chair. "But I figured I''d come down and see what real trouble looks like."


    "You''ve come to the right place," Dorn said, lifting his electronic service card to signal the bartender. A light on a panel lit up behind the counter indicating they''d received it. "We were just talking about your favourite topic: terrible repairs and why they cost twice as much as they should."


    "Don''t even get me started," Syra said, rolling her eyes, "If I have to haggle with one more scavenger who thinks a half-busted gear cog is worth a small fortune, I''m going to lose it."


    Juni laughed, leaning back in her chair. "Sounds like you''ve had a busy day."


    Syra shrugged, though there was a hint of weariness in her eyes. "You don''t know the half of it. Dad''s been up all night tinkering again. He''s trying to revive an old garbage unit that doesn''t want to stay together."


    Dorn gave her a sympathetic look. "If your dad can''t fix it the thing is screwed. Seems like you''ve got your hands full."


    "Nothing new," Syra replied, but her smile was genuine. "Anyway, I didn''t come here to talk about work. What have you two been up to?"


    "Works kind of all I have to talk about," Dorn said glumly, "They''ve got a new position open at the Freighters for Hauler Operators, like me. Only thing is it could take me to all the way past the Fringe, to Sennia."


    Syra''s stomach sank slightly at the thought of Dorn being so far away for so long, but a job like that could set him up for life. "As much as I''ll miss you, that''s great news, Dorn. If you''ve got a ticket into Sennia, you''ll never have to worry about credits."


    "It''d mean I''d be gone for months at a time though, possibly years, and all through Sovereigns day. My mom doesn''t want me to go just so I don''t have to miss it with the family. Juni''s got a new run tomorrow as well," Dorn said, nodding toward her. "Apparently, they''re sending her all the way out to the outer fields. She''s trying to figure out if she''s being rewarded or punished."


    "Definitely punished," Juni said, downing the last of her drink and waving the empty glass in the air. "I mean what did I get my Higher Education for? Dust and stray rocks? I swear it''s because Gri went to head office about the muffin I ate off the breakfast bar  But hey, it pays better, and Sovereign knows I could use the credits."


    Syra chuckled. "Well, if you need someone to give your ship a once-over before you head out, I know someone who owes me a favor. Got a deluxe ship wash heading my way with your name written all over it."


    The Cyrin bartender weaved effortlessly between patrons, their short, stocky frame making them a natural at slipping through tight spaces. Their silver-hued skin had a smooth, rubbery texture, catching the dim neon light in shifting tones of blue and violet. A soft, flexible crest ran from their temples over the curve of their rounded head, its bioluminescent glow pulsing faintly with their mood¡ªthough whether that meant contentment or irritation was anyone''s guess.


    Their wide, glassy eyes, completely black and reflective, blinked, a quick flick of an unseen membrane. Their lower face was smooth, with only a small set of lips where the mouth was.


    With short but nimble fingers, they placed a mug of crimson-blue liquid on the table with practiced ease. Then, without a word, they turned and shuffled back toward the bar, their small, rounded feet making almost no sound against the floor.


    Familiar, unremarkable, just another Cyrin in the Weave¡ªefficient, adaptable, and always moving.


    Dorn simply smiled and slid the mug in front of Syra and let Juni continue.


    Junie replied, grinning. "I''ll never say no to a deluxe package. I''m not going to ask how you acquired that."


    "I simply asked nicely," Syra winked, grinning as she swirled her drink.


    "Maybe Malwood could learn a thing or two from you," Dorn teased. "Might be able to get more people on his side that way."


    "Malwood can go to hell, Dorn. There''s a reason why people aren''t on his side." Juni said bitterly.


    "Ah, he''s not that bad. All he wants is to put bots out in the field, some of the most dangerous mines that not even level 3 would attempt."


    "He wants to replace hard-working people with bots in a society built on and dependent on its citizens to mine," Syra said, "I have to agree with Juni. He''s an ass. It dismantles everything the Weave was created for."


    "No, no, he said he wanted to introduce help to the miners."


    "Oh don''t be so dense, Dorn." Juni said. "The miners don''t want help. They want the work that was promised to them. Malwood only cares about credits. He doesn''t care about the people. He''d sell you for a single credit if it meant saving his own ass."


    Dorn put his hands up in defense. "All I know is that the the liberty association are pushing for huge taxes on our machinery, and sixty people already got let go from  taxes we can''t keep up with. We can avoid that by letting the machines work out in the fields, generate thousands of credits. The council will start hiking up credit rates for everything soon, especially if we have to decommission the machinery we do use because crazy people think is alive."


    "I heard it spoke to one of them." Syra said.


    Dorn waved his drink dismissively in the air, "They malfunction all the time, it''s nothing new."


    Syra''s eyes crossed the bar. It was more crowded now, the noise level rising as more patrons trickled in. Syra glanced around, her gaze drifting to the door out of habit. She wasn''t expecting Colt to walk right up to her, especially with Dorn right beside her, as their history was complicated, but she expected to see a glimmer of him somewhere.


    As she turned back to the table, Juni was watching her with a curious look.


    "You alright?" Juni asked, tilting her head.


    Syra blinked, then gave a small shrug. "Just thinking," she said, swirling the now purple drink in her hand. "Feels like the Weave''s getting a bit more crowded than usual, that''s all."


    Dorn snorted. "Always does when there''s talk of a big haul nearby."


    "Yeah, they''ve got some good stuff coming apparently." Syra said absently, though there was a hint of unease in her tone. She hadn''t seen any Dominion ships in the Weave but she couldn''t shake the feeling that things were shifting.


    Syra leaned back in her chair, swirling her drink while keeping an eye on the entrance. Juni and Dorn sat across from her, chatting about their latest gigs, but they noticed the way her gaze kept drifting to the door.


    Juni caught on first, a knowing smile spreading across her face. "Let me guess...Colt''s in the Weave?"


    Syra took a sip from her drink, "He said he''d be here tonight."


    Dorn rolled his eyes, leaning back with an exaggerated sigh.


    Juni snorted. "But he hasn''t showed? Sounds about right. Probably off charming some poor trader out of half their stock. You know how he is."


    Syra shrugged, her lips curving into a faint smile. "He''s always been like that. But he''s not going to flake. He''ll be here."


    Dorn leaned forward, resting his elbows on the table. "You''ve been letting him drag you into his schemes since we were kids. How many times have we ended up in a cell¡ªor worse¡ªbecause Colt decided to go off-script?"


    She couldn''t argue with that. There was history there, sure¡ªmore than a little, if she was honest with herself. "He''s always come through when it mattered," she said, glancing at the door again. "You can''t hold a grudge forever."


    Dorn shook his head, though there was a hint of amusement in his eyes. "I''m not saying I''m holding a grudge. I just remember the time we had to pull his ass out of the scrapyard after he got us all stuck trying to climb the wall. Mr. Mig was about to kill us."


    "Or when he convinced us there was buried treasure in the old mining tunnels," Juni added. "And we all ended up knee-deep in muck in a restricted area for an entire day."


    Syra couldn''t help but laugh, "Hey, we all bought into that one," she said. "Besides, Colt always kept things interesting."


    "Interesting," Dorn echoed, smirking. "That''s one word for it. Selfish. Arrogant. Asshole would some others."


    "That was probably the best take you''ve had all night Dorn." Juni said, hiccupping.


    "I get it guys," Syra said wryly. "But what can I say? It''s not like I''m marrying him. And Colt owes me credits. Big credits. Don''t worry, Dorn, I''ll buy you something pretty to make up for it."


    Syra glanced around again and there he was. Colt.


    He was walking up to the bar, leaning against it with an easy, confident posture, his rough-edged handsomeness impossible to miss even in the low light. His dark hair was tousled, a little unruly, and his scruffy jawline only added to his rugged charm.


    She wasn''t surprised to see his signature jacket - a rugged, dark leather coat, worn and scuffed from years of use. It fit snugly over his broad shoulders, tapering down at the waist, with patches from various spaceports stitched along the sleeves. The high collar gave it a tough, militaristic look, while the dark brown lining inside was frayed from wear. Faintly visible on the back was the faded insignia of his old unit, nearly worn away, but still a reminder of his past.


    It was more than just a jacket - it was part of Colt, always with him wherever he went. When he saw her, his eyes gleamed, and she noticed the slight tug of his smile. Syra''s heart quickened. He was every bit the handsome smuggler she''d met all those years ago.


    "I''m going to love and leave you both," Syra said, sliding off her chair.


    Syra excused herself from the table ignoring her friends teasing and made her way over, slipping onto the barstool next to him without a word. Her presence alone was enough to draw his attention like a magnet. Colt held up his drink card and the same silver-skinned bartender nodded in acknowledgment.


    Colt turned his head to look at her, caramel eyes meeting hers.


    "You look damn good, Syra," he said, his voice low, smooth. There was a hint of a grin playing on his lips. "Been a while."


    "Has it?" Syra replied, she arched an eyebrow, lips curving into a slow smile. "Feels like just yesterday you were sneaking out of my window."


    Colt chuckled, the sound warm and rich as he leaned back in his seat, his eyes never leaving hers. "Here I thought you enjoyed a little excitement." His gaze dipped to her lips, then back up to her eyes. "That''s what made me so irresistible."


    "You. Irresistible? As far as I remember, you begged me to stay the night."


    The corner of his mouth quirked up, and he shifted closer, resting one elbow on the bar as his hand brushed against her arm, just for a second. His voice dropped, thick with the playful heat that always simmered between them. "Well, I know how much you like it when I do so do you really want me to stop?"


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    He leaned in just a little more, and for a brief moment, Syra could feel the heat radiating off him. His scent was masculine, earthy, mixed with the faintest hint of engine oil and danger. He was exactly the kind of trouble that she liked ¨C something to flirt with, but never to take too seriously.


    "I want my credits," she said, leaning back just enough to break the intensity, her smile wicked. "And that drink you promised."


    Colt laughed softly, his teeth catching his bottom lip again as he reached into his jacket, pulling out a small distinct credits chip. He slid it across the bar to her, his fingers brushing hers as he did. "Always business with you, Syra."


    She took the chip and tucked it into her jacket, her fingers grazing his hand purposefully before the Cyrin appeared and slid a drink across the counter. "Can''t afford not to be," she replied, though her voice softened just slightly, her eyes still on him. "But I won''t say no to another drink, either."


    He took a slow sip of his drink, eyes half-lidded as he looked her over. "You always know how to keep me on my toes."


    "That''s why you keep coming back."


    They were dancing around each other, as always, neither willing to take the first step but both more than ready for the chase. But as they sat there, close enough to feel the heat of each other''s skin, both of them knew that there would always be more between them, even if they pretended otherwise.


    The room had grown louder, the haze of cheap liquor and laughter filling the air as Syra leaned against the bar. He tilted his head toward the door, asking quietly, "You wanna go somewhere and talk?"


    A familiar sparkle glimmered in his eyes. She knew that look all too well.


    They didn''t go far. Colt led her to a quiet corner of the spaceport''s rooftop, a place where the asteroid field stretched out above them through the large port views in all its jagged glory. The view was the best in the weave. The distant trails of mining ships and visitor''s creating bursts of light and shadow across the void. It felt like home, yet so far away from the life she used to know on Kessyra.


    Syra sat against the steel wall and stared out into the vastness. Without the crowd, without the music, there was nothing to distract them, no illusions about who they were to each other and the history that they shared. "How have things been for you?" Syra asked as he placed two metal cups on the ground and poured liquor into them.


    "Things have been... busy," Colt started, handing her the mug, "Business is as lucrative as ever. Got my own ship now as you''ve seen, a couple of decent contracts. Enough to keep me flying."


    Syra took a sip, the sharp bitter warmth of the drink settling in her chest. "Sounds like you''re doing all right for yourself."


    "I get by," he said with a crooked grin. His gaze lingered on her for a moment, his expression easing. "What about you, Sy? What''re you doing now?"


    Syra chuckled, eyeing him up, "Letting trouble in the front gates for fourteen thousand credits." she softened,


    "It''s been, what, a year since I last saw you? Strutting around in that Dominion uniform, looking all official and untouchable."


    Syra let out a short laugh, shaking her head. "Yeah, well, turns out the Dominion and I had a bit of a...disagreement on priorities." She leaned against the wall, tapping her fingers idly on her cup. "Apparently, they don''t appreciate a little creative problem-solving. They''d rather be right than see reason." She smirked, tilting her head at him. "But hey, at least I got a nice send-off. You ever had a debrief where they stare at you like you just set fire to their grandmother''s house? Won''t be forgetting that anytime soon." She gestured at him. "What about you? Still charming your way into trouble, or did you finally pick up some common sense?"


    Colt let out a quiet chuckle, but there was something unreadable in his eyes as he studied her. "Yeah... sounds about right." He swirled his drink absently, tapping his fingers against the glass. "I figured you''d land on your feet, but I also figured you''d still be wearing that uniform." He exhaled, shaking his head. "Guess even the Dominion couldn''t tame you. Trouble has a way of finding me whether I like it or not. What''re you doing now?"


    "I''m here for dad," she said, "I help him with the shop, he pays me when he can. I don''t like taking from him though so I had to find other means of income."


    Syra stared out at the darkness, spotted with silver light, the memory of her decision like a dull ache in her chest. She had done what she had known was right. The Council had called it treason, but in her mind, despite the burn of it, she''d have probably done it again.


    Her mind yanked her back to the moment she''d made the call¡ªthe choice that had cost her everything. Prison hadn''t been her fate; they''d spared her that. Instead, they sent her home, tore the uniform from her back, and made sure she''d never wear it again. A different kind of sentence.


    She still didn''t understand how she hadn''t been shipped straight to the salt mines. Maybe, in their own twisted way, the Dominion had recognized she wasn''t entirely wrong.


    "You did what you had to do, Syra," Colt said quietly. "And you''re the only one who could''ve done it."


    "I know," she said, "But it still doesn''t feel any better. I don''t even know what happened to them after I dropped them in the safe zone - I can only hope they didn''t burn with the rest of them or I lost it all for nothing. Is that selfish of me to say?"


    "I think it''s human," Colt said, "You have every right to feel how you do especially knowing what you sacrificed could''ve been for nothing. But it wasn''t for nothing, Syra. I''ve been hearing the stories about what happened on Thenia, especially from people working the outer-fields directly affected. The people that were able to escape because of the dominion pilot who made it so - you''ve made a name for yourself whether you know it or not, despite the controversy and sometimes that''s more powerful than any order some Dominion lackey could give."


    Syra simply smiled at him, and placed a hand over his, "Thanks Colt. I hope you''re right."


    "You know," Colt said after a long pause, "if you ever wanted to, there''s always room on my ship. You''re the best pilot I know, Sy. You would be an invaluable crew member."


    She smiled, shaking her head. "I appreciate it, but I''ve had enough trouble to last me a while. Ask me in five years, I might have a different answer."


    He grinned, tipping his drink in her direction. "I''ll hold you to that." He stretched one arm over the back of the bench, glancing sideways at Syra. The distant stars reflected in his eyes, making them seem brighter than usual. "To be honest, I didn''t think I''d see you back here," Colt said after a moment. "I was worried my message would go unread."


    "Gotta make a living," Syra smirked, resting her elbows on her knees as she stared out at the asteroid field. "Thought I could outrun this place. Get all my license''s and never come back. I''d have moved dad to the city, or at least as close as I could convince him. I was saving for this perfect apartment on Sennia."


    Colt raised an eyebrow. "Your father? Living in one of the most over-populated, oppressive cities in the galaxy? I think your version of perfect and his are vastly different."


    "He just needed to see it. He could''ve opened his shop up again, had real credits. I wouldn''t have to be making deals with assholes just so we can make the rent the council keeps hiking up."


    "I''m not including myself in that demogEdranic," Colt said, "You''re doing a great job, Sy. I missed you." His tone was light, but there was something deeper underneath, something that Syra knew better than to brush off.


    She turned her head toward him, studying his grey-hued eyes for a moment before answering. "I missed you too, Colt."


    "You could''ve called, you know. Even when things went to hell."


    "Could''ve," she echoed, her gaze dropping to the ground. "But I didn''t want to drag you into my mess."


    Colt let out a soft chuckle, leaning forward so his elbows rested on his knees, mirroring her posture. "Since when do I mind getting into trouble?"


    "That''s the problem," Syra chuckled. "You are trouble and I didn''t need anymore of it," she looked at him, really looked at him. The easy grin, the familiar cocky charm - it was still there, but she could see past it now. The years hadn''t been easy on either of them. Still, despite the time and distance, there was an unspoken understanding between them. They didn''t have to explain their choices or their mistakes. They both just knew.


    "You''re probably right." Colt agreed, the familiar mischief had worked its way back into his smile, "If you''re interested, I''ve got a bottle of a Xilian wine. It''s from the 3307 harvest. It''s over a hundred years old," Colt said after a long pause, his voice quieter now, almost hesitant. "If you want, we could go somewhere more comfortable. Talk, or...not talk. Just you and me, like old times."


    Syra crossed her arms, a small smile creeping onto her lips. "You trying to impress me, Colt?"


    "Maybe," he said, leaning closer. "Bet you''ve never tasted anything like it. Perfect for a night of... catching up. Just you, me, and a bottle worth more than this entire level."


    Syra met his gaze, her heartbeat a little quicker than she wanted to admit. The offer wasn''t new, and it wasn''t unexpected. There was always that unspoken connection between them, that lingering pull that never quite went away, no matter how many times they tried to ignore it.


    She smiled, her lips curving up in a way that was equal parts teasing and thoughtful. "Somewhere more comfortable, huh?"


    Colt shrugged, but there was a glint in his eyes. "My ship is docked outside the elevator. Fancy a walk?"


    For a second, Syra hesitated. The weight of everything she''d been through, the scars that still lingered from her past, they all threatened to hold her back. But then, looking at Colt - the only person who had always been there, no questions asked - it felt easier to let go, even just for a little while.


    "Alright," she said, her voice light, but there was something more in it. "But the wine better be good."


    Colt stood, offering her his hand. Syra took it, her fingers curling around his as they walked together, leaving the rooftop and the distant hum of the city behind them. "You''ll stay for more than just the wine."


    They barely made it through the door of his quarters before their hands were on each other, urgent and impatient, sliding over her hips, pulling her close.


    His lips found hers with a hunger that matched her own, mouths colliding in a kiss that was as fierce as it was desperate. Syra responded in kind, pushing him back against the wall with a force that belied her smaller frame, her fingers already threading through his hair, tugging just enough to make him groan.


    He kissed her again, his tongue sliding over hers. Syra gave in to the heat that had been simmering inside her all night. Her jacket hit the floor first, followed by his shirt, the heat of his big muscular body pressing against her as they moved toward the bed.


    Colt''s hands roamed, sliding over her curves, tugging at her belt before gripping her with both hands bringing her legs around him in one swoop. She let out a soft moan as his fingers skimmed under her shirt, trailing over her skin, igniting a fire everywhere he touched.


    He moved towards the bed, laying her down and then stood tall in front of her. His teeth tugged on his bottom lip as his eyes watched her


    "You think you''re in control?" her voice a low purr as she straddled him, her hands pressing against his chest, pinning him down. She knew all the right moves to make men like Colt submit to her. She gazed down at him with sultry eyes, reaching behind her to unclasp her bra and let the round fullness of her breasts fall out in front of him.


    Colt groaned, eyes roaming appreciatively, his hands running up her sides to cup them with smooth calloused hands. "Do you have any idea what you do to me?"


    Syra smirked, rocking her hips against him, her lips brushing his ear as she whispered, "Maybe."


    Then, she kissed him again, this time slow, deliberate, savoring the way his breath hitched as her body pressed against his. The friction between them was electric, every touch, every movement sending sparks through her. Colt''s hands roamed her back, her waist, pulling her closer, needing more, but Syra was in control, taking her time, enjoying the way his body responded to hers.


    Syra''s nails raked down his chest, leaving red marks in their wake as she rocked against him, her breath coming in short, heated bursts. Colt groaned beneath her, his hands gripping her hips as he tried to pull her down harder, but she was teasing him, holding back just enough to drive him crazy.


    "Syra..." he gasped, his voice raw with need, his body tense with anticipation.


    She smiled, slow and wicked, before finally giving him what he wanted, sinking down onto him in one fluid motion. He fit her snuggly, causing her to gasp and moan as Colt''s head fell back against the bed, a guttural sound escaping his throat as she moved, her body fitting against his perfectly.


    The room seemed to spin around them as they found a rhythm. Syra moved her hips up and down, the slick wet warmth of her sliding over his thick shaft again and again as he gripped onto her hips and thrust with her, their body meeting in an inferno of passion growing with every second, every breath.


    Colt was completely undone beneath her, his hands gripping her as if he were afraid she might disappear. She leaned down, her lips finding his neck, breathing in his masculine earthy scent, kissing along his jaw and down her neck as she rode him, her breath hot against his skin.


    Colt''s hands slid up her back, pulling her closer, his lips capturing hers in a kiss that was as wild and unrestrained as the rest of their movements. Syra moaned into his mouth, her body shuddering as the tension inside her built, every nerve on fire. She could feel him trembling beneath her, could hear the rough gasps of his breath as they moved faster, harder, both of them chasing the same inevitable release.


    Twenty minutes turned into an hour of contortionism, and when they both came, it was explosive. Syra''s body tightened, her breath catching in her throat as her nails dug into Colt''s skin. He followed seconds later, groaning her name as his body tensed beneath her, his hands gripping her hips so tight it almost hurt.


    For a moment, neither of them moved, the only sound in the room their ragged breathing. Syra stayed where she was, her forehead resting against the bed, her body still trembling from the intensity of it all. Colt''s arms wrapped around her, pulling her close, and for just a second, it felt like more than just a fleeting moment of passion. He kissed her cheek, her shoulder then stood up.


    Syra lay back against the cushions, her lips curving into a satisfied smirk as she watched him stand in all his glory, breathing hard, his erection twitching as he wiped his forehead and walked into the bathroom. "Still think I''m just business?" she teased, laying flat against the soft mattress, her voice breathless but laced with amusement.


    Colt chuckled from the other room, the tap running,  "No. Not just business."


    Syra lay sprawled on his bed, deliciously content, observing Colt''s cabin. It was a mix of chaos and charm, its clutter revealing more about Colt than he''d probably ever say out loud. The faint, metallic hum of the ship framed the moment as she took in her surroundings.


    A half-empty bottle of some amber liquor sat on a narrow shelf, the label peeling and stained, next to a small collection of mismatched trinkets¡ªtokens from different planets, maybe. One caught her eye: a carved wooden figure of a bird mid-flight, its edges worn smooth. She picked it up, turning it over in her hand. The craftsmanship was simple, almost childlike, but there was something deeply personal about it.


    Across the cabin, an old pilot''s helmet rested on a hook, scuffed and dented from years of use. A set of faded Dominion wings was scratched into its surface, nearly worn away. Beneath it, a stack of dog-eared paperbacks sat precariously on a stool¡ªactual books, not tablets or slates. Syra leaned closer, spotting titles ranging from military strategy to old adventure stories. She smirked to herself.


    Her gaze shifted to the wall above the bed, where a crumpled map had been pinned. Brightly colored markers dotted the chart, tracking what looked like flight paths or smuggling routes. A few points were circled in red, annotated in Colt''s sharp handwriting. Next to it hung a photo in a cracked frame, a younger Colt grinning with his arm slung around a wiry man she didn''t recognize. There was a warmth in his expression she hadn''t seen before, unguarded and unpolished.


    She glanced back at Colt, who walked out of the bathroom wearing a loose pair of shorts and fell onto the bed next to her, one arm thrown over his eyes, his chest rising and falling. Shaking her head with a quiet laugh, she set the wooden bird back on the shelf. This room, this mess, it was all so... him. A little reckless, a little sentimental, and somehow, still holding together despite the chaos.


    For an hour or so, Syra lay awake, thinking about her life. The earlier heat of the moment had softened, replaced by a warm stillness that wrapped around them like a blanket. Syra lay on her side, one hand tucked under her head, her breathing slow and steady. Colt lay close behind her, his arm draped loosely over her waist.


    She thought about what their life could look like if she were to eventually settle down. But the mere thought of it sent a crawling sensation through her. It was a life she had refused to live for so long and the image of her bearing children just didn''t quite sit right with her. It had never been her. Whatever maternal instinct she was born with fizzled out long ago.


    The sheets were tangled between them, a faint trace of warmth still clinging to the fabric. Syra stared at the faint lines of light filtering through the vent above, her body heavy with exhaustion but her mind just beginning to quiet. Colt''s breath was steady against the back of her neck, and his presence was comforting in a way that surprised her as much as it disturbed her.


    Syra slipped out of bed, moving quietly across the small room to gather her clothes. Colt woke, arms folding behind his head, watching her.


    "You leaving?" he asked, voice still rough from sleep.


    Syra pulled her pants on. She couldn''t forget who Colt was - inconsistent, dishonest and ambitious. "Come now, we both know how this goes," she replied, her tone casual.


    Colt sat up slightly, his gaze tracking her every movement. "I''m here for a few days, I was hoping we could...I don''t know, do this again before I go."


    "I''m a busy woman," she smiled jokily, tugging on her boots. "I''ve got some important stuff to do."


    "Like leaving me in the middle of the night?" His voice had a hint of amusement, but there was something else underneath it - something closer to disappointment.


    Syra glanced at him, a small smile curling at her lips. She walked over to where he lay and took his jaw between her fingers, tilting his head up so his gaze met hers. "Colt, it''s not like you to get sentimental."


    "What can I say?" He shrugged, leaning into her touch. "Being out in open space for months has its disadvantages."


    She arched an eyebrow. "No one on board to treat you right?"


    He leaned up, his lips hovering just a breath away from hers. "None that are you."


    A grin spread across her face as she playfully pushed at his cheek, forcing him back down against the bed. "You''re such a flirt," she said, grabbing her shirt off the floor.


    "Is it so unbelievable to think I could have feelings for you?" Colt asked, his eyes locked on her as she pulled the shirt over her head.


    "Yes," she replied with a smirk, adjusting her collar. "You''d charm a snake into your bed just to tell it you''re not interested. I need to get going. "


    There was a familiar, hungry look in his eyes that made her hesitate for a moment. "Will I see you later?" he asked, voice low and teasing.


    Syra leaned in, her lips brushing against his in a brief, lingering kiss. "If you''re lucky."


    Colt gripped her jersey and pressed his lips to hers and chuckled as she turned to leave, his gaze never leaving her. "I''m always lucky," he called after her, a crooked smile on his face as the door slid shut behind her.

 3 | The Elysium

    The shadowed docking bay known as Outpost 47 was eerily quiet as Syra stood at the entrance to her ship, the Nebula, with Colt''s sleek vessel hovering nearby. His crew, which consisted of three off-worlders, dressed distinctly in salvaged and scavenged gear, loaded crates onto the ship and said nothing to Syra.


    "Lively crew you have," she murmured as she waved her band over Colt''s, transferring credits for some parts the shop was running low on. They were almost done, and she was anxious to get him out before anyone noticed.


    "They''re loyal, that''s all that matters," Colt said, "My offer still stands, you know. If you decided to join me I''ll throw all these kesani back to Vextar where I found them. Just you and me."


    "You''re really putting it on sweet, huh?"


    Colt''s lips curled, "You still don''t believe me? I won''t lie to you, your skills would be extremely valuable, and I could use a co-pilot who knows her way around..."


    "As tempting as that sounds, unless you can pay me what Dominion paid me, you know how this goes," Syra said, though she couldn''t help but crack a small smile. "Take the goods. I''ll see you up there. Make sure you disable the sensors like we discussed."


    "You''re one stone cold fox, Sy. But I know there''s a soft spot for me. Always a pleasure doing business with you," There was a glimmer of mischief in his eyes. "Just keep your comms open. I''ll get it done faster than you can say ''illegal manoeuvre.''"


    "Promise me you''ll be careful."


    Colt''s expression softened, his grin fading for just a moment as he hooked his finger under her chin playfully. "Always. You know I can take care of myself."


    She could feel the weight of the moment pressing in around them, a bubble of shared history and unspoken feelings. Without thinking, she leaned in, her heart quickening as she pressed her lips against his.


    The kiss was familiar, yet it held a tinge of longing¡ªa blend of affection and goodbye. It was a soft brush of lips, a fleeting moment that felt both tender and charged with the knowledge that this could be the last time they shared such a moment.


    Colt''s hands found her waist, pulling her closer, but the kiss didn''t linger. It was an acknowledgment of what they were and what they weren''t¡ªa connection that defied labels.


    When they pulled apart, Syra could see the understanding in his eyes. "I''ll be waiting for you," he said, his voice low, tinged with something deeper than the lighthearted banter they usually exchanged.


    "I know you will," she replied, forcing a smile to mask the knot forming in her stomach. She smoothed the collar of his jacket down, "Just keep an eye out for the guards."


    With a final lingering look, Syra stepped back, her heart heavy yet light all at once. Colt called out something in Gornish, a harsh, guttural trading language, to his team and they began closing up the cargo hold.


    Syra stood at the edge of the landing bay, arms crossed as she watched Colt''s ship fire up its engines. The deep hum of the thrusters echoed through the vast chamber, shaking the ground beneath her boots. She leaned against the metal railing, eyes trained on the sleek, rugged vessel that would take him away again, into the endless dark of space.


    The glow from the engines reflected in her eyes, casting her face in shadows as the wind from the launch picked up around her. Her fingers tightened on the rail, the cool metal grounding her, but inside, she felt that familiar knot tighten in her chest.


    She didn''t wave. That wasn''t her style. But she couldn''t help the small smirk tugging at her lips as she watched Colt through the cockpit window.


    He looked back at her, his face just barely visible behind the glass, rugged and handsome as ever. Even from here, she could see that cocky grin he always flashed when he thought he''d won.


    She had a feeling she''d be seeing him again and soon, and in some selfish way she hoped for it.


    Syra boarded the Nebula, rising slowly, its hull gleaming under the bay lights. Syra kept her eyes on the comms display, fingers tapping restlessly against the console. She felt a restless tug within her but she brushed it away.


    As his ship faded into the distance, a silhouette disappearing against the backdrop of space, a piercing blaring siren cut through the hold.


    Red lights flashed across the hangar, casting harsh shadows over the walls. The alarm was unmistakable¡ªWeave security had been alerted to their activities.


    Syra''s heart stopped and she slammed her fingers on the comms. "Oh shit. Colt, get out of here!"


    "Syra¡ª" Colt''s voice came back, urgent.


    "Now!"


    "Goddammit, Syra. Be careful." Colt''s voice clicked off.


    She barely had a moment to process his words before his ship shimmered in the distance, the grav drive igniting with a burst of light. Space twisted around it, bending reality, and then¡ªgone. He was safe.


    Syra punched the throttle forward. The Nebula''s engines roared, straining as she shot out of the docking bay. Her hands moved on instinct, gripping the controls, weaving between ships and scattered debris. The Weave''s traffic was dense, a maze of battered freighters, and drifting wreckage. She kept her course erratic, unpredictable, skimming dangerously close to hulls and thrusters to mask her signal.


    The warning lights on her console blared in chaotic protest.


    Then she saw it.


    A Dominion ship.


    It was stationed at the far end of the Weave, unmistakable in its black, gleaming menace. Its silhouette was sleek and predatory, cutting through the field of lesser ships like a blade through silk.


    Syra''s stomach clenched.


    Her grip on the controls tightened as she forced herself to steady her breathing. Maybe¡ªjust maybe¡ªshe could slip away before they noticed her.


    She dipped the Nebula into the shadow of a lumbering cargo hauler, slowing her approach, keeping her engines low. It was an old trick¡ªmove like background noise, unnoticed and unimportant.


    Then a new siren blared.


    Her heart stopped.


    A transmission crackled through the comms.


    "Unidentified vessel, you are ordered to power down and prepare for boarding."


    Syra''s breath left her in a curse. Her fingers hovered over the throttle, itching to push it, to run, but the scanner was already flashing red. The Dominion ship had locked onto her.


    A horrible dread settled in her gut. How the hell had they spotted her?


    This is it, she thought. I''m going to prison.


    Her mind raced, grasping at any plan, any possible way out. Then, for just a moment, a darker thought crept in.


    Her father.


    What would it do to him if she was locked away for life? If she never came back? Wouldn''t it be easier to just¡ª


    No.


    She shoved the thought aside, swallowing hard. No, I will live. I will get out. I have to.


    She forced her hands to stay steady, forced herself to focus.


    The sound of her own heartbeat thundered in her ears, louder than the alarms.


    Another transmission.


    "Identification: Syra Jharis. In the Eye of the Dominion and the Dominion Embassy, idle your engines and prepare to be boarded."


    Her jaw clenched. They had her. There was no point in fighting now.


    She let out a slow, shaking breath, fingers flicking the switches to power down the Nebula''s systems. The lights in the cockpit dimmed to a dull, defeated hum.


    "Shit. Shit."


    The dull thud of docking clamps latched onto her ship. A hiss of depressurization. The distinct, mechanical groan of an airlock engaging.


    Then the boots.


    Heavy, purposeful, armored.


    They moved through the corridor, fanning out in formation¡ªfive, maybe six of them. More than enough to handle her.


    Syra''s gaze flicked to her weapon stashed under the console, but she didn''t move for it. They''d be on her before she could even think about reaching for it.


    The airlock hissed open, and they stepped inside.


    She recognized the man leading them immediately.


    Markis.


    Stocky, graying beard, sharp eyes that had seen too much. One of the regulars at the Weave''s outer hangars. She had just sold him an antique Yava maker for his husband''s birthday.


    His blaster was aimed at her, but his stance wasn''t hostile. Just wary. She saw the flicker of recognition in his expression before he schooled it into something cold and unreadable.


    "Syra Jharis," he said. "You are hereby detained for illegally entering the restrictive zone of Outpost 47."


    Syra exhaled slowly, lips curving into a humorless smirk.


    "Don''t worry, I won''t cause a scene."


    The others moved in. She didn''t resist as they wrenched her arms behind her back, snapping cold metal cuffs around her wrists. They weren''t gentle, but they weren''t unnecessarily rough either. Just efficient.


    Tara, one of the younger officers, who Syra had drank with on more than one occasion, hesitated as she gripped Syra''s arm, shifting uncomfortably.


    Syra didn''t look at her.


    She kept her head high as they marched her off the ship.


    The Nebula''s engines dimmed behind her, her ship¡ªher freedom¡ªleft cold and lifeless.


    She had almost gotten away cleanly. Now she was going to lose her ship, any scrap of reputation she had left. No one liked to deal with someone who had a dominion target on their back for the rest of their life.


    Markis''s eyes flicked toward her every few moments as they moved through the docking area. There was a heaviness in the air, a shared understanding between them that neither would acknowledge aloud. She didn''t make it easy for them, but she didn''t resist either, knowing that any sign of familiarity could be used against them later.


    And as they led her away, the realization settled in that this wasn''t just about bending the Weave''s rules. This was about the Dominion, and there was no escaping it now.


    ¡Þ


    Syra sat on the narrow cot, her back pressed against the cold wall of the detention cell. The dim blue light overhead cast long shadows, flickering every so often. The air smelled of metal and sterilized surfaces, the unmistakable scent of captivity.


    She stretched her legs out, staring at the scuffed floor. How many people had been locked up here before her? How many had walked out? How many hadn''t?


    Her fingers idly traced the seam of her sleeve as her mind ran circles around the past few days.


    She''d known the risks. Smuggling contraband past Dominion patrols was one thing¡ªstupid, reckless, but manageable. Breaching security gates was an A class felony, one that would land her straight in the salt mines and getting caught like this was just downright shameful.


    She had gotten sloppy.


    Or maybe she had just stopped caring about the consequences.


    But how the hell was the alarm tripped in the first place? She''d been so careful. She''d done it enough that she knew the procedure down to a fine detail.


    Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    And her father.


    Her heart sank into her stomach. She exhaled sharply and pressed her palms against her face. He didn''t need to see her like this. He¡¯d be so disappointed. Everything he worked so hard for, just for his only daughter to end up in prison.


    The door clanked open.


    Syra''s head jerked up, her body tensing out of instinct. A guard stood in the doorway, arms crossed over his chest, helmet obscuring his face.


    "You have a visitor," he said flatly.


    Syra''s stomach twisted. A visitor? She didn''t have many people who would come for her and the one person she did want to see she didn¡¯t think she could face. ¡°Who?¡± he barely managed.


    But when she stepped out and saw who was waiting for her in the visitation room, she nearly stopped breathing. They were separated by a glass shield, with one hand hole, so prisoners could touch their loved ones for the last time. Syra knew Dominion, gave her life to the cause and she knew these visitation rooms were for people who were saying goodbye forever. Syra gulped.


    Edran.


    Her father stood with his arms crossed, his mechanical fingers tapping against his flesh forearm. His dark eyes locked onto her the moment she entered, sharp as ever, but there was something else lurking beneath them. Something she couldn''t quite place. The guard moved to the left, and another stationed themselves at the door.


    "Sit," he ordered, nodding toward the chair across from him.


    Syra swallowed hard but did as he said. She wasn''t a kid anymore, but in that moment, sitting across from her father under these circumstances, she might as well have been.


    Edran leaned forward, resting his elbows on the metal table. His jaw was set, his mouth a thin line. He didn''t speak right away, just studied her.


    Finally, he exhaled. "Tell me it''s not what I think it is."


    Syra hesitated. "Depends on what you think it is."


    His expression darkened. "Don''t play with me, Syra. I knew something was off. The money coming into the shop. The way you dodged my questions. I told myself you were running jobs, sure, but smuggling? And not just any smuggling¡ª" He gestured sharply. "This? And I can only guess what trouble got you here in the first place."


    She knew he meant Colt. Even when they were teenagers, they never got along - Edran had never given him the time of day, and Colt was too stubborn to appease an old man even if it was Syra''s father.


    Syra clenched her fists. "What do you want me to say?"


    "I want you to tell me I was wrong," he snapped. "I want you to tell me you weren''t dumb enough to get yourself tangled up in this mess. That I didn''t raise a fool."


    Her throat tightened. She looked away.


    Silence.


    Edran sighed, running a hand down his face. "Damn it, jara. I can only pray that they show mercy on you but Syra, you had your second chance. They had every right to imprison you for what you did on Thenia but they didn¡¯t. They won¡¯t spare you a second time."


    Syra flinched and for a moment, neither of them spoke. Then, his voice dropped, quieter. "Why didn''t you tell me?"


    She swallowed past the lump in her throat. "Would it have changed anything?"


    His eyes flickered with something she didn''t recognize. Regret? Pain? Maybe both.


    "That''s not the point," he muttered. "I might''ve been aware to it and things could''ve turned out differently."


    Syra wanted to tell him she was sorry, that she didn''t mean for it to end up like this¡ªbut she didn''t. Because that wasn''t entirely true, was it? She made her choices. She just hadn''t expected them to catch up to her so fast. "Come on, papa, we both know how that conversation would''ve gone."


    Edran let out another slow breath and leaned back. His face hardened, but there was something resigned in the way his shoulders settled. As if some part of him had already known this was coming. Then, suddenly, he reached across the table and grabbed her wrist gently through the small hand hole. "Do you have any idea how mad I am at you right now?"


    Syra''s eyes burned as emotion threatened to erupt from her, "I''m sorry, papa," she said in the language of her homeworld, then hissed when she felt the sharp, ice-cold sting of something flooding beneath her skin.


    Her eyes snapped to his mechanical hand, where tiny, near-invisible needles had emerged from his fingertips, injecting something into her bloodstream. ¡°Every choice has a consequence, daughter,¡± Edran replied in turn, ¡°Run when you can.¡±


    "Papa¡ª"


    "That''s enough." The guard scolded.


    Edran let go, "Find your moment, daughter." he said in Old Kessaryon, a language no Sennian officer would understand. His gaze was unwavering, "I fear I may not see you for a long time yet."


    Syra stared at him, realization dawning.


    Syra felt something crack deep in her chest. This was real. He wasn''t coming to get her out. He was giving her the tools to do it herself.


    She bit her lip and nodded.


    Edran''s eyes lingered on her face for a moment longer before he pulled away. He exhaled sharply, pushing to his feet.


    Then he turned and walked out without another word.


    Syra sat there, staring at the door long after he was gone.


    She curled her fingers into a fist, feeling the faint hum of the nanites beneath her skin. An eerie pins and needles as they scrambled through her bloodstream. They weren''t illegal, but they were expensive. Handy with cuffs, locks, wound restoration and immune system.


    Her father had just given her an escape.


    The walk back felt longer this time. The Dominion ship was silent, save for the steady hum of its engines beneath her boots. The two guards flanked her, their grips firm but not rough. They weren''t worried about her. As far as they were concerned, she was just another prisoner.


    They reached her cell, and the door slid open with a soft hiss. One guard shoved her inside without a word. The cuffs around her wrists clicked loose and fell away, the metal clattering against the floor.


    The door shut behind her.


    Syra exhaled slowly, rolling her shoulders, trying to shake the stiffness from her body. She glanced around the dimly lit cell¡ªbare walls, a cot, a small sink. No windows. No way to tell how much time had passed.


    She ran a hand down her face and sank onto the cot, elbows on her knees, fingers laced together.


    Syra lay on her cot for hours, staring at the ceiling, replaying every word her father had said, every flicker of emotion she''d caught in his face.


    She barely had time to sit up before a new set of boots stopped outside her cell.


    "On your feet," a guard ordered.


    Syra exhaled slowly, pushing herself upright. The stiffness in her limbs was worse now, but she didn''t complain as she stood. They weren''t gentle as they cuffed her wrists again, the cold metal snapping shut.


    "Where are we going?" she asked.


    No answer.


    The guards flanked her and led her out, boots echoing against the steel floors. The halls of the Dominion ship were the same sterile gray, the air crisp with recycled oxygen, but something felt different. A shift in tension.


    A familiar unease crawled down her spine.


    They were taking her somewhere else.


    She kept her gaze forward, ignoring the looks from passing officers. Many knew her, many that would''ve at least seen her face.


    Ahead, the doors to the interrogation chamber slid open with a quiet hiss.


    Inside, the room was empty except for a single chair bolted to the floor. Restraints extended from the armrests, ready to lock her in place. The walls were smooth, gray, devoid of anything that might give a person something to focus on¡ªto hold onto.


    The guards pushed her into the chair. The restraints snapped closed around her wrists and ankles with a sharp click.


    Syra set her jaw and forced herself to breathe. She sat rigidly in the metal chair, her wrists bound securely to the chair.


    She hated this feeling. The helplessness.


    Across from her stood Commander Renwick, his uniform impeccable, decorated with the insignia of the Dominion Fleet. A four pointed star with an infinity knot to resemble the Sovereigns Ember implants. Syra had only ever seen Sovereign Unity''s, a eerie pale blue symbol at the base of her neck. It seemed unnatural, in Syra''s opinion, to be fed knowledge and information from an ancient piece of intelligence.


    He was a man in his early forties, with sharp features - a strong jaw, a straight nose with severe hazel eyes. He held a data pad in one hand, reviewing the charges against her as the silence stretched between them.


    "Syra Jharis. You have been detained for breaching Dominion and Weave security protocols by allowing unauthorized individuals into the Scattered Weave, and for unlawfully entering the restricted levels of Outpost 47."


    Syra''s jaw clenched slightly, but she remained silent, unwilling to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. She knew these were serious offenses¡ªoffenses that could land her in a prison cell for years if she wasn''t careful.


    "That''s a notoriously complicated place to fly in."


    She said nothing and his eyes lifted from the data pad, finally locking onto hers. Hazel yellow eyes, common in Sennia where their red sun altered Sennia-born citizens. Just like blue Tyrmos altered the Weaves.


    "What puzzles me, Miss Jharis," he continued, his tone laced with curiosity, "is how a pilot with your prestige record ends up in a situation like this."


    He waved his hand in front of him, and her profile was projected into the air between them, displaying her impressive history and an unflattering identification picture of her ten years prior. She looked away, shame burning in every muscle.


    "I remember hearing about you, you know. A cadet with top marks in every single flight simulation. You broke academy records," he said, his voice almost begrudgingly respectful. "Commendations from all your instructors, and a career trajectory that most cadets could only dream of. And yet the biggest flaw of all¡ª" His gaze hardened, "¡ªcan''t follow orders. Care to explain how that happens?"


    Syra''s eyes flicked to the glowing projection of her once-promising career. She swallowed the bitterness rising in her throat, the sting of her past failure still too raw. "Some things aren''t as clear-cut as your records make them out to be." she said, her voice steady, though there was a hint of defiance in her tone. "Dominion isn''t known for playing fair."


    Renwick''s lips thinned slightly, a trace of a smile that never reached his eyes. "Dominion doesn''t ''play,'' Miss Jharis. We enforce order. Sovereign Valor guide us."


    Syra had never seen Sovereign Valor alive in the flesh before. She''d seen his imposing figure frozen in stasis at the Citadel once on a field trip with her school in the Weave.


    Unity had ruled for as long as Syra and her father had been alive. It was said their Ember implants kept them young and many believed it to be the Gods will. Syra had a theory their cryopods had something to with it but how exactly, she would never know.


    He paused, studying her face as if searching for something deeper. He set the data pad down on the table and leaned forward, his eyes never leaving hers. "Is that your ship we towed or some unlucky bastards stolen property?"


    "I won it in game of Stones, thank you. I even have the registration to prove it."


    There was a flicker of a smirk on Commander Renwicks face and he sighed, leaning back in his seat a little too casually, "You caught me on a very interesting day, Miss Jharis. A jobs just come up and we''re in need of someone with your set of skills. Someone dispensable."


    Syra''s brow furrowed as she listened, a mix of suspicion and curiosity creeping into her expression. "This isn''t terribly convincing. What exactly are you offering, Commander?"


    "I''m offering you a chance to wipe the slate clean," he said, leaning back in his chair. "Our last team didn''t make it back. We need someone with your skills¡ªa pilot who can navigate treacherous terrain and handle the pressure of a high-stakes mission. I''ve seen your flight holograms, I have confidence you can do it. You take on this mission for us¡ªget us into the mine, retrieve what we need and make sure we all get out alive¡ªand I''ll see to it that all charges against you are dropped. No record of your arrest, no mention of this incident. You''ll walk away a free woman. I''ll even throw in some credits just so I never have to see you again."


    Syra let out a slow breath, the tension in her shoulders loosening just a fraction. It was a tempting offer¡ªa way out of this mess, a chance to reclaim her life. But she didn''t trust the Embassy, not after how things had ended before.


    "This must be very important, or you''re desperate if you''re coming to me of all people."


    Renwicks lips pressed into a line. "Take it or don''t. I''ll find another."


    "One mission." she repeated, meeting Renwick''s gaze, her eyes sharp with resolve. "And if I do this, I''m done. No more strings attached."


    "Unless you fail." He held out a hand.


    Syra stared at his outstretched hand for a moment, then grasped it firmly, sealing the deal. "I never fail, commander," she said.


    "You still know how to behave on a Dominion ship?"


    A smirk crept across her lips, "Persist, Prevail, Prosper."


    Commander Renwick studied her, a flicker of approval crossing his features. "Good." he pushed a slate across. "That''s your mission briefing. Read over it. Sign it. You''ll be piloting a ship for us."


    The weight of his words hung in the air, and Syra''s heart skipped a beat. "What kind of ship?"


    "The Elysium."


    Her breath caught in her throat at the mention of the ship. The Elysium was a sleek, cutting-edge vessel known for its unparalleled speed and agility, capable of slipping through enemy lines unnoticed. It was a prize among Dominion ships, and now it would be in her hands, if only temporarily. "That''s a lot of trust you''re putting into me, commander."


    He simply smiled. "Your mission is simple," he continued. "Get us to the coordinates, help us retrieve the product, and get us back here. That''s your only job."


    She wasn''t in a position to refuse. The Dominion had her under their thumb, and she needed to find a way to survive.


    Renwick then said, "I want you to know Miss Jharis, if you disobey, if you even think about getting some funny little escape plan in your head, I''ll make sure your dad in his cramped little junk store in the weave ends up sweeping dust into the drains for the rest of his life. I assure you; you''ll find this mission... beneficial. Do as your told and we can discuss your future afterward."


    Syra swallowed hard, weighing her options. "Fine," she relented, nodding slowly. "when do I start?"


    "Right now." He said. "You''ll be escorted to our ship the Arc. The Arc will fly close to the asteroid Dixtera and there we will descend with a group of three into the mine in the Elysium. The mine was shut down years ago, but the structural integrity is still there. Do you understand your job?"


    "Get you into the mine, retrieve the thing, get you back out. Piece of cake."


    "We''ll talk more the closer we get "


    Syra Jharis''s steps echoed hollowly on the metal boarding ramp of the Arc, Renwick''s flagship vessel. It was a towering marvel of technology and power but despite the sleek design, it felt as unwelcoming as a cage. She could feel eyes on her from all directions, the silent judgment hanging in the air like a fog she couldn''t shake.


    Commander Renwick walked a few paces ahead, his back ramrod straight, every inch of him screaming the no-nonsense authority he wielded. Syra knew what this was¡ªshe was here to dig herself out of the mess she''d fallen into, not to earn anyone''s trust or respect. To the Dominion , she was still just a criminal, a smuggler with a record tarnished beyond repair.


    As they stepped onto the ship''s main deck, Syra felt the tension rise. Uniformed officers bustled about in tight formations, their sharp glances flicking toward her and then quickly away, like they didn''t want to be caught staring at the disgraced pilot tagging along at their heels. Whispers carried on the air, subtle but pointed.


    One officer caught her eye¡ªa woman with a confident stride and a face Syra vaguely recognized from the academy days. Lieutenant Aila Novak, with her auburn hair pulled back into a severe bun and those sharp, calculating eyes that seemed to size up everyone she met. Syra hadn''t known her well, just another cadet back then, but the recognition was mutual.


    Novak''s lips curved into a smile that was both surprised and cynical as she approached, her boots hitting the floor in a steady, deliberate rhythm. "Jharis," she said, her voice carrying a touch of dry humor. "Nice to see you again. Didn''t think I''d ever be seeing you on this side of the law."


    Syra straightened instinctively, her body falling into attention without thinking, though the casual edge of her expression betrayed her discomfort. "Yeah, well, life''s full of surprises," she said, her voice even.


    Novak''s stance was deliberate, precise¡ªmilitary through and through, every movement calculated as if to remind Syra of her own fall from grace. Her smile lingered, but the hard gleam in her eyes betrayed her satisfaction. "Some of us thought you''d be leading the fleet by now. Instead, here you are... a criminal under Renwick''s thumb. Funny how things turn out."


    Syra''s jaw tightened, her forced smile slipping for a fraction of a second before she caught herself. She tilted her head, her voice calm but carrying an undercurrent sharp enough to cut. "Aw, don''t be like that Novak," She let the words hang for just a moment, her gaze unwavering. "I wouldn''t be here if they didn''t need someone with better sim scores."


    Novak''s smile hardened, her composure faltering for the briefest instant before she snapped back into her soldier''s mask, her stance rigid.


    "That''s enough," Commander Renwick''s voice cut in, cold and final, as he strode into the room. Both women stiffened further, their gazes snapping forward.


    "Let''s not waste time reminiscing," Renwick continued, his tone like a blade slicing through the tension. "Jharis is here to do a job, and I expect her to follow orders to the letter. Is that clear to both of you?"


    "Yes, Commander," Novak said sharply, her voice clipped, though her jaw was still tight.


    "Yes, sir," Syra replied, her voice steady, though her knuckles were white where her fists curled at her sides.


    Renwick''s gaze lingered on them for a moment before he turned on his heel, his steps echoing as he strode away. The air between the two women remained charged, the weight of old rivalries and grudges pressing heavily in the silence. Neither would say anything further¡ªnot yet¡ªbut the tension spoke volumes.


    Novak''s eyes flicked between Syra and her commander, a polite smile still plastered on her face but now edged with something unreadable. "Good luck, Jharis," she said, and for a split second, it almost sounded genuine. "Sovereign, be good." But then she turned away, her polished boots clicking as she joined the other officers, already immersed in their preparations.

 4 | The Artifact

    Syra received a small timetable and a dominion uniform to wear, imbellished with its signature star with an infinity knot. It was obvious of the power this ship held¡ªand of her precarious position within it. She wasn''t here as a respected pilot or even as an equal. She was a tool, a means to an end. A pawn playing a role to survive.


    As everyone settled into their stations Syra absently picked at her nails.


    "Eyes forward, Jharis," Renwick said without looking at her, his voice carrying the weight of command.


    Syra nodded, her expression locked in neutral. She settled into the pilot''s seat, familiarizing herself with the Dominion control systems. Awaiting the three other pilots sign in, the Arc hummed to life, and she felt an exhilarating rush of power vibrate through her and everyone around her.


    With a practiced hand, she guided the ship out of the Weave and into the expanse of space. The stars stretched before her, and the familiar hum of the engines filled the cockpit, grounding her in the moment.


    "Coordinates set," she confirmed, her eyes scanning the readouts.


    "Plot a course to the Yenna system," Renwick instructed.


    "Understood." She plotted the course, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.


    As they soared deeper into the void, she felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. The Arc handled like a dream, compared to the Nebula, responding to her every command with ease. Unlike the flickering faulty sensors and outdated tech she had on her own ship.


    Minutes turned into hours as they traversed the blackness, and Syra lost herself in the rhythm of piloting, her worries fading into the background. She could almost forget that she was working for Dominion again, piloting a ship worth more than half the population of the Weave.


    "Jharis. Hit the hay." Lt. Lucan said after four - maybe five - hours. leaving no room for argument, "Tannis will take over for now."


    Syra wordlessly signed out of her station returning everything to their default functions. She reached instinctively for the buckle strapping her into the chair but the belt defragmented and disabled itself automatically. Syra rolled her eyes, "Fancy pants."


    She stood up, reaching high into the air to stretch out the length of her body and began her descent through the halls of the Arc. She''d been on a ship like it many times. All the same uniform Dominion standard tech - stuff off-worlders could recognize in an instant. Most of Dominion''s ships were built the same. Built for endurance and strength. Tall and long, shaped similarly to that of a teardrop when upright or a weapon of mass destruction depending on how you looked at it.


    The Elysium was different. It was made by Astor Industries and they only made the best. The Arc''s were Sennian through and through, lacking the refinement of passion projects such as the Elysium. It was one of a kind. And she got to pilot it. Syra stared out the port window at the large sleek shadow of a ship attached to the side of the Arc. She let her mind wander to the fact that in some other world she never got this opportunity and she was rotting away in a prison on some forgotten planet or worse. She didn''t want to even think about worse. She closed her eyes and said a quiet reverent prayer to Syrali, despite not fully believing the words. She needed someone to thank and it could have only been by divine intervention that she was yet again spared from prison.


    She opened her eyes, letting out a slow breath of relief and continued down the hall to the canteen. A few gazes flicked her way as she entered. It was a room big enough to put some distance between them but not big enough to disappear. Syra helped herself to the meal trays offered.


    Dominion Arc ¨C Crew Canteen, Dinner Rotation.


    Syra flexed her shoulders as she began walking to an empty table, rolling out the tension that had settled in after hours in the cockpit. The recycled air smelled of heat, steel, and food¡ªreal food--or as real as got. Grilled synth-meat, dark-seared with a crisp outer layer, its protein fibers engineered to mimic the chew of real beef. A light glaze¡ªsomething vaguely savory, a Dominion-standard sauce¡ªglistened over it. Alongside it, a portion of aeroponic greens: a mix of hydro-grown spinach and boiled vegetables, the closest thing to fresh she¡¯d get out here.


    Dominion chefs weren¡¯t artists, but at least they knew how to keep things balanced¡ªslow-burning carbs, protein, and fiber, all calculated deliberately to keep a soldier at peak efficiency.


    She grabbed a hydration pack¡ªblack ion tea, chilled¡ªfrom the dispensary before finding a table near the bulkhead. Around her, crew murmured over their own meals, forks scraping against standard-issue plates. The officers¡¯ table across the room had fancier options¡ªreal cuts of meat, richer sauces, maybe even a fruit garnish¡ªbut this?


    This was good enough. Basic, but solid.


    Syra cut into the synth-meat, took a bite. It was hot, well-seasoned, satisfying. Not home, but it would do.


    The sound of footsteps approaching made her glance upwards and Renwick was walking towards her.


    Oh shit, she thought mid-chew. What did I do now?


    Instead, he put his tray on the table and sat opposite her.


    Syra blinked. Oh. Okay? She eyed him suspiciously but continued eating. He could''ve been handsome in the right lighting. Not Syra''s type, but she knew plenty of people who fawned over Dominion officers and would''ve definitely been one of them. People like him meant credits, power and influence. If he was married, she hadn''t seen any indication of it and judging from the small terse interactions they''d had since being stationed here, she could take a few educated guesses as to why.


    Renwick''s eyes glanced up and she looked away.


    "There are other tables you know," she said, a little too boldly for someone in her position but she was never one to swallow her words.


    "This one will do," he said as he unscrewed the lid of hot steamed soup


    She continued eating, feeling slightly miffed he was invading her space but ultimately ignored it as long as he ate in silence. He shook salt across his tray and began eating for a few minutes. Syra was halfway through her meal when Renwick spoke again.


    ¡°What makes a good soldier, Syra?¡±


    Her fork paused briefly before she kept eating.


    She chewed, swallowed, took a slow sip from her hydration pack, then flicked her eyes up to him. ¡°Why?¡±


    Renwick set his knife down neatly beside his plate. ¡°Because I¡¯m wondering if you still think you are one.¡±


    Syra bit the inside of her cheek, debating with herself how to handle this situation. "You''ve read the reports, what''s there to tell?"


    "Your version of events. I saw a promising career. A pilot with skill, discipline, and a future. And then I saw a soldier who threw it all away." Renwick said. ¡°So why¡¯d you do it? Why did you defy a direct order on Thenia?¡±


    His voice was level. Not accusatory. Not judgmental. Just a question, spoken with the same calm certainty that had made him a commander.


    Syra exhaled through her nose and pressed the edge of her fork into the grain pilaf. ¡°You weren''t there,"


    Renwick picked up his cup, took a deliberate sip, then set it down. ¡°You weren¡¯t the only one given those orders. No one else disobeyed.¡±


    Syra clenched her jaw. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean they were right.¡±


    ¡°The orders came from High Command.¡±


    ¡°I know exactly where they came from, sir.¡±


    Renwick studied her, gaze like a knife peeling back layers. ¡°So you thought you knew better than High Command?¡±


    Syra let out a short, humorless breath. ¡°In that moment? Yeah. I did. The sky was burning. Not the kind of fire you see in orbital strikes¡ªthick, choking smoke that covered the surface of the planet. People running, screaming into comms - my comms - that weren¡¯t getting answered. Families trying to cram onto ships that weren¡¯t there. Dominion transports lifting off while civilians pounded on the hulls, begging for room. I still hear their voices in my head.¡± Her grip tightened around her fork. ¡°The evacuation site I was assigned to was full of people who weren¡¯t ¡®approved.¡¯ They weren¡¯t officers, they weren¡¯t Dominion personnel. Just refugees, workers, locals trying to get the hell off the planet. And I was supposed to leave them.¡±


    She leaned forward, feeling her blood begin to race, ¡°I requested an override. Denied. I asked for clearance to take non-military personnel if there was space. Denied. They had already made their decision. High Command called it a loss and moved on.¡±


    Renwick was watching her carefully now, unreadable as ever.


    ¡°So yeah. I made a choice. I broke formation, I landed, and I took as many as I could fit in my transport while also managing to pull off three other transport holds full of people. I told my squad to follow orders if they wanted. Two stayed. The other two refused."


    Renwick didn¡¯t speak right away. When he did, his voice was calm, measured. ¡°And do you think they were wrong?¡±


    Syra didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°They weren¡¯t thinking about the people down there. Just the numbers. Just the logistics. And yeah, maybe that¡¯s their job. Maybe I was supposed to do mine and shut up about it.¡± She stabbed at a piece of synth-meat, jaw tight. ¡°But if following orders means standing there and watching innocent people get slaughtered? Then I don¡¯t want that job.¡±


    Renwick let a beat of silence pass before he spoke again. ¡°And your squad?¡±


    She lifted her chin. ¡°I gave them a choice.¡±


    ¡°They followed you.¡±


    ¡°They did.¡±


    ¡°They could have died.¡±


    She inhaled slowly. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    Renwick didn¡¯t look away. ¡°And that doesn¡¯t bother you?¡±


    Syra¡¯s fingers curled around her fork. ¡°Of course it does.¡± Her voice was quieter now, but sharper, more controlled. ¡°I¡¯ve run through it in my head a hundred times, wondering if I was reckless. If I put them in unnecessary danger. If I should have thought it through more, fought it a different way.¡±


    Renwick held her gaze for a long moment. ¡°You regret it?¡±


    ¡°I regret what I lost because of it. But no. I don¡¯t regret doing it.¡±


    Renwick gave a single, measured nod. ¡°Good.¡±


    Syra narrowed her eyes slightly. ¡°Good?¡±


    "Yes," he said, "Good." and then continued eating as if the conversation had never happened.


    Syra exhaled, leaning back in her chair. ¡°Alright,¡± she said, setting her fork down with a quiet clink. ¡°You¡¯ve had your answers. Now I want one.¡±


    Renwick didn¡¯t react, just wiped his knife clean against his napkin before setting it neatly beside his plate. ¡°Go ahead.¡±


    ¡°Why did the Dominion recruit me?¡± She met his gaze directly. ¡°You know my record. You know the risks. You could¡¯ve picked any pilot in the Weave, but you choose an dishonored pilot?¡±


    Renwick met her gaze, steady as ever. ¡°Because you¡¯re the only one who can do this job.¡±


    Syra huffed. ¡°That¡¯s a terrible reason.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the truth.¡±


    She scoffed, shaking her head. ¡°You¡¯ve got an entire fleet of pilots who aced their scores, just like me. So why me?¡±


    Renwick didn¡¯t hesitate. ¡°Because you¡¯re not like them.¡±


    She frowned.


    ¡°You fly off-grid. You know how to move through places the Dominion can¡¯t reach. You think on your feet, adapt when things don¡¯t go according to plan. And most importantly, you¡¯ve already proven you¡¯re willing to make the hard call.¡±


    Syra clenched her jaw.


    ¡°This isn¡¯t a job for just any pilot,¡± Renwick continued. ¡°We don¡¯t need someone who just follows orders¡ªwe need someone who knows when not to. Someone who understands risk. Who won¡¯t hesitate when the time comes to act.¡± His eyes didn¡¯t waver. ¡°That¡¯s why we came for you. We offered two of our best pilots the role. Both of them now lay cold in the Sennian memorium. I won''t risk another.¡±


    That made her pause.


    Her fingers tapped against the edge of the tray as she mulled that over. "Why was Dominion in the Weave the day I got arrested?"


    "We were there for you."


    She blinked. ¡°You¡¯re telling me,¡± she said slowly, ¡°that I just happened to get picked up for smuggling the same day you were there to recruit me?¡±


    Renwick didn¡¯t answer right away. "That seems to be the case."


    Syra¡¯s stomach twisted. ¡°How did you know I was there? Since it''s all out in the open, I''ve done it a few times and I''ve never been caught.¡±


    Renwick sat back, folding his hands neatly in front of him. ¡°We picked up a signal.¡±


    Her pulse kicked. ¡°That¡¯s not possible.¡±


    Renwick¡¯s expression remained unreadable. ¡°The signal came from a ship called the Nebula. Your ship.¡±


    ¡°No,¡± she said, shaking her head. ¡°I didn¡¯t have a beacon. No distress relay, no tracker. My ship was stripped down¡ªdeliberately off-grid.¡± She locked eyes with him. ¡°So what the hell did you pick up?¡±


    "I don''t know what to tell you, Jharis. That was exactly what happened."


    Syra¡¯s fingers curled against her tray.


    Someone¡ªor something¡ªhad led them straight to her.


    Syra sat back, fingers curling around the edge of the table. Someone had tagged her ship.


    And she hadn¡¯t even known.


    Colt flitted into her mind but she brushed him away. He would never. Colt may have led them astray a few times on a few misleading treasure hunt, but he''d never sell her out to Dominion. No. It had to be someone else.


    Syra scraped the last bite of synth-meat off her plate, chewing without really tasting it. Renwick had already finished, his tray neatly set aside, his posture just as composed as it had been when he first sat down.


    She didn¡¯t say anything else. Didn¡¯t ask more questions. She wasn¡¯t going to get any answers tonight.


    With a quiet sigh, she pushed back her chair, grabbed her tray, and stood. Renwick didn¡¯t stop her, didn¡¯t say another word. He had gotten what he wanted from this conversation. For now.


    She dropped her tray at the return station and headed down the corridors of the Arc. The ship hummed softly around her, the constant vibration of the engines a steady reminder of their forward momentum. She ignored the passing glances of other crew members, kept her head down, and made her way to her assigned quarters.


    The door slid shut behind her with a hiss, and for the first time that day, she was alone.


    Syra sat on the edge of the bed, rolling her shoulders, trying to release the tension that had settled there. She kicked off her boots, stripped down to her undershirt, and collapsed onto the mattress.


    She was asleep in minutes.


    It felt like she barely slept before the soft, repetitive chine of the alarm dragged Syra out of sleep. She groaned, rolling onto her side, eyes barely cracking open as the red-lit numbers on the wall display flickered.


    05:30 ST¡ªArrival Confirmed.


    Syra exhaled, rubbing her face before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The steady hum of the ship felt different now¡ªsubtler, the deep thrumming of the engines shifting as the Arc adjusted its course.


    She pushed herself up, grabbed her jacket from where she¡¯d tossed it, and made her way to the viewport.


    The second she looked outside, she knew.


    They were here.


    Beyond the thick glass, a massive asteroid field stretched for miles, chunks of rock drifting like frozen debris in the void. Some were small, others the size of battlecruisers, the jagged edges illuminated by the ship¡¯s navigation lights as the Arc weaved carefully through.


    Syra let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the glass. Today was the day.


    The hangar lights burned bright against the polished hull of the Elysium. Even among the sleek Dominion fleet, the ship was something else entirely¡ªa masterpiece of engineering, built for speed, precision, and absolute dominance in flight.


    Syra stood at the base of the boarding ramp, heart hammering once, just once, before she forced it to steady.


    She¡¯d waited for this.


    Renwick stood a few paces behind her, arms crossed. ¡°Try not to break it.¡±


    Syra smirked as she stepped forward, running a hand along the cool metal of the entry hatch before palming the control panel. The hatch hissed open, and the interior lit up, soft blue guidance lights flickering to life.


    The moment she stepped inside, she felt it¡ªthe weight of the ship around her, the raw power humming beneath the surface, the smell of new equipment.


    The cockpit was a thing of beauty. Sleek interfaces, high-res displays, controls molded for absolute precision. It was hers for now.


    She slid into the pilot¡¯s seat, fingers brushing over the flight controls as she let out a slow breath.


    Then, with a flick of switches, the Elysium came alive.


    Engines thrummed, the cockpit displays flickered through startup sequences, and the entire ship seemed to breathe beneath her hands.


    Her hands tightened around the controls.


    A deep hum vibrated through the hull as the reactor core engaged, sending a flicker of soft blue light through the cockpit displays. Screens lit up in sequence, glowing lines of text scrolling as systems booted.


    ¡ú PRIMARY SYSTEMS: ONLINE


    ¡ú SECONDARY SYSTEMS: ENGAGING


    ¡ú LIFE SUPPORT: STABILIZING


    A hiss of air filtered through the vents as oxygen scrubbers cycled in fresh, clean air. Syra inhaled slowly, feeling the ship wake up around her.


    The heads-up display flickered as the Dominion¡¯s flight system ran a full diagnostic.


    STATUS: POWER STABLE. STANDBY MODE ENGAGED.


    She flexed her fingers over the flight controls, rolling her wrists as she tested movement. The control column responded with zero lag, smooth as a knife through soft fabric.


    She ran through her pre-flight checks like muscle memory.


    She adjusted the pitch, yaw, and roll, feeling the subtle shift in response as the thrusters warmed beneath her.


    Renwick moved through the hangar with practiced efficiency, his steps precise, his presence enough to send crew members snapping to attention.


    ¡°Status report,¡± he said, barely pausing as a deck officer fell in step beside him.


    ¡°Final system diagnostics are complete. The Elysium is at full operational capacity. Fuel levels at one hundred percent, weapons systems primed, and flight controls are responsive.¡±


    Renwick gave a curt nod. ¡°Good. I want another check on the stabilizers before launch. Last thing I need is a compensation failure mid-flight.¡±


    ¡°Yes, Commander.¡± The officer peeled away, relaying orders to the engineering crew already scrambling over their stations.


    Renwick reached the flight control terminal, where a tech was monitoring the Elysium¡¯s ignition readouts. ¡°Give me a response analysis. I want to know how she handles before she¡¯s in open space.¡±


    The tech hesitated a fraction too long, tapping hurriedly at his console before answering. ¡°Slight overcompensation in the forward thrusters, but within operational limits.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s not what I asked,¡± Renwick said flatly.


    The tech swallowed. ¡°She¡¯ll pull hard on tight maneuvers, but nothing the pilot can¡¯t adjust for.¡±


    ¡°Not good enough. Make sure the response is even across all vectoring.¡± Renwick turned, scanning the hangar as the final clearances rolled in over comms. ¡°I want all non-essential personnel off the deck in the next two minutes. No delays.¡±


    Crew members moved quickly, their pace doubling as Renwick¡¯s orders passed through the ranks. Engineers secured toolkits, flight techs ran their last checks before retreating to the upper viewing stations, and the deck officer gave him a sharp nod.


    ¡°All clear, sir. Ready for launch.¡±


    Renwick turned toward the Elysium, its engines humming, the soft blue of its running lights pulsing in a steady rhythm. He activated the comms.


    ¡°Elysium, you are cleared for launch.¡±


    Syra grinned flicking a few switches and adjusting her throttles. The thrusters kicked in, a deep, hum vibrating through the Elysium¡¯s frame as Syra eased the throttle forward. The ship lifted smoothly, stabilizers adjusting with a slight hiss of pressure shifts. The hangar lights blurred beneath her as she cleared the deck, the guidance systems feeding her a steady stream of altitude and thrust data.


    This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ¡°Flight path is clear,¡± a voice crackled over comms.


    Syra couldn''t help but laugh at how smoothly it moved. Her hands were steady on the controls, her focus locked on the hangar doors peeling open ahead, revealing the endless stretch of deep space.


    She angled the nose upward, fingers tightening around the throttle.


    With a sharp burst of acceleration, the Elysium shot forward, leaving the hangar behind in a streak of blue light. The engines roared in perfect harmony, every motion seamless as she pulled into open space.


    Beyond the viewport, the asteroid field loomed, an endless maze of drifting rock and shadow, much larger and open then it looked from the inside.


    Syra grinned, adjusting her trajectory.


    Now the real test began.


    Syra watched from the pilot''s seat as the Elysium settled into position near the asteroid''s surface, the landing thrusters engaging with a low rumble. Outside, the hollowed rock of the asteroid loomed large, its gaping mouth of a cave entrance jutting from the surface like the maw of some ancient beast. Wisps of frost coated the jagged edges, glistening in faint light from the ship''s floodlights.


    Syra watched from the pilot''s seat as the Elysium settled into position near the asteroid¡¯s surface, the landing thrusters engaging with a low rumble. Outside, the hollowed rock of the asteroid loomed large, its gaping cave entrance jutting from the surface like the maw of some ancient beast. Wisps of frost clung to the jagged edges, glistening faintly under the ship¡¯s floodlights.


    ¡°Right, take us in.¡±


    Syra blinked at the display, then turned to Renwick. ¡°You¡¯re joking, right? You want me to land in that hole?¡± She gestured toward the narrow cavern. ¡°That entrance barely fits this ship. You realize the second I drop us in there, the thrusters could loosen the rock and bring half the ceiling down?¡±


    ¡°It can be done,¡± Renwick said, his tone sharp. ¡°Two of our ships have already completed entry inside. It¡¯s continuing deeper that¡¯s the issue.¡±


    Syra exhaled, hands steady as she lowered the power on the secondary engines, causing the ship to shudder slightly. ¡°By the Sovereign, alright then.¡± She studied the readings carefully, noting the structural instability on the cave walls. ¡°If the rock is loose, the exhaust from the forward thrusters could cause unnecessary disturbance. I¡¯ll need to shut down secondary engines and rely on controlled descent with the primaries.¡±


    ¡°Shut down secondary engines?¡± Novak, seated at the co-pilot¡¯s station, turned to her, disbelief clear in his voice. ¡°Are you nuts? You¡¯ll have no lateral control if something shifts.¡±


    Syra¡¯s fingers tapped across the controls, adjusting grav-stabilizers before shifting her gaze to Novak. ¡°I¡¯ll still have enough thrust from the primary engine to maneuver. It¡¯s a controlled gravity descent, same principle used in deep mining ops.¡± She turned back to her display. ¡°You would know that if you were a good pilot.¡±


    ¡°Knock it off,¡± Renwick snapped, cutting through the tension. ¡°Do what you must. Just don¡¯t kill us.¡±


    Syra nodded, her focus locking back onto the controls. Slowly, she reversed the engines into a controlled landing pattern, careful not to overcompensate or jostle the controls more than a fraction of an inch. Any sudden force could destabilize the surrounding rock.


    The Elysium descended, slipping into the tight maw of the cavern, its floodlights carving through the darkness as the walls pressed in around them. Frost and dust swirled in the wake of the ship¡¯s low-thrust descent, the sensors flickering as they struggled to adjust to the dense, mineral-rich surroundings.


    She barely breathed as she guided them lower, the ship¡¯s frame groaning slightly from the temperature shift. After what felt like an eternity, the landing struts made contact with the cavern floor, a controlled hiss of hydraulics filling the cockpit.


    ¡°We¡¯re down,¡± Syra announced, fingers still firm on the controls. She let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from her shoulders.


    The Elysium hung in the cavern, suspended in near silence. The ship''s stabilizers hummed softly, the only sound against the vast emptiness outside. Frost and dust swirled in slow, lazy spirals from the low-thrust descent, barely visible in the dim glow of the floodlights.


    Syra exhaled through her nose, her grip firm on the controls. "Alright, we''re in. Now what?"


    "We need to go deeper," Renwick said, still watching the sensor readouts. "Landing here isn''t enough. The others are further inside."


    Syra eyed the cavern ahead, its jagged walls tightening into an even narrower passage, one that barely looked like it could accommodate the Elysium''s wingspan. "You''re asking me to take this ship down a tunnel we can¡¯t even scan properly?"


    Renwick didn''t hesitate. "Yes."


    Syra muttered something under her breath and shifted forward in her seat, her hands moving deftly across the console. "Fine. But if we get wedged in there, I¡¯m making you dig us out."


    Novak snorted. "That''d be a first."


    Syra ignored her, switching the thrusters to low-output manual control. The stabilizers compensated as she nudged the ship forward, inch by careful inch, the metal frame groaning as it adjusted to the uneven gravitational pull inside the cave.


    The floodlights stretched further into the tunnel, revealing slick crystalline walls, jagged protrusions catching the light like fractured glass. Some formations were small, barely noticeable¡ªothers jutted out like frozen spears, waiting to gut anything that came too close.


    "Slow and steady," she muttered, fingers tightening around the controls as she adjusted the pitch.


    The tunnel narrowed even further, forcing her to rotate the Elysium''s wings just enough to slip between two massive rock formations. The ship¡¯s hull brushed against the edges, sending a deep scrape vibrating through the cabin.


    "Watch it," Novak hissed.


    "You want to fly?" Syra shot back, her focus locked on the tunnel ahead.


    She barely breathed as she threaded the ship lower, adjusting the thrusters to maintain perfect balance in the uneven space. The deeper they went, the colder it became¡ªthe frost thickened on the glass, creeping in slow tendrils across the viewport.


    Then, suddenly¡ªthe tunnel opened up.


    The cavern beyond was massive, far larger than the entry chamber. A vast, empty space stretched out before them, lit only by the dim glow of their floodlights bouncing off crystalline structures. The ceiling arched high above, lined with deep cracks and hanging formations, some of them looking precariously loose.


    Syra checked the readings¡ªthe others had landed here. Or, tried to. Ship debris could be seen way down below.


    She exhaled, easing the Elysium down with a careful hand, the landing struts deploying. Syra slowly reversed the engines in a landing pattern, careful not to jostle the controls more than an inch as she descended, finally reaching the cavern floor after what felt like an eternity.


    ¡°We¡¯re down,¡± she said, releasing a breath she hadn¡¯t realized she was holding.


    The Elysium let out a low metallic groan as it settled fully onto the icy cavern floor, its landing gear straining slightly against the slick surface. Syra¡¯s eyes flicked across the monitors, watching as sensor readings wavered¡ªthe dense mineral composition of the cave was scrambling parts of their system.


    ¡°We¡¯re blind in here,¡± Novak muttered, checking her console.


    ¡°No kidding,¡± Syra murmured, adjusting the scanners again, but the distortion remained.


    Renwick¡¯s voice cut through the comms. ¡°Stay sharp. If this place is interfering with our sensors, we¡¯re flying dark from here.¡±


    Syra leaned back in her seat, fingers still idly brushing the throttle controls. The tension wasn¡¯t gone¡ªnot yet.


    Something about this place felt off.


    The soldiers disembarked, their suit lights slicing through the darkness. The cavern stretched out before them, a sprawling chamber of jagged crystalline formations that grew out of the floor and walls like the teeth of some vast, frozen beast. Frost clung to every surface, shimmering in the lights like a thin veil of silver.


    The transport ship hissed as it settled onto the icy cavern floor, its landing gear groaning against the slick surface. Frost crawled up the hull, the chill from the cavern seeping into everything, even through the ship''s insulated walls. Syra adjusted the controls with steady hands, her gaze flicking over the monitors that struggled to make sense of the massive crystalline expanse surrounding them. The ship''s scanners were unreliable here, distorted by the dense ice and pulsating crystals that seemed almost alive.


    Through the viewport, the cavern stretched endlessly, a hollowed ginormous abyss of shimmering glacial stone. Layers of frost and ice refracted the faint blue glow emitted by the crystals embedded in the walls, giving the entire place an ethereal, otherworldly light.


    "Well," she murmured, taking in the view. "This is something else."


    "This place feels like a tomb," came a voice over the comm. One of the soldiers, his unease clear even through the static. "Can''t even see where it ends."


    Renwick''s voice cut in, sharp and commanding. "It''s a tomb if you treat it that way."


    Syra didn''t join the chatter, keeping her hands steady on the controls as she watched the readouts. The temperature outside was dropping fast, and the ship''s systems were working overtime to hold steady. This wasn''t her first icy mission, but there was something different about this place¡ªsomething she couldn''t quite put her finger on.


    The sound of boots echoed behind her as Renwick entered the cockpit. He loomed near the doorway, his presence impossible to ignore. His uniform, crisp and heavy, bore the Dominion star, and his gaze was as cold and sharp as the frost outside.


    "Prepare for descent," he said briskly, his tone leaving no room for argument.


    "Yes, sir," Syra replied, keeping her voice neutral. She stood from her seat, reaching for her jacket and zipping it up. She''d been on edge since they landed, the tension in her muscles refusing to ease. Finally, it felt like they were doing something.


    But as she started to step past him, Renwick''s hand shot out, stopping her.


    "Not you," he said firmly.


    Syra blinked, her brow furrowing. "Sir?"


    "You''re staying here with the ship," Renwick continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "If things go sideways down there, we need you ready to lift off immediately."


    For a moment, Syra hesitated. "With all due respect, if anyone''s suited to help navigate whatever''s down there¡ª"


    "That''s exactly why you''re staying here," Renwick interrupted, his voice steady but unyielding. "This isn''t a discussion, Jharis. Your job is to get us in and out. If we run into trouble, you''re our only way out of this place alive."


    Syra''s shoulders dropped slightly, though she nodded. "Understood."


    Renwick''s gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if ensuring there would be no further argument, before he stepped back toward the corridor. "Stay sharp. If we call, you lift off. No delays."


    "Yes," she said again, returning to her seat.


    Renwick left without another word, the sound of his boots fading into the distance as he joined the rest of the team. Syra sank into the pilot''s chair, exhaling through her nose as she stared out into the cavern again. Below, she could see the soldiers moving in formation, their lights flickering against the icy walls. Renwick led them toward a deeper tunnel, disappearing into the shadows of the massive expanse.


    Her gloved fingers tapped idly against the armrest. She understood the logic¡ªshe was the best pilot they had, and if things went wrong, they''d need her at the controls, ready to get them out. Still, the gnawing frustration of being left behind settled in her chest, leaving her restless.


    The comm crackled to life again. "Descending now," Renwick''s voice came through. "Keep the ship hot, Jharis."


    Syra glanced at the monitors, then back out at the crystalline cavern. The glow was constant, faint pulses of blue light rippling through the ice like a heartbeat. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze narrowing.


    "All systems stable," she replied. "Standing by."


    The comm went silent, leaving only the faint hum of the ship''s engines. Syra leaned back in her chair, her eyes flicking to the viewport. She hadn''t been part of a team in what felt like years...she shook her head, forcing the thought away. That was behind her now. This was the deal. Fly the mission, complete the job, and buy herself a second chance.


    She drummed her fingers against the console, her gaze fixed on the cavern''s endless depths. Whatever they were walking into, she couldn''t shake the feeling that it was something far bigger than any of them.


    Syra adjusted the monitor display in front of her, her fingers gliding over the controls as the flickering feeds from the team''s helmet cams came to life. The images were grainy, distorted by the interference from the crystals lining the cavern walls, but it was enough to follow their progress. A shaky map of the labyrinth below the ship was piecing itself together on the secondary screen, though the deeper they went, the more fragmented the data became.


    She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the console as the pale blue glow from the crystals bathed the screens in ghostly light. Renwick''s camera feed was the clearest, positioned at the front of the group. His sharp, deliberate movements cut through the haze as he navigated the icy terrain with precision. He gave quick, clear commands to the team, his tone calm but firm.


    "Steady," he said, his voice carrying through the comm in measured tones. "This ice is slicker than it looks. Mind your footing."


    Through his feed, Syra could see the uneven path ahead. The crystals jutted out at strange angles, their surfaces wet with condensation that dripped onto the frozen floor below. The air shimmered faintly with the pulsating light from the walls, and the faint sound of water echoed in the distance, amplifying the eerie quiet.


    "Eyes sharp," Renwick continued, his tone unwavering. "I don''t know if we''re alone down here. If you see movement, report it immediately."


    Syra flicked to the other helmet cams, watching as the soldiers followed closely behind him. They moved in formation, their weapons at the ready, their boots crunching softly against the frost-coated floor. One soldier muttered something about the crystals feeling "alive," and another quickly shushed him, clearly unsettled by the atmosphere.


    She returned to Renwick''s feed. He stopped suddenly, holding up a fist to halt the group. The camera panned across a jagged outcrop of ice, where the crystals grew in tight clusters, their faint blue glow seeming to pulse in time with the faint vibration in the air.


    "We''re close to a power source. The artifact isn''t far."


    Syra frowned, leaning closer to the screen. The way he said it¡ªclose to a power source¡ªsent a ripple of unease through her. He wasn''t guessing; he knew. She''d flown missions for plenty of Dominion commanders before, and most would have barked orders without a second thought. Renwick wasn''t like that. He moved with intention, measured and observant, as if he could feel the cave itself breathing around them.


    "What''s your read, Commander?" one of the soldiers asked through the comm.


    Renwick crouched, his camera tilting down as he examined the ground. He reached out with a gloved hand, brushing away a thin layer of frost to reveal jagged markings carved into the ice. The feed flickered as he studied the pattern, but Syra could see the faint glint of metal beneath the ice.


    "This isn''t natural," Renwick said quietly. "The artifact''s energy is affecting everything down here¡ªreshaping the ice, the crystals, the air. It''s creating a field of distortion."


    One of the soldiers shifted nervously, his breathing audible through the comm. "I can see it..." their hand waved in front of the camera but Syra couldn''t see what they were seeing. "What does it mean?"


    Renwick straightened, his voice steady. "It means we stick to the plan. No deviations. Keep your focus and follow my lead."


    The camera feeds shifted as the soldiers complied, their helmet cams panning across the crystalline walls. Syra switched between views, her eyes darting to the secondary screen where the cavern map updated in real time. The deeper they went, the more fragmented the signal became, the path narrowing into a single corridor that stretched downward like a frozen throat.


    Renwick''s voice broke the tense silence. "We''re close. No more talking. Keep comms clear."


    Syra''s gaze locked on his feed. The corridor widened ahead of them, opening into a massive chamber. Renwick''s camera tilted upward, and even through the grainy interference, Syra could see the scale of the space. The walls were lined with massive crystal spires, each one glowing brighter than the last. At the center of the chamber was a jagged altar of black ice, its surface pulsing with faint blue light. Like a heartbeat.


    "That''s it," Renwick said softly. There was no triumph in his voice, only the grim certainty of someone who knew they were walking into something far bigger than themselves.


    Syra adjusted her headset, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her chest. "Renwick, your readings are spiking. That thing is putting out enough energy to fry a small fleet."


    "Understood," Renwick replied, his voice calm. "Stay ready, Jharis."


    Syra nodded, even though he couldn''t see her. She couldn''t shake the feeling that something was waiting for them in that chamber¡ªsomething none of them were prepared for. But Renwick? He was steady. Unshaken. And somehow, that steadiness kept her grounded too.


    The static thickened as Syra squinted at the monitors, trying to focus on the hazy images from the helmet cams. The frost inside the cavern seemed to distort everything, and the further Renwick''s team ventured, the harder it was to make out details. The pulsing light of the crystals reflected in faint halos, casting the cavern into an eerie twilight.


    "Artifact in sight," Renwick''s voice crackled through the comm, steady but tinged with something she hadn''t heard from him before¡ªa flicker of awe. "Approach with caution. We don''t know what we''re dealing with."


    Syra''s hands hovered near the landing gear controls, ready to lock the ship down for a quick retrieval if the team needed it. On the monitors, she could just make out a large jagged shape of something darkly coloured embedded in the ice ahead. It glowed faintly, pale light flickering from deep within like the dying embers of a fire.


    "What are we looking at?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice muffled by the interference. His helmet cam bobbed as he moved, the light on his suit sweeping over the structure.


    Renwick''s camera feed came into sharper focus as he stepped closer to the object. The artifact¡ªif that''s what it was¡ªrose from the cavern floor like a jagged spire, half-buried in ice and crystalline stone. It looked ancient, its surface etched with deep grooves and markings that shimmered faintly in the low light. The energy pulsing from within cast eerie shadows across its surface, making it seem almost alive.


    The soldiers fanned out cautiously, their movements slow and deliberate. Syra switched between the helmet cams, her fingers dancing over the controls to enhance the feed. The spire''s markings became clearer as one of the soldiers, Lucan, approached it, his energy rifle raised.


    "I''ve got something here," Lucan said, his voice tight with a mix of curiosity and unease. He swept his helmet light across the spire''s surface. "Markings... looks like writing. Old script. Nothing I recognize."


    "Scan it," Renwick ordered, his voice clipped. "Let''s get a reading."


    Lucan knelt near the base of the spire, his camera panning down. As he moved his scanner closer, the screen flickered violently, static overtaking the image for a moment. Syra cursed under her breath, adjusting the monitor''s settings to stabilize the feed.


    And then she saw it.


    Through the interference, a faint shape began to emerge. The camera tilted upward as Lucan stepped back, his breathing audible through the comm. Encased in ice at the center of the spire was a figure¡ªa man, frozen in time, his form perfectly preserved within the crystalline structure. His head was tilted slightly forward, one arm outstretched as though reaching for something, his hand clutching a jagged object that seemed fused to his palm.


    "What the hell...?" Renwick''s voice broke the silence. His camera swung to focus on the figure, capturing the haunting image in sharp relief. The man''s features were sharp, almost regal, his expression calm despite the frozen stasis. Pale lines etched into his skin shimmered faintly, just visible beneath the ice.


    Syra leaned forward, her breath catching. "Renwick... do you see that?"


    "We see it," Renwick replied tersely. "Stay quiet."


    The team''s helmet lights converged on the figure, illuminating him in stark detail. The object in his hand¡ªsmall, jagged, and glowing faintly¡ªseemed to pulse in time with the spire''s light. Whatever it was, it wasn''t natural. The entire cavern felt as though it were alive, reacting to their presence.


    "Is it dead?" another soldier muttered, his voice shaky.


    "Doesn''t look like it," Lucan said uneasily. "Looks like... stasis, maybe?"


    Renwick stepped closer to the figure, his movements careful. "Lucan, get the readings on that object. Don''t touch it until we know what we''re dealing with."


    As Lucan aimed his scanner at the artifact, the ground suddenly rumbled beneath their feet. A low, resonant groan echoed through the cavern, deep and guttural, like the sound of something ancient awakening. The crystal walls vibrated, their glow intensifying before dimming again. Ice cracked and splintered, thin fissures racing outward from the base of the spire.


    "Fall back!" Renwick barked, his voice rising over the sound of shattering ice. "Everyone, regroup! Now!"


    The camera feeds shook violently as the soldiers scrambled for footing. Renwick''s cam swung upward, catching a burst of light from the artifact as it flared suddenly, casting the cavern in a blinding white glow. The interference on Syra''s monitors surged, the static overtaking the feed entirely. Syra looked up from the feed to see the entire cavern lit up with blue light. Was it about to explode?


    "Commander?" she called, panic creeping into her voice. "Renwick, respond!"


    No reply.


    "Renwick!" she tried again, her hand instinctively reaching for the thrusters.


    The comm crackled suddenly, and his voice cut through, sharp and commanding. "Hold your position, Jharis! Do not move! We''re stabilizing!"


    Her heart pounded as the monitor flickered back to life. Renwick was standing near the spire, barking orders to the team as they formed a defensive line. The artifact''s glow had dimmed slightly, but the frozen figure inside remained unchanged. The jagged object in his hand, however, pulsed brighter now, its energy rippling outward like waves.


    "Get me readings on the energy output!" Renwick shouted. "This thing''s waking up."


    The monitors flickered violently, static crackling as Syra struggled to make sense of the chaotic images from the team''s helmet cams. The sharp bark of Renwick''s voice echoed through the comms, but his words were drowned out by the deafening roar of gunfire.


    "Contact! Contact!" one of the soldiers shouted, his voice panicked. His camera feed jerked wildly, showing flashes of light, ice shattering, and the dim glow of the artifact as the cavern erupted into chaos.


    Syra''s stomach twisted as she gripped the console, trying to keep herself steady. "What''s going on?" she called, her voice taut with urgency.


    "Hostile!" Renwick barked back, his tone sharp and commanding. The sound of gunfire intensified. "Jharis, hold position! Do not¡ª"


    The line cut to static.


    "Fuck!" Syra yelled, her heart hammering in her chest. She flicked switches, trying to stabilize the feeds, but the interference only worsened. "Renwick, respond!"


    Nothing. Just garbled static.


    Her fingers danced across the controls, her gaze darting between the monitors. The cavern map was completely unreadable now, and the helmet feeds had devolved into chaos¡ªflashes of light, muted shouts, and distorted images of figures moving too fast to make sense of. Every second felt like an eternity as the silence inside the Elysium grew heavier.


    "Come on," she muttered under her breath, trying to force the comms to reconnected. She toggled the broadcast channel again, her voice sharper now. "Team Elysium, respond! Renwick, are you¡ª"


    "Jharis, we''re approaching the entrance!" There was a hint of desperation in his tone that she hadn''t heard before, and it sent a jolt of adrenaline through her.


    "Hurry up or we''ll all be buried alive down here."


    Syra gritted her teeth powering up the thrusters. The ship jerked and strained, fighting against the sudden changes in gravitational pull. As she brought the ship level with the ledge, she looked for Renwick and the others but couldn''t see them.


    She pressed her finger on the comms, "Commander, respond. What is your position? Over."


    Only static replied, and Syra''s stomach twisted with panic. She opened her mouth to call out again when a cold blade pressed against her throat.


    She froze, barely daring to breathe.


    Who the fuck was on board?


    The ship had been sealed tight, the sensors were all clear. A startling feeling that he had been hiding in the ship since leaving the Weave crossed her mind.


    "Take your finger off the comm," a low, dangerous voice commanded, the accent surprisingly unfamiliar, the blade pressing just enough for her to feel the sharp sting of its edge.


    Her heart hammered against her ribs, fingers trembling as she lifted her hands from the console, cutting off the connection to the commander. Slowly, her eyes shifted sideways, catching a glimpse of the intruder''s hooded figure in the reflection of the glass. His face was veiled, but his presence radiated danger.


    "Who the hell are you?" Syra managed, voice barely a whisper, the blade still close enough to slit her throat with the slightest movement. "How-how did you get in here?"


    The figure didn''t answer right away. Instead, the ship rocked violently again, the tremor stronger this time, and the stranger staggered, catching himself on the wall beside her. His hand left a smear of dark blue blood across the panel as he struggled to stay upright.


    Syra''s eyes widened, understanding immediately this stranger was injured. His breathing was ragged, the weight of whatever he''d been through etched into the lines of his body.


    That was her opening.


    Before the attacker could tighten his hold, Syra grabbed his wrist with both hands and threw her weight back, forcing the chair to lurch and scrape against the metal floor. The movement sent the stranger stumbling forward. Syra twisted her torso, slamming her elbow back with all her strength. She contacted the stranger''s side, right where the blood stain was strongest. A muffled grunt told her she''d hit the mark.


    The knife wavered away from her throat, and Syra didn''t waste a second. She grabbed the attacker''s wrist with both hands, twisting sharply. A howl of pain echoed through the cockpit, and the knife clattered to the floor. She shoved the chair back, knocking the stranger further off balance, and sprang to her feet, spinning to face her assailant.


    She didn''t know what she was expecting but she was certainly not expecting the man before her. He was cloaked in fabric but beneath was flawless armor, clearly not standard issue for any Dominion soldier. The matte black plating fit seamlessly around his body, segmented for maximum flexibility, with faint blue energy lines pulsing between the panels. Around it he wore layers of black fabric, and a veil to cover his face.


    Despite the wear and tear¡ªscuffs, scratches, and dried blood¡ªthe armor''s high-tech design was unmistakable. It looked like the kind of elite gear reserved for special forces or shadow operations, far beyond anything the Dominion would waste on ordinary grunts, far beyond anything Syra had seen with her own eyes.


    The stranger''s eyes narrowed beneath his hood, and before she could even process the flicker of anger on his face, he lunged. He was faster than anyone bleeding out should be, his movements fluid and precise despite the gash on his side. Syra barely sidestepped in time, the blade slicing through the air where her throat had been a moment before.


    Her fist shot out instinctively, aiming for his injured side, but he twisted, his elbow slamming into her forearm with enough force to stagger her. His next strike was already coming¡ªa brutal kick aimed at her midsection. She pivoted, deflecting his leg with her forearm, the impact reverberating through her bones.


    He pressed the attack relentlessly, closing the distance with a flurry of punches. Syra ducked under one swing, her boot slipping slightly on the smooth floor, but she recovered fast, spinning low and slamming her heel into the side of his knee. He staggered briefly, growling in pain, but it didn''t slow him down.


    Stars danced in her vision, but she blinked them away, instinct kicking in. As he closed the distance again, she feinted low, drawing his weight forward, then drove her knee into his side with every ounce of force she could muster. He choked on a pained gasp, the wound tearing open wider, blue blood spilling freely down his side.


    But he didn''t stop.


    He swung again, his knife carving through the air, but Syra ducked beneath it, spinning into his blind spot. That''s when her eyes caught it¡ªsomething strapped to his belt. It was small, glowing faintly with a strange, pulsing light that seemed alive. The artifact. Her pulse quickened.


    It had to be what Renwick and his team were after.


    She darted forward, slipping past his next swing, and grabbed for the object, jumping a foot away. Her fingers closed around it, but the instant she touched it, pain exploded in her hand. It was blinding, searing, like molten fire racing up her arm. A cry of agony ripped from her throat before she could stop it, and she jerked back, clutching her arm as the artifact fell from her grasp.


    The glowing object hit the floor with a heavy, resonant thud, the pulsing light intensifying for a moment. Both of them froze - their gazes locking briefly before flicking to the artifact.


    Syra lunged again before he could reach the artifact, aiming to pin the man down. But he was ready this time. With a swift, brutal move, he caught her arm, twisting it behind her back and slamming her face-first into the console. She grunted, her vision blurring from the impact.


    Before she could recover, the threw her against the wall, her back hitting it with a crunch, and snatched the artifact from the floor, securing it once more to his belt.


    Syra, panting through the pain, forced herself up, her hands trembling as she reached for her blaster on the floor but he kicked it away and aimed his own at her head. He unleased a string of words in a language she''d never heard before that clearly meant he was pissed. "Fly," he rasped, his voice thick with pain, though the blade didn''t waver from her throat. "Or your days end here."


    "I¡ªI can''t leave," Syra stammered, forcing herself to think. "My commanding officer is still down there. I need him. He''s the only one who can give me my freedom."


    The ship shook again, more violently this time, and dust fell from the ceiling. The entire asteroid mine seemed to be collapsing. The hooded figure''s grip on the blade slackened slightly, and he leaned against the wall, his breath coming in heavy gasps.


    "You leave now," he muttered darkly, "or death will be your only freedom."


    She could feel the rumbling growing stronger, and the jagged walls of the asteroid seemed ready to swallow them whole. She didn''t want to die.


    Syra knelt on the cold floor of the cockpit, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Blood dripped steadily from the cut above her brow, warm against her skin in stark contrast to the cold metal beneath her. She pressed her trembling hands to the floor, trying to push herself upright, but her body protested with every movement.


    Behind her, the stranger stood, his breath labored, the metallic scent of blood clinging to the air between them. She could hear his boots scrape against the floor as he shifted, and then the unmistakable whine of a blaster charging.


    "Okay, okay," she said through gritted teeth, her voice brittle. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, every motion careful and deliberate. She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the edge of the console.


    Without another word, she slid into the pilot''s seat, her fingers automatically finding the controls. The engines hummed faintly, a steady rhythm beneath her shaking hands. She didn''t look back at him. She didn''t need to.


    Her hands moved over the controls, flipping switches, adjusting the throttle. The Elysium groaned as it came to life, its thrusters kicking up ice and debris as it began its ascent. The faint pulsing light of the cavern disappeared beneath them, the icy walls reflecting the glow of the ship''s engines.


    Syra''s jaw tightened, her focus locked on the monitors. The cavern''s static-filled outline flickered faintly, and her heart twisted at the thought of the team she was leaving behind. Renwick, Lucan... they were down there.


    Her gaze darted to the hidden panel near the console. It was her only chance.


    As the ship climbed higher, she moved her hand subtly to the side, her fingers brushing over the release switch. A single flick of her thumb, quick and precise, sent the life pod shooting out beneath the ship. It struck the icy surface with a faint hiss before bouncing into the shadows below, its automated systems activating.


    The stranger''s hand clamped down on her shoulder.


    Her breath hitched, her stomach dropping as she heard him move behind her. She didn''t have time to react before the butt of his blaster slammed into her temple. Pain flared bright and sharp, her vision tilting violently before going black.

 5 | The Stranger

    When Syra woke again, her head throbbed, and she became immediately aware of being restrained. Her body was strapped tightly to the jump seat in the back of the ship. For a moment, disoriented, she blinked, trying to gather her bearings. The hum of the ship''s engines vibrated softly beneath her, but something else caught her attention¡ªa slow, wet sound, like someone struggling to breathe.


    Her eyes darted toward the front of the ship, where the man who had knocked her out was slumped against the wall. Blood soaked his dark clothing, and his hood had fallen back slightly, revealing his pale, white hair above his half-face breathing mask. She couldn¡¯t see his eyes, but he wasn''t looking at her, his hands were shaking as he pressed a sterile cloth to the wound. He looked as though he were about to about to lose consciousness.


    Syra''s chest tightened as panic flared inside her as she tanked against the cuffs causing them to bite into the bones of her wrist. "What the hell did you do?¡± her voice came out hoarse, ¡°How-how did we get past the Arc?"


    He didn''t even glance in her direction. The ship rumbled and shook as it ascended through the asteroid field. A million scenarios went through her head. How long had she been out? Ten minutes? Twenty? And how had the Arc not obliterated them once they emerged from the mine?


    "You''ve got to be kidding me," her mind raced as she tugged at the biometric cuffs. "You hijack my ship, knock me out, and now you think you''re just gonna die on me?"


    His voice cut through the air, low and cold, in a language she didn''t recognize. "Vekhri, sek sahal doska."


    Syra froze. What was that language? Yennish? Elxor? It sounded old. Like Kessaryon. She couldn¡¯t tell, but the message was clear enough: shut up.


    She opened her mouth to snap back at him, but something about his tone, and the sheer exhaustion that radiated off him, stopped her. Panic still buzzed beneath her skin, but it was the sight of him that finally made her look at him. Really look at him. The man didn¡¯t look at her. Didn¡¯t even flinch. Instead, he tore open a side pouch and fumbled with a thin medkit, fingers clumsy. He tried to peel open a synth-patch, missed the edge, then cursed low in a language she didn¡¯t recognize.


    Beneath the tattered veil, she could see hints of a hard jawline and a faint blue glow.


    He growled through gritted teeth and rolled his head back against the wall. His eyes looked onto her, piercing violet, under dark furrowed brows that glared at her when he noticed her staring. His nose, mouth and chin were covered by a black breathing apparatus. His chest rose and fell jaggedly, each breath a painful effort.


    She didn''t know who he was or where he came from, but his presence felt less threatening as he lay bleeding in front of her, looking defenseless. He¡¯d be so easy to finish off, Syra thought, if she could stomach it. She¡¯d been in firefights, shot to kill but she¡¯d never been in a position to end someone¡¯s life on purpose, especially when that someone was doing a fine job dying on his own.


    She forced herself to think clearly. Clearly enough to understand with certainty he was not Dominion. And certainly not Sennian. There was no way he could¡¯ve hitched a ride from the weave looking so out of place, and certainly not by bypassing major security clearances to get onto the Arc.


    Whatever ¨C or whoever ¨C was in the ice couldn¡¯t have gotten to her before Renwick and Lucan had gotten to her.


    But he had the artifact.


    Syra glanced up at forearm and pulled her sleeve down with her teeth.


    There.


    The small circular spiral mark that had burned itself into her skin.


    What the hell did it mean?


    She looked over at the man again. Could the artifact teleported him here? She couldn''t even believe she was asking herself that question. It sounded insane. Yet here he was.


    Her hands twisted painfully against the cuffs, fingers scraping the metal as she struggled to free herself. "This is just my luck."


    The ship shuddered slightly, reminding her of the mess they were still flying through. Her stomach churned, torn between fear and rage. She didn''t even know who this guy was or what he wanted, but he''d put her life on the line for reasons she couldn''t begin to understand.


    She scanned the cockpit, looking for anything, any sign of help or a way out. Her eyes flicked back to him, his chest barely rising and falling, his skin growing paler by the minute. ¡°Do you even know how to fly this ship? Because if you don¡¯t we¡¯re both dead anyway."


    He shuddered, as he disengaged off the side piece of his armor, the piece depressurizing and popping outwards, the blood hot and sticky between the plate. He blew out short, quiet pained breaths, as his hands dropped to his side.


    ¡°What happened to you?¡±


    He didn¡¯t respond.


    Just then, she felt the tingling rush of nanites in her arm and glanced up.


    Her father''s words echoed in her head. The mind is a computer of the highest caliber.


    Syra glanced at the man, whose eyes were now closed. She didn''t know how to use nanites. She figured it was similar to that of a Neurolink, a computer controlled by the brain, and with that in mind Syra closed her eyes and commanded the nanites to bypass security.


    With a faint hiss the cuffs unlinked.


    Syra blinked in surprise. ¡°That worked?¡±


    The man''s head shot upwards, and Syra¡¯s hands fell away. ¡°Unless you want me to put a blaster round through your chest,¡± he said raggedly, the faint whine of a blaster charging up pierced the air, ¡°I¡¯d suggest you stay right where you are.¡±


    His accent was foreign but the Common Tongue left his mouth expertly meaning he''d been around long enough to know it.


    The stench of blood hung heavy in the air, mixing with the stale ship atmosphere. Syra didn¡¯t move and glanced down at the blaster now aimed at her from his hip. "I''m not going to do anything." she said. "But I might not have to. We sit here long enough, and you''ll bleed out before I need to."


    The man was barely holding himself together.


    The air between them crackled with unspoken tension. Her voice dropped to a quieter, steadier tone. "Look, you''re hurt. Badly. I know how to stabalise¡ª"


    Those sharp violet eyes narrowed, silencing her once more. "I don¡¯t need your help." he hissed, his fingers trembling as they pressed against his wound.


    ¡°From where I''m sitting it kinda looks like you do."


    He said nothing and she rolled her eyes and glanced at the instruments on the console, noting that the ship had stabilized and they were accelerating through space. "Where are we going?¡±


    Pushing off the wall, he rose, surprising her, every movement jagged, labored, but somehow purposeful. His body swayed as he pushed off the wall, making his way toward the controls. Despite the obvious pain, his fingers moved with precision across the console, as if he''d been born to navigate it. He didn''t hesitate, flipping switches and adjusting the ship''s settings like he knew it inside out.


    Syra raised an eyebrow, watching him with wary interest. "Don''t get blood on the seats," she muttered. "It''s Rashik leather."


    His head tilted towards her for the briefest of moments, unimpressed. His hand tightened on the control panel as he steadied himself, ignoring her quip. The hum of the ship shifted as the engines powered up, responding to his touch.


    Syra couldn''t help but feel a mix of annoyance and grudging respect. Whoever he was, he clearly knew what he was doing, even if he was about to pass out from blood loss.


    Syra sat in the cockpit, trying to make sense of the situation. The ship''s controls blinked steadily, but the silence gnawed at her.


    "Who¡ª"


    He turned around with an exasperated growl and pointed the blaster at her again causing her to flinch. ¡°You tried to kill me."


    "Oh, I''m sorry, am I supposed to welcome in someone who hijacked my ship, held a blade to my throat and forced me to leave behind the only man who could clear my name?" she said and then narrowed her eyes, "you condemned those people to die.¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± he said dangerously. ¡°I did.¡±


    Syra''s arm itched, the burn spreading under her skin like fire. She hissed in pain, clenching her jaw. "What the hell did that thing do to me?"


    Across from her, the stranger stood silent, his face mostly veiled, only his intense violet eyes visible through the layers of fabric. His imposing form was further hidden beneath a cloak that shrouded intricate armor, the dark fabric layered to obscure everything but the glint of metal.


    He regarded her for a moment, unreadable. "Show me where your aid is," he said, his voice low, rough with pain. "And then maybe I''ll tell you."


    Syra gritted her teeth, annoyed at his evasiveness but more concerned about the pulsing mark on her arm.


    "Left wall compartment," she said, nodding in the direction. "Now tell me what it is.¡±


    He strode to the wall, pressing on the hidden panel. The compartment clicked open, revealing the medkit. He pulled it free, but instead of answering her, he started rummaging through it, searching for the synthetic bio healers. Syra watched, her impatience growing.


    "So?" she pressed.


    "I said maybe." He said pointedly. With a resigned grunt, he practically fell onto the chair and let out a long slow exhale.


    "That''s bullshit."


    He unclasped his heavy cloak letting it fall off his shoulders and hit the ground with a metal clang. He pulled off his gloves by biting the fingertips and pulling, to reveal a muscular veined hands.


    Blood dripped from beneath his armor, and he moved stiffly, prying the abdomen plates from his side. The armor clanked to the ground, revealing a gaping, blue-bloodied wound. Whatever had slashed him had done so with brutal efficiency. The gash was deep, possibly organ-deep, and his breathing made it clear how much pain he was in.


    Syra''s grimace deepened as she took in the injury. It was worse than she had expected, the edges of the wound raw and jagged, wet with blood and torn flesh. He tried to steady his breathing, but every inhale came out in a harsh rasp.


    "I can help, you know. I''m not in the habit of killing dying men," she retorted. "You need another set of hands to do what you think you''re about to do. And then you''re going to tell me about this damn mark."


    He paused, the stubbornness in his posture finally breaking as he considered her offer. The tension between them crackled, thick with unspoken mistrust and the grudging realization that he had no choice.


    "Do not make me regret this," he said at last, his voice tight with pain and resignation.


    Syra moved closer, her pulse pounding in her ears. Whatever secrets he was keeping, she''d get them out of him. But first, she had to keep him alive¡ªand figure out what kind of nightmare she had just stepped into.


    Grabbing the kit, she knelt in front of him, setting the smooth white box down beside her. His eyes tracked her movements, suspicion flickering behind the pain, but he said nothing.


    Syra pulled out a vial of advanced regenerative bio-serum, a small injector, and a high-tech patch that could temporarily bind even the worst wounds. This wasn''t the kind of medical gear found on ordinary ships¡ªthis was reserved for the commander.


    Renwick.


    Each piece was designed to stabilize a body on the brink of collapse. But even this tech couldn''t work miracles; it would buy them time, not completely heal him. "I''m going to have to take more of this armour off of you," Syra said, "Are you hurt anywhere else?"


    He closed his eyes, fingers pressing into hidden compartments in the armours indenture releasing another piece and then the rest of his damaged chest plate where she saw another wound torn through the fabric beneath. Not as bad, but still deep. A bitter groan escaped the man''s lips as he let the pieces fall to the ground with a metal clatter. The side piece released, revealing a bloodied sticky cloth underneath. She could see the faint shimmer of a gauge where the wound and flesh began.


    "What happened?"


    "Let''s not speak, yes?"


    ¡°Touchy," she murmured, grabbing the vial and loading it into the injector. The device hissed as it primed, and she pressed it against the uninjured side of his abdomen. With a quick press, the serum entered his bloodstream, designed to stimulate cell regeneration and dull pain receptors.


    He sucked in a sharp breath, his muscles tensing. The serum worked fast, his body slumping against the chair. His eyes flickered closed for a moment, his jaw clenching as the pain dulled to a more bearable level.


    She grabbed an antiseptic spray, the container glowing faintly as she shook it. It was designed to sterilize wounds on contact, using a fine mist infused with nanites that would clean and close micro-tears in tissue. She shook it until it glowed indicating the nanites were activated and sprayed it over the gash, the mist sinking into his torn flesh and fizzing softly. His whole body stiffened, and he let out a low groan through the mask but he stayed still, enduring.


    "Almost done," she said, trying to keep her voice steady. Her fingers moved quickly, pulling out the high-tech wound patch.


    It was thin, flexible, and embedded with micro-healing filaments. Peeling off the backing, she pressed it gently over the wound. The patch adhered instantly, the filaments activating with a faint glow, creating a temporary seal and stimulating his cells to knit together faster.


    He growled in pain, shuddering, his hand gripping the edge of the chair so hard that the metal creaked under the pressure. His eyes opened, locking onto hers with an intensity that sent a chill down her spine. Even through the pain, he was watching her, wary but still calculating.


    ¡°Lucky for you,¡± Syra muttered, stripping away the last of the bloodied cloth, ¡°I¡¯ve had just enough medical training to keep someone alive long enough to go to jail."


    Still nothing from him. Not a twitch. Not a grunt. Just that eerie, silent watchfulness.


    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°You could at least pretend to be grateful. I¡¯m not exactly thrilled about patching up someone who stole my ship.¡±


    No reaction. As usual.


    She huffed, reaching up toward his shoulder. ¡°Fine. Don¡¯t talk. Just don¡¯t move.¡±


    With practiced fingers, she pushed aside the collar of his tunic¡ª


    Her breath stilled in her throat.


    A faint glow pulsed at the base of his neck, shifting beneath his skin¡ªsoft, rhythmic, alive.


    An Ember.


    A Sovereign Ember.


    White hot dread dripped over her.


    For a moment, her body refused to move. The world around her dimmed, her own breath deafening in her ears.


    This wasn¡¯t possible.


    There were four.


    There had only ever been four.


    What was this perversion of its technology doing inside of his head?


    Her fingers twitched, still hovering near his skin, and she willed herself to pull away¡ªmove, breathe, do something¡ªbut all she could do was stare.


    A Sovereign Ember. On him.


    Her throat tightened. No one else is supposed to have one.


    And yet, there it was. Burning with quiet, undeniable proof.


    A fifth.


    Her stomach twisted sharply. A chill spread through her limbs.


    Slowly, carefully, she let go of his tunic and leaned back, her breath shallow. She willed herself to keep her face neutral, but her fingers betrayed her¡ªcurling slightly, trembling.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    She swallowed hard.


    "How," she whispered, her voice barely audible, "do you have one of those?"


    He didn¡¯t move.


    Didn¡¯t answer.


    She forced herself to look at him¡ªreally look at him¡ªbut his face was unreadable. Not surprised. Not confused.


    He knew she¡¯d see it.


    Her fingers curled into her lap. Her breathing was too tight.


    This didn¡¯t make sense.


    If he was a Sovereign, she¡¯d know his name. She would have heard of him. The Sovereigns weren¡¯t ghosts, they weren¡¯t unknowns¡ªthey were everything. Dominion lived and died by their rule. Every species across Sennian space was ensured to have the faces of the Sovereigns burned in their minds.


    A fifth Sovereign.


    Her voice was barely steady when she spoke again.


    "Who the hell are you?"


    This time, Rix finally moved. His head tilted slightly, his violet eyes unreadable as they settled on hers.


    The air between them felt thin, stretched, charged with something unseen.


    And when he finally spoke, his voice was quiet.


    Measured.


    "I suggest," he said, "that you stop asking questions."


    Syra leaned back on her heels, standing up, unable to comprehend the man in front of her. "Great. Just...fucking great. I got out of one shit-show and have landed straight back into a another one," she said.


    Without a word, the man stood, moving with a rigid grace that made Syra wonder how he was still on his feet. "Don''t do anything stupid." He said.


    Syra felt the weight of the situation crash down on her. She wasn''t in control, not anymore. She was trapped on her own damn ship, the brand still burning on her arm, and this stranger had no qualms about killing her if she didn''t do what he said.


    Gritting her teeth, she slowly raised her hands, a signal that she wasn''t going to fight him anymore¡ªnot now. "Fine," she said, the word heavy with bitterness.


    He moved to the war table in the center of the ship, reaching into the folds of his strange, tattered clothing and pulled out a small, gleaming object. Syra couldn''t quite see what it was.


    The device shimmered. Then, bloomed.


    It cast a faint glow across the cockpit. Syra''s words died in her throat as she watched. A figure began to materialize, a projected image¡ªhazy, flickering. The man''s attention locked on it immediately.


    Syra stood frozen, unsure of what she was seeing. It looked like a holoview message, but the quality was too real, too lifelike. A mans face spoke in quiet hushed words she couldn''t understand.


    Whatever news he was delivering , this stranger didn''t like. He muttered something under his breath, words Syra didn''t understand. His tone was sharp¡ªangry, filled with tension she could feel even from across the room. His violet eyes were locked on the shimmering light, burning with emotion. His fists clenched at his sides, trembling slightly as the image continued to flicker.


    Then, all at once, a shout of frustration ripped from his throat, echoing through the ship as his hand shot out, swiping at the device. The image vanished instantly, the light blinking out. He cursed again in that same language¡ªangry, raw, almost pleading¡ªand in a sudden motion, he ripped the mask and veil from his face.


    Syra blinked, breath hitching as the veil slipped away and his face came into full view. He was striking in a way that was almost startling handsome¡ªsharp jaw, high cheekbones, skin tinged with a faint, silvery-blue hue that caught the cockpit light like starlight on frost. His eyes were a shade of violet that didn¡¯t belong in the real world¡ªlike starfire caught in amethyst, burning from the inside out. There was nothing soft about them; they weren¡¯t the kind of eyes you got lost in¡ªthey were the kind you crashed into. Electric. Ancient. Too bright for someone who looked like he might bleed out any second.


    Handsome didn¡¯t even begin to cover it.


    For a moment, she forgot what she was supposed to be doing.


    Then something else caught her eye¡ªa faint glint behind his ear. Small, diamond-shaped, barely visible unless you were looking.


    A neural enhancer?


    Syra instinctively reached for her own behind her ear, fingers brushing the familiar round disk. She frowned.


    She¡¯d seen dozens of models across Dominion ranks, Sennian upgrades, black market mods. But she¡¯d never seen one shaped like that.


    She tried to suppress the flush rising to her cheeks, tried to keep her expression neutral, but it was no use. She was momentarily taken off guard by his sudden transformation. But there was no time to dwell on it.


    He staggered, his entire body taut with an unbearable tension. His hand clutched his side, pain evident in the hard lines of his jaw. He threw the device he''d been holding across the floor with a strangled, guttural snarl, the sound full of fury and something deeper, something broken. He leaned heavily against the wall, his breath coming in uneven, ragged gasps.


    "Everything okay?" Syra ventured cautiously, her voice low and tentative.


    His eyes met hers, wild and enraged and he spat out a string of foreign words, his voice cracking, reverberating with rage, but beneath the venom was an unmistakable undercurrent of despair. Syra flinched, despite not understanding, and simply stood there. The words were raw, cutting through the air, heavy with a pain that made her stomach heave.


    Syra raised her hands, palms out in defense, stepping back a little. "Alright, alright." she said, trying to sound calm but unable to mask the concern in her voice.


    But he wasn''t seeing her. He was somewhere else, his fury giving way to something far worse. The rage in his eyes flickered, and his face twisted with a hopelessness that seemed to fracture something inside him. His breathing hitched, and he pressed his hand harder against his side, the physical pain overshadowed by whatever internal devastation he was enduring.


    He let out a strangled sound, screaming enraged as he slammed his fist against the wall. His jaw was set so tight it looked painful, the muscles in his neck and shoulders trembling as if holding back an onslaught of grief.


    Syra''s stomach twisted at the sight of him. The suffocating tension made it hard to breathe, and she felt the weight of his anguish pressing down on them both. She didn''t know what message he''d just received or what it meant, but she could see it had destroyed something inside him.


    He stood with his back to her, unmoving, hands coiled into tight fists, chest heaving.


    She shouldn¡¯t have cared. But something about this situation was starting to make her think maybe he was a victim in all of this.


    She watched him. What was he thinking? She lowered her hands slowly, stepping forward. "Look... I don''t know what you saw, but if we''re gonna make it out of this alive, you''re gonna have to talk to me and tell me what''s going on?"


    For a long moment, he didn''t move. The silence stretched out between them, thick with unspoken words. Then, finally, he exhaled, and then glared at her. "Where are we?" he snapped.


    "We''re in the Yenna system. Outer rim territory. Close to the Sennian system."


    His expression didn''t change but something in his posture did.


    "Sennia still holds dominion over the border planets?"


    "As far as I know."


    He exhaled sharply, dragging a hand down his face. "What about the sovereigns?"


    "What about them?"


    "Who are they?"


    What was with all these questions? How long had he been in that ice? "There''s only the one right now. Unity."


    "Only one? And Unity is reigning?"


    "Yeah¡­" she frowned.


    He didn¡¯t answer immediately. His violet eyes burned into hers, like he was measuring her response¡ªsearching for something in her words. "There have always been four Sovereigns."


    "Well, yeah. But only one rules right now. That¡¯s how it works."


    His expression didn¡¯t shift, but the air in the room did.


    "You¡¯re certain?"


    She rolled her eyes. "Yes, I¡¯m certain. The Reigning Sovereign rules, the other three sleep until they''re needed. They don¡¯t all sit on the throne at once. That would be a disaster."


    "Since when?"


    She narrowed her eyes. "Since always."


    His fingers twitched. Just barely. And he muttered something in that strange language.


    No visible reaction. No obvious emotion. "And what of Valeri Prime?"


    She knew that name. Most old-timers in the Dominion Fleet did, even when others had forgotten. It was a world in a small cluster solar system sitting parallel to the Sennian system. The large blood red Sennian sun grounded both systems. Beyond the reach of most civilized systems, Valeri Prime was a world that had been lost to history after its failed bid for independence. That rebellion had been crushed brutally by the Dominion centuries ago, the battle leaving the planet a dry husk, like that of a desiccated flower. She''d seen it once, sitting in orbit for a mission ¨C it was shown as an example to the trainee cadets of what happened to fallen worlds. The stories that circulated were few and fragmented, but one thing was clear: it was a place of ruin.


    "What about it?" He wasn¡¯t seriously going to try and convince her he was from Valeri Prime, was he?


    His jaw tightened. "Who holds it?"


    She shifted uncomfortably. "The Dominion still owns it. But no one actually lives there."


    He went unnaturally still. "Explain."


    She huffed, crossing her arms. "It¡¯s cursed. Everyone knows that. No one sets foot there unless they¡¯ve got a death wish."


    "Cursed?" he scoffed in disbelief, almost disgust.


    "Yeah, cursed," she scoffed back. "They say monsters roam the ruins. Ships that land don¡¯t come back. You can feel it, even from orbit. The place is wrong."


    "You¡¯re mistaken.¡±


    Syra huffed, exasperated. "Yeah, well unlike you, I''ve been in its orbit so I can vouch from first hand experience."


    He didn¡¯t respond to that. Just studied her¡ªintently, unwavering.


    And that¡¯s when Syra realized¡ª


    He wasn¡¯t arguing.


    He was processing.


    Like someone who had just woken up in a world that no longer matched the one he remembered.


    Whatever world he had come from, whatever message he''d just seen¡ªit was all over. Ruined. She didn''t need to understand the details to know that much. She hesitated, unsure of what to say next. This man¡ªthis stranger¡ªhad just lost everything, and she was stuck here, tangled up in something she didn''t understand.


    "Enter these coordinates." His voice was cold now, detached, as he handed her a data pad with a set of numbers she didn''t recognize at first glance. Syra glanced down at the coordinates, keying them into the ship''s navigation system without much thought¡ªuntil they blinked up on the screen.


    Valeri Prime.


    She blinked, a chill running down her spine. "You''re serious?" she muttered under her breath, trying to keep the alarm from creeping into her voice. "I''m not going anywhere near that gods forsaken planet."


    "I am and you will, vekhri," he said, his voice leaving no room for argument.


    She glanced up at him, standing by the hull window, glaring at her. The grief in his expression was palpable, even though his face remained stony and unreadable. Syra''s fingers hovered over the controls for a moment. "And risk my life, again? Ships that go there don¡¯t come back..."


    "I don''t believe in superstition."


    "Yeah, well I do. And you may be willing to throw yourself head first into the fire but you''re not dragging me down with you."


    He kept his gaze out in the void, no longer angry. Just tired. A deep look of exhaustion that he wasn''t showing her. "I need to see it for myself."


    She didn''t know what to say, what to do¡ªhe was clearly wounded in ways far deeper than she could comprehend. The physical injury she''d patched up was just the surface of the damage.


    She turned back to the controls, her fingers moving over them more slowly now, as if every keystroke was laden with the weight of what they were doing. ¡°This is so fucking stupid.¡±


    And yet, she was taking him there. She shook her head incredulously.


    Syra risked another glance at him. His face now clearly showed the bruises and cuts on his skin casting shadows across his sharp features. But it was his eyes¡ªthe anger, the sorrow behind them¡ªthat made her pause.


    "It''ll take us three days to reach Valeri Prime."


    "Then start flying."


    Syra scoffed and turned back to the console, frowning, "What''s your name, anyway?"


    He stopped what he was doing, clearly reluctant to answer. His posture stiffened slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, he said, "Rix."


    "Rix?" she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "Is that your real name?"


    "It''s what you need to call me."


    Something told her she wouldn''t get much more out of him, and honestly, she wasn''t sure she wanted to know. There was something about Rix¡ªsomething dark and broken¡ªthat made her uneasy. But right now, she was stuck with him, and the only thing she could do was try to survive the next step of whatever this mess was.


    "Fine, Rix," she said, heading toward the pilot''s seat. "First class ticket to being monster chow. Gods...that''s just...great. Anything else, your eminence?"


    "Utilities?'' he said his usual cold exterior still in place but with a hint of weariness in his voice.


    Syra raised an eyebrow. She thought about making a smart comment but refrained, thinking it would probably be best if he cleaned himself up.


    "Crew''s cabin is up a floor," she said, jerking her head toward the ladder that led up to the living quarters. She didn''t bother hiding the skepticism in her voice. "Everything''s there. Towels, bathroom. There are clothes in the locker,¡± the lockers from the crew he forced her to leave behind, ¡°try not to get lost."


    As Rix began to make his way slowly through the door, Syra''s thoughts wandered to the Renwick and the rest of his team. She still had no clue what had happened to them inside the mine, but the memory of the Commander''s voice, panicked and crackling with static, lingered in the back of her mind. Despite her history for the Dominion, part of her wondered if they were okay. Probably not. She figured the odds weren''t in their favor, but she shoved the thought away. She just hoped the lifepod ship she dropped for them was helpful.


    Rix had been standing near the galley, his rigid posture a little looser than before. Syra could tell he was exhausted¡ªhis injuries, the stress, the blood loss.


    She was watching him out of the corner of her eye, only half paying attention as she adjusted their course. She wasn¡¯t about to ask if he was okay¡ªhe¡¯d made it clear he didn¡¯t want her concern, and truth be told, she wasn¡¯t even sure she had any to spare.


    When he didn¡¯t move, she looked sideways at him in confusion. He¡¯d stopped at the doorway, his hand steadying against the doorframe, before his body wavered.


    And then, without a word, he collapsed.


    ¡°Oh, shit¡ª¡±


    Syra shot out of her seat, her heart lurching as Rix¡¯s body hit the floor with a heavy thud.


    She reached him in seconds, skidding to her knees beside him. His skin was damp with sweat, his breathing shallow and erratic. She pressed her fingers to his neck, feeling the weak, rapid thrum of his pulse.


    ¡°Damn it.¡± She exhaled sharply, pushing aside the irritation rising in her chest. ¡°You really don¡¯t know when to quit, do you?¡±


    She grabbed the med scanner from the supply compartment and pressed it to his wrist. The screen flickered with readings¡ªhis blood pressure had tanked, his body was in shock, and his core temperature had dropped dangerously low.


    Syra frowned. This wasn¡¯t just exhaustion. His body was shutting down.


    She stared down at him. The haunting thought of letting him perish naturally just didn''t sit right with her.


    Her hands tightened into fists. She didn¡¯t like him¡ªhell, she was barely tolerating him¡ªbut she wasn¡¯t about to let him die on her ship.


    Muttering a curse, she hooked her arms under his shoulders, straining under his weight as she dragged him toward the nearest bunk. He was heavier than he looked, all lean muscle and dead weight, and her arms burned as she pulled the narrow mattress off the bunk and onto the floor. There was no way she was lifting him off the ground.


    His head lolled to the side, his white hair damp against his forehead.


    Syra clenched her jaw and reached for the emergency stim. It wasn¡¯t meant for trauma like this¡ªit was designed for post-cryo shock, dehydration, metabolic crashes¡ªbut it was the strongest thing she had. High-dose electrolytes, glucose, neural stabilizers¡­it might be enough to keep him from tipping over the edge.


    She pressed the injector to the muscle of his shoulder, thumbed the release, and fired.


    The device hissed softly, delivering the mix directly into his bloodstream.


    The stim wouldn¡¯t fix him¡ªnot by a long shot¡ªbut with any luck, it would buy her time.


    Time she really shouldn¡¯t be spending on someone who had put her in cuffs.


    And yet, here she was.


    Rix didn¡¯t stir.


    Syra sat back on her heels, exhaling sharply. She rubbed a hand down her face, the weight of everything pressing down on her.


    His breathing was shallow. Labored. But consistent.


    Barely.


    She stood, joints protesting from the strain of dragging him across the damn ship, and wiped her hands on her pants. He wasn¡¯t bleeding out anymore, and the stim would keep him from flatlining¡ªfor now.


    It¡¯d have to be enough.


    She crossed the medbay in a few stiff steps and opened the storage compartment. Pulled a thermal blanket out one-handed and tossed it over him, half-heartedly straightening it just enough to keep him from freezing.


    Then she grabbed a sealed water pouch from the dispenser and dropped it on the floor beside the mattress with a dull thud.


    ¡°That¡¯s it,¡± she muttered. ¡°You¡¯re on your own now.¡±


    She gave him one last glance. His face was pale, expression slack, the cut near his collarbone still faintly seeping. He didn¡¯t look like a soldier. He barely looked like a person.


    Syra sighed.


    Not her problem.


    She stepped out, let the medbay door seal shut behind her, and headed back toward the cockpit without looking back.


    No more stims. No bedside watch. No handholding.


    He could live or not. Either way, she was done.


    However, her conscious wouldn¡¯t let her rest.


    Thirty minutes later she stood in the corridor, arms crossed, staring at the closed door like it had personally offended her. Then, with a muttered curse, she stepped inside.


    The medbay lights were dim, pulsing softly above Rix¡¯s unmoving form. He hadn¡¯t shifted from where she¡¯d dumped him¡ªface pale, hair damp, lips colorless.


    Syra exhaled through her nose and crossed the room.


    She didn¡¯t say anything. Just picked up the vitals scanner, ran it across his neck again.


    BP: Low.


    Neural activity: stable.


    Temp: 35.2¡ãC.


    ¡°Still alive,¡± she said under her breath, more to fill the silence than anything else.


    She set the scanner down and looked at him¡ªreally looked this time.


    He didn¡¯t seem so dangerous now. Not sprawled out like that, not with that wince on his face even in unconsciousness. She had seen soldiers like this before. After battle. After failure. There was a weight in their bodies when they stopped pretending they could carry it.


    She rubbed the back of her neck, uncomfortable. This wasn¡¯t her job anymore. She wasn¡¯t a captain. Not a medic. Not a damn caregiver for a stranger who¡¯d held a blade to her throat hours ago.


    Still, she reached for a clean cloth, wet it, and gently wiped the sweat and dried blood from his temple. His skin twitched at the contact, but he didn¡¯t wake.


    ¡°This is so stupid,¡± she muttered. ¡°You don¡¯t even want my help.¡±


    She tossed the cloth into the bin and stood there for a beat, arms hanging loose at her sides. Then she crossed to the wall and grabbed a sealed water pouch from the rack. She hesitated¡ªthen placed it on the table beside him.


    Just in case.


    Not because she cared. Just because it was protocol. That¡¯s what she told herself.


    As she turned to go, her eyes caught on the faint rise and fall of his chest.


    Syra paused at the doorway, one hand resting on the frame.


    ¡°You¡¯re not my responsibility,¡± she said quietly. ¡°Don¡¯t make me regret giving a shit.¡±


    She left without waiting for an answer. The door hissed shut behind her, sealing him in with the quiet.


    Syra slumped into the pilot¡¯s seat with a grunt, the console lights washing her face in soft blue. She didn¡¯t touch the controls right away. Just stared out the viewport at the stars streaking by, watching them blur like rain on glass.


    The ship hummed around her, steady. Unbothered.


    Unlike her.


    She ran a hand through her hair, pushing it back from her face, then leaned forward with her elbows on her knees. Her muscles ached. Her wrists were still sore from the cuffs. Her chest felt too tight, like she hadn¡¯t exhaled properly since the moment he collapsed.


    Not your problem.


    She¡¯d repeated it so many times now it had started to feel like a prayer. Or a warning.


    Syra reached forward and tapped a few commands into the nav system. The course to Valeri Prime was holding steady. Three days out. Maybe less if she pushed the engines. Maybe more if he died on her floor and she had to haul the body into the airlock.


    She dragged in a slow breath and let it out, long and quiet.


    Her eyes flicked to the system monitor. One medical feed still blinked faintly in the corner¡ªhis vitals, linked to the medbay.


    She reached to switch it off.


    Paused.


    Then didn¡¯t.


    Instead, she minimized the window and left it running in the background.


    Syra leaned back in her seat, arms crossed, and closed her eyes. Just for a second.


    She wasn¡¯t checking on him.


    She just¡­ wanted to know if she¡¯d have a corpse to deal with in the morning.


    That was all.


    Right?

 6 | Valeri Prime

    The ship''s engines hummed low as Syra guided it through the dense atmosphere of Valeri Prime, a planet long thought to be nothing more than ash and ruin.


    She shifted uncomfortably, shooting glances at Rix, who remained silent and focused, his violet eyes locked on the console in front of him. His jaw was set, tension rippling through his every movement as if the very air of the planet angered him.


    Instead, she had sat in silence, watching the crimson clouds swirl like angry storms as they descended onto the surface. Now, as the ship slowed and hovered just above the ground, she could make out the remnants of a massive city, crumbling towers and twisted metal structures emerging like the bones of long-dead giants.


    The ground was a barren wasteland, littered with the skeletal remains of ancient, crumbling structures¡ªmassive, silent witnesses to a forgotten time. And there, in the distance, stood a colossal megalithic structure, towering and ominous. It was old, abandoned, and desolate, half in ruins, but still standing. Syra''s gut twisted. She''d been on her fair share of desolate planets, but this one took the cake. This place wasn''t right.


    As the ship touched down, she felt the faintest tremor beneath her feet. The ship''s systems hummed quietly, as if reluctant to be here. Syra glanced back at the man, but he was already moving, heading for the exit ramp.


    "Wait, what are you¡ª"


    He didn''t bother with a breathing apparatus ¨C he pressed the diamond shaped enhancer below his ear and a mask materialised crystalline threads that formed and covered the lower half of his face. Syra frowned, grabbing her own breathing mask and hurriedly strapping it on before following him out. The moment she stepped onto the planet''s surface, she felt it¡ªthe heavy, oppressive weight of the atmosphere. It was suffocating, the kind of place that made your skin crawl.


    "Listen," she said, quickening her pace to catch up with him, "I really don''t think I should come with you. I''ll stay here, I promise. I won''t leave without you¡ª"


    Before she could finish, he spun, grabbing her wrist and clicked the cuffs back onto her wrists and pulling her along with him. Syra stumbled forward, barely able to keep pace. "Hey!" she protested, trying to yank her arm free. "You don''t have to drag me around like a ragdoll!"


    He rolled his eyes and groaned. His words came out harsh and sharp, foreign and filled with irritation.


    Syra shot him a sideways glare, her hand fumbling with the mask over her face. "You''re a real asshole, I hope you know that."


    He didn''t respond, just kept pulling her toward the massive structure, his grip firm but not painful. As they neared it, Syra felt her nerves on edge. The closer they got, the more she could feel the eerie stillness of the place, like the air itself was holding its breath.


    The man''s pace never faltered, even as the ruins loomed larger in front of them. Whatever he was after, whatever had drawn him to this forsaken world, Syra could tell it wasn''t going to be pleasant.


    As they reached the base of the massive, crumbling structure, the man stopped and pulled out the small device he''d used earlier. On closer inspection, she realised she''d never seen a device like it. It had no parts, it was as smooth as a stone but golden in colour. A soft, shimmering light projected from it, forming a vivid image of the structure in its prime. Syra''s eyes widened as she took in the sight. The once towering stone monument, now draped in decay and dust, had once been vibrant, surrounded by lush greenery and life. It was unrecognizable.


    The air had been thick with vegetation, not the desolation that now pressed in on all sides. Green, she thought, almost incredulously. It was hard to imagine the desert sand she was standing in was once forest.


    "What exactly are we doing here?" Syra asked, her voice edged with frustration. Her gut was screaming at her to get back to the ship.


    The man''s violet eyes, still half-veiled by the remnants of his cloth, flickered toward her briefly. "The inner sanctum." he said, his tone calmer than before, though tinged with something darker. "There''s something I must retrieve."


    Syra''s brows furrowed. "Retrieve?" She glanced around at the eerie ruins, then back at him. "From this place?"


    Her feet dragged as he led her further inside, her every instinct telling her to turn .


    She had faced plenty of dangerous situations before, but this felt different. There was a stillness here, an eerie weight that seemed to press down on her chest.


    The man pressed on, his steps determined, his grip firm. "I said¡ª"


    "I know what you said," she cut in, trying to calm herself but failing miserably. "I''d rather not be monster food."


    "The ship detected no life."


    Syra glared at his back but didn''t resist. "Well, maybe they''re not alive. Maybe they''re machines."


    "So you''ve never even seen one?" Rix scoffed.


    "I don''t need to see them to know that they''re here. And from what I''ve heard, I''d rather not ever see them in person. You think you''re the first person in a century to try and pillage the surface? Please. Smugglers have been telling this story for decades."


    The cuffs clinked together as they trudged toward the massive structure ahead. It towered over them, black and gleaming in the dim light of the planet''s sun. The architecture was sleek, towering, almost Dominion, with massive archways and wide weathered paths. What would''ve been large pillars, twisted with vines and decay from years of abandonment. Syra couldn''t shake the feeling that they were being watched, though every window they passed seemed empty, dark and void of life.


    Rix moved with purpose, his steps never faltering as they approached the entrance of the towering complex. The doors creaked open with a slow, mechanical groan, revealing a dark cavernous hallway that made Syra''s skin crawl. She hesitated at the threshold, peering into the gloom. The halls were narrow but stretched upward into impossible heights, the walls slick with a strange, bioluminescent moss that glowed an eerie green. Shadows danced in the corners, and the low hum of machinery echoed from deep within the structure.


    "Hells..." Syra whispered, half to herself, "you really are gonna make me go in there aren''t you?"


    Rix ignored her again, yanking her forward into the hall. "If I''m going in, you''re going in." The moment they crossed the threshold, a low, mechanical hum reverberated through the walls, as if the building itself was waking from a century-long sleep.


    "Can you at least uncuff me? I''d like a chance to get away if we get attacked by something."


    "No."


    She groaned.


    They walked in silence, their footsteps echoing in the hollow chamber. The deeper they went, the more oppressive the air became. Syra felt as though the walls were closing in, and every corner seemed to hide something sinister. She kept glancing over her shoulder, half expecting to see a pair of glowing eyes staring back at her from the shadows.


    "Where are we going?" she demanded, struggling to keep her voice steady.


    Rix didn''t answer. His jaw was clenched so tight Syra thought his teeth might shatter. His eyes flicked from wall to wall, always alert, as if he were waiting for something. Or someone.


    Suddenly, a low growl rumbled from the darkness ahead, freezing Syra in place. The sound was unlike anything she''d ever heard¡ªdeep and guttural, like the growl of a beast that didn''t belong on any planet. She felt Rix tense beside her, his hand instinctively reaching for the weapon strapped to his thigh.


    "By the fucking Sovereign, I told you!" Syra''s voice was an angry whisper, her eyes wide as she scanned the hall ahead.


    "Quiet." Rix snapped, but his grip tightened on her arm, pulling her back against the wall. His eyes were locked ahead, and when the growl came again, closer this time, Syra felt the ground tremble beneath her feet. Her breaths came out in short quick bursts, heart quickening with fear.


    Then, from the darkness, it appeared.


    A massive creature, easily twice the size of a man, slunk into view walking on four muscled scaled legs. Its body was covered in thick, jagged armor plates that shifted as it moved and its eyes¡ªlizard, predatory eyes¡ªlocked onto them with unblinking hunger. Its long, spiked tail swished behind it, and its teeth, razor-sharp and glistening, dripped with a dark, viscous liquid.


    White hot dread was like molten lava all over her body. Her body went statue still. Prey in the presence of a predator. "Oh, no," Syra muttered, her heart hammering in her chest. "No, no, no..."


    Rix, still calm and collected, muttered something in Valeri, unholstered his blaster with one slow smooth motion, but he didn''t fire. Not yet. The beast let out another growl, this time louder, a warning that rattled the walls around them.


    The air was thick with tension. The beast sniffed the air, taking a slow, menacing step toward them. Syra''s breath caught in her throat, her eyes darting to Rix, who remained steady, his blaster aimed directly at the creature''s head.


    "Get ready to run," Rix muttered under his breath, barely loud enough for Syra to hear.


    She didn''t need to be told twice.


    The beast''s muscles coiled, its eyes narrowing as it prepared to strike. And then, without warning, it lunged.


    Syra barely had time to scream as Rix shoved her to the side, his blaster firing in rapid succession. Her body hit the ground, hard. The world tilted on its side and an awful, guttural snarling filled the air. The shots hit the beast in the shoulder, sending a spray of sparks into the air, but the creature didn''t stop. It roared in fury, swiping its massive, clawed hand at Rix, who dodged just in time, rolling to the side and firing again. Everything moved so quickly. Syra didn''t even look back as she scrambled to her feet and bolted down the hall. She didn''t look back, didn''t dare. Her heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all sound as if she were submerged in water, her breath coming in ragged panicked gasps as she ran, the cuffs on her wrists clanking with every step.


    The walls blurred around her as she sprinted through the dark corridors, as if she were trapped in a nightmare. What the hell was she doing here? Why had this idiot brought her along? She didn''t even know his name, and now she was running for her life from some war beast that shouldn''t even exist anymore.


    She skidded around a corner, her boots slipping on the slick floor, and nearly crashed into a metal door. Frantically, she tugged at the latch, but it wouldn''t budge. "Come on, come on!" she hissed, her fingers fumbling as she tried to pry it open.


    Behind her, she heard the creature''s roar again, followed by the rapid shots of Rix''s blaster. He was still fighting. Still buying her time.


    With one final tug, the door gave way, and Syra tumbled inside, slamming it shut behind her. She pressed her back against it, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath.


    The eerie silence that followed was almost worse than the battle itself. Syra spun around to the open room, eyes darting around frantically. She stopped dead in her tracks. In front of her, a massive pile of humanoid remains. Syra gasped, her brain not quite processing the s pressed her ear against the door, listening, heart pounding as the sounds of the beast''s roars faded into the distance. There was no telling what had happened to Rix, but she had to know. She had to see if he was still alive.


    Taking a deep breath, she grasped the handle, wincing at the cold metal against her skin, and slowly, cautiously, pulled the door open. The dim light from the corridor spilled into the small room, casting long shadows across the floor. She squinted, her pulse racing, and peered into the hallway.


    For a brief moment, she saw nothing¡ªjust the dark, endless hall stretching ahead. Then, without warning, a figure stepped out of the shadows, making her jump. Rix.


    Blood covered him¡ªsplattered across his face, smeared down his arms, and soaking his clothes¡ªbut he was standing, breathing hard and steady. His expression was unreadable, his violet eyes still sharp, still alert despite the carnage he''d just endured.


    Syra exhaled in relief, her tense shoulders dropping. "Thank the gods, you¡ª"


    Before she could finish, something moved behind him. A flash of movement, a blur of black and silver, and then Rix was yanked back violently, his body slamming into the ground with a sickening thud. He didn''t even have time to react before he was being dragged down the corridor, his plasma gun slipping from his grasp and clattering to the floor.


    Syra''s breath hitched, her heart seizing in her chest. "Rix!" she screamed, eyes wide with terror. She watched in horror as his body was dragged further into the darkness, the beast''s monstrous growl echoing through the hall.


    "Unlock me!" she screamed, her voice shrill with panic. Her mind raced as she tugged at the cuffs, knowing she was powerless unless she was free.


    To her shock, the cuffs clicked off as if responding to her command. She rubbed her raw wrists for only a split second before her instincts kicked in. She dove for the plasma gun lying on the floor, her fingers fumbling with it. The gun felt unfamiliar in her hands¡ªheavier, sleeker than anything she had used before. This wasn''t some standard Dominion-issue blaster. This was high-grade tech, cutting-edge, and expensive. The kind of weapon you''d expect from someone like him.


    She crouched low, her breath coming fast as she tried to remember how to handle a gun like this. She hadn''t fired a weapon in a long time, but muscle memory took over. She checked the charge, noting it was nearly full, and flicked off the safety with a quiet click. The hall around her felt suffocating, her senses heightened as adrenaline coursed through her.


    Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    In the distance, she could still hear Rix struggling, the beast''s snarls growing louder. There was no time. She gripped the plasma gun tightly, her fingers steady despite the fear gnawing at her insides. The glow from the gun''s barrel cast an eerie light on the hallway as she cautiously made her way toward the direction Rix had been dragged.


    The corridor twisted and turned, every shadow playing tricks on her mind. She had no idea what awaited her at the end of this, but there was no turning back. Not now.


    She rounded a corner and froze. The beast was there¡ªmassive, hulking, its back covered in jagged armor plates. It had Rix pinned against the wall, its claws digging into his leg, trying to tear him apart. Blood oozed from the wounds, and though Rix was struggling, it was clear he was weakening. His violet eyes flickered with pain, but still, he didn''t cry out. He just glared at the creature with a fury that seemed to burn from deep within him.


    Syra''s breath caught in her throat. She couldn''t hesitate. She aimed the plasma gun at the creature''s exposed flank, where its armor plates didn''t quite meet, and pulled the trigger.


    A bright, blinding bolt of energy shot from the barrel, hitting the beast with a deafening crack. It roared in agony, rearing back and releasing its hold on Rix. The creature turned, its glowing eyes locking onto Syra. For a moment, she thought it might charge at her, its fury unrelenting. But then, with a final snarl, Rix''s sword sliced through it''s neck. Syra gasped, eyes flicking to Rix''s. Her hands shook as she lowered the weapon, the reality of what had just happened sinking in.


    Syra opened her mouth and Rix held up a hand silencing her. "i don''t want to hear it."


    "Next time you''ll listen to me or you''ll get us both killed."


    Rix shifted slightly, wincing as he did. "Can you... walk?"


    She scoffed, half-smiling. "You''re the one who got ripped apart. I''ll help you."


    Despite the pain, Rix nodded. "Then let''s move... before more come back."


    As they moved deeper into the crumbling ruins of the temple, Syra watched as the man examined the worn stone walls, seemingly searching for something. His movements were precise, as though he knew exactly what he was looking for. He stopped suddenly, fingers tracing a set of grooves hidden beneath centuries of dust and decay. With a push, a concealed panel clicked open, revealing a small alcove that had remained untouched by time or the Empire''s invasion.


    Inside lay an intricately designed artifact, gleaming faintly even in the dim light. It looked ancient, alien¡ªsomething that didn''t belong in this world of ruin. Rix took it carefully, holding it with the kind of reverence Syra had only seen in those who had lost everything. Whatever this thing was, it meant more to him than she could fathom.


    Without a word, he turned and began leading her back out of the temple. Syra followed reluctantly, her mind racing with questions. Once they reached the Nebula, she wasted no time.


    "Can I go home now?" she asked, leaning against the wall of the ship as they prepared for takeoff.


    Rix paused, his back to her as he secured the artifact. His silence made her uneasy.


    "No," he finally said, his voice low and firm. He didn''t turn to face her but hesitated before asking, "Where is home for you?"


    "The scattered weave on the Eastern plains of Aralia," she replied, not sure why she was telling him but figuring it didn''t matter. He probably wouldn''t even know where that was.


    He nodded slowly, though she couldn''t tell if he actually recognized the place. The silence stretched on, awkward and heavy, before she finally asked the question that had been gnawing at her since they met.


    "What''s your name, anyway?"


    He stopped what he was doing, clearly reluctant to answer. His posture stiffened slightly, and for a moment, she thought he might refuse. But then, in a voice that was much softer than before, he said, "Rix."


    "Rix?" she repeated, testing the name on her tongue. "Is that your real name?"


    His violet eyes flashed toward her, still guarded. "It''s what you need to call me."


    Syra rolled her eyes but didn''t press. Something told her she wouldn''t get much more out of him, and honestly, she wasn''t sure she wanted to know. There was something about Rix¡ªsomething dark and broken¡ªthat made her uneasy. But right now, she was stuck with him, and the only thing she could do was try to survive the next step of whatever this mess was.


    "Fine, Rix," she said, heading toward the pilot''s seat. "Where are we headed next?"


    Rix didn''t answer, his focus still on the artifact clutched in his hand, his mind clearly elsewhere. She sighed, looking out the ship''s viewport at the desolate landscape of Valeri Prime. A ruined world, like so many others left in the wake of the Empire.


    But whatever Rix had just retrieved, it felt bigger than either of them. And she had a sinking feeling that she was about to get pulled into something far beyond her control. He gave her a set of coordinates.


    Rix stood in front of Syra, his usual cold exterior still in place but with a hint of weariness in his voice. "Utilities?"


    Syra raised an eyebrow, crossing her arms over her chest. "Crew''s cabin is up a floor," she said, jerking her head toward the ladder that led up to the living quarters. She didn''t bother hiding the skepticism in her voice. "Everything''s there. Towels, bathroom. There are clothes in the locker. Try not to get lost."


    As Rix made his way up the ladder, Syra''s thoughts wandered to the Dominion s. She still had no clue what had happened to them inside the mine, but the memory of the Commander''s voice, panicked and crackling with static, lingered in the back of her mind. Despite her hatred for the Dominion s, part of her wondered if they were okay. Probably not. She figured the odds weren''t in their favor, but she shoved the thought away. She just hoped the lifepod ship she dropped for them was helpful. They''d left her with no choice but to help Rix.


    The ship hummed quietly around her as she waited, leaning against the control panel. She glanced at the chrono, drumming her fingers impatiently.


    When Rix finally returned, Syra froze. Gone was the blood-streaked, veiled stranger she''d hauled onto her ship. He looked... normal. Human, almost, except for his sharp, violet eyes that caught the dim lighting of the cabin. His almost white hair was damp from the shower, his skin scrubbed clean of the grime from the temple. He had on a simple shirt and pants that were left in the crew cabin¡ªclothes that didn''t quite belong to him but somehow fit perfectly.


    Syra swallowed, trying to keep her expression neutral, but the effort was laughable. He looked damn near edible, and she had to force herself not to flush under the intensity of his presence. Her eyes darted away quickly, pretending to focus on the ship''s readouts.


    "You look... different," she muttered, trying to keep her tone casual.


    He glanced at her with those unreadable violet eyes, not responding. He was still the same Rix¡ªcold, distant¡ªbut somehow he looked more approachable, less of the battle-hardened mystery she''d dragged off Valeri Prime. He leaned against the wall, crossing his arms, making it impossible for Syra not to notice how those simple clothes hung off his frame in all the right ways.


    She cleared her throat, forcing herself to focus. "So, what now? You gonna tell me what your grand plan is, or are you just gonna keep brooding in my ship?"


    Rix didn''t answer immediately, his gaze fixed on the floor as if deep in thought. Finally, he looked up at her, his expression unreadable as always.


    "First, we rest," he said simply. His voice was calmer, almost human, but still carried that same intensity. "Then, we talk."


    Syra nodded, not trusting herself to say more without giving away how much he was getting under her skin. She tried to shake it off, reminding herself who she was dealing with. But something about Rix, clean and looking strangely vulnerable for the first time, had shifted the dynamic between them¡ªand she wasn''t sure how she felt about that.


    She stood up and headed toward the cockpit, needing the distraction of steering the ship through the silence of space. But no matter how hard she tried to focus, the image of him¡ªshowered, calm, and a little too attractive for her own good¡ªstayed with her.


    Syra sat in the cockpit, her feet propped up on the control panel as she stared out into the vastness of space. The stars blurred slightly in the distance as the ship continued its steady course. She leaned back, trying to settle into the quiet, but her mind kept replaying the events of the past few hours¡ªshe''d been too close to losing her life. Somehow the realization hadn''t quite sunk in. It was surreal. She''d been in life and death situations before but that was another thing entirely. This was purely improvised. Thank the Gods¡ª


    Suddenly, the ship jolted violently, throwing her forward. She cursed, gripping the armrests as alarms blared through the Nebula''s cabin.


    "What the hell are you doing back there?!" she shouted, her voice echoing through the ship''s comms.


    A moment later, the ship stabilized, the vibrations smoothing out into a dull hum.


    "Pulling out the Dominion tracker," Rix''s voice came through, calm as ever. "They don''t need to know where we''re going yet."


    Syra blinked, her heartbeat still racing. "The tracker? Felt like you ripped out the engine wires."


    Rix didn''t respond immediately, and for a moment, the only sound was the quiet hum of the ship''s engines. She adjusted her seat, running her hands through her hair as she tried to steady herself.


    "Where are we going?" she asked, more calmly this time, though her irritation was still clear.


    Rix''s silence hung heavy over the comms. He wasn''t ignoring her, she could tell¡ªhe just wasn''t ready to answer.


    "You have a breach in the hull," his voice finally crackled back. "I''m going to fix it."


    Syra''s eyes widened. "What breach?" She spun in her seat, checking the systems. She hadn''t noticed anything out of the ordinary. "I don''t have any¡ª"


    Rix''s voice remained infuriatingly calm. "It''s small, but it''ll get worse. You want the air pressure to drop?"


    Syra grumbled, checking the readouts again just to be sure. She hated how he could spot things before she did, especially on her ship. "Fine," she muttered, though she didn''t like the idea of him messing with the hull. "Just... don''t make things worse. I can''t afford a full repair, and I definitely can''t survive in a vacuum."


    His response was a simple, noncommittal grunt, the comms cutting off with a soft click. She leaned back in her seat again, glaring at the dashboard as if it were somehow responsible for all of her problems.


    A few minutes passed in relative silence, save for the occasional clank from the back of the ship. Syra was trying to calm down, but her nerves were still rattled from the sudden jolt. She flicked a switch on the console to check the internal systems again, making sure nothing else was out of place.


    Rix''s voice crackled over the comms. "Whoever did the wiring for this back panel¡ª" He paused, and she could practically hear the disdain in his tone. "¡ªdid a shit job."


    Syra''s eyes narrowed. "I did, jackass."


    There was a beat of silence before he responded. "You did a terrible job."


    Syra''s frown deepened. She spun around in her chair, glaring at the comms as if she could burn him through the connection. "Excuse me? I''ll have you know I rewired that panel myself in under three minutes after we took a hit from the asteroid field that you told me not to worry about. Three minutes and the ship was stable, that should be a record. I kept this ship flying when it should''ve been scrap metal."


    "Yeah, well, it''s a miracle you didn''t blow yourself up," Rix replied, his tone maddeningly casual.


    Syra huffed, crossing her arms. "I didn''t hear you complaining when this ship pulled you out of that mess back there."


    "True," Rix said, "but that doesn''t change the fact that it''s still a terrible wiring job."


    She muttered under her breath, biting back a string of curses. "Well, why don''t you go ahead and fix it, then, since you''re such an expert."


    "I already am," he said with that infuriating calmness.


    Syra scowled and leaned back in her seat. "Whatever."


    There was no response, just the distant sound of Rix working. Syra let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through her hair. What the hell had she gotten herself into?


    The inside of the temple was even worse than the outside¡ªmassive stones toppled over each other, the remnants of ancient battles and forgotten civilizations. The air was stale, and every step felt like they were trespassing on something long abandoned but not quite forgotten.


    "Hey, uh, listen," she said, pulling against his grip just enough to make him stop for a moment. "Maybe you can go in, get your thing, and I''ll just...stay out here? You know, where it''s a little less creepy?"


    He gave her a sharp look but said nothing, tugging her along again, ignoring her reluctance.


    Syra''s protests grew louder as they crossed the threshold of the ancient doorway, her nerves buzzing. "Seriously, there''s a reason people avoid it." Her voice grew more frantic, but it didn''t stop him.


    They were deep inside now, the dim light casting long shadows on the crumbling stone walls. Syra''s heart raced.


    Add in scene where Syra sees a room full of ancient littered corpses and bones. She doesn''t tell Rix. He finds them?