Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Created By:

Dana Terrace

Written By:

TonyArts05

Illustrated By:

.Radiated_OxiClean.

Pan-aria

snoozeberrymuffins

Coolkid99880

Chapter Text

Prologue

Two Months Later...

Two months had passed since the harrowing events of Into The Cosmos, and the galaxy had grown colder for the fugitives aboard The Donati. Time had not dulled the memory of what had transpired—if anything, it had sharpened it, etched it into their bones. Luz Noceda, King Clawthorne, Atlas—the once-mighty Collector—and the Illustrian rogue Hesperos Holmes had become little more than phantoms in the systems they're situated in. Heroes turned fugitives, as their names carried an edge of fear and bitter betrayal. Their faces flashed across every known terminal and bounty hub, replicated in grainy wanted posters and holographic alerts with ever-increasing reward figures. Each image was paired with damning descriptions: Dangerous. Armed. Treasonous. Potential Reality Disruptors. In markets and cantinas, in starports and sensor grids, they were whispered about like myths—ghosts who slipped through wormholes, who crossed solar boundaries in the blink of an eye, always one step ahead of justice. Or so the propaganda claimed. In truth, there was no justice left to run from, only survival.

Behind every headline and every posted bounty loomed a far darker force: The Grand Huntsman. Dispatched by Orion, the Huntsman was not a bounty hunter in the traditional sense. He was a myth rendered flesh, a nightmare whispered into existence from the Archive Tower itself. Cloaked in a flowing mantle of cosmic fabric and star-forged armor, he bore no name, no face, only purpose—single-minded and absolute. His objective was not Luz, nor even Atlas. It was King, as he is the last Titan. His orders were brutal and unrelenting: eliminate the final living Titan, recover the Celestine Compass, and silence the anomaly before the convergence could begin. For the Archivists, King's survival was a loose thread in their tightly woven tapestry of order but for the Huntsman, it was personal. He remembered the war ages ago, when Titans and his people clashed in a battle of magic and belief. He had seen comrades fall under Titan claws and had watched in horror as magic twisted and fractured reality. The extinction of the Titans had been, to him, a necessary purge. That one had survived was an insult, an unfinished sentence. King was a threat not only to the Archivists' order and their ambitions but to the Huntsman's pride. Now, with the Celestine Compass stolen, and the final Titan in hiding, the chase had escalated into a galactic game of cat and mouse.

The fugitives could no longer afford the luxury of respite. No star system was safe. No backwater moon or silent asteroid belt could hide them for long. They changed routes frequently, sometimes mid-flight, erasing their ion trails, modifying their signatures, and relying on Hesperos's deep knowledge of cosmic cartography to stay one jump ahead.

Every few days, The Donati would drop out of warp travel in a new power down all nonessential systems, and drift like space debris, silent and invisible in the cold expanse. These pauses were moments to catch their breath and to recalibrate but they never lasted long. There was always a ping, a patrol, a coded transmission intercepted. Always the Huntsman's shadow, just a breath away.

Luz had started dreaming about him. In her sleep, she saw stars bleeding into black, heard the hum of his blade, and felt the weight of cosmic judgment pressing down on her lungs. She would wake in a cold sweat, reaching for her staff, while her mind raced with escape scenarios. And every time she looked at King—smaller than he should be, brave beyond measure—she felt her resolve harden. She knew that they couldn't fight like this, as their only choice was to run but they wouldn't run forever.

Atlas had once been a cosmic force—a celestial child capable of warping the fabric of space with a flick of his wrist, a Collector with boundless power and immortality built into every fiber of his being. However now, two months after the disastrous confrontation with the Archivists, that spark was gone. His powers drained, stolen, extinguished. The Archivists hadn't just taken his magic. They'd taken something deeper: his confidence, his agency, his sense of safety. What remained was a child stranded between godhood and humanity, stumbling through a reality that felt colder and heavier with every passing day.

At first, Atlas struggled to function. There were days he refused to speak and nights when he would wake up screaming in shared quarters aboard The Donati, drenched in sweat, the sound of the Archive Tower's humming walls still ringing in his ears. The phantom sensation of his Collector powers, once second nature, haunted him like a phantom limb. He'd reach out, instinctively, to summon a portal or levitate an object, only to be reminded of the void where his magic used to be. He was no longer a being of limitless power. He was just... Atlas, although he wasn't alone.

Luz, King, and Hesperos never let him fall far. They picked him up, not with platitudes, but with purpose. Luz began to train him practical, physical, and emotional resilience. They sparred in the cargo hold, practiced evasive maneuvers in zero-gravity simulations, and taught him how to adapt to hand-to-hand combat. Hesperos showed him how to leverage his regained super strength, helping Atlas rediscover the power still coiled in his muscles and bones. And for King? King just sat with him. On the quiet nights, when the stars flickered outside the viewport like dying embers, he would curl beside Atlas and let the silence say what words couldn't. Even so, the loss changed Atlas in ways none of them could fully anticipate.

He became clingy—not in a childish way, but in a way born from deep, rooted fear. Fear of abandonment and being left behind if he couldn't keep up. The trauma of being torn from his siblings, imprisoned, and drained had left scars deeper than magic could ever reach. He began carrying with him three deeply personal items, symbols of connection he clung to like lifelines. The first was a crude but heartfelt drawing of himself, Luz, and King—smiling together under a sketched sun, with The Owl House in the background. The second was a small clay snake sculpture Luz had crafted for him during one of their shared story nights, an attempt to replicate the protective staff Eda once wielded. The third was Francois, King's beloved plush, now shared and cherished between the two of them. Atlas rarely let any of them out of reach, tucking them into his cloak or under his pillow depending on where they docked for the night. He refused to sleep alone, as the empty silence of isolation was too reminiscent of the Archive Tower.

So the trio—Luz, King, and Atlas—shared quarters, often squeezing together into the same bed aboard The Donati. They found comfort in proximity, a fragile sense of peace in knowing they were still together and alive. It became their routine, their sanctuary. Whenever the horrors of the galaxy loomed too close, whenever nightmares gripped one of them too tightly, they turned to each other.

Through it all, Luz bore a silent weight. She had been the one to lead them into the battle where Atlas lost his powers. She had seen it happen, she had watched as he was restrained, drained, and nearly broken while she fought to free him. She had failed. That guilt ate away at her day by day. She didn't speak of it often, but it lingered in her actions, how often she checked the ship's defenses, how she triple-scanned the sectors they entered, and how fiercely she insisted on taking patrol duty with Hesperos. She blamed herself not only for Atlas's loss, but for King's capture, and for not stopping Orion when she had the chance. His voice still echoed in her thoughts, chilling and absolute as he spoke of the convergence, an apocalyptic event he had no intention of preventing. That word alone haunted her within her soul.

In her mind's eye, she saw countless stars extinguish, felt the fabric of the realms begin to buckle. She had battled many foes—Belos, the Collector, even her own doubts—but Orion was something else. He wasn't a tyrant born of grief or arrogance. He was orderly, cold and calculating, a force that believed extermination was mercy. As he viewed that all life itself was lesser and failed at being able to evolve into its true potential, in his own eyes, the 'perfect specimen'. So because of that, Orion believed it is necessary to eradicate their existence, as if he were giving them his divine judgment of extinction. Then from the very ashes of their extinction, create new lifeforms that are capable of things perceived as impossible, yet these new lifeforms would be devoid of the abilities to think for themselves and feel emotions. As Orion believed these two aspects in any organism, whether they had sentience or not, were the reason they're unable to progress into a higher existence such as him. Luz could see now that Belos had been a monster of ideology but Orion was a monster of inevitability. Luz vowed to not let him win, ever. Luz understood, with unwavering clarity, that stopping Orion wasn't just a mission—it was a necessity born from love, not just guilt. Her resolve didn't stem solely from the shadows of her past failures or the trauma of seeing Atlas broken or King terrified. It came from the present, from the life she'd fought to build, and from the people who made it worth fighting for. Ever since she had first witnessed the terrifying extent of Orion's ambition—the cold, calculated reach of his power, the way he spoke as if entire worlds were pawns—an unshakable fear had rooted itself deep within her. Not a fear for herself, but for what might happen to those she held dearest if she failed. In her quietest moments, she could picture the smile of Amity, her partner in love and in life, fading into dread; she imagined Willow's courage twisted into despair, Gus's laughter drowned out by war, Hunter dragged into battle once more just when he'd begun to find peace. She thought of Vee, her sweet, brave sister, who had once been hunted and was finally safe until now. Lilith, who had tried so hard to atone. Eda, her fierce, wild mother who had given her everything. And Camila... her human mom, who had already endured the fear of losing her daughter once. Luz could not—would not—let any of them suffer for a threat they never asked for. The thought of the Celestine Compass falling into Orion's hands made her stomach twist. It wasn't just a key to cosmic domination, it was the match that could ignite both the Demon Realm and the Human Realm into chaos. She saw the two worlds she called home burning not in metaphor, but in vivid flashes; schools turned to warzones, forests to battlefields, safe havens to graves. The idea alone was enough to make her bones feel heavy with dread. Luz knew the price of inaction would be unbearable. So she stood, not as a girl running from her past, but as a protector of her future—and of everyone who gave her a reason to keep going. Though as every day and every week that had passed since the trio's stay in the cosmos, they had all deeply missed the Demon Realm and wished for the opportunity to just return and put all of this danger that lingered around them to rest.

Still, the damage was done, as King had changed too. Once the bright and curious member of the group, he now walked with the quiet burden of his lineage. He had learned of Orion's vow: to eradicate every last Titan, to wipe their legacy from the cosmos and all of existence, as he believed that not only they'll stop his ambitions but the deep relationship and their experiences he had with the Titans. A vow that had been made long before King was even born. Luz had told him the truth, and in doing so, shattered his illusions of safety. King began to avoid using his powers entirely, even in times of need. Drawing attention could mean exposure and with that exposure could mean death. Instead, he spent long hours in the navigation room, poring over star maps, marking out dead zones or areas with the least traceable energy where they could hide if the Huntsman or Orion drew near. He barely spoke during these sessions, his small claws trembling as he held the marker in his hand, tracing escape routes over and over again. His voice grew quieter. His presence, more withdrawn.

They all bore scars but they were healing nonetheless. Their healing is best described to be slow, imperfect, but together. Amid the scars and the sorrow, there were moments of peace with one another that helped slightly to adjust to their new lives. Each evening, they told different stories amongst themselves, which some were real, while some were made-up.However,. These stories shared a common theme whenever they've been told; they're wholesome, silly, and vivid stories that became a shared ritual amongst the trio. They laughed, they cried, and they remembered who they were before the galaxy itself took them in. They made talismans together during the two months that had passed since becoming trapped in the Realm of Cosmic Space. Luz carved hers in the shape of an owl and wore it over her heart, next to the necklace Amity had given her long ago. King's was a crowned medallion etched with a Titan glyph. Atlas wore his—a crude but heartfelt recreation of the Owl House's window—hidden in the folds of his cloak. Symbols of a world they longed to return to, a world where he truly belonged. A world they vowed to protect after having witnessed what Orion was truly capable of. During their time of trying to keep themselves together despite the various obstacles that had been in front of them, they would also write unsent letters. Luz to her mother and to Eda. King also wrote letters to his adoptive mother, Eda. Atlas, trembling, wrote his letters to Luz and King. His letters were filled with things he didn't have the strength to say aloud. While admittedly, the trio felt hurt when they wrote their letters but at the same time it helped in a way in their journey of healing.

While during all of this, Hesperos Holmes kept his usual charm and bravado intact, and he was far from being unshaken. He and Starry did everything they could to provide comfort aboard the Donati. Starry, with their comedic gestures and warm starlight, regulated the ship's environment to feel like a second home when they powered the ship. Hesperos, meanwhile, cooked when he could, told stories, and cracked jokes at all the right moments to lift the heavy atmosphere hanging over Luz, King, and Atlas. He maintained their schedules, kept up repairs, and handled negotiations with the quieter worlds and star systems they passed through. Outwardly, he was a captain, a guide, a friend. One who was reliable and in control. However, when the lights dimmed and the halls of the Donati fell silent, the mask slipped. In the privacy of his quarters, Hesperos mourned.

It had been two months since he learned the truth about the Play of Tributes, the cataclysmic event that decimated most of the Illustrian population. He figured out that the Archivists had orchestrated it, coldly and methodically. Not as a consequence, but as an act of cleansing.

His people were stargazers, dancers of light and symphony, historians of ancient memory but now their stories had ended in silence. Hesperos kept a holo-disc buried beneath his bunk, one of the few surviving archives from his home. It played ancient Illustrian ballads when activated. When no one was watching, he would sit and listen to them in the dark, hands folded, eyes closed. Though he didn't cry, as he had no tears left for that. All he could do was grieve, however, his mourning alone wasn't enough. He had made a vow—not loudly, not dramatically, but with quiet finality. He vowed that The Archivists would answer for what they did and pay. If it took the rest of his life, he would make sure their reign ended, not with fire, but with remembrance and truth. His desire for resistance was born not of hate, but of justice.

For now, though, he had a different mission. The Celestine Compass, a stellar artifact capable of charting hidden paths between Realms, was in his possession. And the Archivists were hunting it with fury. They knew it could undo the veils they had cast across the cosmos. They knew Luz and her companions—especially King—posed a growing threat. The Compass, in the wrong hands, could spell disaster. In the right ones, it could unravel centuries of manipulation.

Hesperos knew where he stood because of it. He guarded the Compass fiercely, locking it in the Donati's starlit vault, warded with the last enchantments of an Illustrian soulweaver. He kept Luz and the others on the move, jumping from minor slipstreams to realm-fissures, evading the Grand Huntsman at every turn. Each day brought close calls. Each night, Starry would alert him to new sightings of pursuit ships or scout familiars. And through it all, he kept his smile sharp, his coat stylishly fluttering in the artificial breeze, his voice full of light because he couldn't afford to break, not yet at least.

Not until the Archive Tower fell and the Archivists finally heard the song of the stars they tried to silence and when that day came, Hesperos Holmes would be ready—not as a courier or guide, but as the last voice of Illustria's defiance.

Meanwhile, far from the drifting safety of the Donati, a different force was moving in silent pursuit. Markus Star, a knight of an important cosmic order, had been dispatched by the Council of Arbora—the governing body of an ancient, secretive organization known as the Order of Arbora. Respected across the realm itself for their dedication to preserving the balance of magic, the Order entrusted Markus with a mission of utmost urgency: to investigate the mysterious break-in at the Vault of Alkanos to find leads that could hopefully lead up to him retrieving the stolen artifact known as the Celestine Compass.

Two weeks had passed since the heist; Markus had traveled tirelessly across several worlds, each one echoing with whispers and fragments of truth. His search was methodical—marked by long nights in broken temples, quiet interrogations in dimly-lit markets, and coded correspondence with members of both the Council and the shadowy Syndicate on Alkanos. Every trail he followed—every dust-covered clue, faded memory, or frightened witness—led him to one inevitable conclusion: the Celestine Compass was now in the hands of four individuals. Luz Noceda, King Clawthorne, Atlas, and a rogue cosmic courier named Hesperos Holmes.

While others in the Order viewed the mission as an issue of protocol, for Markus Star it had become personal. For the past two months, he had been plagued by visions—harrowing, celestial dreams filled with fire, unraveling stars, and the sound of something vast cracking across the heavens. These weren't ordinary nightmares. They were prophetic echoes, fragments of a possible future tied directly to the Nine Star Pieces: ancient crystalline fragments of immense magical potential, believed to be scattered across the Nine Realms nestled in the Great Tree of Magic. And according to ancient doctrine, the Celestine Compass wasn't merely a navigation tool, it was a key. A living map that could guide its wielder to all nine Star Pieces. In the wrong hands, the consequences would be catastrophic.

The timing only worsened matters due to The Convergence; a long-foretold cosmic alignment that was approaching rapidly with mere days away. When the Nine Stars aligned, the barriers between worlds would grow thin and potentially unstable. If the Compass was used to collect even a fraction of the Star Pieces during that alignment, the wielder could reforge reality itself. Whether it would be in service of peace or annihilation, it depended entirely on who reached them first. Markus couldn't let that happen, to him retrieving the Compass wasn't about glory or duty. It was about preventing a prophecy from becoming reality. He carried his burden quietly, concealing his dreams even from the Council. Each one felt more vivid than the last: a dark figure looming at the roots of the Tree, a burning sky over Illustria, a realm collapsing into stardust. He didn't know if they were true visions or warnings—though there was a common theme with each one of them, only that they all began the moment the Compass was stolen. He traveled light.  Though he wore the badge of the Order, Markus rarely announced his affiliation. Instead, he worked in the shadows, in order to further advance his efforts into his investigation. Now, his trail was narrowing. A recent transmission from a forgotten port confirmed a ship matching the Donati's description had passed through. And even more troubling—someone matching Atlas's appearance had been seen with it. Markus knew time was slipping through his fingers. He tightened his grip on the Compass case replica slung across his shoulder—both a reminder and a warning. He would recover the real artifact, even if it meant facing down a Star Person, the last Titan's heir, and a Human girl wielding star-forged magic.

Because if the visions were true, then the war to decide the fate of the realms had already begun. And it would be won not with armies... but with whoever held the map.

Chapter Text

A New Status Quo

The Donati touched down with a hiss of steam, its landing gear pressing into the rocky terrain of Xarax-4. The planet's surface was a barren, wind-swept wasteland, dotted with jagged rock formations and deep crevices that spoke of ancient geological upheavals. Overhead, the sky was a dull orange, hazed by dust storms drifting across the horizon.

Across from The Donati, another vessel had already settled—a rugged, battle-worn star cruiser with a history carved into its hull. Its exterior bore the marks of countless skirmishes: streaks of plasma burns, crude patchwork repairs, and insignias from different factions, each one a testament to a successful raid or conquest. The ship's engines let out a low, guttural hum, as if still simmering from recent action. The ramp of the battle-worn cruiser groaned as it lowered, a plume of dust curling into the air as heavy boots struck the ground in synchronized steps. Five figures emerged, each humanoid in form but distinctly unique in their appearance. Their armor was as rugged as their ship, mismatched and reinforced in places where past battles had left scars. The first figure was tall and skeletal-thin, with cybernetic limbs clicking softly with every step. The second, broad-shouldered and clad in thick plated armor, carried a massive blaster rifle slung across his back. The remaining three walked with the ease of seasoned fighters, their eyes scanning the area, hands twitching near their holsters.

Then came Gorr the Decapitator. The pirate lord stepped forward with a confidence that was earned, not feigned. He was massive, his presence enough to make lesser men reconsider their life choices. His long coat billowed behind him, the edges frayed from years of wear. The gleam of his cybernetic gauntlet was unmistakable, pulsing faintly with an eerie blue glow. His face was partially obscured by a hood, but his smirk—sharp and predatory—was clear as day.

The air between them was thick with unspoken history.

With the cruiser's crew in place, The Donati's rear entrance finally opened, releasing a hiss of pressurized air as its ramp lowered to meet the rocky terrain. The sound echoed through the barren landscape, a mechanical growl against the silence of Xarax-4. Then, stepping into view, came Hesperos Holmes. The feline captain carried himself with an effortless grace, his coat swaying with each measured step. His emerald eyes remained locked on Gorr as he descended the ramp, a quiet smirk playing on his lips and he didn't speak immediately. Instead, he let the moment stretch, taking in Gorr's stance, his crew's positioning, the subtle tension radiating from the group.

Finally, he halted just a few paces away. His tail flicked behind him as he offered a casual nod. "Gorr," he said smoothly. "You're looking well."

Gorr let out a dry chuckle, his voice deep and edged with amusement. "Holmes," he rumbled. "You have a way of making trouble seem like good business. Let's hope, for your sake, that you've brought what you promised."

Hesperos folded his arms as the wind kicked up dust around them, his eyes never leaving Gorr's imposing form. The pirate lord's mechanical gauntlet hummed softly, its faint glow pulsing with an almost rhythmic steadiness. It was a silent reminder of the power he wielded—not just in strength but in reputation. Between them, the deal hung like an unspoken promise, both men knowing the stakes but unwilling to be the first to yield.

"I trust you understand the value of what you're asking for," Gorr said, voice gravel-thick as he gestured behind him. A pair of his crew members stepped aside, revealing a reinforced hover crate, its surface adorned with warning labels and serial codes from long-forgotten manufacturers. The crate itself was unassuming, but the substance within was invaluable. Hesperos tilted his head, his ears twitching as he took in the sight.

"Star Dust," Gorr continued, his tone laced with satisfaction. "Refined. Pure. Straight from the outer nebulae of the galaxy itself. You won't find a batch this good on the open market—not unless you want to deal with the Archive Collective breathing down your neck."

Hesperos chuckled, his tail flicking lazily. "Oh, Gorr. If I were worried about the Archive Collective, I wouldn't be standing here with you."

Gorr's smirk widened, revealing sharpened teeth. "Fair point. But that just means you know exactly how much this is worth."

Star Dust wasn't just any resource. It was the lifeblood of the cosmic trade routes, a crucial element in the construction of high-grade starship engines, advanced weaponry, and even deep-space communication arrays. Industrial firms across the galaxy would pay a fortune for even a fraction of this shipment. Legal or not, it was the kind of asset that turned small-time operations into empires.

Hesperos approached the crate, running a clawed finger along its edge. "I take it this is the full shipment?"

Gorr's cybernetic fingers flexed. "All fifty kilos. Enough to keep a fleet running for months."

"Fifty thousand credits." Gorr's voice hardened. "Non-negotiable."

Hesperos let out a slow breath, as if considering. "A steep price," he mused. "Especially when I could get half this amount on the black market for—"

Gorr's eyes narrowed. "Don't test me, Holmes."

The tension between them thickened, the unspoken challenge was clear. Around them, Gorr's crew remained still, hands near their weapons but not yet moving. They were waiting for their orders to take actions if the transaction were to go awry.

"I don't like games, Holmes," he rumbled. "I brought what you asked for. Fifty kilos of Star Dust, pure as the nebula it was pulled from. And all I ask for you is to give me your end of the deal—fifty thousand credits. Now."

Hesperos remained perfectly still, his eyes locked onto Gorr's with the practiced ease of a seasoned negotiator. He knew that Gorr was dangerous, that his reputation as a ruthless pirate wasn't just for show. He also knew that if he handed over the credits too soon, they'd lose their only leverage. He exhaled slowly, shaking his head. "And you'll have your credits, Gorr. I didn't come all this way just to waste your time."

Gorr's brow furrowed. "Then why are we still talking?"

Hesperos gave a casual shrug, flicking some imaginary dust from his coat. "Because, my dear Decapitator, I'm a man who values transparency. You claim this Star Dust is pure, but how do I know you haven't cut it with something cheaper? You've been known to be... resourceful in past dealings."

"I don't cheat my clients, you know me Holmes." Gorr snarled.

"No, you just rob them blind when they're not looking lad," Hesperos quipped.

Gorr took another step forward, his fists clenching. "You're stalling."

Hesperos smirked. "Am I?"

Unbeknownst to Gorr and his crew, Luz had already slipped past them. The moment The Donati's ramp had opened, she had inhaled deeply, channeling her magic through the glyph drawn on her palm. The invisibility spell took effect instantly, bending the light around her as she vanished from sight. Luz crouched lower behind the jagged rocks, pressing her back against the cool stone as she steadied her breath. The invisibility spell had worked as planned, but the moment she exhaled, the magic unraveled, allowing the dim glow of Xarax-4's moon to cast her shadow once more.

She winced slightly, knowing that even the smallest misstep could alert Gorr's crew. Still, she remained unseen, her position secure among the uneven terrain. She reached into the satchel strapped to her side, fingers brushing over the smooth, familiar textures of the glyphs she had carefully prepared; plant and fire magic, the essentials.

Hesperos had made it clear—this wasn't just about the Star Dust. It was about precision, timing. Luz's role wasn't to charge in recklessly, but to wait, observe, and strike when the moment was right.

She slipped down her goggles Hesperos had loaned her which were now part of her new uniform, adjusting the focus as she peered toward the ongoing standoff. The enhancements in the lenses allowed her to catch even the smallest details—the subtle twitch of Gorr's cybernetic fingers, the way his crew shifted uneasily as their captain's patience wore thin, the calm but deliberate posture Hesperos maintained as he continued to stall.

Luz's fingers drummed lightly against the goggles, her mind running through the sequence of her next move. A well-placed plant glyph could bind Gorr's crew, restricting their movement before they had a chance to react. Fire magic would be a last resort—destructive, loud, and impossible to ignore. From her vantage point, she could see how close things were to boiling over. Gorr's stance had changed, his weight shifting forward, his mechanical gauntlet flexing with impatience. His crew exchanged glances, their fingers hovering near their holsters. Luz took a slow breath, steadying her nerves, as it was almost time to act.

Hesperos adjusted the cuffs of his coat, his expression remaining carefully composed as he shifted his weight slightly. His emerald eyes gleamed under the dim starlight, reflecting the faint neon glow of Gorr's mechanical gauntlet. The tension in the air was thick enough to cut with a blade, but the feline captain didn't seem the least bit perturbed.

"Fifty thousand credits is a bold price, Gorr," Hesperos mused, his voice smooth as ever. "Surely, for an old acquaintance, you could come down just a bit? Let's say... forty thousand? A fair price for a fair product."

Gorr let out a short, humorless laugh. "You think I run a charity, Holmes?" His cybernetic fingers flexed, the glow of his gauntlet flickering in agitation. "I said fifty. You don't like it, you can turn around and fly back to whatever scrapheap you crawled out of."

Hesperos exhaled, shaking his head as if in disappointment. "Come now, Gorr. We both know this business runs on negotiations. Perhaps forty-two? A clean, reasonable figure."

Gorr's eyes narrowed. His crew, who had remained mostly still up until now, started shifting slightly, exchanging glances. A quiet tension ran through them, the kind born of experience of when something felt off.

The pirate captain tilted his head, his smirk returning, though there was no humor in it now. "You're definitely stalling."

Hesperos blinked innocently. "Stalling? Gorr, please. I'm simply a businessman trying to get the best deal."

Gorr wasn't buying it. His grip on his gauntlet tightened, and behind him, his crew began to spread out ever so slightly. Their hands drifted toward their weapons—not drawing them yet, but close enough that a single wrong word could ignite a shootout.

One of Gorr's lieutenants, a hulking brute of a man with cybernetic plating along his arms, took a step closer, eyes scanning the area. "This doesn't feel right, boss," he muttered under his breath. "Something's off."

Hesperos felt Gorr's grip tighten around his throat, the cold metal of the pirate's cybernetic gauntlet pressing against his fur. The pressure constricted his breathing, but he kept his expression composed, refusing to give Gorr the satisfaction of seeing him struggle.

The pirate captain bared his sharp teeth, eyes alight with fury. "I knew it," he growled. "You never had the credits, did you, Holmes?"

Hesperos managed a strained chuckle despite the situation. "Gorr, you wound me. I always pay my debts... eventually."

Gorr sneered and tightened his hold, lifting Hesperos slightly off the ground. The feline captain's boots scraped against the dirt as he tried to maintain balance. His ears flicked slightly, catching the faint shuffling of boots from his crew behind him—his men were tense but hadn't drawn their weapons yet. Gorr's suspicion was growing, but he wasn't the type to pull the trigger without reason.

One of his lieutenants, a wiry woman with a cybernetic eye, stepped closer, scrutinizing Hesperos with a knowing smirk. "Boss, I bet he's got something up his sleeve." she said, her voice edged with amusement.

Gorr scoffed. "I know he does." He turned his glare back to Hesperos. "That's why I'm squeezing it out of him."

Hesperos gritted his teeth as the gauntlet pressed harder, a low mechanical whir indicating its increasing grip. His breathing became more labored, but he still met Gorr's gaze with unwavering defiance.

"Gorr... my friend," he choked out, voice strained but laced with amusement. "You're making this... unnecessarily difficult."

The pirate's lip curled in frustration. "You insult me, try to change the deal, and waste my time... and I'm the difficult one?"

His grip tightened further, and for the first time, Hesperos felt his pulse pounding against the unrelenting metal. The edges of his vision blurred slightly, but he held firm. He just needed to buy a few more seconds.

His lips curled into the faintest smirk. "Alright," he rasped. "Let's get this over with."

From her hiding spot, Luz's heart pounded in her chest as she watched Hesperos struggle against Gorr's grip. She had been waiting for his signal, and there it was—that familiar smirk, even while being choked. No more stalling, it was time to act.

With a deep breath, she slammed a fire glyph onto the ground, activating it with a spark of energy from her staff. A surge of flames erupted from beneath the feet of two of Gorr's crew members, sending them stumbling back with startled yells. The sudden eruption of light and heat against the cold night shattered the tense standoff in an instant.

Before the pirates could fully react, Luz was already moving. She conjured a plant glyph in one hand, slamming it into the rocky terrain. Thick vines burst forth from the ground, lashing out like whips, wrapping around the legs of two more of Gorr's lackeys, yanking them off their feet.

"Surprise, suckers!" Luz shouted, flipping her staff in her hands as she ran from her cover, keeping her momentum going.

The crew scrambled to regain their footing, their surprise quickly morphing into rage. One of them, a burly man with a mechanical arm, recovered fast and snarled, yanking a blaster from his holster. "It's an ambush! Take 'em down!"

Blaster fire erupted into the night, Luz ducked behind another rock as crimson bolts of plasma shot past her, striking the dirt and sending up sprays of dust. She gritted her teeth, gripping her staff tightly as she peeked out.

Meanwhile, Hesperos took advantage of the chaos. With Gorr distracted, the feline captain twisted sharply, using the thrusters in his boots to push off the ground and break free from the pirate's grasp. He flipped midair, drawing his twin pistols in the same motion, and fired down at Gorr's men. The stun rounds hit one of the pirates square in the chest, sending him tumbling backward with a grunt. Another ducked and returned fire, forcing Hesperos to swerve mid-flight.

Luz wasted no time. She pressed another fire glyph onto her staff, channeling its magic into the weapon. The tip ignited with a concentrated flame, and she swung it in an arc, releasing a controlled blast of fire toward the group of pirates who were still struggling against the vines. The heat forced them to scatter, and that was all the opening she needed. Luz dashed forward, her staff humming with energy as she swung it at the nearest pirate, cracking him across the side and sending him to the ground.

Hesperos, still hovering above, grinned as he picked off another pirate with a well-aimed shot. "Well, Luz, I must say—your timing is impeccable."

"Yeah, yeah, less talk, more shooting!" Luz called back, pressing another glyph she later traced with her staff onto the ground.

Hesperos kicked off the ground, activating the rocket thrusters in his boots. With a sharp hiss and a burst of blue energy, he shot upward, twisting midair as blaster fire zipped past him. From his elevated position, he had the perfect vantage point. His eyes were soon locked onto the scrambling pirates below, and with a flick of his wrists, he unleashed a volley of stun rounds from his twin pistols.

One of Gorr's men barely had time to raise his weapon before a precise shot struck him in the chest. He crumpled to the ground with a grunt, unconscious.

Hesperos chuckled to himself. "You lot really should've taken my deal."

Below, Luz moved with practiced speed. She ducked behind a rock as plasma bolts slammed into the terrain, sending sparks and dust flying. She exhaled sharply, adjusting her grip on the blaster Hesperos had given her. It wasn't her usual style—magic was more her thing—but she had to admit, the weight of the weapon in her hands was oddly reassuring.

A pirate rushed her position, a jagged vibroblade in his grip. Luz didn't hesitate. She quickly traced a plant glyph onto the ground with her staff, activating it with a quick stomp of her foot. Thick vines shot up from the rocky soil, wrapping around the pirate's legs before he could react.

His eyes widened. "Oh, come on—!"

Before he could finish, Luz aimed her blaster and fired. A stun round hit him square in the chest, and he collapsed into the tangled vines, groaning. "Man, this thing's handy," she muttered, giving the blaster an appreciative glance before ducking as more shots were fired her way.

Two more of Gorr's crew flanked her, their weapons raised. Luz quickly rolled to the side, pressing a fire glyph against the barrel of her staff. The moment she swung it, a concentrated arc of flames shot out, forcing the two to dive for cover.

Above them, Hesperos continued his aerial assault, weaving through the sky with fluid precision. A pirate on the ground took aim at him, but the feline captain saw it coming. He twisted, engaging the thrusters in his boots to shift his position instantly, narrowly avoiding the blast before returning fire. The stun round struck true, and another pirate hit the ground.

One by one, Gorr's men fell. Some unconscious, some bound by Luz's magic. The tide of battle had shifted. Luz and Hesperos moved in unison, each covering the other as they took down the remaining stragglers. It was quick, efficient, and almost effortless.

Then, just like that, the battlefield fell silent. Luz adjusted her stance, lowering her staff as she scanned the area. "That's the last of them."

Hesperos descended gracefully, his boots kicking up a small cloud of dust as he landed beside her. He holstered one of his pistols and smirked. "I must say, Miss Noceda, you make an excellent partner in crime."

Luz huffed, smirking back. "You mean partner in bounty hunting."

Soon a deep, guttural growl interrupted their moment of victory, they both turned. Gorr The Decapitator still stood, his massive frame heaving with fury. His crew was defeated, but he was far from finished. His gauntlet pulsed with raw energy, and his sharp teeth curled into a wicked snarl. "You're gonna regret this," he rumbled.

Hesperos dusted off his coat, adjusting the lapels as he eyed Gorr with casual amusement. "Well, that was entertaining," he mused before pointing one of his pistols at the pirate captain. "But let's get to business. I heard you got more than you offered, the rest of the Star Dust—hand it over, now."

Gorr stood firm, breathing heavily, his crimson eyes burning with rage. His crew was down, his ship vulnerable, but defiance still clung to him like a second skin. He rolled his shoulders, metal gauntlet crackling with energy. "You think I'm just gonna hand the rest of it over?" he snarled. "You have no idea who you're messing with."

Luz scoffed, stepping forward and twirling her staff in her hands. "Dude, your crew is out cold, your fancy glove isn't scaring anyone, and we could really use that Star Dust." She planted a hand on her hip. "So how about we skip the part where you act all tough and go straight to the part where you give up?"

Gorr sneered. "Over my dead body."

Hesperos sighed, shaking his head. "Always with the dramatics. Fine. Luz, would you like to do the honors?"

Luz grinned. "Gladly."

She grabbed a handful of glyphs from her belt, eyes gleaming with mischief. With a flick of her wrist, she tossed them into the air. As they floated, she tapped her staff against the ground, activating them all at once.

A swirl of fire, wind, and crackling vines exploded around her, the elements intertwining in a controlled but chaotic storm. Flames flickered against her skin but did not burn her. The air itself seemed to hum with raw magic.

Gorr's bravado faltered. His eyes darted to the glowing glyphs, then to the arcs of fire spiraling around Luz's staff. He took an involuntary step back.

Luz tilted her head. "Still wanna play tough guy?"

For the first time, Gorr hesitated. His fists clenched, but his breathing had quickened, and the tension in his stance wavered. He looked at Hesperos, then back at Luz.

"...Fine," he spat, barely containing his fury. "Take all of it. It's in the cargo hold of my ship."

Hesperos clapped his hands together. "Now, was that so hard?" He motioned toward The Donati. "Luz, let's get what we came for."

With Gorr reluctantly leading the way, they boarded his ship and made their way to the cargo chamber. There were five more crates of Star Dust, making it a total of six counting the one Gorr and his crew showed Hesperos before the battle, each crate sitting neatly stacked, their metallic surfaces reflecting the dim interior lighting.

Luz whistled. "Wow. That's a lot of credits waiting to happen."

Hesperos smirked. "Indeed. Let's not waste time, mate."

Working quickly, they loaded the crates onto a floating cargo lift, guiding them down the ship's ramp and toward The Donati. As the last crate was secured, Hesperos turned to Gorr, who glared daggers at them both.

"You know," Hesperos mused, "I was going to let you walk away from this, but given your reputation..." He pulled out a holo-pad, bringing up the bounty listing for Gorr The Decapitator. A hefty sum of credits flashed on the screen. Hesperos grinned. "You're worth quite a bit yourself."

Gorr growled. "You wouldn't—"

Luz aimed her blaster at him. "Oh, we totally would."

With little choice, Gorr was restrained and escorted onto The Donati, locked securely into the ship itself.

As they began lifting off inside of the elevator compartment, Luz leaned against the wall, exhaling with satisfaction. "Not a bad payday."

Hesperos chuckled, setting The Donati's course. "And we're just getting started."

Soon the trio would reach their designated floor, that being the main hold, Luz Noceda and Hesperos Holmes stepped back onto the room, they were instantly met with the familiar, high-pitched patter of feet and then a booming voice.

"Well, well, well! Look who finally dragged back a walking paperweight!" King shouted, eyes wide as he caught sight of the bruised and chained form of Gorr the Decapitator slumped between them. "I thought 'Gorr the Decapitator' would be taller. And, y'know... have more head." The Titan chuckled smugly, crossing his arms as he circled the prisoner. "More like Gorr the Beheaded! What's next? Are we catching 'Larry the Mildly Inconvenient' next?" His voice pitched with gleeful sarcasm, drawing a burst of restrained laughter from both Luz and Hesperos.

Luz's amusement, however, shifted the second she caught sight of Atlas. The young Collector's eyes had gone wide the moment she stepped aboard, and without a word, he rushed forward and wrapped her tightly in his arms. "I'm glad you're okay," he whispered, voice trembling slightly. "I was really scared. I thought... I thought maybe something went wrong. That you might not come back."

There was a faint ache behind Luz's smile as she hugged him back. She kept her voice light, her tone practiced. "Hey, I'm tougher than I look, remember? Besides, someone's gotta drag Hesperos out of trouble." Atlas didn't say anything, instead he held onto her just a second longer before reluctantly letting go.

Breaking the heavy moment, Luz turned toward King and raised an eyebrow. "Think you and Atlas can keep Gorr here from gnawing through his cuffs until we drop him off at Honkoko?"

King gave a sharp salute. "You're looking at the finest glorified babysitters in the galaxy!" He marched dramatically over to Gorr, who groaned lowly in response. "You twitch, you lose a finger. Or five. Just sayin'."

"I'll make sure he doesn't get bored," Atlas added, as he slightly moved his fingers in a motion that hinted at a playful menace behind his grin.

"Perfect," Hesperos muttered with a dry grin, slapping the controls beside the ramp as it closed behind them. "We'll be back before he even gets the chance to miss his decapitations."

Inside the cockpit, the atmosphere shifted into focused determination. Luz slid into her seat and began flipping switches, while Hesperos leaned over the main console, entering coordinates for the Honkoko system. The warm hum of the ship's systems coming back online echoed through the corridor, and the soft glow of lights reactivated panel by panel.

"Starry," Hesperos called over the comms, fingers moving with practiced speed. "We're green on all systems. Time to power up the warp core."

From deep within the ship's heart came Starry's unmistakable voice, high-pitched and giddy, crackling through the speakers. "Ooooooh! You got it, boss buddy!! Crankin' up the cosmic juice—WOOOSH!!!" A vibrating hum built steadily beneath their feet, signaling the warp core coming alive.

"Warp core's stable," Luz confirmed, watching the console's readings stabilize.

Together, she and Hesperos activated the final sequence. Outside, the view of Xarax-4's dusty crimson terrain shrank rapidly as The Donati roared to life, thrusters launching them upward. In a flash of light, space stretched and twisted—the ship slipped seamlessly into the warp, stars streaking past them like ribbons of energy.

Inside the cockpit, the mood settled into a quiet, reflective hum, the adrenaline fading but the weight of unspoken thoughts lingered just beneath the surface.

After a while, The Donati emerged from warp travel, the shimmering veil of warp energy peeling away to reveal the Honkoko Star System. The main planet in the system, Honkoko, was a massive golden-brown planet, whose surface had many deep orange canyons that stretched across its surface. The planet's terrain is mostly barren but with occasional dark scars, those 'scars' happened to be wreckage fields from ancient star battles, it dotted the land like wounds. Massive storm systems swirl slowly across the surface, kicked up by powerful desert winds, often forming towering sand cyclones visible from space like swirling ochre spirals. The planet orbits two blazing suns, casting intense dual shadows and creating a fiery glow across its day side. The light reflects off the sand, giving Honkoko an almost metallic shimmer from a distance, like burnished gold. From certain angles, you might catch a flash from the colossal husks of derelict ships half-buried in the dunes, leftovers from different long-forgotten wars. A faint reddish haze surrounds the atmosphere, making it look like the planet is perpetually glowing from within. Despite it being a desert planet, it served as a bustling hub of trade, industry, and no small amount of danger. The twin suns cast long streaks of light across the dense asteroid belts and towering space stations that littered the system.

The Donati glided smoothly toward the planet's tropopause, revealing it was dominated by sprawling cityscapes, its surface marked with trade hubs that moved like veins across the land. Hesperos expertly maneuvered The Donati down toward a designated landing pad just outside the heart of the marketplace. The landing thrusters hissed as they deployed, and with a final, gentle touch, the ship settled onto the platform.

Luz leaned against the co-pilot's chair, stretching. "Honkoko, huh? This place looks... lively."

Hesperos chuckled, flipping switches on the control panel. "Lively" is one word for it. Dangerous is another." He stood, dusting off his coat. "Keep your wits about you, Miss Noceda. The market here attracts all sorts—some 'friendlier' than others."

As the rear ramp of The Donati lowered, a rush of market sounds greeted them—merchants shouting their wares, the hum of speeders zipping overhead, and the chatter of countless species haggling, arguing, and laughing. The scent of sizzling street food mixed with the acrid smell of engine grease, creating a strange but oddly comforting aroma.

Inside, the sterile quiet of the main hold was quickly replaced with footsteps as Luz and Hesperos moved in, both alert and tense. Gorr shuffled behind them in magnetic cuffs, his head still lowered. King and Atlas stood at attention near the back of the hold, lounging near the sealed brig where Gorr had been temporarily held. Atlas tilted his head as Luz entered, his golden eyes scanning her face for any sign of distress. King clambered up on a stack of crates and immediately began speaking, his voice sharp but tinged with concern. "So what's the plan, sister? We storm the streets with this giant oaf on a leash?"

Luz shook her head firmly. "You two are staying on the ship," she said, her tone gentler than the words themselves. "It's for your own safety. I don't know how bad it can get down there, and I can't risk either of you getting recognized—especially not in a place like Honkoko." Her voice was calm, but there was a protective edge underneath it.

King opened his mouth to argue, but paused when he caught the look in Luz's eyes. It wasn't a request—it was a quiet plea. Atlas nodded first, stepping forward and placing a hand over his chest in mock solemnity. "Fine. We'll man the ship. But you better come back, okay?" His voice wavered ever so slightly at the end. "No weird hero stuff."

Luz gave a faint smile. "I promise." She turned to King, who narrowed his eyes but eventually relented with a nod and a wave of his clawed hand.

"You break that promise, I'm coming after you," King muttered. "And I'll bring snacks for the trip—out of spite."

With a soft chuckle, Luz moved to the nearby console and pressed a circular button on the wall. A mechanical whir followed as a second ramp hissed open at the rear of the ship, revealing the shadowed cargo hold. Inside, six sealed crates, each glowing faintly with the subtle shimmer of compressed Star Dust, lined the wall. A subtle hum pulsed from within them, barely audible, like bottled starlight waiting to be unleashed.

Hesperos let out a low breath and adjusted his coat as the two of them each took hold of a gravity dolly and began loading the crates with practiced care. With Gorr tethered to Hesperos via a reinforced plasma leash, Luz gave one last glance toward the ship's interior, toward the figures of King and Atlas now silhouetted by the hold's light. Then, together, she and Hesperos descended the ramp into the cityscape beyond, as each step away from the ship feeling heavier, as though the Star Dust wasn't the only thing they were carrying into the heart of Honkoko.

Luz and Hesperos descended onto the marketplace floor, navigating through the sea of vendors and travelers. To their left, a towering Drimariun trader—eight feet tall and cloaked in layered gray sashes—haggled with a squat Nufflekin over enchanted sun-shields. The Drimariun's four eyes blinked independently, while the Nufflekin, resembling a fuzzy orange orb with stubby legs and a single curling horn, squeaked indignantly and tossed up a pouch of tokens.

Two Nahrivellians, elegant and amphibious with fins crowning their heads, strolled past them like tourists, marveling at the colorful hanging fabrics that danced with the breeze. One of them caught Luz's eye and smiled—polite but wary, as though unsure whether to nod in greeting or retreat.

A Vulpinari merchant barked over the din, her voice raspy yet melodic as she waved down customers to her stall of "Genuine Ether-Crystals." Her body was covered in soft bioluminescent fur that pulsed gently with color, matching the stones she sold. Luz paused to admire the shifting lights, but Hesperos tugged at her sleeve. "Don't stare too long," he murmured. "Vulpinari charmworks have a bite."

The crowd thickened near the central square, where a massive stone fountain burbled—not with water, but with shimmering, gravity-defying droplets of green liquid known as virellian nectar, harvested from Honkoko's deep-sand roots. Children of the local Skaldrin species, small beings with insectoid limbs and glittering compound eyes, splashed in the nectar as their caretakers bartered for spices.

From overhead, a Soari Wingflier, humanoid but feathered and lithe, glided down with a rustle of golden wings and perched atop a vendor stall, her talons curling on the edge as she shouted out her wares: rare fangs, wind-dried fruits, and desert scrolls written in a long-lost language. Her voice echoed like birdsong through the marketplace.

Luz's eyes kept darting—taking it all in. Despite the press of bodies and the chaos of sound, she couldn't help but feel a sense of awe. There was magic here, but not the kind she was used to. It was older, quieter, woven into the creases of the sandstone, in the rhythm of the barter, the way the sellers chanted incantations between sales. It was the kind of magic that endured.

Hesperos stopped at a spice stall run by a hooded Varnathi, their obsidian skin shimmering beneath the shade. Their face was mostly hidden, but glowing azure eyes peered from the folds as they gestured to racks of dried powders in shades of crimson, emerald, and blue.

"Looking for something to make your mind forget reality?" the Varnathi asked. "Tempting," Hesperos smirked, tossing a few coins onto the table. "But we're actually here for other businesses as you can see heh."

They moved on, the thick heat pressing in from all sides. Hesperos walked with an easy confidence, his feline eyes darting around as he assessed their surroundings. Luz, however, couldn't help but be drawn to the interactions happening around her.

Near a fruit stand, an elderly alien merchant—her skin a soft blue, her hands worn with age—offered samples of produce to passing customers. Soon a pair of armored Archive Collective scouts loomed over her, their white armored uniforms pristine in contrast to the dusty, well-worn marketplace.

"You're three cycles late on your tariff payments," one of them said flatly, his visor reflecting the merchant's anxious expression.

"I—I just need more time," the merchant pleaded. "Business has been slow, and—"

The second scout shoved a crate off her stall. It hit the ground with a hard crash, scattering ripe, golden fruits across the dirt. The merchant gasped, scrambling to gather them.

"More time?" The scout sneered. "You off-worlders are always asking for more time. Maybe you should pack up and leave Honkoko if you can't keep up."

Luz felt her fists tighten, she wanted to do something. She wanted to step in, to use her magic, to wipe that smug look off their faces but she knew better.

She cast a glance at Hesperos, who hadn't broken stride. His ears twitched slightly—he'd seen what happened, but he didn't react. He simply pressed forward, as if nothing had happened. Luz took a breath, forcing herself to follow.

Hesperos spoke without looking at her. "I know that look, Luz."

Luz exhaled sharply. "It's messed up."

"Of course it is," Hesperos said, adjusting the cuffs of his coat. "But we don't have the luxury of noble heroics today. We have a bounty to cash in, and the Archive Collective is the last thing we need on our tails."

Luz clenched her jaw but said nothing. He was right. Drawing attention to themselves would be reckless—especially after what happened with Orion.

Still, as they moved deeper into the marketplace, the sight of the scattered fruit and the defeated look on the merchant's face burned into Luz's memory. One day, she thought. One day, she'd do something about it but for now, she kept walking.

Hesperos and Luz weaved through the dense marketplace, eventually arriving at a heavily fortified structure near the trade district's edge. Unlike the vibrant vendor stalls they had passed, this one was built for function over aesthetics—thick metal plating, reinforced doors, and armed guards stationed at its entrance. A massive neon sign flickered overhead, displaying the unmistakable insignia of the Bounty Exchange.

As they approached, one of the guards, a broad-shouldered reptilian alien with dark, scaled skin, grunted and nodded toward them. "You got business?"

Hesperos smirked. "Wouldn't be here if we didn't." He motioned toward the cargo hover-lift trailing behind them, loaded with the secured crates of Star Dust. "We've got a delivery, and a guest." He gestured toward Gorr, who was still bound, his face locked in an expression of pure hatred.

The guard eyed the crates and then Gorr. His reptilian eyes widened slightly before stepping aside. "Go on in. The boss will want to see this."

Luz and Hesperos stepped inside, the air growing noticeably cooler as they entered the climate-controlled facility. At the far end of the room, behind a reinforced counter, stood a burly alien with four arms and pale, almost translucent skin. His lower pair of arms busied themselves with a holo-terminal, while the upper pair crossed over his chest as he observed them approach. His eyes were black and beady, reflecting the dim lighting of the room.

"Well, well," the alien rasped, his voice deep and slightly mechanical. "If it isn't Hesperos Holmes. Thought you were off chasing bigger fish."

Hesperos smirked. "Sometimes the biggest fish are the ones you reel in quietly." He patted the top of one of the Star Dust crates. "We've got six crates of high-grade Star Dust, each packed with at least fifty kilos. And," he nudged Gorr forward, "this charming fellow."

The bounty manager arched what passed for an eyebrow, leaning forward as he accessed the holo-terminal. His lower hands tapped across the glowing interface while the upper pair adjusted a sleek visor strapped over his face. Data flickered across the screen.

"Let's see..." The manager's voice took on a professional tone. "Six crates of Star Dust, each containing fifty kilos... that's fifty thousand credits per crate." He whistled, an odd, warbling sound. "That puts you at a total of three hundred thousand credits just for the goods."

Luz blinked. "That's... a lot of zeros."

Hesperos smirked but said nothing as the bounty manager continued.

"And as for Gorr The Decapitator..." He tapped on his screen, bringing up a bounty listing. A glowing image of Gorr's snarling face appeared, along with a long list of offenses—raiding, smuggling, execution of prisoners, ship hijackings, and at least three counts of high-level treason against independent systems.

"Current price on his head is thirty five thousand credits," the manager concluded. He leaned back, clearly impressed. "That brings your total payout to three hundred thirty five thousand credits."

Luz's mouth fell open slightly. "I—I mean, yeah. Of course. That sounds about right."

The manager chuckled. "You two really know how to bring in a haul." He tapped a final command into his terminal, and a loading bay on the side of the facility hissed open. A mechanical arm reached out, grabbing the cargo crates one by one and securing them into the exchange system. Two additional guards came forward, grabbing Gorr and dragging him toward the detention processing chamber.

Gorr snarled, struggling against his restraints. "You think this is the end, Holmes?" he spat. "You have no idea who you're messing with!"

Hesperos gave him a lazy wave. "That's a future-me problem."

Luz grinned, arms crossed. "Yeah, yeah, we've heard it all before. 'You'll regret this! I'll come back stronger!' Yada yada. Just take the L already."

Gorr was forcibly escorted away, his curses fading as the doors slammed shut behind him.

The bounty manager chuckled again, shaking his head. "You two are a riot." A moment later, a small, floating drone hovered over to them, carrying a glowing holo-chip. "Here's your payment— three hundred thirty five thousand credits, transferred to your accounts."

Hesperos took the chip and nodded. "Pleasure doing business."

As they stepped out into the marketplace, the weight of the holo-chip in Hesperos' pocket and the sheer number of credits attached to it left an undeniable sense of triumph in the air. Hesperos stretched his arms, his tail flicking behind him in satisfaction.

"Well, that went better than expected," he mused, his usual smug grin present. "I was expecting a bit more haggling, maybe some bureaucratic nonsense. But no, smooth sailing all the way." He placed his hands on his hips and exhaled deeply. "Three hundred thirty-five thousand credits, Luz. That's the kind of payday that makes all this bounty-hunting nonsense worth it."

Luz, however, had fallen a few steps behind him, her mind lost somewhere else.

She held her arms behind her head, gazing up at the Honkoko Star System's sky, its hazy, violet clouds stretching endlessly into the atmosphere. There was something about today's bounty—about the way she and Hesperos had worked together—that reminded her of another time, another place. She remembered those odd-job bounty hunts with Eda. The Owl Lady was never the most conventional bounty hunter—most of the time, she took those jobs in order to just make a living for the two of them. Luz used to tag along, both out of necessity and because, despite everything, those moments had been... fun. They never pulled in anything close to the kind of money she and Hesperos had today, but the reward was never really about the payout. It was about the experience, about laughing off their failures when things didn't go as planned, about learning how to navigate a world that had, at the time, seemed so permanent. Though that was gone now. The Boiling Isles, the Human Realm—they both felt so far away, like distant dreams she could barely hold onto.

"Luz?"

She blinked, suddenly aware that Hesperos was watching her. His expression had softened, the usual arrogance giving way to something more thoughtful.

"You good?" he asked.

Luz forced a smile, shaking off the creeping homesickness. "Yeah, yeah, I'm fine."

Hesperos tilted his head slightly, clearly unconvinced, but before he could push further, his ears twitched, catching something in the crowd.

Luz caught it too—a shift in the atmosphere, a ripple of tension threading through the marketplace.

Two figures moved through the crowd with precision, their armor sleek, adorned with the telltale insignia of the Archive Collective. Their glowing visors scanned the crowd, methodical, predatory.

Hesperos' tail flicked in agitation. "We've got company."

Luz's heart skipped a beat. Her fingers instinctively hovered over her glyph pouch.

The Archive Collective were here and they were looking for someone. The moment Hesperos and Luz locked eyes with the approaching Archive Collective scouts, neither of them needed to say a word. They turned on their heels in near-perfect unison, moving swiftly through the bustling marketplace without drawing too much attention.

"Act natural," Hesperos muttered under his breath, though the tension in his voice made it clear that he was anything but.

"Yeah, because that's totally easy when literal space soldiers are tailing us," Luz whispered back, gripping the strap of her satchel tightly as they weaved through the crowd.

The Archive Collective scouts moved methodically, their glowing visors scanning the faces of merchants and travelers alike. Their slow but deliberate pace was more terrifying than if they had broken into a sprint—because it meant they weren't just looking. They were hunting.

As soon as they were far enough ahead, Hesperos nodded toward an alleyway leading to the docks. "Pick up the pace." Luz didn't need to be told twice. The two broke into a quick but controlled stride, slipping past rusted cargo crates and workers unloading shipments of exotic goods. The Donati was just ahead, its sleek frame standing in stark contrast to the weathered freighters surrounding it.

As they reached the boarding ramp, Hesperos slammed the emergency panel on the side, forcing the entrance to slide open with a hiss. "Starry! Get the ship online, now!"

From inside, a cheerful, echoing voice called back. "Oh-ho! I thought you'd never ask, Captain!"

A glowing, sentient star with a perpetually giddy expression floated down from the cockpit, spinning in excitement. "Ooooh, are we running from someone again? You know I love a dramatic getaway!"

"Less talking, more charging!" Hesperos snapped, bounding up the ramp with Luz right behind him.

"Fine, fine, killjoy," Starry huffed playfully, but immediately zipped toward the ship's core.

Luz barely had time to catch her breath before the Donati's engines roared to life. Through the open ramp, she caught a glimpse of the two Archive Collective scouts breaking into a sprint, pushing past civilians as they drew their weapons.

"We've got incoming!" she shouted.

Hesperos didn't hesitate—he slammed his fist on the controls, closing the ramp just as a burst of plasma fire ricocheted off the hull. "Starry!"

"Way ahead of you, Cap!"

The ship hummed with energy as Starry funneled his cosmic essence into the Donati's power core. Bright streaks of golden energy crackled along the ship's structure, the engines pulsing as they reached maximum output.

"Calculating warp coordinates... aaand done!" Starry announced.

"Punch it!" Hesperos commanded.

With a final surge of energy, the Donati rocketed off the landing pad, ascending into the vast expanse of space. The moment they cleared Honkoko's atmosphere, the ship's navigation locked onto a new course, and in the blink of an eye, the stars around them stretched into long, radiant lines.

With a shuddering jolt, they entered warp travel—leaving the Archive Collective scouts, and any trouble they brought, far behind.

Chapter Text

We Got Bigger Problems On Our Hands

The interior lights of The Donati pulsed dimly in hues of violet and deep blue as it sliced through the swirling tunnel of folded space. Stars bent around them like smears of paint on a cosmic canvas, and the quiet hum of the ship's engine mixed with the occasional rattle from the hull—typical signs of warp travel.

King sat cross-legged on the control deck, his tiny clawed hands gripping a rolled-out parchment filled with messy scrawlings, arcane symbols, and color-coded stars. It was a rough map of safe warp zones, abandoned moons, and forgotten backchannels between planets where they could hide if Orion or the Archivists caught their trail. He squinted at a corner of the parchment and muttered, "That moon crater on Zinus is definitely out. Too many fungal leeches... again. Yuck." he grumbled, scratching out one path and marking another. His tail flicked as he made another tiny note. He didn't like being the strategist. Not because he wasn't capable—he was the son of The Titan, after all—but because it reminded him just how much danger they were in but despite it, he knew how important it was to remain hidden at all costs. Especially with the artifact they were actively protecting.

Luz leaned over the railing behind him, quietly listening, her eyes heavy with the kind of tiredness that sleep couldn't fix. She didn't interrupt him as she had lately been letting King lead more often, especially when it came to navigation. He had grown since their time on the Boiling Isles—more thoughtful, more careful. There was a silent strength in him now that Luz was learning to rely on.

Soon a soft thump in the background caught her attention. Across the ship, Atlas was reaching up toward a narrow compartment nestled above one of the shelves. He was reaching for an old charm orb that had rolled onto a high shelf. He grunted softly, standing on the tips of his boots, white hair bouncing as he stretched with every ounce of effort. The orb glittered with a faint trace of magic, something that seemed to have caught his curiosity.

Luz would soon approach Atlas, "Need a hand?" Luz offered gently.

Atlas turned and gave a sheepish nod. "Yes, please. I can't quite... get it."

Luz stepped up, smiling. "Don't worry, I've got it." She grasped it, smiling. "There, see? No proble—" Her foot slipped. In one heart-skipping instant, Luz lost her balance. The orb slipped from her fingers and shattered on the metal floor with a sharp, crystalline crack. The soft blue light inside the starmote flickered, then dimmed entirely.

"Oh—oh no!" Luz gasped, immediately dropping to her knees, as she frantically grabbed onto the multiple shattered pieces of the orb. "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to— I should've been more careful, I—"

"Luz," Atlas said gently.

"I can fix it, just give me a minute! Or maybe—" Her words tripped over each other like raindrops in a storm. She was already scooping up shards of glass and metal, her fingers trembling.

"Luz."

She paused.

Atlas knelt beside her, while his small hands reached out to stop her from cutting herself with the shards. Their eyes softened as he spoke. "It's uh, okay. Really."

"But it was important," Luz whispered, while her voice cracked. "You liked it..."

"It was just a keepsake," Atlas said, "and it's not more important than you."

Luz froze. The words settled over her like a warm breeze, but they didn't erase the cold in her chest.

King wandered over, looking between them. "You okay?"

"I—I don't know," Luz admitted.

There was silence for a moment, however, before Atlas opened their mouth, just about to comfort Luz further, the lights on The Donati's console flashed red and a deep, bone-shaking rumble groaned through the hull.

Then came the shriek. It wasn't a sound meant for air or ears—more like a vibration of space itself, echoing across dimensions in a way that turned the stomach. The ship lurched and shook violently from the very shriek that had occurred.

"What the—?!" Luz grabbed onto the nearby wall, steadying herself as the ship tilted.

Starry's voice rang through the comms in a mix of panic and professionalism. "Hostile anomaly detected! It's the Warp Eels! I repeat—Warp Eels, closing in fast!"

Atlas's eyes widened. "Oh no... not those things."

Before anyone could react further, a massive, glistening shape swept past the window—a shadow writhing through the warpstream like a serpent in water. It was longer than the Donati, with slick, obsidian-black scales that reflected distant starlight. Its maw split open, revealing rows of translucent, needle-sharp teeth and a glowing throat like the heart of a dying star.

Luz's instincts kicked in. "King—battle stations!" she barked, already sprinting toward the turret hatch on their ship. "On it!" King shouted, his voice already coming through a comm as he darted down a side corridor.

Atlas, startled but focused, turned to help Starry reroute power to the ship's shields. Meanwhile, Hesperos Holmes stomped down from the upper deck in order to focus on piloting the ship to safety and avoid the Warp Eels. "Warp Eels," he growled. "Why must they inhabit warp tunnels... Eh whatever, let's just fry these overgrown leeches and get outta of this warp tunnel immediately!"

Inside her turret, Luz gripped the twin control handles. The targeting reticle danced wildly over the void, tracking the first Warp Eel as it circled back for another pass. She exhaled, steadying her breath, "Here we go..."

With a burst of plasma light, she opened fire—a barrage of energy bursts lancing through space. The eel screeched as one shot hit its side, momentarily stunning it, causing its sinuous body to thrash against the warpstream currents. "Direct hit!" Luz called out. "But it's still moving!" King's voice buzzed in. "Let me try the left fin—those things hate getting clipped there." A second turret spun on the belly of the ship, controlled remotely from King's pod. He let loose a precision volley, his energy cannon rounds crackling with pink-purple energy. The eel jerked in pain and spiraled away from The Donati, momentarily disoriented.

"Nice shot, Your Majesty," Luz praised with a grin.

"I do have royalty-level aim," King replied smugly, though his tone quickly dropped. "Uh... Luz? There's more."

Through the front viewport, three more Warp Eels surged out of the cosmic stream, their hunger made manifest in writhing tongues and gnashing, needle-like sharp teeth. They moved in eerie sync, weaving between the aftershocks of the warpstream.

"Of course there's more," Luz muttered, narrowing her eyes.

Atlas helped stabilize the ship from the bridge, reading out pressure and hull integrity as Starry rerouted magical shielding around the engine core. "They're flanking us!" Starry shouted. "One's making a dive for the rear boosters!"

"I've got it!" King said, rotating the turret. "No, I've got the front!" Luz yelled. "You handle the tail!" Blasts of shimmering light and flares lit up the tunnel itself, as The Donati dodged and dipped through the warp currents. The crew's coordination was like a ballet of urgency—tight, synchronized, and desperate but despite their efforts, the Eels were relentless.

The ship jolted again as one of the eels clipped the hull. Sparks flew from a panel above Starry's head, forcing them to duck. "Shields at twelve percent! We can't take another direct hit!" they cried out. In the cockpit, Hesperos braced himself against the shaking console, his gloved hands gripping the helm. His pirate coat swung with every sudden lurch of the vessel, the ambient glow of space flickering across his feline features. "They're herding us," he growled, narrowing his sharp eyes at the sensors. "Trying to box us in like prey."

"And I really don't wanna get digested today," King piped in from his turret pod, despite his voice being sharp, it was still laced with his classic sarcastic edge. He then peered through the viewport at the largest eel weaving its way through the warpstream like a predator ready to strike. "I like my guts where they are."

Atlas stood amid the flashing lights of the navigation console, as they scanned readouts with lightning speed. Their eyes widened as a specific curvature in the warpstream caught their attention—an unstable bend in space, where reality thinned just enough to create a temporary escape route. "There!" Atlas said, pointing to the swirling fold in the tunnel ahead, glowing faintly with temporal turbulence. "That ripple in the stream—it's a fold in the spatial weave. If we hit it at the right angle, it'll sling us out of the tunnel and drop us into neutral space!"

Hesperos didn't hesitate. "Starry, full power to engines! Reroute from life support if you have to!"

"I'm already doing it!" Starry barked back. The ship's frame groaned in protest, but it held.

"Luz, King—cover the wings!" Hesperos barked. "Give us room to breathe!"

"You got it!" Luz called over the comm, as she gritted her teeth as she lined up a shot on the eel approaching from the right flank. Her crosshairs hovered over its glowing eyes. "Say cheese, you slimy nightmare." She pulled the trigger. A burst of concentrated fire—laced with glyph-enhanced plasma—lanced out and struck the eel square in the face. The monster shrieked, a garbled screech echoing across the fold, and it recoiled violently, spiraling out of control. Its serpentine body slammed into another eel mid-charge, tangling the two in a chaotic collision of fangs and coils.

"Nice one!" King yelled, unloading a flurry of bursts from his own turret. He swept the barrage across the oncoming swarm, not aiming to destroy but to scatter—just enough to make them hesitate. The eels veered back, disoriented by the blasts, and in that brief window, the Donati had its opening. The front of the ship aligned with the unstable fold, shimmering like a ripple in water, its edges crackling with potential energy.

"Now!" Atlas shouted, their voice ringing through every comm channel with clear urgency.

With a thunderous pulse of the overcharged engines, the Donati launched forward, its hull shimmering as it pierced the fold in the warpstream. Reality bent around them. For a moment, time stretched—sound dulled, stars distorted, and the world became a blur of light and speed. Behind them, the Warp Eels surged forward, their open maws yawning with anticipation. Their elongated bodies twisted in pursuit, snapping within meters of the fleeing ship's wake but they were a second too late.

The fold collapsed behind the Donati with a thunderous implosion of light. A brilliant flash swallowed the warpstream's final stretch—cutting the eels off mid-charge, trapping them in the sealed corridor of space.

The ship coasted into stillness, surrounded by a calm field of stars—real stars, twinkling in the still, cold cradle of neutral space. No warpstream currents and no twisted predators. Just only the silence of the cosmos itself, signifying that they had made it.

The ship coasted forward, battered but intact, into the serene silence of neutral space. The stars outside twinkled like tiny beacons of hope, framed against the vast black curtain that now surrounded the Donati. The sudden absence of chaos felt surreal—like waking from a nightmare only to question whether you were truly awake. Inside the cockpit, the hum of the ship's core slowly stabilized, transitioning from a frantic whine to a steady, rhythmic thrum. The lights flickered once, then held steady.

"We made it..." Luz whispered, her voice shaking slightly, the adrenaline still coursing through her veins. "We made it!" Starry burst out, spiraling in a glittery corkscrew around the cockpit, his radiant form twinkling like a disco ball. "I told you all we'd be fine! Just a few warp eels, a little danger, a little screaming—classic Tuesday in the star lanes!"

King slumped back in his turret seat, letting out a long breath. "Whew. I am so not gonna miss those creepy space worms. Can we please not do that again?"

Luz pulled off her headset, her fingers still trembled slightly as she turned to glance at King through the glass barrier. "That was way too close. I thought we were toast—like, deep-fried and swallowed whole."

"You and me both," King muttered, hopping down from the turret with a grunt. "And I don't even like being deep-fried." From the front of the bridge, Hesperos Holmes leaned against the console, catching his breath. His tail flicked sharply, still agitated from the attack. "Everyone alright?" he asked, his voice low but firm. "No injuries?"

"I mean, emotionally I may never be the same," Starry said, peeking up from behind a console with a little singed smoke trail rising from one side of his glow. "But physically? I'm still a twinkly little beacon of survival!"

"Hair's a little frizzed," King noted, squinting at him. "Looks like you kissed a live wire."

Starry gasped, spiraled up to a mirror, and then dramatically wailed. "My glorious shimmer! It's asymmetrical! This is a disaster!"

Atlas, who had remained near the navigation terminal, stepped away slowly, their expression unreadable. "We were lucky. The fold was unstable. Another second later, and we would've been shredded mid-jump."

Luz moved toward them, her brows drawn with worry. "Atlas... are you okay?"

"I'm fine," Atlas said softly, though the distant look in their eyes betrayed how shaken they truly were.

Hesperos pushed off the helm and strode across the room. "You pulled us out at the last second," he said, placing a hand on Atlas' shoulder. "You did good, starlight." Atlas looked up at him, blinking slowly. Processing. "I just- I guess that was close. Too close."

Hesperos turned toward them, his expression gentle but firm. "But you got us through it. Whatever comes next—we wouldn't even be here without your timing."

A small, hesitant smile touched Atlas's lips. "Thanks. I just... didn't want to lose anyone. Not again." Luz walked over and gently bumped her shoulder against Atlas's. "We're still here. That counts for something."

The crew fell into a rare, welcome quiet. The kind that didn't feel heavy or tense just... earned. In the background, the ship's systems gave a reassuring hum, and the stars outside flickered peacefully.

Luz let herself slide into the co-pilot's seat, limbs finally giving in to the weight of exhaustion and relief. She tilted her head toward the stars beyond the viewport, letting the silence soak in like a warm bath. A long, slow breath eased from her chest—finally steady.

"I forgot stars could just... be pretty," she murmured, her voice soft and filled with quiet awe. "Not screaming, not imploding. Just... shining."

Hesperos leaned back in the pilot's chair beside her, his arms draped loosely across the console. "It's easy to forget what peace feels like when you've been running so long," he said, his tone low but not mournful. "Stillness has weight."

King hopped onto the panel in front of them, curling his small body into a loaf position. "Yeah, well... I vote we hold onto this moment for as long as it lets us. Just a little longer." He yawned, sharp teeth peeking out. "Five more minutes of not dying, please."

"Five?" Starry gasped, floating into view upside-down with his tiny arms thrown dramatically to either side. "I vote for fifteen! Fifteen minutes of sparkle time, quiet reflection, and celebratory dance! In that order!"

Atlas looked up from their seat near the nav console, eyes still a bit distant, but more grounded now. "Celebratory dance? We just barely escaped being shredded within warp."

"Exactly!" Starry declared, spinning like a gleaming disco ornament. "What better reason to bust a move than not becoming star spaghetti?!"

Luz chuckled under her breath. "You know... he's not wrong."

With a chirpy hum, Starry zipped to the corner and activated a soft, ambient glow from the ceiling lights. "Mood lighting: check! Space cleared for safe spinning: check! Emotional catharsis pending!"

King grumbled, but even he couldn't hide the small grin creeping across his snout. "Fine. But no glitter in my ears this time."

"I make no promises!" Starry sang as he began orbiting in wide, slow circles, leaving behind trails of soft stardust like a comet's tail. The lights dimmed to a cozy blue-violet hue, and for a moment, the Donati's bridge transformed into a floating pocket of warmth and safety in an otherwise uncaring void.

Luz gave in with a tired but genuine grin. "Alright, fifteen minutes of fun before we figure out where the heck we're going next."

King pumped a paw into the air. "That's what I'm talkin' about! Victory nap time!"

Atlas chuckled quietly, a sound that hadn't graced the bridge in a while. "You earned it, King. You sounded terrifying on the turret."

"I am terrifying," King said, striking a heroic pose atop the central console. "The dread beast of the Boiling Isles, now dread-er in space!"

While King and Atlas reveled in the moment, Luz turned toward Hesperos, "You said the Manturn Star System might be within reach?" Hesperos gave a small nod, already bringing up a holo-chart on the panel. "Manturn should be within reach from this quadrant. If we reorient the drive vectors now, we can start plotting our course. We need to stock up on supplies once more if we are going to keep avoiding The Archive Collective and... him..."

A tight silence settled between them for a moment. The reference alone made Luz's stomach knot. The Grand Huntsman—the Archivist enforcer who had turned entire worlds into charred graveyards. She clenched her jaw, trying to shake the memory of their last close call during a previous encounter. "He's still tracking us?" she asked, though part of her already knew the answer. "He always is," Hesperos said grimly. "He's a predator. He doesn't give up... but neither do we. Rest assured my friend, once we restock on necessities, we'll be out of there in no time before the Grand Huntsman is even able to spot us."

Luz leaned against the side console, arms crossed, eyes fixed on the shifting stars outside the viewport. "Two months," she muttered, "and every system we jump to, it's like he's already been there... or is just about to arrive."

Hesperos kept his eyes on the chart as he spoke, "He moves like a shadow. Not fast, not erratic, just steady and relentless."

"I still remember that elder on Virellis," Luz said, "She wouldn't even say his name. So instead she referred to him as the 'Burning Ghost.' She told us how he came down from the stars and turned their entire moon-city to instant nothingness because someone there refused to give up a relic."

Hesperos gave a slow nod, "And on Callora, there were murals. Painted in blood. The refugees there said he strung up the bones of a thousand different species on his prow like trophies." He glanced over at her. "They called him 'The Last Howl.' because you only ever hear the shriek of the engines of his ship right before your world goes dark."

Luz shivered. "Then there was the story on Aeris-Kantar... those nomads called him a 'divine executioner' for what he did to their people! It's so horrifying..."

"It's the same pattern everywhere we went," Hesperos muttered. "Different names. Different stories. But always the same bloody figure. The Grand Huntsman."

.Luz gulped before speaking, "There was that one guy on Orven Prime... the one who said—" She hesitated.

"That he bathes in Titan blood?" Hesperos finished for her. "Yeah. I remember." However, when he did so, the tone of voice reflected his hesitancy to mention the terrifying rumor.

"We always knew about the Grand Huntsman back home, I mean, he had a literal cult that worshiped him. They called themselves the Titan Trappers and they tried to hurt King when they found out who he really was." Luz clenched her fists when she spoke once more, however her voice came out as brittle, "After escaping, I honestly thought that would be the end of it but I guess not anymore considering what's happening around us right now."

Luz kept her eyes trained on the readouts, watching the soft blue glow of the route projection slowly paint itself across the console. Her jaw tightened, her hands steady on the edge of the dashboard. "I hate that he's this close... That he can track us like this." she said. Hesperos flicked a few switches, the map zooming out to show the wider system—routes, obstacles, gravitational tides. "He's good at what he does, that's why the Archivists rely on him." he said, tone clipped. "Although, aye, we're just as good as that Huntsman bloke. We're practically ghosts in the Realm now."

"But ghosts can still be caught," Luz replied quietly, almost to herself. "We've barely had a breath since the Archive Tower. Every time we think we're ahead—he's one step behind. If he gets the Compass..."

"He won't," Hesperos said firmly, turning to face her fully. "We've been able to keep this up long enough and we're okay. We'll be okay Luz." Luz nodded, but there was still a flicker of doubt in her eyes. Although all she could say simply was, "Alright then."

Hesperos sighed with a heavy breath before he spoke again, "Well mate, for now, let's try resting before we head to Nanturn. We've dealt too much... they dealt too much." He said while he turned towards King and Atlas.

Luz followed up, "You're right..." she added quietly under her breath as a whisper, "I don't want them to suffer more..."

Behind them, laughter and music hummed in the background. Starry had conjured a small lightshow—gentle prismatic waves cycling above the control dome like a living aurora. King laid flat on a cushioned console pillow, one leg twitching in sleepy contentment, while Atlas leaned near the viewport, watching the stars drift slowly past with a thoughtful gaze.

"Can't believe I'm actually enjoying this," Atlas said in a soft tone.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," King replied, eyes still half-closed. Atlas explained, "I'm just not used to... surviving. Let alone celebrating.

"Well," King yawned, "you better get used to it. We plan on doing it a lot more. I mean- to be fair that's what we've been doing for like what? A while now?" King would open both of his eyes and look at his friend solemnly. He added, "All I'm saying is to make the most of it right now. You know, to relax and unwind for once after with everything we've been through. We honestly needed this." Soon King laid back and shifted his body into a position where he would feel best comfortable as he rested on his bean bag. He closed his eyes as he prepared himself to take a relaxing nap.

Atlas, meanwhile, looked on at the viewport one more time before turning back to his dear friend. He soon spoke quietly to King, asking him a simple question, "Hey.. King?". Shortly after, King spoke although his eyes still remained closed as he was clearly partially half-asleep, "Hm? What's up buddy?" he said. Atlas continued, "Would it be alright if I... slept alongside you?"

There was a pause. A beat of silence that hung between them but it wasn't cold or uncertain, just tenderness.

King opened both eyes fully now, his expression losing every trace of sleepiness for a moment. He turned his head to properly look at Atlas, and for once, his usual snark and bravado melted away. What he saw wasn't just a request to lie down—it was a quiet call for comfort. A small, vulnerable offering of trust. King gave a warm, gentle expression. "Yeah. Of course. There's plenty of room, dude."

Atlas's shoulders released a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. He nodded silently, crawling carefully onto the bean bag beside King. He moved slowly, as if afraid he might disturb something sacred in the quiet. Once settled, he curled inward—shoulders slightly hunched, back still tense.

King, sensing it, nudged his shoulder gently against Atlas's arm. "Hey. You can relax, y'know. I don't bite in my sleep... not anymore at least."

That earned the faintest of chuckles from Atlas—small, but real. His body softened gradually, the tension bleeding from his limbs as he let himself sink into the comfort of the bean bag. He wasn't sure how long it had been since he last shared space with someone like this—without fear and pressure, without needing to act like a being of cosmic power. He can be just a kid being beside his best friend.

King let his eyes drift closed again. "You're safe right now, okay? We both are."

"...Okay," Atlas whispered. He let the words settle in the air around him like a shield. They inched closer, just enough for their shoulders to touch, and let his head rest lightly against King's.

The ship continued to hum softly as the warpstream carried them forward into the stars. Somewhere ahead waited the Manturn Star System. Somewhere behind, danger still stalked in the shadows. Here at least, in this quiet corner of the Donati, there was peace, safety, and the opportunity to rest properly. For the first time in a long while, Atlas allowed himself to sleep.

In the quiet vacuum of space and a while later, The Donati glided gently through a sea of stars, its silver-blue-orange hull reflecting the distant shimmer of nebulas and the faint glow of distant galaxies. The ship's engines hummed at a low, soothing thrum—barely audible through the walls—as it drifted slowly on autopilot toward its next destination: the gas planet of Manturn. For now, though, the journey was paused. After a string of difficult battles and close calls, the crew had agreed—without words but with heavy eyes and slouched shoulders—that they needed a night of peace. A single night to breathe, rest, and to dream.

Inside the ship, all was still.

In his dimly lit quarters, Hesperos Holmes lay sprawled on a circular hammock woven from old scavenged netting and reinforced cables, snoring softly with one paw draped lazily over the holster of his blasters. Posters of star charts and pirate insignias fluttered faintly in the recycled air, while his tail twitched now and then, perhaps chasing something in a dream of his own.

Just a floor below, nestled in the engine room, Starry hovered in a passive state—their body suspended in the air like a glowing cocoon of translucent light. Though they slept, their form still emitted a gentle pulse of luminous energy, which coursed through the ship's conduits in subtle waves. Their very essence had become one with the vessel, keeping the systems warm, the lights dim, and the gravity stable. Their dreams, if they had any, whispered through the circuitry like a lullaby.

In her private quarters, Luz lay curled under a thick blanket on a makeshift bed. Her hair was a bit messier than usual, her face serene, no trace of fear or worry for once. On the nightstand beside her, a tiny hand-drawn picture of the Boiling Isles rested quietly—as it was a token of a world she once knew and the one she now fought for.

And in the cozy nook just beyond the main deck, the two small figures of King and Atlas were tangled together in slumber atop a massive bean bag chair. King's snout gently rose and fell as he snored. Nestled against his side, Atlas lay curled with his back turned, his arms wrapped around a tattered pillow. He murmured now and then in his sleep, brows furrowing and relaxing in soft intervals. Though they had long since lost the powers that once made him untouchable, his dreams remained vast and untamed. Though tonight... one of those dreams stirred to life.

In an instant, the cold, darkened corners of the ship faded from Atlas's mind, replaced by a sudden warmth and a burst of vibrant light. He blinked open his eyes not with fear, but with the wide-eyed wonder of a child seeing something new and impossibly beautiful.

He stood in the center of a meadow unlike any he'd ever seen. The sky above was a dazzling gradient of twilight pink, sapphire blue, and radiant gold, with swirling constellations dancing in slow circles across the heavens. Giant toadstools as tall as trees bloomed in spirals around ponds and rivers that flowed gently through the hills, whispering soft lullabies in a language he couldn't quite understand.

The air sparkled with motes of color—blues and violets and glowing yellows—that drifted like fireflies, giggling with tiny voices that made Atlas grin without knowing why. Trees with candy-glass leaves swayed in a breeze that smelled faintly of caramel.

Atlas stepped forward, barefoot in the soft, cushiony grass, and laughed—a pure, unburdened laugh—as a cloud-shaped creature bounced past him like a jellybean with wings. He followed it, running freely now, his cloak fluttering behind him like a cape. Everything in this place seemed to reflect something deep within him: his curiosity, his playfulness, his longing for joy without consequence. A hill of soft moss curved upward before him, and at the top, he spotted a carousel-like structure made of spinning planets and glowing comets. As he climbed, dream-flowers bloomed in his footsteps, bursting in soft puffs of color. And at the summit, he paused, taking in the dreamscape with awe. Here, the rules of reality no longer applied, only imagination did. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, Atlas didn't feel small... or forgotten... or afraid, he just felt alive.

Atlas wandered deeper into the dreamscape, each step carrying him further into a realm stitched from whimsy and forgotten lullabies. The landscape shifted gently around him like a painting in motion—meadows turning to fields of floating lanterns, waterfalls cascading upward into the clouds, and giant blossoms opening as he passed, revealing constellations tucked within their petals. Everything shimmered, pulsed, and breathed with magic. Yet despite its beauty, something began to shift.

At first, it was faint—just a whisper on the breeze.

"Atlas...?"

His steps slowed. His head turned. The voice was soft, distant, yet unmistakable... It was the voice of Luz. Her voice carried a warmth he knew by heart, but it felt far away, too far for how close it sounded. He spun around, his eyes darting across the dreamlike terrain until he spotted a distant grove where glowing willow trees wept golden leaves. A figure moved between them—tall, familiar. Atlas's heart leapt as he bolted forward, his voice breaking with excitement. "Luz?! Luz, wait!"

He reached the grove, ducking beneath the glittering branches... but no one was there. Only silence, and the soft rustle of leaves. The ground shimmered with her fading footprints, but even they vanished after a few seconds. Confusion knit across Atlas's face. His small fingers clenched at his sides. "I heard her," he whispered to himself. "I know I did..."

Then came another voice, this one raspier and more playful. "Hey dummy, where are you?" The voice came from King.

Atlas turned to see a silhouette bounding over a hilltop in the distance. Atlas ran again—this time faster, and more desperately. The terrain beneath his feet shifted once more, the grass turning to patches of floating platforms, each leap taking him closer to where King had appeared. However, when he reached the crest of the hill, there was nothing. No footprints and no King, only the sound of his own breathing.

A cold feeling began to nibble at the edges of the dream—small, invisible teeth that hinted at isolation. Atlas turned slowly in place, scanning the impossible horizon. The vivid colors of the dream began to feel sharper now, less comforting. Shadows beneath the flowers grew longer. The laughter of the cloud creatures faded. Then again— "Atlas... Come on, we're waiting..." Luz's voice again. And King's followed, faint and overlapping, as if echoing through multiple layers of the dream at once.

Atlas sprinted through a field of mirrors that showed him versions of himself—laughing, crying, confused. He ran across a floating bridge made of music notes that trembled under his feet. He tore through a tunnel of stardust that curved in on itself, chasing voices that always danced just out of reach. "Where are you?!" he shouted, frustration breaking through his voice. His chest burned with panic now, and tears began to sting at the corners of his eyes.

The cycle repeated. Again and again, he heard them. Again and again, he ran to where they should have been—and again, he found nothing. The silence that followed each failed encounter was worse than the last. The dreamland, once wondrous, now felt too big and hollow. It was like a playground with no friends.

Atlas slowed. His breath came in short gasps as he stumbled onto a quiet plain made of soft, glowing moss. He fell to his knees, trembling. "I... I just want to find you," he whispered. His voice cracked. "Why can't I find you?"

The wind was gentle as it swept across the plain, and with it came a final chorus of their voices—clearer now, more centered. No longer scattered echoes, but grounded and real.

"Atlas... we're here."

He lifted his head, as he saw that far ahead at the base of a hill crowned with spiraling trees and a crescent-shaped archway, he saw them. Luz stood with her hand raised, waving to him with that familiar grin—the one that always made him feel like everything would be okay. King sat beside her, tail wagging, eyes wide and hopeful.

The sight hit Atlas like a warm wave, and he shot to his feet. "Luz! King!"

He ran—not with desperation now, but with overwhelming relief. Laughter, wet with leftover tears, bubbled from his throat as he darted through the glowing field. This time, the terrain didn't shift beneath him. The dream didn't change its mind.

He reached them. He didn't stop running until he collided into Luz's open arms, and she caught him, spinning him slightly before kneeling down to hold him close.

"Hey, buddy," she said softly, her voice full of affection. "Took you long enough!"

King hopped up and hugged Atlas's side. "Yeah, what gives? You get lost in your own weird brain dream again?"

Atlas didn't answer. He just clung to both of them, burying his face into Luz's shoulder. His small frame shook as the last of his tears fell, this time not from fear or sadness, but from the pure, aching relief of not being alone anymore.

However, even as Atlas remained nestled in Luz's arms with King's warmth pressed close at his side, a sudden stillness passed through the dreamscape. Not the gentle kind that soothed like a lullaby, but a hollow, unnatural pause—like the breath held before a scream.

The colors around them—those vivid, dreamlike hues—began to mute. The crescent arch behind them fractured silently, splitting apart like brittle glass. The spiraling trees faded into silhouettes before dissolving altogether. One by one, the details of the meadow unraveled, as if being erased by an invisible hand. What had once been a wonderland of stars and magic now fell away like old paint peeling off a canvas.

Atlas blinked in confusion, his arms still wrapped tightly around Luz. "Wait... what's happening?"

The ground beneath them cracked and vanished, exposing an abyss of nothingness that was black, cold, and infinite.

His eyes darted around in a frenzy, panic rising in his chest like a choking tide. "No—no, no, no!" he cried, clutching Luz and King tighter. "Don't go! Please don't go!"

Luz's expression didn't change. She just stared at him quietly, with a soft, almost apologetic smile. King blinked slowly, his tail unmoving. "Luz?" Atlas whispered, his voice trembling. "King?" Neither of them answered.

He reached out, hands shaking, and touched Luz's cheek. The moment his fingertips brushed her skin, her entire form began to disintegrate—dust rising from her body like smoke from a dying flame. Her arms, her hair, her face—all dissolved into fine black ash. Her eyes were the last to go, still filled with quiet warmth as they vanished. King followed next, his small frame crumbling in silence, his silhouette blowing away like dandelion seeds in the wind.

"No—NO!" Atlas screamed, scrambling to gather the remnants of their ashes, desperate to hold on to something—anything. His hands moved in frantic sweeps, but the dust slipped through his fingers no matter how tightly he clenched them. He cupped his palms around what little he could catch, tears falling freely down his cheeks as he hunched over their remains. "I'm sorry," he choked out. "I didn't mean to lose you. I didn't—please—come back—"

Then everything went silent... Atlas froze as the void stretched endlessly in all directions now. No more colors, no more sky, no more warmth. Only him, the cold, and it's stillness. Then out of nowhere... a voice appeared. It was low and smooth. Yet familiar in the worst possible way. "Well, isn't this pathetic?"

Atlas's entire body tensed. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. The ashes he held scattered from his grip as his hands fell limply to the ground.

He didn't need to look up to know who it was but he did anyway, slowly and unwillingly.

When Atlas looked up he saw him. There he stood, towering and pristine in the dark, Orion. His face was a perfect sculpture of superiority and disdain. Those cold, gleaming eyes stared directly into Atlas's soul, unblinking.

Atlas couldn't move while his breath caught in his throat, limbs locking in place as if the void itself had become chains around him. The warmth he'd felt just moments ago was gone, smothered under the crushing weight of terror. He was back in that place again—not the dream, but the feelings of helplessness. His heartbeat thundered in his ears. His lips parted, but no words came. No cry for help or shouting, just nothing and silence.

Orion didn't need to speak again. The presence alone—the look alone—was enough. Atlas remained frozen in place, paralyzed beneath the gaze of the one who had stolen everything from him. Not just power or pride but safety, family, and self-worth.

The void around them pulsed once, low and deep, as if it too recognized the nightmare had begun.

Orion stood tall in the void, casting a long, unnatural shadow that twisted and reached far beyond where it should have ended. Atlas remained frozen beneath that gaze—his small frame trembling, his chest rising and falling in shallow, rapid breaths. The remnants of Luz and King had vanished into nothing, and the silence around them throbbed with tension, heavy and suffocating.

"You can run to the far ends of the cosmos, hide behind illusions, behind their affection, and behind your childish dreams but I will always see you. No matter how far you go brother." Orion said, his lips curling into something too cold to be a smile. His voice slithered through, as it was too steady and too composed.

Atlas's breath hitched as the words entered beneath his skin, festering where old wounds had never healed. He wanted to look away, to close his eyes, to pretend it wasn't real but he couldn't. Orion's voice kept him rooted, held fast by fear and shame alike. "You think dreams will protect you? That they'll save you from what you've done?" Orion stepped forward slowly, his boots making no sound against the blackened floor. "You've forgotten what you are and who you served."

Atlas flinched, taking a half-step back, though his legs wobbled like jelly. The darkness around him seemed to shrink, the space between him and Orion closing in without either of them moving. Each breath felt heavier than the last.

"You turned your back on us," Orion continued, tilting his head slightly, as if he were speaking to a child who failed a simple lesson. "On your own people and the destiny they laid out for you. All for what?" He gestured with a single hand, sweeping toward the emptiness. "Fleeting affection? Earthbound nobodies? Weakness disguised as love?"

The air rippled with heat. "And for that treason," he said, "you will be punished."

A low rumble echoed in the distance—so faint at first it could've been mistaken for thunder. Then, all at once, it came alive.

Fire.

From the edges of the void, jagged lines of flame erupted, devouring the darkness like parchment soaked in oil. The flames weren't warm because they burned with a strange, alien heat that warped the air and made the very ground groan beneath them. They rose like tidal waves, licking hungrily toward the sky, consuming what little space remained untouched.

Atlas's eyes widened in horror as he spun in place, trying to outrun a circle of fire that now rapidly encroached. Every direction and path was swallowed by infernos that burned with impossible colors of violet, crimson, and black. Sparks erupted like stars being torn apart. "You will lose everything you've stolen," Orion hissed, his voice now everywhere at once. "Every smile you earned under false pretenses. Every bond born from your selfish delusions. Your comfort. Your safety. Them. All of it will be taken."

Atlas clutched his head with both hands, squeezing his eyes shut as if that would wake him. As if the fire would disappear. But he could still feel Orion's presence behind his eyelids—closer now. Always closer. The heat gnawed at his skin, yet it was the voice, the words, that stung deepest. "You don't deserve what you were given," Orion said coldly. "And you will answer for your betrayal."

The flames surged higher, forming walls, enclosing Atlas within a searing cage. The world around him roared with destruction. Everything burned—everything that had ever made him feel safe, whole, loved. The dream was no longer a dream. It was a judgment.

At the center of it all stood Orion, as he was untouched by the fire and unshaken by the very sight around him, as if he had always belonged in the middle of ruin.

Atlas collapsed to his knees, while the flames closed in on him, his mind a swirl of guilt, panic, and unbearable grief. Tears fell freely now—not just from the smoke, but from the crushing weight of those words because some part of him... a part still broken and buried deep... feared Orion might be right.

A sudden gasp shattered the silence.

Atlas shot upright from the bean bag, while he hyperventilated in shallow but panicked breaths. His eyes were wide with terror, the pupils small and dilated as if they were still locked onto some phantom horror that hadn't followed him out of the dream. Sweat clung to his forehead, dampening the strands of hair that now stuck to his skin. His trembling hands gripped the edge of the bean bag as if the ground beneath him might give way.

Beside him, King stirred with a groggy grunt, his tiny body nestled under a scrap of blanket they had been sharing. He perked up, and he blinked blearily as he turned toward his friend. "Wha—Atlas?" he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep. "What's going on?"

Atlas didn't answer, due to his breath being caught in his throat as he stared into the dim interior of the ship's lounge. His eyes darting around the space as if to reassure himself he was no longer in that void of flame and judgment. The holographic starmap on the far wall glowed gently, casting a faint blue glow over the darkened room but to Atlas, it felt like too much light, too much shadow—as if it were too real and dreamlike.

King pushed himself upright, now fully awake and watching with concern. "Hey. Are you okay?" he asked again, a bit more firmly. "Atlas?"

Atlas's lips parted slightly, but no words came. His body was stiff, curled into itself, as though any movement might shatter the fragile line between sleep and waking. His shoulders quivered, and his eyes shimmered with unshed tears, his silence louder than any scream.

King's expression softened, as he knew that look. The kind of fear that didn't need to be spoken to be understood. The kind that said something inside had broken—quietly, deeply, and completely. "You had a nightmare," King said gently. Atlas didn't nod, as he didn't have to. The tremble in his breath was confirmation enough.

King hesitated for only a moment before scooting closer. His small clawed hand reached out and rested lightly against Atlas's arm, just enough to let him know he was there. "You don't have to talk about it," he said quietly. "It's okay."

The contact seemed to ground Atlas just a little. His shoulders sagged as his breathing began to slow, though it remained uneven. He didn't look at King—he couldn't—but the presence beside him began to cut through the lingering fear like a gentle beam through smoke.

King shuffled closer still, pressing his side against Atlas's. "I'm here," he muttered, softer now. "You're safe. It was just a dream."

Atlas let out a shaky exhale yet there were still no words but his posture eased ever so slightly, as his hands unclenching from the bean bag's edge. Slowly and hesitantly he leaned toward King, resting his head atop his small friend's.

King didn't say anything else. He simply stayed there with him, unmoving, eyes staring forward into the soft hum of the ship's systems. In the quiet of the room, in the stillness of the moment, he offered the only thing Atlas truly needed; company.

Soon Luz emerged quietly from her quarters, her boots making only the faintest sound against the padded floor. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes which was followed by the faint crease of worry already pressing into her brow. Just behind her, Hesperos followed, stretching with a feline yawn and adjusting the bandolier strapped across his shoulder, his usual light-hearted demeanor still hazy from rest. Though their steps slowed the moment they turned the corner and saw the scene in the lounge.

King sat nestled beside Atlas, as his tiny body pressed close as a small arm rested over his friend's hunched frame. Atlas, though still visibly shaken, had begun to calm down. His breaths came slower now, no longer caught in the panicked gasps of someone drowning in nightmares. Yet his eyes were still distant, hollow in a way that Luz recognized all too well.

King looked up and noticed them standing there. His voice was gentle, but steady. "I've got him," he said with quiet confidence, giving Luz a small nod as if to tell her she didn't have to worry.

Though Luz did worry, her heart twisted in her chest at the sight. Atlas, once a celestial force of nature, had been now reduced to a child haunted by his own mind. It wasn't the first time he'd woken like this—and deep down, Luz feared it wouldn't be the last. She knew the depths of his fear because she had swum in similar waters. She had stared into the same void.

She forced herself to smile faintly, giving King a nod in return. "Thanks, buddy," she said, her voice calm, even soothing.

Hesperos moved past her with slow, measured steps, giving the two space as he walked to the far side of the lounge to check the systems display, but Luz lingered by the threshold. Her gaze lingered on Atlas—his shoulders still trembling slightly, eyes still unfocused—as guilt gnawed at her quietly, insidiously.

He should never have had to endure any of this.

Though he had because of the Archivists and everything that had been done to him. Luz couldn't shake the feeling that she should've done more—especially protecting him, should've found a way to spare him from the pain. However, she didn't let it show, instead she stood tall. Composed and in control, she had to place herself as a leader first, always.

She buried the knot in her stomach, locked the guilt behind her ribs, and wore her strength like a mask. No tremble in her voice. No tears in her eyes. Because if she crumbled now, then what would that say to the rest of them? What would it say to Atlas? He needed her to be strong. Still, her hand balled into a fist at her side—just for a moment and then relaxed.

She stepped into the lounge with even steps and crossed toward them, crouching down gently beside King and Atlas, though she didn't speak nor didn't press. She simply sat close, her presence steady and warm like a lighthouse on a distant cliff. The silence lingered for a few more moments as the soft glow of the lounge cast gentle halos around Luz, King, and Atlas. The calm had mostly returned, if only superficially—Atlas's breathing was steady now, but the distant look in his eyes remained. Luz gave his shoulder a gentle squeeze before rising slowly to her feet, her gaze shifting toward the forward corridor that led to the cockpit.

From across the room, Hesperos finally broke the silence with a quiet yet focused tone. "We should start prepping the ship," he said, adjusting the strap of his gear as he turned toward her. "We'll want to be in the Manturn System before any of the Archive Collective's forces find us."

Luz took a breath and nodded, brushing a loose strand of hair from her face. "Right," she said softly, her voice regaining its usual clarity. "Let's get ready to move."

She soon got up and she gave one final look over her shoulder—at King, who had now guided Atlas to lie back down again, whispering soft reassurances, the kind only close friends could offer. Though Luz's heart ached to stay, she knew there were things that needed to be done, and she carried that responsibility like a familiar weight on her shoulders.

The doors to the cockpit parted with a smooth hydraulic hiss as Luz and Hesperos entered, the room dimly lit by soft orange lights and a curved interface panel that glowed with soft pulsing icons. The view ahead revealed a vast expanse of stars, scattered like diamond dust across a canvas of darkness. The Donati hovered in still space, quiet and patient.

Luz slid into the co-pilot's seat, her hands already moving instinctively across the dashboard. The familiarity in her movements betrayed the many months of experience she'd gained—back when they had first set out, she could barely tell the difference between a navigation toggle and a retro-thruster. Now, she worked in tandem with the ship like a seasoned traveler of the stars.

Hesperos leaned into his seat beside her and activated the ship-wide comms with a flick of his clawed finger. "Starry, rise and shine," he called, voice tinged with his usual charm. "Time to wake up and warm up that warp core. We've got places to be."

A brief static hum followed before Starry's voice responded, laced with sleepy enthusiasm. "Ughhh... okay, okay! I'm up, I'm up! initiating warp core ignition sequence... now!"

Panels along the walls began to flicker with motion as energy conduits sparked to life. The faint, rhythmic hum of the warp drive stirred beneath their feet, growing louder with each second as the system aligned itself for interstellar travel. A stream of soft blue light spiraled upward from the central core behind them, glowing brighter with each rotation.

"All systems online," Starry confirmed, her tone shifting into crisp professionalism. "Warp drive is charged and ready for jump, cap!"

"Thanks, Star," Hesperos said, giving the comms mic a two-fingered tap.

Luz focused in, her gaze sharpening as she reached for the nav-console, keying in the coordinates for Manturn. Her fingers moved fluidly across the console as holographic projections bloomed above the controls—a star map of the surrounding systems, paths traced in faint golden lines. She located the Manturn System and tapped the central star icon, locking in the coordinates.

"Coordinates locked," she announced, voice steady and certain. "Engaging navigation stabilizers."

Outside the viewport, the stars began to blur. The void twisted as streaks of light stretched forward like threads being pulled across a loom. The warp tunnel opened with a shimmer—an otherworldly corridor of swirling colors and bending space. Then, with a surge of light and a gentle shudder, the Donati entered the tunnel and vanished from its stationary perch.

The ship glided forward into the bending corridors of warp space, its path set, its crew in motion once more—toward Manturn, and toward whatever awaited them in the next leg of their journey.

The Donati soared gracefully through the warp tunnel, its sleek frame gliding along a highway of swirling starlight and refracted time. Outside the reinforced glass of the cockpit, the cosmos bent and twisted like colored silk in water, the stars stretching into luminous ribbons that curved and danced around the vessel as it hurtled toward its destination. Inside the cockpit, the atmosphere was quiet, almost peaceful, with the exception for the low hum of the ship's systems and the occasional flicker of a status light on the console. Luz sat with her hands firmly on the controls, her posture straight, eyes locked on the navigation readouts. The quiet wasn't uncomfortable, but it held a certain weight—a subtle, unspoken tension that clung to the space like mist.

Hesperos, seated beside her, had noticed it long before she even spoke. The way her fingers occasionally curled into the edge of the console. The brief, sharp inhalations that she tried to mask as steady breaths. The way her jaw clenched ever so slightly when she thought no one was watching. She was holding something in, that something so happened to be a heavy feeling.

Hesperos leaned back in his chair, arms crossed loosely, tail flicking idly near the base of the seat. He glanced at her from the corner of his eye, weighing his words before speaking. "Hey," he said, his voice low, gentle, and just light enough not to sound intrusive, "you've been on edge since Atlas woke up. And I get it—we all care about him. But maybe... you should let me handle things from here for a bit. Give yourself a chance to breathe before we touch down."

Luz didn't respond right away. Her fingers continued to work the controls with smooth precision, and her expression remained unreadable for a few more seconds. Then, finally, she spoke calmly and evenly. "I appreciate it, Hesperos," she said, her tone warm but firm, "but I'm good. Really." She shifted slightly in her seat, fingers adjusting a dial that didn't really need adjusting. "Besides... someone's gotta make sure the ship doesn't fly us into a supernova or a space jellyfish hive or something."

Her attempt at humor was light, casual—too casual.

Hesperos didn't laugh at the remark but instead tilted his head slightly, brows drawing together. "Luz, I get it. You're trying to keep us steady but you don't always have to carry everything. Especially not by yourself."

"I'm not," she replied, her voice soft, but edged with quiet conviction. She glanced toward him now, her eyes tired, but clear. "I'm just doing what I need to. We're heading into something big—Manturn's not exactly gonna be a vacation. I need to be sharp. For them. For everyone."

Her voice carried a weariness that didn't quite match the confidence in her words. She wasn't raising her voice. She wasn't brushing him off but there was something practiced about her answer, as if it was something she'd told herself dozens of times just to keep on moving.

Hesperos leaned forward, resting one elbow on the console. "I'm not saying don't be strong, Luz. But burying what you're feeling... that's not strength either. I saw the way you looked at Atlas earlier. I see the way you keep pushing past what you need. You're not a machine. You're allowed to break a little."

Luz looked at him fully now, and for a moment, her expression softened—not with anger, but something far more vulnerable. Her lips parted, but she hesitated before responding. When she finally spoke, it was with calm finality. "I know you're trying to help. And really, I appreciate it, Hesperos," she said, her voice carrying that familiar mix of sincerity and restraint. "But I'm fine. I promise. I just... I need to focus right now, okay? We've got a mission, and I can't afford to fall apart in the middle of it."

Hesperos didn't argue. He leaned back in his seat, folding his arms with a quiet sigh. "Alright." he murmured, voice low and respectful. Though, he didn't stop watching her—not with suspicion, but with silent concern. He respected her boundaries, he always had. though it didn't stop him from worrying.

The ship sailed on through the vast tunnel of light and distortion, a small vessel caught between the stars—its crew bound together by shared burdens and unspoken wounds. And though Luz sat tall in the pilot's seat, the ache in her chest remained, that being a weight she'd chosen to bear alone, for now, as they pressed forward into the unknown.

Chapter Text

Unknowingly Sighted

The Donati emerged from the warpstream like a ghost slipping out of a dream. The quiet rumble of the drive core slowed to a low purr as the ship arrived at Manturn. It was unlike any world they had ever seen, a vast gas giant that dominated the entire viewport with its overwhelming presence. Its atmosphere pulsed with life and motion, a mesmerizing blend of molten gold, rusty crimson, and pale ivory that churned in colossal, spiraling belts across its surface. Each layer of cloud seemed to ripple like waves in the ocean, catching the distant light of its sun in ghostly, fluid waves. The planet seemed to breathe with its storms the size of continents rotated in slow, eternal spirals. One storm in particular caught their attention: a massive golden vortex with a deep, eye-like center that blinked with flashes of internal lightning. It was as if the planet was watching them back, aware in some ancient, cosmic way.

Inside the bridge, the mood was hushed. Luz sat at the helm, her eyes focused, yet heavy with unspoken thoughts. The controls hummed gently beneath her fingers, casting soft cyan glows on her face. Hesperos stood beside her, silent for once, his usual charm tempered by awe. King perched quietly atop the console, ears twitching as the dense beauty of Manturn filled the viewport. "Descending into the upper cloud layer," Luz announced, her voice steady but low. The thrusters tilted, angling the Donati downward into the amber fog.

The Donati's hull trembled faintly as it pierced through the upper veil of gases. The ship's shields shimmered in response, repelling pockets of pressurized wind and ion-charged vapor that sparkled like stardust in the sun. Outside the main viewport, Manturn's clouds shifted in turbulent waves, glowing from within with lightning flashes that cracked and rippled through the lower depths. Great spirals of gas twisted below like planetary whirlpools, the full scale of them impossible to measure with the naked eye. Then, through the haze, a floating structure appeared.

Upon further inspection, this floating structure turned out to be a city, floating above the crushing layers of gas and pressure, as it were suspended on massive anti-gravity pylons and anchored by weather-worn support struts. The structure was vast but tired, its towers jagged and mismatched like a patchwork skyline built atop itself over generations. Metal platforms, walkways, and external piping sprawled in every direction. Rusted panels glinted dully in the filtered sunlight, and wind-blown grime stained the sides of every building. Neon signs flickered in and out, many half-lit or cracked, clinging to life like the people who lived beneath them. It was a city suspended between storms and survival. Inside the cockpit, the crew silently watched as the landing pads of the city came into view. The city glowed beneath them—metallic spires jutting out from the cracked land, illuminated by neon signage and orbital lanterns. It was a place that felt both lived-in and dangerous. Not quite safe, but not entirely hostile. The sort of haven that didn't ask questions, so long as your credits were good and your stay was brief.

As The Donati pierced the cloud line, the windshield tinted to shield their eyes from the sun's glare. The descent was smooth—Hesperos's hands steady on the controls, Luz leaning beside him, while he stared at every detail of the map as the docking sequence engaged. "It's bigger than I expected," Luz murmured. Her voice was quiet, but not uneasy. Just wary. Hesperos nodded, tapping a few glowing runes on the dash. "The settlement was built on an old mining colony. Most of it's been repurposed for trade, but... well, trade in these parts can mean a lot of things."

Atlas stood behind them, his gaze fixed to the world beyond the glass. There was something almost melancholic in his expression—an echo of something old and forgotten, triggered by the alien beauty of the bioluminescent ravines that glowed far below. "It's... strange. So many lights, yet it still feels dark."

King, perched comfortably atop a crate near the rear of the cockpit, squinted out toward the approaching platforms. "That's 'cause it's one of those places where people hide in plain sight. Like a smile that doesn't reach your eyes."

A subtle clunk echoed through the ship as the docking clamps locked into place, accompanied by a soft shift in gravity that told them the engines were powering down. "Docking complete," Hesperos confirmed, unbuckling his seatbelt with a metallic click. "Let's keep it short. No sightseeing. We get what we need and leave." Luz nodded. "I'll grab our credit chits."

"Don't forget to lock the starboard bay," King reminded her, hopping down and stretching his arms wide. "Last time we were docked somewhere shady, some creep tried to steal our food rations!" While Atlas walked beside him, adjusting the worn cloak over his shoulders in order to not draw any attention from the crowds of visitors at the station.

As the team prepared to disembark, the ship's internal lights dimmed to standby mode. The hum of the systems faded into a low, reassuring murmur, like a heartbeat at rest. Outside, the mechanical whine of cargo cranes and the echo of dockworkers shouting into the dry air filled the spaceport. Towering walls of alloy and flickering ad screens hemmed them in on all sides, painting the walkways in hues of blue, violet, and sickly green. For a moment, no one moved. They each stood at the threshold of the ramp, bathed in the artificial glow, staring out into the city that could either give them sanctuary or sell them out.

King broke the silence with a quiet sigh. "Well... Here we go again."

Luz glanced back toward the ship, her hand brushing the hull gently, almost like she was patting the shoulder of an old friend. Then she straightened, as her own resolve settled in her chest like a weight she no longer feared carrying. "Let's keep our heads down," she said. "And our eyes open."

They stepped out into Maturn itself.

However, almost immediately, they were met by a dock worker. A floating figure about the size of King—they were luminescent with a light yellow colored star-shaped head, they were a Star Sprite. They wore a navy blue uniform that had reinforced stitching that was doubled, while they had padded shoulders. On the front of their uniform, it had at least four pocket compartments to store small tools and utilities. The uniform is meant for mechanical expertise and storage for the tools they used for ship repairs. "Howdy travelers!" the sprite sang in a bubbly, high-pitched voice that rivaled Starry's. "Welcome to Manturn! Dock E-12, huh? That's a prime spot! I'll be watching your vessel while you browse our lovely civilization!"

Luz blinked at the Star Sprite. "Uh... thanks?"

"Of course, of course!" the sprite said, twirling mid-air. "Name's Zizi! I'm assigned to keep your baby bird safe and sound while you flitter off into the stars of capitalism!"

King snorted. "That's one way to put it." Luz then followed up with, "You remind me of someone back home-" However, before Luz could continue, Zizi cut her off and floated closer to The Donati, peering around with overly eager interest. "My, my, that's some old tech! Been flying long?"

Hesperos narrowed his eyes just slightly. "Long enough. She's temperamental, but loyal."

Zizi added while their voice still carried the strange, 'starry' pitch "The ship's integrity looks good! Ooh, what a sleek little vessel. Bet she's fast," they chimed, swaying gently from side to side like a lazy comet.

"Just don't touch anything mate," Hesperos muttered under his breath as he and Luz disappeared into the crowd ahead.

Atlas hesitated for a second longer, glancing back toward Zizi. His eyes, dimly glowing with soft hues, scanned the dockworker's face. "You're... different from most Star Sprites I've known," he noted, his tone tentative but curious.

Zizi giggled, spinning midair. "Aww, thanks, sparkle buddy! I get that a lot. Gotta shine in your own special way, right?" They gave a playful wink before floating off toward the edge of the docking zone. "Now go on, go have your little adventure! I'll keep your pretty ship nice and safe. Pinky-promise!"

Atlas walked slowly after the others, though a faint crease of unease lingered on his brow. Something about the overly peppy attitude felt... off but he said nothing.

As they turned to lead the crew away, the sprite paused mid-spin and gave a quick glance toward the far end of the dock where no one else seemed to be watching. "Well! Enjoy your stay, starlighters!" With a little finger-gun gesture and a wink that sparkled a beat too long, Zizi twirled mid-air with their usual flamboyant flourish and began hovering back toward the ship, humming a carefree tune that sounded like wind chimes caught in a solar flare.

The moment their back was turned to the departing crew, the cheerfulness cracked like thin porcelain. The glow in their cheeks dulled slightly, and their movements stiffened into something more mechanical—more calculated. Zizi's eyes narrowed, darting left, then right, scanning for any dock workers, guards, or curious locals. None. The loading bay was quiet aside from the distant clatter of crates and the hum of hovering freighters.

Without a word, Zizi floated toward a shadowed alcove behind a set of stacked fuel canisters and exhaled. From beneath their sleeve, they tapped once on a glowing band around their wrist, revealing a tiny embedded communicator that shimmered with a faint red glow. With a moment of hesitation—almost regret—they hovered a finger over the central button and pressed it.

Meanwhile, Aboard The Eclipse, the hollow stillness of space was matched only by the haunting interior of the vessel itself. From the outside, the ship resembled a massive yellow crescent—a celestial blade suspended in the void. Its shape was warped and angular, covered in layers of mismatched plating and patchwork reinforcements that glinted faintly under nearby starlight. These modifications weren't aesthetic choices but brutal necessities, made after centuries of conflict and cosmic attrition. Cracks in the main structure had been sealed with jagged alloy slabs; some scars were still faintly glowing, remnants of failed sieges and forbidden energies the ship had endured.

Yet despite its battered hull, The Eclipse remained a weapon of fearsome authority. Inside, the ship was a tomb. The air was cold, dense with the scent of ionized metal and something old. Something similar to dust, perhaps even a memory. Its hallways were steeped in shadow, illuminated only by the occasional flicker of ethereal flame that hovered near the ceilings like silent sentinels. The silence was never complete, however. A low, rhythmic hum pulsed through the walls—alive, deliberate, like a heartbeat. No crew walked these halls. Only the ship, and its master.

The architecture was unlike any modern vessel: archaic and sacramental. Star sigils floated and turned slowly in the air above obsidian walls, casting fleeting shadows. The languages they whispered were long dead, scrawled in patterns that invoked not just meaning, but intent. Every corridor narrowed as it approached the center of the ship, drawing the unfortunate like a funnel toward judgment. At the heart of it all, past a gauntlet of glyph-locked doors. Each was engraved with seals of obedience and pain—there stood the Chamber of Penitence. There was one thing the chamber had been known for, it was a cathedral of suffering. It was vast and circular, its ceiling extended into a black dome littered with faint, artificial constellations that moved with slow deliberation. Four towering statues loomed in the corners, each one carved from a dark colored concrete-like material. These statues were depicted as faceless figures with their body language reflecting their righteousness and agony. The floor was carved with intricate patterns that glowed and pulsed like a heartbeat.

The chamber was a cathedral of suffering. Hovering above the central dais was a device of unholy design: an inverted prism constructed from fractured crystal, bound in iron and gravity tethers. Its presence exuded a nauseating pressure, as if reality bent around it unwillingly. Screams, ancient and faint, sometimes echoed from within its core. It was not merely a torture instrument, as it was a reliquary of confessions, forged to rip secrets from souls. It was here that the Grand Huntsman delivered his judgment.

The Grand Huntsman, donned a long hooded robe. Where the left portion of his robe was black, while the right portion was grey. The grey portion of his robe had large spots that resemble suns. On the black portion of his robe, contained large grey crescents and small, glowing white stars. These patterns were scattered all over his robe. Underneath his robes, he wore a black-colored fusion of ritualistic armor and battle gear, the design is asymmetrical in places, with a layered scale-like texture and hard surfaces to reflect both his authority and aggression. The armor is etched with the symbols of his people and religious motifs but they were done so by the blood of the titans he had hunted, giving these symbols a dark blue appearance in contrast to the dark armor he wore. He also wore thick, metallic gauntlets and boots to complete the ensemble, hinting at his durability and strength. Finally, on his neck, he wore two necklaces where one was longer than the other. Although, these necklaces shared something in common and that was the fact they had the bones of the titans he had hunted. He wore them as trophies for the successful hunts he had led during the days of the war. In a way, it truly was the perfect jewelry cosmetic for a sadistic hunter.

The Grand Huntsman stepped through the chamber's threshold, his footsteps measured and reverent. His cloak flowed behind him, while he crossed the hall slowly, each step echoing with ceremonial weight as he approached a dais set at the room's center where pain and purpose met.

Ahead of them is where his prisoner was located, the prisoner in question was a member of a species known as a Zrullian, who were an amphibious, humanoid race from the world of Zrullia. The Zrullian's body was long and lithe, humanoid in structure but undeniably otherworldly. Translucent, amphibious skin glistened beneath the cruel illumination, shifting hues of pale lavender and soft cerulean rippling subtly with each tremor of pain. Semi-luminescent patterns traced along their limbs like bioluminescent coral reefs, dimming now under the weight of their exhaustion and suffering. Most striking were the frilled gill crests that flared gently from the sides of their neck which were delicate, feather-like structures reminiscent of Earth's axolotls. Once vibrant and finely tuned to the rhythm of Zrullia's oceans, they now drooped due to the hours of torture they had to endure. They also had slender webbing stretched between their elongated fingers, and the lower half of their body had fin-like extensions that had once allowed for elegant aquatic movement, now hanging limp like torn silk. Their once-white robes were torn and stained, clinging to their wiry frame as they trembled in the air. Bloodless cuts lined their limbs, which these cuts were ritualistic and precise. These wounds were not meant to kill, but rather to extract memory. Although the extraction was meant to be done in a slow yet painful process. The Zrullian clinged onto dear life on the very inverted prism in the chamber they were being held restrained on.

The Grand Huntsman stopped a pace before the prisoner and looked up, his face partially shrouded beneath in the hood that he wore. What little of his eyes could be seen gleamed with merciless purpose. "Your silence is both pitiful and predictable," the Grand Huntsman said, voice smooth yet thunderous, with the cadence of scripture being read aloud in judgment. "I offer you a final opportunity for redemption. Speak, Zrullian. Where have the thieves taken the Celestine Compass?"

The prisoner trembled but lifted their head with great effort. Their luminous violet eyes were dim, but defiant. "I-I told you... I don't know them. I've never seen these beings you speak of. I... I was only traveling through the Rift Corridor when your patrol took me—unprovoked..."

"A lie," the Huntsman interrupted flatly, not with rage, but with cold certainty, as though pronouncing the inevitability of the sun rising. "The Archive Collective intercepted psionic echoes from the rift weeks ago. You—a Dream-Warden—were present. The energy signature of the Compass resonated within your presence. That is not conjecture. It is doctrine."

The Zrullian flinched, their gill frills fluttering with each desperate breath. "Resonance...? T-that was residual! I—I was meditating in the astral wells! It must have... bled into me! I swear it wasn't mine! I don't know where they are—I never even saw them!"

The Grand Huntsman slowly tilted his head. "So even now you deflect responsibility and you expect mercy? Typical... for what you speak is that of a coward's hymn."

"Please... I beg you," the Zrullian rasped. "I'm not your enemy! I haven't harmed anyone! I only wish to return to Zrullia! My people need me! My oceans are dying—"

"Your people abandoned their purpose the moment they rejected the Archive Collective," the Huntsman growled. "Your oceans are dying because the stars themselves no longer weep for heretics such as your kind." with a swift gesture, his gauntlet ignited with a swirling column of concentrated Star Magic—vicious white and blue light brimming with divine wrath. "I have given you every chance to repent," he declared. "But it is clear your soul is steeped in rebellion. So be it."

The arcane light surged toward the prisoner, slamming into them like a collapsing sun. Their body convulsed as threads of starfire tore through their nervous system, fracturing the energy fields that sustained their bioluminescence. Light flickered and dimmed across their limbs. Their scream—shrill, alien, and almost melodic—filled the chamber like a mournful aria.

The Huntsman stood unmoved, watching the Zrullian writhe in the air. There was no satisfaction in his expression—only a cold, ritualistic resolve, as if inflicting pain was a sacred act. "I cleanse not out of malice," he intoned, "But because your existence obstructs divinity's course."

The prisoner gasped, a whimpering sob spilling from their lips. "You're... a monster..."

"No," the Huntsman said, stepping closer, lowering his voice to a lethal whisper. "I am the consequence."

Just then, a soft chime echoed through the chamber, which is to be revealed as an incoming communication. The Huntsman raised his hand, halting the flow of starfire. The Zrullian sagged forward, unconscious or near enough, their body steaming in the cold air of the chamber. The gauntlet retracted its magic, and he turned toward the golden interface emerging from the wall.

"Speak," he commanded.

"My Star," said Zizi, their voice devoid of its earlier chipper tone. "The fugitives have arrived on Maturn. Docking quadrant 12-A. Celestine Compass confirmed aboard." She added, "The Human girl, the Illustrian pirate, the traitorous spawn, and finally.. The Titan."

The chamber fell into silence. For several long moments, the Grand Huntsman did not respond. His gaze sharpened, almost imperceptibly, while the fingers of his gauntlet flexed.

Then came the whisper. "The Titan..." His tone was a breath, yet it carried the weight of prophecy. His tone was something more restrained but deeply, profoundly satisfied. "At last," he murmured, stepping forward slowly, each bootfall ringing with holy purpose. "The final affront to divine order. The orphan of chaos... still clinging to life." He turned his face partially toward the dim reflection in the polished walls where his own visage stared back.

"I've hunted his kind across the Demon Realm. Their bones line the path to salvation. Their screams once echoed across the void, heralding the return of rightful dominion. And now—after so many centuries—I am to seize the last one."

He looked at Zizi's projection again. His voice was low but cutting as he asked them. "Are you certain?"

"Yes, Your Radiance. Identified visually and through arcane signature. His presence is undeniable. He... he looks younger than the records suggested."

The Huntsman's face twisted slightly with restrained malice. "The last wretch of a forgotten lineage, wearing innocence as a mask. But his blood remembers. It always remembers."

He raised a hand, and a column of glowing starlight emerged in the air beside him—projecting a slowly rotating image of King in miniature, followed by the others: Luz, Atlas, Hesperos.

"Four fugitives. Four threads binding the tapestry of heresy," he said aloud, pacing. "But it is he who offends the heavens most grievously. That creature is not a child. He is an abomination born of titanic rebellion. His very breath is a trespass against the stars."

Zizi remained quiet, the gravity of his words sinking in like weight pressing on the chest. "I want no more interference," he continued, turning back toward the interface. "No third-party bounties. No detainments by local governments. This is not a retrieval—it is a cleansing."

"Understood, Your Radiance," Zizi replied quietly. "Shall I alert the planetary authorities of your approach?"

"No," he said firmly. "They will know when judgment arrives." He then turned away, as his cape trailed behind him like the curtain of a closing sanctuary. He passed the Zrullian's twitching form without a second glance. "Prepare The Eclipse for immediate descent," he called. "We shall descend upon Maturn not as hunters... but as executioners." As he exited the chamber, the runes flared one last time. The lights dimmed, and in the silence, The Eclipse groaned as its engines aligned, the ship's form shimmering into warp-phase. They were already moving—toward Maturn, the fugitives, and the hunt. The Eclipse would soon enter into warp travel and within seconds it vanished out of existence and disappeared instantly into the cosmos.

Meanwhile, Maturn's capital was a glittering sprawl of towers and winding bazaars that shimmered under the planet's pale sun. Its streets pulsed with life as its vendors shouted in dozens of dialects, hovercrafts zipping overhead, alien creatures bartering exotic wares beneath draped awnings of woven light. Amidst this vibrant chaos, the crew of The Donati moved with wary purpose, their eyes sharp, and their steps were steady but quick. The crew moved through the crowd together, weaving past vendors selling energy capsules, dried krill bark, forged relics, and imitation star maps. Luz walked slightly ahead of the group, as she looked around their surroundings with a calculated focus. She kept her hand near her staff, instinctively protective. Her eyes flicked from alley to rooftop to shadow with quiet intensity. Every loud noise or sudden movement made her shoulders tense. She wouldn't admit it, but the tension hadn't left her since they touched down.

"I still say we should've parked closer to the core," Hesperos muttered,"This place is a maze."

"I told you," Luz said without looking back, "less surveillance in the outer rim. Fewer patrols too. It's safer." she added, "No one won't find us while we blend in with the crowd itself!"

King, walking beside her and Atlas, looked up at her. "Safer, huh? We've got like twelve cameras pointing at us all over this place and I'm pretty sure that food stand is sentient."

"Relax, matey," Hesperos Holmes said with a small smirk, adjusting his coat as he responded to King. "We've got credits, a clear exit route, and a few quiet hours before anyone even thinks about checking the docks."

Luz cracked a small smile but didn't respond. They turned a corner into a quieter alleyway lined with glowing signs in alien script when she suddenly froze mid-step.

Her heart thudded in her chest. Just ahead, between two vendor stalls, stood a tall, hooded figure in indigo robes. Adorning their neck and wrists were star-shaped pendants, cosmic bangles, and rings that gleamed with constellation-like etchings. The hood shadowed the face completely but Luz didn't need to see as the shape, posture, and jewelry screamed Archivist.

The noise of the city fell away, drowned beneath the roaring in her ears. Her vision tunneled, focusing only on the figure unmoving and unblinking. Her chest tightened as though invisible hands squeezed around her lungs. The world around her spun as fear began to take hold of her, which she stumbled back because of it.

"No—no, not here. Not now—" she gasped, hands rising instinctively to her temples. "Luz!" Atlas and King rushed to her side. "Luz, what is it?!"

"Breathe!" King shouted, scrambling to her feet. "Luz, it's okay—it's okay! Look at me, not them!"

Hesperos darted ahead, placing himself between Luz and the hooded figure. His hand reached under his coat for his concealed blaster. "What did you see?"

Luz barely heard them. Her fingers trembled. Cold sweat dotted her brow. "They're here—they found us," she muttered in a panic. "I saw them—he looked just like Orion, just like—"

"No, no, no," Atlas said gently but firmly, kneeling beside her. He gripped her hand tightly.

With a cautious nod from Hesperos, the hooded figure finally turned and revealed a face with multiple blinking eyes. It was not human, nor Archivist. It gave a confused blink, then shuffled away, mumbling something about "weird tourists."

Hesperos relaxed and stepped back. "Just a vendor. A particularly overdressed one."

Luz blinked. Reality returned in fragments. The tension in her shoulders slowly bled out. Her breathing steadied, though she quickly wiped her face and stood up. "I—I knew that," she said quickly, forcing a chuckle that didn't reach her eyes. "Just... testing your reactions. You uh, all passed."

Atlas gave her a long, heart-deep look, but said nothing. King, however, was less subtle.

"Luz," he said softly, "it's okay to—"

"I'm fine," she said sharply, brushing dust from her pants. "I overreacted. It won't happen again."

"Luz..." Hesperos approached slowly, voice gentler now. "It's not overreacting. You've been through a lot. We all have."

She turned her back to them, looking down the street toward their original path. "We don't have time for me to fall apart. Not now. The Huntsman could already be on his way. We need those supplies, and then we're gone."

"Luz—" King began, but she cut him off. "I said I'm fine." Her voice cracked slightly, but her gaze was fierce. "Let's move." Her voice had regained that clipped, commanding edge. She rolled her shoulders and walked ahead again, back straight with her chin up high. "I'll grab the rations. You three check the gear shop."

King watched her go. "There she goes again," he murmured. "Turning it all into armor."

"She thinks she has to protect us," King added quietly. "She doesn't realize we're trying to protect her too," Hesperos added.

For a beat, they stood in the alley, watching Luz disappear into the crowd—composed on the outside, unraveling within. They exchanged a silent nod and followed her, weaving through the crowd with urgency. Though Luz walked ahead, shoulders high and chin set like steel, the shadow of her panic lingered in her eyes which were haunted, heavy, and unspoken.

Meanwhile, across the stars on the planet Tibbocarro—a wind-scoured world of golden sands and deep ravines—a small outpost lay nestled among jagged cliffs. Its cantina, a rough circle of stone and glass, buzzed with low conversation and the occasional scrape of metal on metal. Smoke curled up from hookah-like vents, mixing with the scent of dried spice and engine fuel. The desert sun had begun its descent behind the fractured mesas of Tibbocarro, casting elongated shadows over the outpost and painting the sky in hues of rust and yellow. The air was dry, humming with the faint buzz of wind-driven power turbines. From the nearby cliffs, dust plumes curled into the sky, kicked up by mining haulers grinding their way toward distant settlements. In the heart of the outpost, the cantina's door hissed open with a tired, mechanical groan.

A hooded figure stepped inside, the hem of his long cream-colored tunic brushing against the floor. A navy-blue tabard flowed over his chest, belted with polished silver. Though the shine had been dulled with dust for the sake of anonymity. Several pouches were strapped to his waist in even formation, and his cream-colored pants were tucked neatly into weather worn brown boots. A cloak draped over his shoulders, shadowing his face just enough to hide his identity without raising suspicion. Markus Star scanned the dimly lit cantina through the narrow parting of his hood. Low chatter, the clink of drinks, and the faint croon of a three-armed alien singer filled the space. Booths circled the curved walls. He moved quietly, choosing a shadowed corner near a flickering data terminal.

From his cloak, he withdrew a palm-sized holo-projector and activated it beneath the table. Flickers of blue light formed rotating schematics: a fractured vault door from the ruins of Alkanos, grainy footage of four fleeing silhouettes, and a 3D replica of the Celestine Compass. He muttered under his breath. "Entry via collapsed service tunnel. Tampered surveillance. The Compass was removed within two minutes of breach..."

His finger swiped across the air. Four stills appeared: Luz with her defiant expression; King, mid-leap with glowing eyes; Hesperos Holmes, cocky and armed; and finally, Atlas, his cloak trailing like a comet. Markus's lips tightened by understanding the timing of their escape, the efficiency of the job—it wasn't amateur work due to how well planned and surgical it was. "Two months," he muttered bitterly. "Two months, and I'm still combing dust-covered corners of backwater planets chasing phantoms."

His jaw clenched as he flicked between files and stills for the hundredth time, as if one more glance might unlock some hidden clue he'd missed. "They vanish, reappear, and vanish again. They're always one step ahead." His voice dropped lower, sharp with irritation. He slumped back against the bench, glaring at the holo-map projected over the table. Pins marked dead ends: outposts, ports, ruins. Places he'd scoured only to find fading footprints and smirking locals unwilling to talk. "This is becoming much more irritating and harder as time goes by... and that's something I'm gradually losing."

Suddenly, a burst of laughter erupted from a booth nearby with five beings huddled around a pitcher of steaming violet brew, as their conversation caught his attention. "I'm telling you, it was them!" barked one of the drinkers, a scaly-skinned Yarkanian with a long snout and glowing red cybernetic eyes. "Four of 'em. Human girl looked like she'd been through hell—she led the group like a war general. They saved my caravan from raiders on Orvon-9." Another leaned in, a rodent-like creature with flickering antennae. "I saw 'em on Efrune! That pirate—Hesperos—he hacked an entire blockade just to get us offworld. Charged me nothing but a smile."

"Pfft, no way," a third chuckled. "They stopped here on Nuruta. Took out a crew of smugglers and handed them to the port authorities. One of them—tiny, fanged little guy—said something about 'making bounty hunting look cool again."

Markus's eyes narrowed. He rose, casually, and approached the group with a steady gait. He kept his voice even, unreadable. "Evening," he said. "Did I hear correctly? You encountered a group—human girl, Illustrian pirate, small furry mammal lifeform, and a young Star Person?"

The table quieted as Markus made his presence known. The Yarkanian squinted up at him. "Who's asking?"

Markus offered a tight smile. "No one official. I'm... investigating a theft, specifically a vault robbery that contained a rare relic. The details match a group like the one you just described. I'm trying to confirm if they were spotted this far out."

The group exchanged glances. "They probably stopped at Honkoko," said the rodent alien. "From what I've heard, I'm pretty sure that's where they tend to hang out at times. Although, before that? Word is they cleared out some local scum. Fast. Clean. Real pros."

"They ain't just bounty hunters," added another. "They're the best I've seen. That human? She's got something in her eyes, like she's seen stars die."

Markus tucked that detail away. "Thank you for your testimonies. That's all I need."

He turned before they could ask more questions and made his way toward the door. The desert wind howled as the cantina doors hissed open once more.

A dusty public transport station sat just across the square, its neon signs flickering in the twilight. A long, bullet-shaped cruiser—part of the intergalactic bus network known as the Stellarline—was being loaded with passengers and cargo.

Markus stepped into the terminal, purchased a ticket from the automated kiosk, and boarded without hesitation. He chose a seat by the window, cloak wrapped tight, eyes fixed on the stars. As the cruiser rumbled to life and began its ascent into the heavens, Markus allowed himself a quiet exhale.

Honkoko.

Within several moments, the ship would finally leave its warp tunnel and begin making its way to land onto the planet. When the ship entered into the skies of the planet, The cityscape of Honkoko shimmered beneath the sky, its sprawling bazaar thrumming with life as Markus Star descended the crowded ramp of the public transport ship. He adjusted the hood over his head, hiding the glint of his silver belt buckle and insignia beneath the folds of his cream tunic and navy tabard. The scent of iron-rich sand and grilled meats mixed in the air, and alien merchants shouted in a dozen languages, hawking wares from colorful stalls.

He kept his stride deliberate and steady, eyes scanning every face that passed. However, that comfort was short-lived. As he turned a corner near a vendor selling rusted starship parts, he caught sight of two patrolling Archive Collective guards, their white armor gleaming, their glowing staves pulsing with quiet menace. Markus slipped into a nearby alley, flattening against the rough sandstone wall and waited for them to pass.

Once clear, he re-entered the flow of pedestrian traffic and approached a merchant at a spice stand.

"Excuse me," he said politely, lowering his hood just enough to show his face. "I'm looking for information. I've been told that four travelers came through here. One was a human girl with short brown hair. Another, a Collector child. They may have been accompanied by a pirate and a small mammal-like lifeform." The merchant blinked slowly, then scoffed. "You and every bounty hunter in this quadrant, friend." He waved a dismissive hand. "Try the Bounty Manager's palace up the tier—if anyone would know, it's him."

He followed the merchant's directions through winding streets, moving uphill toward the more fortified district. He would soon notice the massive neon sign displaying the insignia of the Bounty Exchange. A pair of guards, both heavily armed, crossed their halberds as he approached.

"No entry without an audience scheduled. State your business," one barked.

Markus stood tall, voice firm and steady. "I have information regarding fugitives who may have passed through here. It's urgent. I request to speak with your Manager."

The guards looked at each other, unconvinced. One of them moved to shove him back—until a melodic voice echoed from within.

"Let him pass."

A door slid open behind the guards, revealing the tall, robed Bounty Manager, adorned in glimmering rings and a crimson sash that marked his authority. His near translucent skin caught the light, and his four eyes scanned Markus with mild amusement. "You've got the look of someone who's walked through stars just to knock on my door. Come. Speak."

Inside, the palace was opulent but well-worn with trophies that lined the walls, weapons from across various worlds, and portraits of infamous hunters who'd died in glory. The Manager led Markus to a chamber draped in red cloth and low light. "You're looking for a human, a mammalian creature, and... a pirate?" the Manager said, lounging in a seat that floated slightly off the ground. "You're not the first to come sniffing after them."

Markus removed his hood and folded his arms. "I'm not sniffing. I'm tracking. And I believe they're in possession of an artifact stolen from Alkanos. I need to know where they went after Honkoko."

The Manager tapped his ringed fingers together thoughtfully. "You're not Archive Collective. You don't carry their stink."

Markus's lips twitched upward faintly. "No. I work alone. That makes me reliable."

There was a pause, then the Manager gestured toward a starmap on the wall. "They didn't stay long. Sold off some bounty and left just as quick. My guess? Nanturn. It's the next system over—it's remote yet it's a massive trade hub nowadays. Just enough edge for people on the run."

Markus dipped his head in thanks. "That's all I needed." as he turned, he gave only a subtle smile to himself as he left the palace. The wind kissed his face as he descended the steps and made his way to the public docks. His boots echoed against the metal causeway as he boarded another cruiser—this one rusted, patched with scavenged plates, and bound for Nanturn.

As he took a seat near a window, he exhaled slowly, eyes distant. "No more dead ends," he whispered to himself. "Not this time." The engines on the intergalactic transit spacecraft rumbled to life, lifting the vessel into the dusky sky toward his next destination... and the fugitives he was determined to catch.

Chapter Text

A Confrontation on Both Sides.

Back on Naturn, the main city's bazaar sprawled across layered terraces and steel-plated bridges, crowded with beings from every corner of space. Neon lights flickered in forgotten languages, steam hissed from vents, and through the chaos Markus Star walked with deliberate purpose. He kept his hood low, while his cloak brushed against the dust-caked floors, he gazed and scanned at every alien face in the crowd. The holoprojector on his gauntlet flickered with grainy images—snapshots from witness testimonies, blurry stills from security feeds—each one of them a piece of the puzzle he'd been hunting for months. "Come on," he muttered, irritation mounting as he checked the last row of food vendors. "They have to be here. This is the last thread!"

Meanwhile, at a lower level of the station's market bazaar, Luz, King, Atlas, and Hesperos Holmes pushed through the crowd, their arms filled with supplies—food packs, spare fuel canisters, and a bag of assorted alien tech that Hesperos had "generously haggled" for (although he paid for it all with the credits that he and Luz had earned from their bounties, even pirates have to be reasonable businessmen).

"Food packs, fuel cores, water filters, emergency first-aid..." Hesperos listed, tapping each item in his satchel with a clawed finger. "If we were bounty hunters before, we're definitely living like them now."

"Well, it's much better than being Archive prisoners," Luz muttered with a forced smirk, though her fingers clenched tightly around the strap of her bag.

Atlas clung to Luz's side, one hand clutching her cloak and the other holding tightly to King's. "Can we go back to the ship now? Please?"

"We're almost there, Atlas." Luz glanced down at him, offering a soft smile. "Then we can go."

Though just as they turned the corner toward the docking platforms—they collided. A firm shoulder brushed against Luz's as a figure moved to step past. "Oh—pardon me," the man said reflexively, straightening his posture as he stepped back.Luz froze mid-step and so did he.

Their eyes locked—hers wide with alarm, his narrowed in sharp recognition. "Wait..." Markus Star's voice dropped. His eyes flicked to Hesperos, then to King and Atlas. His expression sharpened, and he drew himself upright like a knight from a legend. "You—you're them..." Markus Star's hood fell back slightly, revealing his striking features as he appeared to be similarly like a feline like Hesperos though his face was a cross between a feline and a rabbit and so were his ears, which were large. His eyes were purple. His hand slowly lowered to his belt, hovering above a small device clipped at his hip. "It is you!" he raised his voice. He added, "By authority of my investigation, I demand that you hand over the Celestine Compass now!"

"Wait—what?!" Luz instinctively stepped back, thrusting her arms out to shield Atlas and King behind her. Her heart spiked, thundering in her chest. "You're with the Archive Collective, aren't you?"

"What?! Absolutely not!" Markus snapped, gaze flicking between all four. "But I will not let that artifact slip through my fingers again! I know what it is and what you did on Alkanos. You must understand! That artifact is of dangerous origin! It belongs in protective custody—"

"You don't know anything," Hesperos growled, stepping forward until he was shoulder-to-shoulder with Luz, while his hand hovered near his blaster.

"You don't understand the stakes," Markus said, his voice growing sharper. "That compass is not just a relic. It is a key. If it falls into the wrong hands again—"

"We're the wrong hands to you, aren't we?" Luz barked. "You don't know what we've been through. You don't know what they did to us." Behind her, King flinched at her tone. Atlas gripped the hem of Luz's jacket tightly, his voice barely a whisper.

"Luz... please don't fight again." She didn't turn to look at them.

Markus paused. His hand, still hovering near his belt, slowly relaxed. He looked into the fire in Luz's eyes and saw, beneath it, the desperation—the trauma.

He spoke lower this time. "You're not enemies but if you keep running and keep holding that compass, you'll paint targets on yourselves. You've been running for two months. I followed you through multiple systems and it has to end here!"

Hesperos tensed, eyes narrowing. "You call that running. We call that survival!"

King poked his head from behind Luz, glaring up at Markus. "If you're here to arrest us—then good luck. Because we're not letting anyone make that happen again!"

Markus hesitated, caught in a moment of internal conflict. They weren't what he'd expected. The wanted profiles, the reports—they hadn't captured this. This wasn't a gang of cosmic criminals, this was a family on the run. Still... he couldn't walk away empty-handed. Before Markus could continue, The sky over Nanturn rumbled.

A low tremor rippled through the market street, subtle at first but it grew louder and deeper. The clouds overhead shifted with unnatural speed, parting like fabric torn by unseen hands. Every light flickered. Every voice fell silent. Even the metallic scent of the air grew sharper, electric then it ultimately reached its climax.

Soon a ship appeared, yellow and angular tore through the atmosphere. It hovered low over the city, its engines roaring with eerie resonance... The Grand Huntsman had arrived. The crew watched in horror as they witnessed the arrival of the very being they had worked tirelessly to avoid. Luz muttered quietly in horror, "He- He couldn't have-" she turned to Hesperos as she frantically asked him for an inconclusive answer, "H-how did he find us?!" During her brief frantic state, she would soon turn towards Markus and once she noticed him, she soon developed an expression that reflected her deep anger. "You! You lead him to us!" as she raised her voice in an accusatory tone towards Markus.

Markus was soon quick to defend himself from Luz's accusation, "Me-? I- What? I didn't do anything! I just arrived here!" Before anyone could react, a column of light blue beamed down into the center of the plaza just ahead. The ground cracked as the air around them twisted, while people screamed and scattered. From that light, like a nightmare made into reality, The Grand Huntsman emerged, his cloak moved softly from the breeze that had come from the beam of light. His steps echoed like thunder, despite the chaos around him. His gaze fixed immediately unerringly on King. "There you are," he said, "The last heartbeat of Titan blood. The one I've waited centuries to silence." King froze but Luz immediately stepped between them, her staff snapping to her hand as her eyes widened with dread. "Run!" she screamed.

The Huntsman raised a hand, conjuring a crescent blade attached to several dark colored chains that had small nebulae clouds and clusters of stars attached that slammed into the plaza, erupting with explosive force. The shockwave sent Luz and the others sprawling. Atlas cried out, gripping Luz's sleeve as she shielded him with her body.

Markus, eyes wide in stunned disbelief, dove behind a pillar. Hesperos was already up, claws slashing out as he fired a barrage from his twin blasters toward the Huntsman. The blasts ricocheted off the Huntsman's armored hide, he didn't even flinch.

"You think you can delay me?" the Huntsman spat, lunging forward. His blade extended in a blink, striking the ground where King had been seconds ago. The young Titan scrambled behind a supply cart, his eyes wide with panic.

"Stay away from him!" Luz shouted, launching a glyph combination of fire and plant. The glyphs exploded across the Huntsman's chest. Smoke hissed from his armor, but he merely turned toward her, unfazed. "You are insects, unworthy of your borrowed power," he growled.

Markus gritted his teeth, pulling a sword from his uniform. He activated it with a snap-hiss and rushed forward. "If we're insects, then let's swarm," Markus growled, slashing across the Huntsman's flank.

For the first time, the Huntsman grunted, staggered by the unexpected hit. Luz, Hesperos, and Markus surrounded him now—fighting not as allies, but as survivors desperate to protect something sacred. The battle was chaotic; Hesperos darted like lightning, pelting the Huntsman with plasma shots. Markus struck with surgical precision, keeping the Huntsman off balance. Luz drew the Huntsman's focus with waves of elemental glyph combinations, each attack more ferocious than the last.

Though the Huntsman was relentless, he threw Markus into a wall with a single blow which resulted in his sword being shattered in the process, cracked Hesperos's shoulder guard with a backhand, and slammed Luz into the ground with a gravitational pulse. All the while, he stalked toward King, step by step, his voice guttural with joy.

"I can smell the end of your kind," he crooned, "Your blood sings to me, beast. It remembers me even if you don't. Come now, little Titan... Let your death echo across the stars."

King froze while his breath was caught in his throat, his heart was pounding loud enough to drown out the noise of everything else around him. The Huntsman's presence alone curled around him like invisible chains, which locked his limbs in place. It was the kind of fear that dug deep into his bones and into his very mind. It felt like a feeling of fear that's primal, if his very soul recognized this being as death incarnate. The Huntsman's blade pulsed with a shimmer that reflected their master's hunger and ultimate desire. He raised it with reverence like a priest conducting a sacred rite. King backed into a shattered crate, but at the same time his claws slipped against the ground. "Luz...?" he whispered.

Before the Huntsman could close the final steps, a figure moved in front of King—they were shaky and full of hesitation when they did so, it turned out to be Atlas who stepped in front of him

Atlas's hands trembled so violently it was a miracle they even stayed raised. His expression was stricken, panicked, and his eyes were glassy with tears but they stood his ground. The faint sunlight reflecting off his face made his pale cheeks seem even whiter. "No..." he breathed, his voice fragile and trembling. "Leave him alone. Don't touch him..."

The Grand Huntsman stopped as he soon tilted his head slowly, like an owl amused by the twitch of a dying mouse. "What is this?" he murmured, stepping ever so slightly to the left to better study Atlas. "A traitorous coward trying to shield a relic? Or something more pathetic... like affection?"

Atlas couldn't respond due to every part of him screaming to run but his legs remained rooted, defiant in their trembling. The shadows around the Huntsman seemed to stretch unnaturally toward him, as if they too longed to consume him.

King, behind Atlas, reached out weakly, his small claw gripping the hem of Atlas's sleeve. "Don't..." he choked out. "You'll get hurt..."

The Huntsman's laugh was low, more vibration than sound. "How sweet. Perhaps I'll make you watch him die first, Titan. That would be poetic."

At the same time, Markus managed to slowly get up but still dealt with the pain he received from the Grand Huntsman's attack, and overheard the Grand Huntsman reveal King's true identity which partially confused him yet made him curious, "A Titan?"

He raised the blade, Atlas winced but didn't move from his place, while King shut his eyes, holding his hand with Atlas as they braced for death.

"DON'T YOU DARE!" Luz's scream cracked the air like a thunderclap and then she collided with the Huntsman in a blinding burst of glyph-light. "ARGH!" yelled the Huntsman upon being blinded by Luz's light.

"NOW!" she shouted. "Get to the Donati! Hurry!" Hesperos, bleeding from a slashed eyebrow, scrambled to his feet. Markus blinked away his daze and sprinted toward the others. "Wait—you want me to board your ship?" Markus barked.

"Unless you wanna die here, yes!" Luz yelled over the chaos. "Just get on, we'll argue later!" Markus swore under his breath and grabbed King by the arm, hauling him along. Hesperos supported Luz while she cradled Atlas, running as fast as they could back through the twisting alleys of Nanturn toward their docked ship.

Behind them, the Grand Huntsman roared. It wasn't just a sound, it was a seismic force. It was a force that was ancient and furious, that tore through the air like an object so fast it broke the sound barrier. His voice carried with it a pressure that made the back of Luz's skull throb. A second later, a blistering shockwave burst outward from his outstretched palm. The ground cracked open beneath their feet, and a boom of kinetic force sent crates, carts, and civilians hurtling into the air like weightless debris. "RUN!" Luz screamed over the chaos, at the same time, The Donati's loading ramp hissed open ahead, a single sliver of salvation in the collapsing world around them. Hesperos Holmes was already up front, shouting back from the cockpit as the ship's engines whined to life. "You've got twenty seconds, tops! Move like you mean it!" he soon added with, "Starry, activate the warp drive! Hurry!" Starry zipped into the warp drive compartment instantly, "Aye! Aye! Captain!". They soon began to use every ounce of his energy to power up the ship's system instantly.

Markus Star, though clearly wounded and dragging a leg, pushed from behind. His usually sharp composure was shattered by sweat and exhaustion. "Go! Go! I've got the rear—"

A tendril of starfire coiled past them, narrowly missing King's head and searing into the ground with an explosion of white-hot sparks. The temperature dropped sharply as the Huntsman closed in, walking through the destruction with slow steps, untouched by the panic he caused. "Do not flee," he growled, his voice carrying effortlessly over the din. "There is no escape. The Titan must bleed... for it is his judgement."

King's eyes were wide with terror. He clung to Luz's arm now, practically shaking. His breathing came in short, panicked gasps. "He's going to kill us—he's going to kill me—"

Atlas, trembling beside him, didn't answer. Only the noise of desperate, silent murmurs were heard. His pupils were dilated, his hands locked into clawed fists as he tried to force his body to move.

Luz gritted her teeth and shoved them both toward the ramp. "We're not dying here. MOVE!"

They reached the ship just as another blast of magic slammed into the platform behind them, disintegrating metal and sending the entire dock listing sideways. Markus was thrown forward onto the ramp but managed to crawl to his feet, hauling himself inside as The Donati lurched upward.

The Huntsman reached out with one arm, a vortex of dark cosmic energy spiraling in his palm, ready to hurl it straight at the ship's engine but just before he could throw it, Hesperos triggered the rear defense turret. A blast of concussive energy fired from the ship's hull, exploding around the Huntsman and forcing him back momentarily. It was the first time the alien warlord even flinched. The ramp sealed shut with a hydraulic hiss. Inside, the airlock pressurized with a gasp, and then—

BOOM.

The Donati launched into warp seconds later, tearing away from the planet and into the safety of warp travel. Inside, everyone collapsed. Luz crumpled to her knees, gasping, while King practically crawled into her lap, burying his face in her arms. Atlas was slumped against the wall, hands over his ears, rocking slightly with watery eyes.

No one spoke for several long, breathless moments. Then quietly, between sobs, King whispered, "He's not gonna stop, is he?"

Luz didn't answer at first. She just held him tighter. Then finally, her voice barely above a whisper, she said, "No. He won't."

Back on Manturn, a low hum reverberated through the shattered air of the ruined docking bay, the smoke and crackling remnants of destruction curling in the wind like whispers of a missed kill. The Grand Huntsman stood at the heart of it all, motionless yet emanating fury like a dying star on the brink of collapse. The once-bustling terminal was now silent—emptied by terror and its structure fractured from his rampage.

His gloved hand curled into a fist, trembling under the pressure of his own rage. "They slipped through." His voice, calm yet thunderous, echoed across the broken floor. "They tasted fear... but still managed to escape." He added.

From behind, Zizi cautiously stepped forward, keeping their gaze low. "My Star... should we pursue?"

The Grand Huntsman's eyes gaze turned toward the high ceiling, where the last traces of The Donati's warp trail shimmered and vanished. He didn't turn to her as he answered, "Board the Eclipse." Just three words, but each one carried the weight of impending doom.

With a mechanical whirr, the beam from their ship caught them both in vertical shafts of light, and within seconds, the two vanished—beamed aboard the large looming vessel known as The Eclipse. As soon as they were aboard, the massive ship roared into warp travel, stars blurring into trails of light as it began its relentless pursuit.

Aboard The Donati, the silence was heavy. Luz sat with her back to the cockpit wall, cradling King in her lap. He had finally drifted into a restless sleep, though his hands twitched every so often, as they were still gripped by the memories of the Grand Huntsman's cold stare and his hateful whispers. Luz gently held him, brushing a hand through his fur in slow, steady strokes, her expression a mask of calm—one she wore for him. However beneath it, her chest ached with dread and fury. Just a few feet away, Atlas sat curled against the floor, his knees pressed tightly to his chest, a blanket loosely draped around his shoulders. His eyes were wide as they stared out into the warp tunnel through the viewport. He was still lost in the shadow of the Grand Huntsman's voice, the way it lingered—taunting, cruel, intimate. It made his skin crawl.

In the pilot seat, Hesperos Holmes clicked through the navigation system with tense fingers, muttering under his breath as he brought up stellar charts and encryption protocols. "Closest nebula cluster is still six sectors out... rerouting through an alternative route that might buy us time," he said, more to himself than anyone else.

"I can't believe we got out," Markus finally muttered, breaking the silence. "That thing... it wanted blood."

"He wanted King," Luz said flatly, "He was going to kill him..."

Atlas whimpered, pulling the blanket tighter around himself.

"He talked like... he knew me," King murmured groggily, waking slightly in Luz's lap. His voice cracked with exhaustion and fear. "Like he'd been waiting." Luz hushed him, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. "You're safe now. It's gonna be okay."

"We should land somewhere soon," Hesperos murmured, "We're too exposed in the tunnel. If the Grand Huntsman really wanted to—"

"No." Luz's voice was hoarse but firm. "We just need to find a quiet place but for now, Let King rest and Atlas breathe for a bit." Before Hesperos could respond, a shrill alarm tore through the cockpit. A sharp alarm chimed from the control panel, while the cockpit bathed itself in an ominous pulse of red light. Each flash illuminated the raw tension painted on their faces; exhausted, terrified, and barely holding it together. Hesperos stared blankly at the screen as new data lines flooded in. His fingers hovered over the controls, but they didn't move. His voice dropped, thin and dry. "...No."

The single word made Luz's heart stop. She gently eased King aside and stood, her hand instinctively resting on the hilt of her staff. "What is it?" Markus demanded, stepping forward with urgency.

Hesperos turned toward him, and in the flashing red light, his face looked ghostly pale. "We're not alone in the tunnel anymore." he said. Across the room, Atlas stirred in his blanket cocoon. He had barely spoken since they'd left Manturn, but now he slowly looked up, dread curling through every syllable. "It's him." before immediately rushing towards Luz for protection and emotional reassurance.

Markus pushed past Hesperos and leaned over the console. The readings were clear: an energy signature far too large for a merchant vessel... matching the profile of a warship. "I don't understand," Hesperos muttered, trying to calculate. "There's no way he could've followed us. I scrambled our signature, he shouldn't be able to track us, he shouldn't be able to be here!"

"But he is," Luz snapped, her voice cracking. "He followed us, Hesperos. And now he's in the tunnel with us." Through the cockpit window, the swirling current of warp energy began to distort and flicker—bending unnaturally. Then, slowly and with terrifying grace, The Eclipse emerged. Its hull gleamed like burnished bone, sleek and silent. While it unleashed streaks of silver energy snaked from its underbelly.

King whimpered, clutching at Luz's side. "No... not again." Atlas muttered, "It's not possible... he can't find us here... this isn't real..."

"I've got you both," she whispered fiercely, shielding both King and Atlas with her arms but her voice reflected her fear that had become very clear.

The eerie hum of gravitational interference crept through the ship like a shiver. The Donati shuddered, causing tools to clatter to the floor, and the ship's artificial gravity began to weaken. "He's activating a beam," Hesperos said, his hands flying across the controls. "An artificial grav-lock—he's going to pull us in whole."

Luz felt King and Atlas begin to rise off the floor again. She grabbed onto the two of them and they slammed behind the nearest steel support beam, bracing herself as the ship lurched. Markus lunged and anchored himself behind a control console. "It's like he's playing with us!" Atlas shrieked, his voice high with panic.

"Hold on!" Hesperos shouted. "I'm overriding the warp flow but he's tampering with it, bending it. Like it's responding to him!"

Outside, The Eclipse hovered directly overhead, positioning itself like a spider about to strike. The glow from the tractor field deepened, and the currents of warp around them warped and shrieked. They weren't just being pulled—they were being suffocated.

The light inside the cockpit dimmed unnaturally. Something cold and dark pressed against the hull, like an invisible hand tracing the seams of their ship. For a horrifying second, the crew could hear a whisper—no source, no direction—just a voice rippling across the metal.

"So close now... I can taste you..."

King let out a strangled gasp and buried his face against Luz's neck, his small body trembling. And then—CRASH.

From the tunnel beyond, a shadow moved fast. The shadow belonged to a massive serpent-like creature burst from the side stream—It was a Warp Eel, twice the size of The Donati. It lunged without hesitation, drawn by the predatory energy of The Eclipse. Its fangs sank into the outer hull, electricity crackling from its glowing tendrils. The Grand Huntsman's ship jerked sideways under the impact, the tractor beam disengaging instantly.

Hesperos blinked. "It's attacking him. This is our escape window!" He fired the engines, burning the emergency reserves he'd been holding in case of total system failure. The Donati roared as its thrusters ignited, surging forward like a panicked animal fleeing its predator. Behind them, the Warp Eel writhed around The Eclipse, electricity crackling through its translucent tendrils. The Grand Huntsman's ship began to distort, its hull splitting and reforming in ways that defied natural geometry. Its eerie calm had shattered—now it was thrashing, caught in the coils of something even older and hungrier than it was.

The tractor beam died completely. "Plotting alternate escape route—now!" Hesperos shouted. With a final series of keystrokes, The Donati rerouted itself down a fresh warp stream. The ship jolted hard, stars twisting, and with a guttural surge of energy, it dove away from the fight. For now, they were free but the image of the Huntsman's ship—how it moved, how it felt—clung to them like a sickness. They hadn't just escaped a pursuer.

In the rear of the cockpit, King clung tightly to Luz. Atlas had slumped down beside them. Even as they put distance between themselves and The Eclipse, the horror lingered in their minds. The touch of the beam. The voice in their heads. The sensation of being prey. They had survived a predator but deep down, every one of them understood: the Grand Huntsman wasn't finished.

Chapter Text

The Real Stakes.

The Donati drifted silently among the shadows of fractured asteroids, its outer hull cloaked in a thin veil of the various clusters of stars that were all over in the sector of space the ship had arrived on. The field around them was vast, quiet—an abandoned region of space littered with ancient rock and remnants of shattered moons. It was the perfect hiding place, far removed from warp lanes and patrol scans, forgotten by time and too treacherous to navigate that only the most experienced of pilots are able to traverse. There were jagged rocks that floated in slow motion, some the size of buildings, others like drifting pebbles, orbiting each other in a gravitational ballet. The distant stars blinked behind the debris like silent witnesses.

Hesperos Holmes sat in the pilot seat, as his hands still remained on the controls. He watched the scanner like a hawk, his eyes scanned for the slightest anomaly. His tail flicked nervously over the floor, betraying the tension he tried to mask with his usual sardonic calm. Around him, the others waited in silence, the adrenaline of the chase ebbing into cold dread. Every creak of the hull made someone flinch.

Luz paced near the rear of the cockpit, biting her thumbnail, her eyes never leaving the small viewport. Each rotation of an asteroid felt like a threat and each flicker of static on the console felt like a countdown to a horrifying discovery. She occasionally glanced down at King, who sat on a bench beside her, his small form trembling slightly beneath a blanket draped around his shoulders. Atlas sat cross-legged on the floor, his arms wrapped tightly around himself, their cloak pooled beneath him. His wide eyes never blinked, as they were fixed toward the faint glow of the ceiling lights. Hesperos had seen that look before—on prisoners of war and orphans pulled from burning ships.

"Still no sign of him," Hesperos finally said, his voice low, as if it were afraid to disturb the fragile air around them. "The cloak's holding. If we're lucky, that Warp Eel gave him more than he bargained for."

Markus Star stood near the cockpit door, arms folded, his posture straight but tense. His gaze shifted between each of the four. "That... was close," he said, "You saved my life. I owe you all for that." Luz gave a quiet nod, while she still petted King. His fur was bristled, and his wide eyes stared blankly out the window, barely blinking.

Though the quiet gratitude was short-lived as Markus's tone sharpened. "Now. Hand over the Celestine Compass."

The words cut through the stillness like a blade. Hesperos turned slightly in his seat, eyebrows raising. Luz's body tensed, and King immediately pulled himself up beside her, while Atlas stood up softly near Luz and King. Luz narrowed her eyes as her expression showed off her disbelief. "Excuse me?"

Markus took a step forward. "I've been tracking that artifact for two months. The vault break-in on Alkanos, four suspects, and one ancient artifact stolen from a classified chamber. I finally found all four of you, and you want me to just ignore that you're in possession of a highly dangerous object?"

King's eyes flared with offense, his voice sharp. "Dangerous to who? The monsters you work for? No way."

"I literally said before that I don't work for the Archive Collective or their leaders , The Archivists!" Markus snapped, his tone defensive now. "I'm not one of them."

The tension in the cockpit remained palpable, a dense fog of mistrust and frayed nerves clinging to the corners of the dimly lit ship. Outside, the asteroid field drifted in slow rotation, offering the crew a fragile sense of security. The cloaking device hummed gently beneath the floor panels, the only sound beside the occasional creak of metal and the subtle breath of those inside. Markus stood near the rear bulkhead, his arms no longer crossed, but hanging by his sides. His eyes darted toward Luz, then King, then the others. "Alright," he said, voice steady but subdued. "I need to ask... that thing—what or who was it? Why was he targeting you?"

Luz didn't answer immediately as her stance guarded, and one hand was still resting on the back of King's head as he leaned against her side. Atlas had moved closer, curling protectively into Luz's other side, while Hesperos remained standing and his arms were folded, leaning against the control panel near the cockpit. "Before we answer anything," Luz said, she added further, "We want to know who you are. Really. And who you're working for. Because you've also been chasing us across systems for- who knows how long and now you've shown up at the worst possible time and you're over here demanding that we give up the compass and hand it to you! If you want us to trust you, start there."

Markus's brow furrowed, the lines of stress deepening across his face. He hesitated for a moment—just long enough to release the weight of the decision before exhaling sharply through his nose and raising both hands slightly in a gesture of surrender.

"...Fine," he said, the edge in his voice softening. "You want answers? You deserve them."

The silence in The Donati's cockpit grew heavier, broken only by the low hum of the ship's systems and the occasional ping of debris brushing along the hull. Luz didn't speak but her eyes didn't waver from Markus. "I'm not a bounty hunter and I'm definitely not working for the Collective," Markus continued. He took a step back and leaned against the console near the navigation display, his posture finally breaking into something more fatigued. "My name is Markus Star," he said quietly. "I'm a Knight of the Order of Arbora and I've been sent by the Council of Arbora themselves. The highest ranked members in our order."

"I didn't come after you for glory," he continued, quieter now, but no less firm. "Ever since your break-in at the Vault of Alkanos... the Order has been in crisis. The Celestine Compass you stole—" his eyes flicked toward King, Luz, Atlas, and Hesperos, "—it wasn't just a relic sitting on a pedestal." Markus took a breath, then looked toward the darkened starscape beyond the viewport. "It's far more than what it appears to be. The Compass is... a key, yes, but it's also a map. A guide that points to pieces of something greater. Something sacred. Something that was never meant to be scattered... or found again. The compass contains things tied to Arbora itself." Markus concluded with, "And if the compass were to fall into the wrong hands... Every realm, timeline, and universe that it supplements will be at risk."

A heavy silence settled again after Markus's cryptic declaration. The hum of the ship's systems was the only sound, until Luz finally stepped forward. "All right," she said, her voice steady but laced with tension. "You've told us just enough to make me ask more questions." She folded her arm once she made her statement, "What is the Order of Arbora? And what exactly is Arbora?"

Markus gave a short breath—almost a scoff—as he turned his gaze back to Luz. "I figured you'd ask that next." He paused. "But... you made a deal, remember? You'd tell me who that monster was, the one chasing you."

Luz frowned, clearly not happy about the deflection, but she nodded toward Atlas.

Atlas, who had remained quiet until now, hugged his knees closer to his chest. His voice trembled slightly as he spoke, but there was a quiet strength behind it—like he was done running from the truth. "He's the Grand Huntsman," he said. "One of my kind... or, at least, what used to be my kind."

Markus blinked. "Used to be?"

"He's a Star Person just like me," Atlas continued, eyes flicking up to meet Markus. "My older brother, Orion, commands him. He and my other siblings... they're not just watching from afar anymore. They're making moves. Dangerous ones."

"Which now they're after the Compass," Luz added grimly, glancing at a small box at the far corner of the room on top of a shelf. "Whatever it leads to, they want it so badly that it's enough to send that psychopath after us."

Markus stood completely still, processing their words. His brow furrowed deeper the longer he stood in thought while his ears rose slightly. Then, as if a realization was beginning to form beneath the surface, his tone shifted. "Why?" he asked slowly, voice low and deliberate. "Why does the Grand Huntsman want the Celestine Compass so badly? What is Orion really after?"

His tone wasn't accusatory, but there was weight behind the words. A tension. Then, almost hesitantly, he added, "Does this have to do with the upcoming Convergence? During our investigation, we began to notice an eerily close pattern between the break in and with the timing of the convergence... it's suspicious."

Luz stiffened. King looked up with wide eyes. Even Hesperos turned in his seat. Atlas's expression darkened as he slowly buried his face in his arms. A long silence passed before Luz spoke. "Yes," she said, her voice quiet. "It does."

Markus exhaled slowly, as if he'd been hoping and praying that wouldn't be the answer. "Stars above..."

"Orion told me himself," she said. "Back when we faced him in the Archive Tower. He plans to use the energy from the nine stars that will align during the Convergence—which will power a device he called the Travelscope." Markus's brow twitched by responding, "The device of Star Person craftsmanship that can pierce between realms... continue."

Luz nodded. "Yeah. With it, he'll open doors to all Nine Realms at once. Not to just visit but to invade. He wants to tear it down and reshape it all into an existence where it's just pure 'perfection' in his eyes. It's horrifying and crazy." Atlas flinched slightly, his voice low as he added, "And once everything they deem 'imperfect' is gone, the Archivists can twist each realm into whatever image they want. Whatever serves their vision."

"And to do that," Luz continued, "Orion's trying to collect these... artifacts. He called them the Star Pieces. And with what I've been told from him, there's at least nine of them." Markus's eyes narrowed, as the term alone sounded very familiar to him. "Star Pieces..."

Luz said, "Ever since we took the Celestine Compass, things haven't felt... safe. Hesperos told me before we headed to Alkanos that the Compass wasn't just an artifact—it was rumored to be a map, a path to other artifacts. Though... it seems that's likely true now, considering how you mentioned it being a map too." Luz then walked towards the shelf at the far corner of the room; her hand drifted to the small box on top of it and reached for it with her two hands. She would soon approach Markus once more and open the box to reveal the compass to him. In awe, Markus exclaimed, "The compass..." Luz then said, "At first, I didn't believe it. But now... after everything we've seen, everything Orion's after... I think the Compass is connected to the Star Pieces. Maybe it even leads to them."

Markus closed his eyes for a moment, face paling. He let out a slow, uneven breath, like someone realizing they'd been standing on the edge of a cliff the whole time and only now dared to look down.

"I was afraid of that," he said quietly. Luz tilted her head. "Wait—what do you mean?" Markus opened his eyes, the weight of years of knowledge and duty suddenly evident in them. "Because you're right," he said. "The Compass... is connected to the Star Pieces."

Markus stepped closer, his gaze still locked on the Compass resting in Luz's hands. The atmosphere in the room had changed—thickened into something reverent and weighted, like a sacred moment pressing down on them all. He extended his hand, palm open, voice low but steady. "May I see it? The Celestine Compass. If what I think is true... there's something inside it I need to show you."

Luz hesitated for only a second. Her fingers lingered on the edge of the compass's ornate box as she looked to King, then Atlas. They each gave small nods of reassurance to one another, with quiet trust, Luz placed the Compass into Markus's waiting hands.

The moment it touched his skin, the etched lines along the compass began to glow faintly pale gold at first, then shifting into a soft, glimmering white. Markus exhaled deeply, as if the object itself was drawing breath through him. Carefully, reverently, he turned the Compass in his hands and pressed his thumb into the central glyph.

The Compass clicked.

There was no mechanical grind or sharp release. Instead, it opened with a whispering hum, like wind moving through leaves. A beam of gentle light shot upward from its center, widening into a spectral bloom of magic. The projection took form slowly, first the glowing base, then the rising trunk of a radiant, ghostly-white tree.

Its bark shimmered with light and its branches stretched outward like celestial arms, there were a total of nine of them. Each of them curled and twisted toward a different direction. At the end of each branch, a swirling, semi-transparent nebula bloomed—each one painted in a different color. Within each of these clouds, several glimmering dots blinked into view, their positions scattered like constellations across a night sky. Above it all, arching gracefully like a crown, were nine golden stars that hovered over the structure. They were all arranged in a perfect arc over the entire structure. The room fell completely silent upon the sight of the structure.

Markus looked up into the glowing light, his voice hushed. "There it is," he murmured. "Arbora."

Luz's breath hitched. "Wait... that's Arbora? The tree-like thing?"

Markus kept his eyes on the projection, its light softly illuminating the quiet reverence etched into his features. His voice, when he spoke again, carried the cadence of someone reciting both history and sacred truth.

"Yes," he said. "That's Arbora. The Great Tree of Magic. The lifeblood of everything that exists." He stepped back slightly so the others could get a clearer view of the radiant branches, then turned to face them. "As I've stated before, I'm part of the Order of Arbora, it's an ancient order that has existed for many centuries. We are not warriors in the traditional sense, but we're peacekeepers, scholars, guardians... but above all, we are believers. Our mission is simple: to protect the balance between the realms and their magic. As well to ensure Arbora's lifeline remains undisturbed. We've existed in the shadows of history but we're unified by our devotion to Arbora and the sacred flow of magic it provides."

King tilted his head in wonder. "So... the tree isn't just some metaphor or symbol?"

"No," Markus answered. "It's real. Arbora is the source. The one constant in an ever-shifting cosmos. It exists beyond space and time but its branches pierce into every realm, anchoring them together in harmony. It's what holds all of reality in place."

Atlas lifted his head slightly, eyes flicking up to the tree with a mixture of child-like curiosity and weariness. "And magic... that all comes from the tree?"

"All of it," Markus affirmed. "Arbora breathes magic into everything, it all flows from its roots and branches."

Luz took a cautious step forward, her eyes locked on the nine glowing nebulae. "And each of these branches... each of them represents a realm?"

"Yes," Markus said. "Nine branches for nine realms. Each realm is cradled in one of Arbora's arms, they're all fed by its magic."

Luz took a cautious step forward, her brow furrowed. "Lemme guess, since the Celestine Compass is tied to the Star Pieces and each of those branches represents a realm... so does that mean each realm has one of those artifacts?"

Markus gave a solemn nod. "They're not just artifacts, the Star Pieces are ancient crystalline constructs of great power—each one is a reflection of a fundamental force in existence." Hesperos leaned back in his chair, arms crossed, his gaze fixed on the ethereal display. "So they're not just powerful... they're essential?"

"They're more than essential," Markus said. "They're archetypes. Each Star Piece embodies a singular concept that shapes the very laws of all existence itself. Space, Time, Reality, Creation, Destruction, Life, Death, Order, and Chaos."

Atlas let out a soft breath and looked toward the compass. "And all of them are tied to Arbora?"

Markus nodded. "They are Arbora. Or rather, we believe they're born from fragments of its bark." King stepped closer and asked, "So let me get this straight. These pieces... they're each hidden somewhere in one of the realms?"

"Precisely," Markus confirmed. "Each realm houses one Star Piece, whether its people know it or not. Some have guarded theirs for generations. Others may not even realize they possess one."

Markus raised his hand and touched one of the stars on the projection. A branch shimmered, and the nebula at its end pulsed a rich indigo hue. "This is the Realm of Cosmic Space, where we are—the Star Piece that rests there is the one that represents Space. It's tied to distance, dimensional rifts, and cosmic manipulation. It's located on a planet known as Astralis Prime, it is also where the Order of Arbora was founded and headquartered in."

Hesperos leaned closer, his eyes narrowing. "So you've guarded one of the Pieces this entire time?" Markus nodded. "Yes. Our sacred duty was to protect the Star Piece of Space and ensure it never fell into the wrong hands."

His fingers moved across the projection. Another branch pulsed—this one bathed in hues of silver and blue. "Here," he said, "in the Valley of Time Realm, rests the Star Piece of Time. Its energy influences timelines, aging, and temporal anomalies." Markus tapped the next branch. The nebula glowed softly in a deep violet. "This is the Dream Realm. The Star Piece of Reality is hidden there. It governs perception, illusion, what is and what could be."

Markus said quickly. "We move to the Foundry of Origins Realm next." A fiery red nebula shimmered as he touched the fourth branch. "There lies the Star Piece of Creation. It empowers invention, birth, genesis. The Foundry's smiths don't just forge weapons—they forge potential." King blinked. "So like... magical blacksmiths who can create whole realities?"

"On a very small scale," Markus replied with a faint smile. "But yes, that's the idea."

He moved again, and a cold, dark nebula pulsed. "Here is the Hollow Cradle Realm. It holds the Star Piece of Destruction. It has the power to erase, unravel, and to annihilate at a large scale." The next branch bloomed into a lush green glow. "The Verdant Hollow Realm," Markus said. "The Star Piece of Life lies here. It breathes vitality into the soil, the water, and the wind. It's a force of nurturing and rebirth." Markus tapped another branch—this one was a dark, dry, golden-brown colored one. "The Barren Sands Realm," he said. "It guards the Star Piece of Death. This one isn't evil—it simply enforces the natural cycle of death itself. It represents the final breath of all living things."

King swallowed hard. "I don't like that one."

"No one does," Markus admitted. "Though it's necessary. As it is a natural occurrence."

He hovered over the second-to-last nebula, a familiar swirling blue and white. "This one..." His voice softened. "Is your world," he gestured to Luz, "The Human Realm. And it holds the Star Piece of Order."

Luz's brows rose. "What? Seriously?"

"Yes," Markus said. "Order governs structure, law, and unity. The human realm's balance but simplicity made it the ideal place to house this piece."

Finally, Markus touched the last nebula. It burned with chaotic reds, purples, and greens. "And here... the Demon Realm. It harbors the Star Piece of Chaos—it has been described as being wild, unrelenting, and ever-shifting due to the amount of magic the realm has."

Markus's gaze lingered on the radiant image of Arbora for a long moment. Though the projection glowed with a serene majesty, his expression darkened as if the knowledge he carried weighed heavier than the air itself. Then, softly, he spoke. "Since you now know about The Star Pieces, you must understand that they must never be brought together." His voice, once calm and informative, now trembled with unease.

Luz blinked, stepping closer. "Wait... why? What do you mean? You just said they're each important, since they keep the realms balanced."

"They do," Markus said. "Separately they stabilize the realms. But together..." His voice faltered, then steadied again. "Together, they can either be a blessing or a curse."

King perked, "A curse?" Hesperos narrowed his eyes and spoke after. "You're being cryptic again, monk. Spit it out."

Markus exhaled slowly and spoke, "Together they form The Wishing Star," Markus said, his voice grim with a sense of incoming danger. "A relic of unimaginable power and magic. If all of the nine Star Pieces are united, they fuse into a cosmic instrument capable of granting the deepest wish of its wielder."

Luz's lips parted in stunned silence. "It... grants wishes?"

"Yes," Markus replied. "But it does not grant them without cost. The Wishing Star etches itself onto the soul of whoever activates it. Their soul becomes bound to their wish permanently. They won't just see the outcome... they'll feel it with every second, ripple, and consequence, no matter how small or catastrophic."

Atlas shifted uncomfortably, "So if someone wished to bring back the dead..."

"Then the Wishing Star would be forced to find someone else of equal emotional or cosmic value who must die in order to restore their soul," Markus finished.

Markus added another example, "If someone wished to create a 'perfect world'... the inhabitants of that new existence will be stripped of their free will. Everyone will be forced to conform to an artificial harmony, essentially making the wisher a tyrant of utopia. The "peace" that has been created will be hollow, enforced, and loveless. The Wishing Star fuses identity with intent."

A heavy silence settled over the room once more, but this time, it wasn't the silence of confusion but it was the silence of clarity and revelation.

Luz stood still, eyes fixed on the faint, fading projection above the Celestine Compass and Arbora, as its massive white branches stretched outward like veins through space, the nine golden stars hovering above it. Slowly, her gaze drifted down to the Compass itself. "It's all connected now," she whispered. "While Orion wants to rewrite everything, he needs the compass... it's a way for him to start since it's a map to each of the Star Pieces." King twitched, his breath catching as the realization hit him like a punch to the chest. "And he's planning to use them—all of them—to make that wish..."

"...during the Convergence," Markus added grimly. "The moment when all nine stars align, it'll amplify the magic across every realm and connect each of them with one another. He'll have the power of Arbora itself at his fingertips with the Wishing Star."

Hesperos's tail flicked behind him as he leaned forward, brows furrowed. "So, if he gets the Compass, he gets the map. And if he gets the map, he finds the Pieces. And if he finds the Pieces..."

"...He'll make the Wishing Star." Atlas finished quietly, his voice shaking as he hugged his knees.

Luz took a sharp breath, her chest rising and falling faster now. "And there are two Star Pieces in the realms we know, The Demon Realm and the Human Realm." King's stomach twisted. "He'll come for them," she murmured. "He's going to."

"And if he finds either of them," King added, his voice rising slightly, "he'll be that much closer to completing the Wishing Star."

The thought hung like poison in the air. It wasn't just about stopping Orion anymore. It was about protecting the very foundations of the realms they called home. Luz clenched her fists, her voice was low but fierce. "We can't let that happen!"

"But how?" King asked, pacing back and forth now. "We can't just waltz back into the Demon Realm! The Archive Collective is watching everything. They'll spot us in seconds."

Hesperos added, "Plus, it's also worth mentioning that we had past attempts at trying to get you guys back to your home but we've been unable to. We literally attempted different warp jumps three separate times, each with adjusted coordinates that could travel us far beyond our realm's boundaries, remember? However, the second we entered warp-space near its region, reality began to distort around us!" He added, "Space stretches and that's the reality of it. Just when you think you're about to cross the threshold... it shifts and gets further. The harder you push, the farther it recedes. With that, we can't risk making any more attempts. We almost lost the Donati's warp core integrity on the last jump. Its shielding wasn't designed to endure that kind of recursive bend in spacetime. One more attempt like that, and we're not just talking about a failed jump—we're talking about tearing the ship apart and losing everyone onboard."

Luz ran a hand through her hair, frustration tugging at the edges of her voice. "There's gotta be a way back into the Demon Realm. If we can just—"

"Wait," Markus interrupted, his eyes narrowing as they shifted to King. There was a curious flicker behind them—calculating, probing. "Before we talk about strategy... I need to ask something."

Everyone paused. Luz lowered her hand, sensing the weight in Markus's tone. Markus stepped forward slightly, folding his arms. "Why exactly is the Grand Huntsman after you, King?"

The question hung awkwardly in the air. King froze mid-step, "Why...?"

Markus explained. "During the last skirmish. He mentioned you—not by name, but by lineage. It wasn't just hostility. It was... deliberate and targeted." His tone lowered with suspicion. "You're not just any furried being, are you?"

Luz's gaze darted toward King, concern tightening across her face. "King...?" King looked away, fidgeting with the edge of his tail. He didn't speak right away while the others waited—Hesperos silently watching, Atlas nervously glancing between his friends. After a long breath, King finally spoke. "Because I'm a Titan," he said softly, voice laced with reluctant weight. "That's why the Grand Huntsman is after me. It's always been..."

The weight of his words fell heavy and real. Luz looked at him, her heart tightening. Even now, it was hard for him to say aloud. The memories—of being alone, of being hunted, of learning what he truly was—still lingered and unresolved. Markus blinked, genuinely taken aback. "You... you're a Titan."

"Yeah," King mumbled, "I didn't always know but the Archivists did. They knew before I did. They wiped out my kind... and now the Grand Huntsman is trying to finish the job."

Markus spoke. "That changes everything." King swallowed hard. "Yeah, well, being a Titan hasn't exactly helped lately."

But Markus smiled gently, but with unmistakable optimism. "Perhaps not yet. But it might help now."

King frowned. "What are you talking about?" Markus turned to face the group fully. "Your presence, King—your essence—is unlike anything in existence. Titans are the original progeny of Arbora, born of the Great Tree itself. That kind of power leaves a very specific... impression."

"With your power, King," Markus began by adding, while being steady and certain, "I believe I can forge something. A weapon—not of destruction, but of protection."

Luz raised an eyebrow. "A weapon?"

Markus met Luz's gaze with a newfound certainty, the glimmer of an idea now fully formed behind his eyes. His voice carried the weight of clarity as he stepped forward, standing just between the soft pulse of the Celestine Compass and the uncertain firelight that flickered across the chamber's walls.

"A sword," he said at last. "Most importantly—infused with Titan magic. Which will be provided by King!"

The words lingered, heavier than they should've been.

He turned slightly, eyes falling to King. "With your power, King, we could create a blade that resists the will of Star Magic. That severs the threads woven by the Archivists. If we do this correctly, the weapon could create a kind of nullification field—one powerful enough to hide the Celestine Compass from their cosmic sight."

King blinked, taken aback. "You want to use my magic... to make a sword?"

Markus gave a solemn nod. "Not just a sword but a safeguard. One that disrupts the very kind of power Orion and the Grand Huntsman wield. With it, they'd never sense the Compass—not even if it was in the same room."

Luz's eyes widened with a memory rising from deep within her. "Titan magic can cancel Star Magic."

Markus nodded slowly, affirming her realization. "Exactly. It can unweave the energies Star People use to bind reality. That's why this is possible."

But the moment of insight didn't spark excitement in Luz—it sparked dread. "No," she said immediately, the edge in her voice was sharp. "Absolutely not."

Markus looked confused. "What—"

"He's still a kid!" she snapped, stepping between King and Markus, as her protective instincts flared. "He's still figuring out how to control his powers, let alone channel them into something as ancient and delicate as a weapon. You don't know what that kind of strain would do to him." Atlas moved beside her, placing a hand on King's shoulder with quiet, deliberate care but with a fierce expression. "She's right," he added. "Using your power that way... it would make you a target. A bigger one. The Grand Huntsman already wants you. If he senses that Titan magic's been used to nullify something of this scale, he won't stop. He'll descend like a meteor."

Markus interjected, his tone careful now, measured. "The weapon would only need a fragment of essence. You know, something similar to a breath, maybe even a 'whisper' of his magic. Nothing more really."

Hesperos, who had been leaning against the stone archway with arms crossed and tail still, finally spoke, his voice unusually serious. "It doesn't matter how small the spark is," he said. "A flare's a flare. Someone will see it, and that someone is going to be somebody we don't want to attract."

Markus exhaled slowly, his shoulders easing with the breath. He glanced around the group—Luz's fierce, protective stance; Atlas's calm but unwavering presence; Hesperos's watchful, narrowed eyes. Then finally, his gaze returned to King. "I understand," he said gently, voice laced with sincerity. "You all care about him. I would never ask something of a Titan—of a child—without respecting the weight it carries."

"That's why..." Markus continued, his tone shifting to less directive and with more openness, "the decision should belong to King."

All eyes turned toward the young Titan. King, still partially obscured by Luz's arm, blinked in surprise. He hadn't expected that. He'd braced himself for another argument, another wave of reasons why he needed to be protected. But now the weight of choice was squarely on his small shoulders.

Markus crouched slightly to meet King's gaze. "This isn't about obligation or destiny," he said. "You're not a tool, or a weapon. You're a person, especially a young one. That means your voice matters most in this discussion. So... if you say no, I'll drop it."

King's brows furrowed as he looked down, arms crossing tightly over himself. The world around him blurred for a moment as he withdrew into thought—deep, tangled thought.

"I am still learning," he admitted to himself. "I mess things up sometimes. I don't even know the full reach of my powers."

The fear coiled deep in his belly. It wasn't just about the Grand Huntsman or the Archivists—it was about not being ready and failing.

Then... his mind circled back to what they'd just uncovered about Orion, The Celestine Compass, and The Wishing Star. The realization that the Archivists weren't just conquering—they were planning and if they got all the Star Pieces... They'll remake everything.

King's claws clenched tighter, as he remembered what Luz had said in her most vulnerable moments—how she'd feared failing them again, how she couldn't carry the weight alone. He remembered the quiet nights when Atlas couldn't sleep, haunted by the echoes of his siblings. He remembered Atlas's voice shaking as he recounted what he'd seen at the Archive Tower. And he remembered himself, curled in Luz's lap, wishing he wasn't so afraid.

He was still afraid but maybe courage didn't mean not being afraid—it meant choosing to act anyway. He lifted his head. "I..." King's voice was soft at first, while Luz turned to him. "I'm scared," he admitted. "I really am. I don't know if I'll mess it up, or if using my power will make the Grand Huntsman come after me again."

Atlas placed his hand back on King's shoulder gently, silently supporting him. "But..." King inhaled deeply, grounding himself. "If there's a chance this sword can help us stop him and Orion—really stop him—then... I want to try. I have to try."

Luz's eyes widened. "King..."

"I know you want to protect me," he said, while his voice was gaining strength. "But I don't want to sit on the sidelines while everyone else fights. If I can do something to keep all of you safe—then I want to."

There was a long pause.

The silence reflected the quiet emotions that the group was experiencing. Such emotions that consisted of fear, pride, awe, and that aching thing that grows only when a child chooses to carry something too heavy. Luz looked at him, her throat tight. Slowly, she knelt down, pulling him into a quiet embrace. Luz didn't let go of King for a long moment, her arms wrapped protectively around his small frame, as though she could shield him from the weight of the universe itself. Atlas rested a hand gently on King's back, steady and warm, while Hesperos offered a solemn nod—a silent vow that they'd all watch over him, no matter what came next. "Alright, if that's what you want to do, we'll do this together," Luz said, her voice hushed but firm. "Every step of the way."

"No one's leaving you to face this alone, King..." Atlas added. His usually aloof expression had softened, the faint starlight catching in his eyes.

Even Hesperos, ever the sardonic pirate, leaned in slightly, his tone more serious than usual. "If we're going to drag a Titan into this mess, you can bet your horns we'll be there to make sure he walks out of it too."

The warmth of their reassurance settled into King's chest like the embers of a fire—small, but steady. He still felt afraid and the feeling of uncertainty gnawed at the edge of his resolve but at least now, he didn't feel alone in it. Markus gave a nod of approval, standing and brushing imaginary dust from his paws. "Good. Then let's put this courage to use." He turned, motioning toward the holomap resting in the center of their navigation hub. "Our destination is at the Nebula Sanctum," Markus began, his tone shifting into a purposeful cadence. "It's an ancient archive... or rather, was. Before the fall of the Old Star Empire, it served as a knowledge sanctum—part museum, part observatory, part greenhouse. It's pretty much a planetary-like structure floating in neutral space. It's been dormant for a while, but I know someone who's kept it functional."

"A friend?" Luz asked, stepping beside him.

Markus nodded once. "They're an old ally of mine, with their forge and King's magic, we'll have what we need to craft the weapon. The very weapon powerful enough to protect the Celestine Compass from The Archivists, and the Grand Huntsman." Markus continued, "Once the weapon is forged and—hopefully my ally joins us—we'll make our way to Astralis Prime." Markus added, "Astralis Prime is hidden deep in the nebula strata, as it's protected by arboreal starlight and cloaked from even the keenest of eyes. When we arrive there, we will speak with the Councilmen of Arbora and hand over the Celestine Compass as I've been tasked with. If anyone can keep the Compass safe, it's them." He concluded, "I also know that my friend at the sanctum is familiar with the Compass, she would know what to do with it."

Luz exhaled slowly, a flicker of relief stirring in her chest. "And from there?"

"We will find a way to get you, King, and Atlas back home," Markus concluded. "We'll send you to the Demon Realm. Me and my fellow knights will keep the Archivists off your trail, so you'll be able to reach your realm's Star Piece before they're able to locate it... and make sure Orion never gets close to it."

A heavy silence followed, broken only by the soft hum of the Donati's systems. Luz looked to King, then to Atlas, who stood quietly behind her, his eyes shadowed beneath his hood. They all felt the weight of Markus' words, not just the hope they offered, but the risk they demanded.

Markus stepped forward, resting a hand lightly on the holotable. His expression grew more serious, his voice steady and commanding.

"There's something else we have to keep in mind," he added, "King will still be a priority target to the Archive Collective and the Grand Huntsman."

King twitched and he looked away uneasily. Luz instinctively reached out, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. Markus continued. "They want him not just because of his bloodline... but because he's the last remaining Titan. If they can't kill him, they'll find other ways to break him."

Atlas's small hands curled into fists at his sides.

"So what are you suggesting?" Luz asked, her voice tight.

"We can't take a direct route to the Nebula Sanctum," Markus said, activating a star map over the holotable. "Instead, I recommend a staggered path—through scattered star systems that border the Sanctum's corridor. Stop at one, recalibrate your trajectory, then jump to the next. It'll help throw off anyone tracking us and give us fallback points if we need to refuel or hide."

Hesperos tapped his chin thoughtfully. "Hmm... not a bad strategy. Makes our trajectory look like static drift instead of a calculated path. Riskier in some ways, but if we keep our warp intervals irregular, we'll avoid most scan sweeps."

Luz nodded slowly. "Alright. We'll take the long road."

Markus turned to Hesperos. "What's the nearest star system from our current coordinates?"

Hesperos tapped a few keys on the console, his tail flicking as lines of data flickered across the star map. After a few seconds, he smirked. "Locking onto it now—Gleirion System." Hesperos leaned closer to the screen in order to get a full scope of the planet itself, "Hm, it's pretty isolated from where it's positioned, it's a good place to start. It'll give us the necessary coverage we need."

Markus gave a satisfied nod. "Then that's your first waypoint. Keep quiet, stay off major star routes, and don't engage unless you have to."

Luz exchanged determined looks with her crew, her voice calm but firm. "We'll make it. We have to."

Markus leaned closer to the star map, fingers gliding across the controls with practiced precision. The galaxy unfolded around the central projection like a blooming flower—spirals of star systems, warp lanes, and gravitational fields glowing in gentle pulses.

"I'll transmit the coordinates to the Nebula Sanctum directly to your system," Markus said, tapping his wrist module. A blink later, the Donati's console chimed in confirmation. "But I'm embedding them under a fractal encryption pattern—something even the Archive Collective's scanners won't pick up unless they're sitting inside your nav-core."

Hesperos nodded approvingly as he slid back into the pilot's seat. A string of numbers and data scrolled across the forward holodisplay. Hesperos' fingers flew across the controls, locking in the main destination first. "Nebula Sanctum coordinates... received and set. Locked on."

"Good," Markus replied, then raised a hand. "Now don't activate the full route. I want you to thread in a divergence path for manual entries. Scatter your jumps across the outlying systems here, here, and here." He marked several glowing points: the Gleirion System, the Seraphyx System, and Kailor's Drift, each a flickering location set just beyond the primary corridor leading to the Sanctum.

"These locations are on the edges of navigational space." Markus explained. "No one will expect a route this unpredictable. But they still keep you aligned—just barely—toward the Nebula Sanctum."

Hesperos' tail flicked as he set the first leg. "Plotting the Gleirion jump... then vector drift into Seraphyx... and a cold-boot jump through Kailor's Drift with a three-minute scramble interval in between. This is gonna make the ship sweat but she'll hold."

Atlas, who had been silent until now, stepped forward. "And after that?" he asked. "Is it a clear run?"

Markus gave him a sharp, knowing look. "Nothing from here to the Sanctum is clear, young one. But you'll be close enough that if they do detect you... you'll be too far in for them to drag you back out."

Luz exhaled slowly, watching the thread of star jumps come together like a constellation in motion. "It's a long shot..."

"But it's our shot," King finished, voice steady despite the tension behind it.

Markus nodded, satisfied. "Stay light, stay fast. And above all else—trust your instincts. The Archivists fight with power. You fight with purpose. That's something they'll never understand." Hesperos initiated the warp prep sequence, and The Donati's lights dimmed slightly in response. Luz joined him, cross-referencing the trajectory. "Course is locked." Luz took the helm, her hands gliding across the controls. The hum of the engine deepened as the ship stirred to life, energy gathering like a storm ready to leap through the void. The ship gave a soft hum, and with a flash of light, the Donati vanished into the starlit dark.

As the stars outside the viewport stretched into ribbons of light, King looked back once more, then he faced forward, knowing they had a mission now. For the first time, he wasn't just a Titan hiding from his fate that he was a part of the fight to change it.

Meanwhile, in a far corner section of space itself, The Eclipse drifted like a silent predator through the velvet stretch of space, its silhouette barely discernible against the vast canvas of stars. The scars of the battle with the Warp Eel still marked its hull, which were long gashes and burns streaked across its surface. Inside, the silence was oppressive but broken only by the occasional groan of the ship's inner workings adjusting after combat. Within the heart of the vessel, behind massive double doors, the Grand Huntsman sat on a throne carved from obsidian—an unforgiving structure that suited him well. Crimson lighting bathed the chamber, illuminating the blood still drying on his crescent blades, which now rested against the armrests of his throne like loyal hounds awaiting their next command. Earlier, following the escape of The Donati due to the attack that occurred from the Warp Eel, he had killed the Warp Eel with brute force alone. He cleaved through its serpentine neck with a single, feral swing of both blades. The beast had shrieked before its gnarled head tumbled into the abyss of space. The victory was absolute, but not without cost. The Compass had slipped from his grasp... Once more...

Soon a pulsing circle of starlight expanded outward, coalescing into a glowing figure. Soon a projection of a Star Sprite was displayed, her head was the shape of a comet, as the 'tail' of it resembled her hair. Her skin was blue but her hair was a much darker shade. She wore a white colored uniform that was neat and clearly reflected her allegiance to the Archive Collective. Yet the uniform was adjourned with cosmic patterns such as stars and crescents. Her voice was as smooth, which reflected her professionalism and the need to remain perfect was clear. "Grand Huntsman," the sprite intoned, floating above the floor with formal poise. "I come bearing the will of the Archivists. They seek word of your progress. Have you retrieved the Celestine Compass?"

The Grand Huntsman didn't rise from his throne, but his voice carried across the room with enough weight to shake the air. "No... The Compass was not recovered." The sprite's form pulsed. "Explain yourself, Huntsman."

"There was a setback due to the same fugitives from before. They've grown bolder... craftier. They have a new ally who fought alongside them and resisted my efforts, I was close, but—"

"You failed," the sprite cut in, her voice becoming suddenly sharper, "And now the Compass is still unaccounted for. Do you understand the timing you have jeopardized?"

The Grand Huntsman clenched the armrest of his throne, metal groaning under the strain of his grip. "Give me more time! I will recover it! I swear, I will bring it before the Convergence!"

"Time is a luxury we can no longer afford," the sprite replied coolly. "The Archivists have lost patience."

Before the Huntsman could respond further, the projection flared suddenly as its light expanded into a vortex of radiant energy that spilled across the throne room walls. The familiar space of his personal chamber dissolved in a flash of white heat.

And then—

—he was elsewhere.

With a crack of magic and displacement, the Grand Huntsman materialized in the center of the Archive Tower's throne room, his boots striking the smooth crystalline floor with a heavy thud. The temperature dropped; the air became thinner, purer, cold with cosmic judgment. The ceiling stretched high above, glittering like a fractured nebula. Before him, seated on thrones of starstone, were the Archivists—they were looming, radiant, and each were cloaked in living constellations and veiled in judgmental silence.

Orion, the most commanding among them, leaned forward first. His presence was a gravitational force all its own—draped in a gown of swirling galaxies, his gaze remained unblinkingly on the Huntsman. Beside him sat Andromeda, her expression was the quiet burn of disappointment that flickered in her eyes. To her left was Aster Nova, her posture precise, while her arms were folded across her chest. Her aura pulsed with subtle hostility upon seeing the Grand Huntsman's presence. The last was Badar Comet, who lounged more casually, yet the sneer etched across his face revealed a more disdainful, mocking displeasure than the rest.

"You've had two full cycles," Orion began, his voice deep and metallic. It echoed as it had been caught in the vast chamber of the throne room. "Countless reinforcements. Endless resources. And yet here you stand... Still empty-handed."

The Grand Huntsman held his ground, though the air around him had grown colder and denser. "They've eluded me longer than expected. These fugitives have proven to be... persistent, My Star."

Aster Nova narrowed her glowing eyes. "You've said that before. Multiple times." Badar scoffed, "Your excuses are starting to sound as stale as the Warp Eel you dismembered much earlier."

"They're not just fugitives anymore," the Huntsman growled, the words slipping out with a bitter edge. "They have allies, weapons, and strategies I didn't account for!"

"You were given everything the Archive Collective has to offer," Andromeda said in a calm tone. "You commanded legions, starships, recon units, and yet you failed to acquire one object despite all we provide for your mission."

Aster soon followed, "And you do know that we can't constantly throw our forces into pointless battles, as we need them to maintain order in our domain. Let alone, they're very hard to replenish."

The Grand Huntsman's fists clenched at his sides. His pride ached, not from the criticism, but from the truth in it. "It's been months since our last encounter with them," Orion continued, "And now the Convergence approaches. The Nine Stars are about to align. We are on the cusp of becoming new gods for an existence of perfection, and the Compass—the key to it all—is still lost in the hands of lesser beings."

Orion rose from his throne. He descended a single step, and the lights above dimmed, stars blinking out as if cowed by his movement. "You and I, Grand Huntsman... we were forged in the aftermath of their arrogance. The Titans—false gods wrapped in flesh and ego—took from us more than time or legacy. They took meaning, purpose, and entire histories erased under the weight of their 'natural order' during the First Realm War. We both know we were only trying to correct the chaos they desperately defended"

The Grand Huntsman growls lowly, as the chains around his arms begin rattling like distant thunder. However, Orion continued further. "I know that rage in your marrow. The helplessness of watching our people reduced to ash while they called it balance. But we are no longer bound by their design. This is our moment. Our chance to unwrite their tyranny from the very fabric of existence."

Orion spoke further in a sharper tone, "We will purge the realms of their poison. We will reshape what they warped. And when it's done, the stars will no longer sing their names in reverence, but ours in revolution." He added, "But make no mistake, The Compass is still out there. Without it, Our future to save what's left of us will be locked. You know what's at stake. If we fail to claim it first... if it falls into their hands... then all we've bled for will be nothing. And I won't allow your grief to blind you to that truth."

He concluded, "Get the Compass. Or everything we've sacrificed—everything you've lost—will be for nothing but dust."

The threat hung in the air like poison.

Andromeda remained silent, but her eyes remained on the Huntsman with a flicker of something deeper—perhaps pity and the memories from similar experiences the Grand Huntsman is currently dealing with. Aster Nova stepped forward next, her arms unfolding as she raised a hand of glowing starlight. "This is your final chance," she said, every syllable she spoke was deliberate. "Obtain the Celestine Compass. Kill the Titan. If you fail again—"

"—You won't live to fail a third time," Badar finished, a cruel grin spreading across his face.

Orion added, "Heed our warning Huntsman. Since you can't capture just four measly outlaws, you will be assisted by General Arulieus. He will arrive at your ship shortly with his personal fleet. Till then, you have a mission to uphold. That is all."

Before the Grand Huntsman could respond—before the weight of those words could settle into his bones—he was ripped from the throne room in a blaze of white starlight.

In an instant, he was back. The Eclipse's throne chamber stood around him, still and dark, exactly as he'd left it. He sat once more in the seat of command, blades resting at his sides, crimson light casting long shadows on the floor. For a moment, it almost seemed like nothing had happened at all.

Almost.

However, now his breathing was heavier and slower. The tension in his jaw had hardened and the fury in his eyes burned hotter than any star. His mind swirled with rage and desperation, no longer concerned with subtlety or strategy. Now he was presented with a situation where there wasn't the need for patience and restraint. "They want a monster," he growled to himself. "Then I'll give them one."

His thoughts turned to King—the Titan child who had humiliated him with nothing more than survival. That insolent whelp, hiding behind magic and mortal protectors, had evaded him too many times.

Now it was personal.

He would claim the Compass. Tear through any world and its inhabitants that stood in his way. And when the time came, he would finish what he had started—with the Titan's head in his hands and the stars burning in his wake...

Meanwhile, back on The Donati, as the ship continued forward through the warp tunnel, surrounded by a veil of shimmering currents that twisted and danced like living threads of starlight. The walls of the corridor weren't physical, but a metaphysical passage—the very fabric of space stretched, folded, and funneled forward. Beyond the reinforced windows, the kaleidoscope of motion made time feel suspended, as though the universe was holding its breath.

Inside the ship, the lights were dimmed to match the cosmic glow outside. The hum of the warp engines pulsed like a heartbeat beneath their feet. Luz stood near the observation window, arms crossed, her gaze locked on the lightstream outside, deep in thought. Markus stepped beside her, quiet at first, his cloak rustling gently with each step.

"I'll be honest about something," he asked softly, his voice low but steady. "I didn't know in the conventional sense," Markus replied, tilting his head slightly. "But during the earliest days of my investigation, I began having... visions. Fragments. Dreams. Pieces of possibilities." His eyes narrowed slightly, distant and focused. "Though, they didn't feel like dreams because they felt extremely real. In those visions, I saw realms crumbling and this very existence being wiped clean..." He became quiet and took a deep breath, he soon gained the courage to continue, "...I also saw the Wishing Star itself. I didn't think of it at first but the feeling managed to stay with me, warning me that something ancient and greater than any one of us, was behind all of this."

Luz turned her head to him, brow furrowed. "You knew something like this would happen?" She added with caution, "But... how? How could you have been able to see any of that?"

Markus turned fully to face her now, his tone calm, almost reverent. "The magic of Arbora, it's something I've been able to harness the essence of," he said. "It lingers everywhere. In the stars, in the soil of each realm, and in the spaces between atoms. It's not like the glyphs or the magic you're used to, Luz. It's something deeper and more foundational."

He took a step closer to the central console, where soft light illuminated his face, casting gentle shadows beneath his eyes. "The Order of Arbora has passed down knowledge for generations—teachings on how to listen to the essence. And if you listen long enough, while your spirit aligns with it... Arbora speaks."

Luz's eyebrows drew together. "Speaks? Like... actual communication?"

"In a sense. Sometimes it comes as an emotion. Sometimes as images. Even in rare moments of perfect stillness, it manifests as visions." He tapped lightly on his temple. "The essence of Arbora lives inside everything. Even you. Every sentient being carries a spark of it. And those taught to harness it can tap into latent abilities. Foresight. Empathy projection. Even healing beyond the physical."

He let the words settle before adding, more softly, "The vision I had... the one that warned me of this path we're on... it wasn't mine alone. It was given. Which makes me believe that Arbora might be aware of what's coming."

Luz fell silent. Her eyes flicked back to the warp tunnel, the streams of color flowing endlessly. For a moment, her expression was torn between belief and uncertainty, awe and skepticism. "I mean... I believe in magic. Of course I do," Luz said softly, almost defensively. Her eyes remained fixed on the stream of light outside the viewing panel, watching the warp tunnel ripple and twist like the folds of a dream. "I've seen things most people wouldn't even dream of. I know magic has rules, and depth, and a life of its own."

Her voice trailed off, not because she didn't have more to say but because she was carefully choosing how to say it. Her brow furrowed, lips pressed in a tight line. There was weight behind her silence. "But this idea... of a consciousness behind it all?" she said finally, her voice dipped in quiet disbelief. "A presence that knows us, that can... guide visions or fates? That's a lot to take in for me, honestly."

Markus didn't interrupt. He simply watched her, patient, steady, as though he expected the thought to come with time and it did.

Luz turned slightly, folding her arms. Her voice softened, shaded with the honesty of someone who had spent years trying to piece together where she belonged, both in the human world and in the magical one. "I used to think magic was just cool. You know—glyphs, spells, and flashy stuff. Then I realized it meant something. That it was history, emotion, pain, and love all tied together. That it hurt when it was taken away. That it could be twisted. That it could heal."

She paused, the corners of her mouth twitching with the ghost of a sad smile.

"And yeah, maybe I don't totally get the whole 'magical consciousness' thing yet," she admitted, lifting her shoulders in a small shrug. "But I'm not gonna shut it out either. I mean, if I hadn't been open to learning weird new things... I wouldn't be here."

King looked up at her from the floor, eyes wide with quiet admiration. Atlas—still leaning against the doorframe—shifted subtly, his expression unreadable but clearly listening, feeling the sincerity behind every word.

Luz looked back at Markus, this time with something more resolved behind her gaze. "So, maybe I'm skeptical," she said, the edge of her voice firming up. "But I'm also curious. If Arbora is real... if her essence is really everywhere... then I wanna understand that further."

Her fists clenched slightly at her sides, not in anger but in determination. "If we're dealing with something this big—like cosmic, destiny-level big—then yeah. I'll keep my mind open to learn what it's all about"

Markus smiled, a quiet and knowing expression that didn't feel patronizing—only proud. "That's more than most would offer, Luz and it's enough." He added, "When we head to Gleiria, I will show you how Arbora is everywhere with us, even at its most subtle moments."

For a fleeting moment, in the depths of the warp tunnel, surrounded by stars and uncertainty, Luz didn't feel overwhelmed by the vastness of it all. Instead, she felt grounded by choice, by belief, and by the quiet promise that she was still learning. Still growing. Still becoming.

Chapter Text

Gleiria

The stars beyond the warp tunnel stretched like endless streaks of liquid silver, pulsing in and out of focus as The Donati continued its voyage through the temporal corridor. Within the cockpit, soft pulses of sapphire light reflected against Luz's focused face, her fingers tight around the navigation console. Hesperos Holmes sat at her side, his usually easygoing expression shadowed by a hint of concern. King lounged in his crash-couch behind them, his tail twitching anxiously, while Atlas sat silently near the rear, arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Markus Star stood near the systems monitor, his eyes flicking over streams of data with practiced calm, though the muscles in his jaw were clenched.

It had been quiet on board the ship though eerily so. The only noise that had been present was the smooth hum of the warp engine guiding them toward Gleiria. That calm shattered in an instant when a violent jolt surged through the ship. The jolt caused the panels to rattle and send a sudden shudder through the hull. Alarms flared to life, their red lights flashed. The Donati groaned as if she was straining against invisible chains that were constricting her. Luz instinctively tightened her grip, her heart skipping a beat. "What the—?" she gasped, as her eyes darted to the dashboard.

"We've got turbulence, but not the natural kind," Hesperos muttered, already flipping switches with blinding speed. "Something's choking the warp stream! Luz—take the helm! We need to pull out, now!"

"I'm on it!" she responded, voice sharp but steady.

Together, they maneuvered The Donati into an emergency de-warp sequence. The lights inside dimmed as the warp tunnel twisted unnaturally around them, convulsing like a wounded beast. The sudden pressure drop made King yelp, gripping the armrest with his claws. "Ahhhhh!! What's going on???!!!" he yelled. Atlas whimpered softly, pressing himself further into the corner, while Markus quietly braced himself against the console.

Soon with a deep thrum and a pulse of golden energy, The Donati burst free from the warp tunnel and into open space. The sudden stillness felt deafening. Outside the windows, a planet loomed in the distance; it was Gleiria.

Luz leaned forward, exhaling slowly, her eyes wide. "We made it..."

"Yeah, but whatever happened doesn't seem normal," Hesperos muttered, flipping the intercom switch. "Starry, report. What just happened back there? How's she doing?"

A static pop crackled over the intercom, followed by a familiar, sing-songy voice that buzzed with boundless, slightly chaotic energy. "Heeeyyy, Hespy! So, uh—slight hiccup in the stellar juice department! You see, the warp core kinda... hic!... burped. Like, a big sparkly burp. Not my fault, I promise! I think it's due to all those trips we did trying to send our besties back home!" Starry's tone then dipped slightly, losing its usual bounce. "The core's tired... all that stretching and shrinking and bending reality—it's catching up with it. Poor lil warp core..."

Luz blinked, then gave a small, sympathetic frown. "Is it... safe to keep flying?"

"Safe-ish!" Starry chimed, chipper again. "Just no warping for now! Gotta give the core a good nap. Probably a good ol' repair included too. Or both!"

"Noted. Thanks, Starry," Hesperos replied, rubbing the bridge of his nose with a weary smile. "You're a star."

"I knoooow!" Starry giggled, the transmission cutting off with a soft sparkle sound.

Hesperos leaned back, pressing a hand to his chest as he exhaled. "Huff Well, the good news? We made it out in one piece. The better news? That giant popsicle out there? That's Gleiria. We're in its orbital path, though it's just farther out than expected."

He turned toward the others, his voice carrying a calm, steady reassurance. "We'll make it down to the surface just fine, but The Donati's warp core is officially on cooldown. Once we land, I'll begin diagnostics. We'll need a full maintenance cycle and system check to see how bad the damage is. Until then, we stay grounded and remain low. No broadcasting signals and no drawing attention. The last thing we need is the Archive Collective looking for us or worse, the Grand Huntsman."

The name alone made the temperature seem to drop further inside the ship. King glanced nervously at Atlas, who sat unmoving, eyes unfocused. Luz gave the star child a soft look, her heart aching at how small he seemed at that moment. She moved to gently rest a hand on his shoulder, and he leaned into it without a word. Luz turned her gaze back to the viewport, where Gleiria now dominated the field of stars.

The frozen world shimmered with a piercing beauty. From orbit, the planet looked like a brilliant, icy jewel. Glistening white snowfields blanketed the surface in endless waves, broken only by mountain ridges and ancient, yawning crevasses that split the world like fractured glass. Glaciers stretched for miles like frozen rivers, glittering with hints of blue and violet under the light of its distant star. Pale auroras danced across the polar skies, painting the atmosphere in streaks of green and purple that pulsed like a slow heartbeat. Violent snowstorms churned across vast regions, veiling entire valleys in an ever-moving stormfront of mist and frost.

Luz swallowed hard. "Let's take her down."

The descent was slow and careful as every motion deliberate as Hesperos and Luz co-piloted The Donati through the swirling clouds and atmospheric frost. Ice crystals pinged off the hull, the ship groaned under the drop in temperature. Even Starry's voice was quiet now, as if holding their breath with everyone else.

Eventually, the ship broke through the final layers of cloud and touched down with a soft crunch on a remote tundra—for a moment, no one spoke.

Then Luz stood slowly, her voice soft, filled with both awe and unease. "We made it." Hesperos nodded beside her, his breath visible in the rising cold. "Welcome to Gleiria, mates." Outside, the wind howled across the barren plain, whipping snow into spirals beneath a sky tinged with soft auroras. The cold had only just begun but so had the next step of their journey.

The ramp of The Donati hissed open with a low mechanical exhale, allowing the biting cold of Gleiria's air to creep inside like a ghost. Frosted wind curled into the ship's corridor, swirling around the crew's boots and ankles, wrapping itself in the metal scent of hull and wire. Outside, the tundra stretched in all directions, blanketed in layers of thick, untouched snow, broken only by distant formations of jagged ice. Pale light glimmered overhead through streaks of auroras, casting an ethereal glow through the ship's entryway.

Hesperos Holmes stood near the open ramp, his cloak fluttering against the chill as he clutched a diagnostics tablet close to his chest. He gave the horizon a calculating glance before turning back to the others with a serious, focused tone. "Alright," he said, his voice firm but calm. "The warp core's condition is top priority right now. I'll be staying here to run full diagnostics and start repairs. If Starry's right—and let's face it, they usually are—this core's been running on fumes since our last jump. If we don't treat it right now, we might not get another chance."

From the side, King straightened with a determined little hop. "Then I'm staying to help." He adjusted the scarf wrapped around his neck and puffed out his chest. "I know I'm small, but I know how to follow instructions. Plus, someone's gotta keep you from getting distracted by shiny buttons."

A grin tugged at the corners of Hesperos' mouth. "Appreciated, Your Majestic Assistance," he said with a small, amused bow.

Markus adjusted the thick winter coat slung over his shoulder and stepped forward beside Luz. "Then we'll take a short recon sweep. Get a sense of what's out here—paths, landmarks, and potential shelter points. If this place hides danger, I'd rather it not surprise us later." Markus added, "Plus, I believe this is my opportunity to show Luz how Arbora's influence is everywhere around us."

Atlas lingered close to Luz, hands wrapped tightly around the edge of her jacket. His eyes never once left her side, the nervous tremble in his frame betraying the calm mask he tried so hard to maintain. Luz glanced down at him gently, her features softening. "I'll stay with her," Atlas murmured, voice almost lost to the wind. "I... I don't wanna stay behind."

"You're coming with us," Luz reassured him, resting a hand on his head. "We'll stick together."

Before anyone could take another step, Hesperos held up a hand. "Hold it." His voice grew more serious, almost parental. "If you're leaving the ship, I want all of you on high alert. Gleiria might look like a frozen wasteland, but that doesn't mean it's empty."

Luz nodded solemnly, already feeling the weight of responsibility settle on her shoulders again.

Hesperos continued, tone edged with caution. "Keep your pagers on at all times. If anything—and I mean anything—starts to feel off, you call me with no hesitation."

He turned to the weapons locker near the ramp and pressed his palm to the biometric panel. With a soft click, the cabinet hissed open, revealing a modest cache of gear. He reached inside and pulled out two sleek blasters—compact, matte-black, and well-maintained. "You'll need these," he said, offering them forward.

Luz accepted hers without question, giving it a quick check before holstering it at her side. She'd carried blasters before. They were never her first choice, but she'd learned to respect their utility.

Markus, however, hesitated as he stared at the weapon with a faint scowl, brows furrowed. "You know I prefer blades," he muttered, reluctantly taking the blaster in hand. "This thing's... impersonal."

Hesperos raised an eyebrow. "So is a frozen corpse. You don't have to like it, you just have to use it when it counts."

With a sigh, Markus holstered the weapon, his movements stiff and reluctant.

Luz gave him a supportive nudge. "It's just for safety. Let's hope we don't need to use them at all."

As their preparations were completed, the trio stepped out into the snow. The wind was louder out here, keening softly across the tundra like a mourning voice. Their boots crunched against the ice as they moved forward into the pale wilderness. Atlas stayed close to Luz's side, his fingers occasionally brushing against hers for reassurance. Markus led ahead, his coat flaring behind him like a dark banner against the white.

Behind them, Hesperos watched from the ramp alongside King, who had already begun tapping at the diagnostic console Starry had prepped for him. For a moment, Hesperos' eyes lingered on Luz—on the way she bore the weight of others without complaint, on how Atlas looked to her like the world might shatter without her presence.

"She's not just a light in the dark," he murmured to himself. "She's the anchor holding everyone together."

As the wind rose and the trio disappeared beyond the first rise of ice, Hesperos turned back to his tools, his mind sharp, and his hands already working because if anything happened out there, The Donati would have to be ready to fly again.

The frozen wind rolled across the Gleirian tundra in slow, sweeping gusts, tousling hair and tugging at cloaks as Markus took the lead, his pace steady and precise. Snow crunched beneath their boots with each step, muffled slightly by the thick frost clinging to the uneven terrain. The sky above shimmered faintly with violet and green auroras, casting pale halos over their path as the frozen horizon stretched far and featureless ahead. Yet Markus' gaze remained fixed not on the landscape, but on something invisible—something only he could feel.

His eyes were partially closed, his breath rhythmic, controlled. Every few steps, he would raise his gloved hand slightly, fingers spreading as if testing the very air. His ears moved like satellite dishes, as they moved in different directions trying to find a singular direction to listen towards. Luz noticed the way his expression shifted from alert concentration to deep, inner focus. Atlas walked beside her, quiet and observant, his fingers gently clutching the edge of her sleeve for reassurance. He glanced between Luz and Markus with curious uncertainty.

Finally, Luz broke the silence, her voice low and careful. "Markus... what exactly are you doing?"

Without looking back, Markus replied, "Essence Sensing. It's a technique every member of the Order of Arbora learns early in their training. It allows us to feel the movement of Arbora's essence when it's present in the environment. Sort of like following the current of a river but with our souls instead of our sight."

Atlas raised their eyebrows, impressed. "You mean you can actually feel her magic out here?"

Markus nodded. "If there's a breach—if even the smallest trace of her essence leaks through—it leaves behind a signature. A resonance. It's rare to find it in places like this... but not impossible." He opened his eyes fully and pointed toward the distance. "And right now, there's something powerful calling out from that way."

They pressed on as the wind grew sharper the farther they went. The terrain began to shift—ice crunching underfoot giving way to smooth, glassy patches where frost had frozen into thick plates. Soon the ground dipped downward in a slow decline, and before long, the trio found themselves approaching the edge of an immense glacier ravine. The sight brought them to a slow, collective stop.

The ravine was vast, stretching for miles in either direction like a wound carved into the surface of the world. Its edges were jagged and layered with thick, blue-white frost, while deep below, darkness swallowed the canyon's depths whole. Faint trails of mist coiled from within, moving against the breeze like breath exhaled from some ancient sleeping giant. Markus stepped forward, boots crunching softly, until he reached the very edge of the icy cliffside. He inhaled deeply through his nose and let the breath go slow. Then he knelt, folding one leg beneath the other and resting his hands palm-down onto the snow-covered surface. "It's here," he murmured, eyes slipping closed.

Luz approached cautiously, eyes drawn to the sheer drop only a few feet from Markus' position. "You sure this is the source?"

"It's the strongest I've felt since we landed," Markus replied, his voice steady, almost reverent. "The essence is seeping up from somewhere deep below the glacier."

Atlas crept closer, staying slightly behind Luz as he peered over the edge with wide, apprehensive eyes. "It looks bottomless..."

Markus opened his eyes slowly and looked at Luz. "I'm going to show you something," he said. "When a soul has attuned itself to Arbora's essence, it can interact with her magic in ways that defy most systems of spellcasting. It's not about willpower and control, it's about resonance and harmony. The two most important components of harnessing her magic."

He touched a hand to his chest. "When I link my soul to the essence here—what's leaking through the glacier's core—you'll see a glimpse of that connection. It becomes... magnified and strengthened. Think of it like two voices harmonizing into something larger than themselves."

Luz's mind stirred with memories of their conversations aboard The Donati, of Markus speaking about the nature of Arbora's magic, about the soul being the bridge between desire and reality. Her thoughts drifted to something else he'd said—something she hadn't forgotten.

"The Wishing Star," she whispered aloud. "You said it only works if it etches itself onto the soul of the one who makes the wish... because it's tied to Arbora."

Markus gave a faint nod. "Exactly. The Wishing Star isn't just a cosmic artifact—it's a fragment of her. Her essence incarnate. And the only way to tap into it is to connect on that level—soul to soul. Just like this."

Luz felt a deep, quiet awe settle over her. Beside her, Atlas looked from one to the other with an expression full of childlike wonder.

Markus spoke. "I'm going to show you both what that looks like. What it means to connect with her."

He returned his attention inward, hands still pressed to the frost, and closed his eyes. His breathing slowed, becoming near-silent. A faint warmth began to emanate from him as it was not visible but rather felt. Luz's chest tingled faintly, as though a soft vibration passed through the air itself. The snow beneath Markus' hands shimmered slightly, tiny flecks of ice catching an unseen pulse of energy.

The ravine grew quieter, while the wind stilled. For a moment, it felt as though the glacier itself was holding its breath.

Markus sat motionless at the edge of the icy cliff, his hands pressed gently to the cold ground as the soft, rhythmic pulse of his breathing echoed through the quiet ravine. The frigid wind no longer seemed to touch him; the biting cold, once so present, now melted away in the presence of something deeper and older.

Luz and Atlas stood a few steps behind, watching with wide, captivated eyes. The air around Markus had begun to change—shimmering subtly, as if reality itself was bending in slow reverence. A faint golden light flickered into being around his body, at first no more than a soft glimmer, like sunlight seen through frosted glass. Though as seconds stretched on, the aura grew brighter and more defined. He was soon completely surrounded in a gentle halo of pure, living light.

Atlas gripped Luz's arm tightly, not out of fear but awe. "What's happening?" he whispered, barely able to look away.

Luz didn't answer immediately. Her gaze was fixed on Markus, heart beating just a little faster. The sight wasn't just magical, it was sacred.

Then Markus moved slowly and gracefully, he raised both arms upward, palms open to the sky. The light surrounding him pulsed brighter, as if it responded directly to his intent. From each of his hands, a glowing orb began to form in each palm. They were radiant, almost fluid in appearance, swirling with golden-white essence that sparkled like sunlight on water. The light danced, not chaotically, but with a quiet purpose like it was alive.

He held the orbs aloft for a moment longer then slowly brought his hands down. With utmost care, he placed both orbs on the snow-covered ground where he had been sitting. He began pressing them into the frost as if he were planting a seed and then... everything changed.

The snow around the orbs shimmered, cracked, and melted away in a soft, hissing mist. From beneath the ice, green erupted. Specifically, Grass, which was impossibly vibrant and lush, which had unfurled from the earth as if awakened from an ancient sleep. Vines coiled outward in slow spirals, threading through the newly formed meadow. Wildflowers bloomed across the patch like stars, delicate petals in hues of violet, blue, and gold waving gently in a breeze that didn't exist.

It was a surreal contrast—the bloom of spring in the heart of a frozen world. The biting air around them remained but this patch of land had been changed completely. It wasn't an illusion nor a trick because life itself had returned to this small part of the glacier, made sacred by the touch of Arbora's essence.

Atlas' mouth dropped open, breath fogging the air. "Did... did he just grow life? On an ice-covered planet?"

Luz stepped forward slowly, her boots crunching at the edge of the transformed ground. Her eyes were wide, almost shimmering. "You're right... That wasn't just magic, Atlas," she said softly. "That was life. Pure life."

Markus slowly opened his eyes, while the radiant aura that had encased him flickered and then faded in a soft exhale of light. He exhaled slowly, as his exhaustion creeped into his features but there was a sense of peace there too. A peace that resembled a quiet sense of pride inside of him. Markus took a slow breath, his shoulders rising and falling as the last traces of golden light dissolved into the thin, frigid air. He remained seated for a moment longer, grounding himself, as if reluctant to leave the sacred stillness he had just channeled. Then gently, he turned to Luz, his voice low but steady. "You see," he began, "Arbora's presence isn't confined to one place. It's everywhere. Woven into the foundation of the cosmos. Wherever her essence lingers—even faintly—magic finds a way to manifest."

He motioned to the lush patch of grass and flowers now blooming beneath them like a sacred wound in the ice. "Even here," he said softly, "in the heart of a frozen wasteland. Her touch remains. And because of that, so does possibility."

Luz nodded slowly, still marveling at the vibrant petals beneath her fingers, their softness a sharp contrast to the glacial chill all around them. The words resonated deeply in her, unlocking something she'd only just begun to understand.

"That explains a lot..." she murmured, thoughtful. "Back when arrived here, I was somehow able to use glyph magic here, even though we were far from the Demon Realm. Though before that, I had to rely on King to make it work due to its limitations anywhere else. I remember thinking it shouldn't have worked—not out here but... it did."

Markus gave her a knowing look. "Because Arbora's essence was there. It allowed your magic to respond."

Luz exhaled through her nose, slowly rising to her feet. Her gaze drifted outward, toward the distant glacial ridgelines and the pale auroras swirling above them. The wind tugged at her cloak, but she barely felt it now. Her thoughts had drifted elsewhere—reminding her of home. Back to the bones of something ancient and colossal.

"You know..." she said slowly, her voice tinged with a kind of reverent nostalgia, "what you're saying... it reminds me of the Titan."

Markus tilted his head slightly, intrigued.

"Even after he was gone—his spirit was pulled into the In Between which caused his magic to stay around, even if his body was lifeless." Luz continued. "The Boiling Isles, my home, were literally shaped by it. His magic still worked through every part of his body for many years."

Atlas listened silently beside them, eyes wide and absorbing every word.

"I met him once," Luz added quietly. "Not just the magic or his voice, but his actual spirit. I saw how much he loved his son... how much he loved the Isles. He wasn't just a god. He was someone who gave everything to protect something he believed in. And... now that I'm seeing all this, everything you're showing me... it makes sense."

She turned to Markus, her expression steady, illuminated by understanding. "The Titans weren't just powerful," she said. "They were born from Arbora. They are her legacy. That's why their magic is so unlike anything else."

Markus didn't respond right away. There was a look in his eyes, a quiet spark of approval and hope.

"Yes," he said at last, voice calm and resolute. "That's exactly it. The Titans are direct descendants of Arbora's will. Carriers of a fragment so vast and enduring, that even death couldn't silence it. You're beginning to understand what it truly means to be part of what Arbora had created, Luz. What it means to be connected by more than just spells or symbols... but by soul." She turned toward Markus, her brow creased slightly, her eyes earnest. "So... does that mean my glyph magic—and the magic that comes from my palisman staff—do those count as a kind of link? A connection to Arbora?"

Her question lingered in the air, soft but weighted with genuine curiosity. It wasn't just academic, it was personal. Glyphs had been her first real bond to magic, to wonder, to a world that changed her life forever. To know whether those symbols—those drawings, those spells—held meaning beyond function.

Markus nodded slowly, folding his hands across his lap. "Technically, yes," he replied, his tone gentle. "Your glyphs and your palisman staff are forms of magical connection to Arbora. They're powerful conduits and sacred in their own right but they rely on external materials to channel their effects. Paper, ink, wood, the natural elements."

He glanced down at the grass still thriving beneath them, then looked back to her.

"But the magic I just performed... that came from my soul directly. No runes. No tools. Just a connection between my spirit and Arbora's presence leaking from this place."

Luz tilted her head slightly, her expression caught between awe and thoughtfulness. "So you didn't cast anything. You just... let your soul align?"

Markus gave a quiet chuckle, amused by her phrasing. "More or less. The magic isn't forced, it's remembered. It flows when you surrender to it instead of commanding it. That's the core difference between soul magic and, say, glyph-based or staff-based techniques. One depends on a spark from within. The others guide a spark from without."

Luz took in his words carefully, eyes narrowing slightly in concentration. Then a flicker of recognition lit her face.

"You know," she said, "that reminds me of something back home. In the Demon Realm, witches are born with this organ called a bile sac. It's part of their biology—it lets them cast magic naturally, without needing glyphs or wands."

Markus raised his eyebrows, intrigued. "Fascinating."

"Yeah," Luz continued, nodding. "I always thought it was unique to witches, but what you're describing—it feels like a spiritual equivalent. Witches use their bile sac, you use your soul. Both are natural, just different in origin."

Markus smiled at that, an approving glint in his eyes. "That's a sharp comparison. And you're right. Both are manifestations of natural magic, tied into the fabric of life itself. Witches rely on a biological anchor. Arbora's essence... it weaves into something deeper. The soul, the core of being. Where body and spirit touch."

Luz folded her arms, staring into the horizon, her voice softer now. "It's strange... but kind of beautiful, isn't it? No matter where we are—no matter how different we all seem—magic finds a way to live inside us. Whether it's through a heart, a soul, a bile sac, or a piece of wood carved with care."

Luz let the thought hang between them for a long moment, her gaze drifting from Markus's calm presence to the soft patch of living green beneath their feet. It felt like something sacred had been shared, something layered and ancient. But there was still more she needed to say—specifically about pieces of the past that weighed on her heart. "You know," she began, her voice a quiet murmur, "when the Titan passed on... his magic did too. That's why the old glyph language I once used stopped working."

Markus looked at her, eyes narrowing with quiet attentiveness.

"I didn't understand it at first," she continued. "Back then, glyphs were everything to me. They were my only way to fight, to protect people. And when they stopped responding the way they used to, it felt like I was losing a part of myself." She looked down, curling her fingers into her gloves. "But I realized later—it wasn't that the magic disappeared entirely. It just... shifted. His essence faded, and with it, that connection."

There was a beat of silence before she added with a faint smile, "But King... he's been helping me create something new."

Markus tilted his head slightly. "New glyphs?"

Luz nodded. "Yeah. King's been learning to channel his Titan magic, and it's like the magic inside him started forming its own language. Not as powerful as his dad's glyphs, not yet anyway, but it's real. We've been practicing together. It's slower, harder... but it works."

Her smile faded slightly, replaced with a flicker of concern. "Or... it did work. Before we had to stop."

Markus's expression softened. "Because of the Grand Huntsman?"

Luz nodded. "King's powers were drawing too much attention. We felt that with how willingly Orion and the Grand Huntsman are at trying to hurt King, he stopped using it for our safety."

Markus looked out over the ravine, his voice lowered but certain. "I always knew he was a Titan. I suspected from the moment I first laid eyes on him, but I waited for confirmation. I figured it wasn't my truth to uncover."

Luz glanced at him, surprised. "You did?"

"I did," he said simply. "Those who've trained in Arbora's essence can sense other kinds of magic too. If someone else is resonating with power, especially ancient power, you can feel it. The echoes of it brush against your own."

His eyes flicked toward the snowy horizon, almost contemplatively. "With King, it was different. His essence wasn't just strong—it was old. Primordial. And it sang the same tune as the winds that stir the branches of Arbora."

Luz fell quiet, her arms folding again as she sank down next to the thriving patch of grass. "He never wanted to only be seen as some powerful being with a lot of magic he'll inherit one day. He just wants to be... a kid. And yet, even without trying, he carries something inside him that makes the world shift when he breathes a little too hard." She let out a breath, watching it cloud in the cold. "It's a lot for him but he's trying every day."

Markus spoke softly. "Then he's already succeeding. The greatest strength lies in choosing not to use it. Especially when it's easier to let it control you."

Atlas had stayed close beside Luz, clinging gently to her sleeve during the conversation, wide-eyed and quiet, but the moment wasn't lost on him. His eyes were thoughtful, full of wonder, maybe even hope. In this vast, cold place, the warmth of legacy and new beginnings stirred something quiet but undeniable in him too.

Luz's gaze lingered on the grassy patch Markus had created, the colors so vivid and alive against the cold white nothingness surrounding them. There was something deeply humbling about it—how magic, even in the bleakest of places, could still thrive. She shifted her attention back to Markus, her thoughts churning beneath the surface like a quiet storm.

"Markus..." she began, her voice soft but edged with a tentative kind of curiosity. "Do you think... it'd be possible for someone like me to learn that kind of magic? The kind you and the Order of Arbora practice?"

Her words were careful, casual enough on the outside. Though beneath that, her heart beat faster. She wasn't just asking out of fascination—though she did love magic with all her heart. She was asking because a part of her still felt helpless. In the quiet spaces between battles and escapes, she remembered the look on King's face when he hid his power out of fear... the tremble in Atlas's hands when he clung to her, terrified of being left behind. She had to be stronger, strong enough to shield them both—no matter what came next.

Markus looked at her, not with surprise, but with a calm thoughtfulness, his eyes narrowing just slightly as he considered her question. The wind tugged lightly at his cloak but his presence remained still and anchored.

"Yes," he said after a beat. "It is possible, since it flows through all living things, humans included."

Luz blinked, holding her breath without realizing it.

"But," he continued, "It's not something learned like a spell or drawn like a glyph. It's... awakened. It's only discovered through the soul. You'd have to be willing to see yourself completely. To open yourself to parts of you that you've buried, even painful experiences and emotions."

"However, I must admit," he continued, voice thoughtful, "when we first met... I was confused. Not because you were human, but because I sensed something in you—something powerful." He turned toward the crevice again, letting the cold wind push through his fur before glancing back. "Your soul was radiant. Not just in strength, but in depth. It was like looking into a current that refused to be still."

He paused again, his tone softening. "And that wasn't all. I also sensed Titan magic lingering inside you. Not yours... but a trace of it."

Luz's eyes widened slightly. "You... you felt that?"

Markus nodded. "It made no sense to me at the time. I knew King was a Titan, but you carried something of him with you. Or maybe it was from the Titan before him."

Luz's gaze dropped to the grass patch Markus had created moments earlier, her thoughts tangled in everything he had just said. The idea that someone could sense something within her, something ancient and powerful, still felt surreal. But as the memory returned, her heart grew a little heavier. "There's something I need to mention," she began, her voice almost swallowed by the hush of the glacial winds. "As I've said before, I met King's father—the Titan."

Luz let out a breath. "He... he reached out to me through the In Between Realm, when things were at their worst. There was this very evil man named Belos who was about to destroy everything, and there was nothing left I could do."

Her fingers clutched the fabric of her sleeve, remembering the cold clarity of that moment, the vast cosmic silence she had stepped into. "He gave me his magic. Whatever remained of it... just enough of it to stand up one last time to stop Belos. And it worked. We saved the Isles... but he vanished after that."

She looked up at Markus, eyes shimmering with a quiet mix of pride and sorrow. "He used the last of himself to help me and everyone else. He didn't hesitate because he knew his time was about to end."

For a moment, Markus said nothing. The wind curled around them in a soft hush, like the glacier itself was listening.

Then, with a voice weighed by reverence, he finally spoke. "That's... remarkable."

His words weren't hollow praise. There was a raw, genuine astonishment in them, as though he was trying to reconcile the scale of what she'd just told him. "You harnessed the power of the Titans," he said, voice quieter now. "Even if only for a short time... Luz, do you realize how rare that is? The Order has spent millennia trying to trace their lineage back to Arbora. Some of us—like myself—train our whole lives to simply touch the current of her essence. And here you are, having once carried the magic of a being forged from her will."

Luz didn't speak. She only nodded slowly, her chest tight with the weight of those memories. She hadn't let herself think about that battle in detail for a long time—not the fear, not the desperation, and not the parting. Markus's expression had grown more contemplative now. "It makes sense," he murmured. "That trace I sensed in you—it wasn't just exposure. It was connection. You didn't just use his power. You shared it."

"It explains so much," Markus continued, his voice more assured now. "Why your soul felt the way it did. Why your essence echoed with something larger than yourself. Arbora's essence responds to those who act out of love and of selflessness. That Titan... he must have seen that in you."

Markus was quiet for a moment, allowing Luz's words and the weight of her experience to settle between them. The wind that rolled across the glacier ridge seemed gentler now, as if acknowledging the solemnity in their exchange. His eyes remained fixed on the patch of green he had created—still thriving amid the frozen wasteland—before he slowly turned his gaze back to her, a thoughtful calm resting on his face.

"...You deserve the chance to explore what this really means for you," he said softly. "Not just what happened, but what's possible from here."

Luz looked at him, a small crease forming between her brows, her lips parting slightly in anticipation of what he meant.

"I can help you," Markus continued, his voice gaining purpose. "My ally who resides at the Nebula Sanctum, she's one of the oldest and most revered members we have. She's not just wise but she also lived through centuries of practice and study. She was the one who trained my father."

Luz's eyes widened at the mention. "Your father?"

Markus nodded, his gaze drifting momentarily to the horizon beyond the ravine, as if trying to glimpse a memory he had never truly held. "His name was Cassian Star. He was... everything I ever wanted to become; Brave, brilliant, and devoted to protecting others. To many, he was a legend, as he was one of the greatest knights to ever serve under Arbora's guidance."

There was a subtle shift in Markus's expression—his usual composure flickering to reveal something more vulnerable. His jaw tightened slightly, and his voice dropped into a more somber tone. "But I lost him when I was very young, so I ended up not knowing about him personally. Most of what I know about him comes from my mentor. She was his closest confidante. She always said he had a soul that burned like a beacon, and that... I carry a piece of that same fire."

He glanced down at his hands, as if trying to see the reflection of his father's legacy within his own fingers. "I've always hoped that I'd live up to who he was," he admitted, the truth of it carrying a raw honesty. "That maybe, if I trained hard enough and followed Arbora's path, I could be worthy of the name he left behind."

Luz's heart ached at the sincerity in his voice. He had always struck her as steadfast and capable, but now she could see the quiet grief that had long accompanied his journey—the longing to know the man whose shadow he walked in.

"She'll help you," Markus added after a moment, his voice steadier again. "My mentor. If anyone can teach you how to unlock your connection to Arbora's essence, it's her. And I'll be there too, every step of the way."

Luz felt a soft ache swell in her chest as she listened, the emotions in Markus's voice brushing against something tender and familiar inside her. His words—his longing for a father he barely knew—resonated deeply. She let the silence linger for a moment longer, not out of hesitation, but respect instead. The wind carried the cold, but the weight of the moment kept her grounded, rooted like the green patch beneath them.

She took a slow step forward and knelt beside him, her eyes meeting his. They were gentle, but steady. "I know how that feels," she said quietly. "I lost my dad too... when I was a kid."

Markus looked up, his eyes searching hers with sudden understanding.

"I didn't get a lot of time with him," she continued, her voice calm but edged with that same old sorrow. "But with what I remember of him... he made me feel safe and seen, like I mattered. And even now, I still think about whether I'm making him proud with the choices I've made." She offered a faint smile that was not forced but just as soft and real enough. "I think that feeling never really goes away."

Markus's posture shifted slightly, less guarded now. A quiet kinship passed between them.

"You said you want to be worthy of your father's name," Luz added, voice steady now. "But Markus... from what I've seen, you already are. You're brave, thoughtful, and you carry this... deep respect for the power you wield. That's something even the greatest teachers struggle to pass on. But it's already in you."

He blinked, caught off-guard by the sincerity in her tone.

"And I know," she said with growing conviction, "that you're going to be a great teacher. Maybe not just because of who your father was... but because of who you are." She smiled warmly now, the cold momentarily forgotten. "Thank you for offering to teach me. It means more than you know."

For a long beat, Markus didn't say anything. His throat tightened, and he looked away briefly—toward the snowy expanse and the crevice that still whispered with Arbora's quiet magic. Then, when he turned back, the corner of his mouth lifted into something subtle but real: a smile, shaped by both gratitude and quiet resolve. "Thank you, Luz," he murmured. "I won't let you down."

In that moment, between the grief they both carried and the hope they now shared, something wordless and strong began to form—a mutual trust, a silent vow, and a beginning.

Meanwhile, aboard The Donati, the cold steel corridors hummed faintly with energy, the ambient flickering of diagnostic lights reflecting softly against the inner walls of the engine chamber. The warp core loomed in the center of the room—an intricate lattice of containment rings and glowing conduits now partially disassembled. Tools hovered mid-air in the grip of Hesperos's magnetic gauntlet, while Starry floated just overhead, emitting occasional bursts of shimmering light as they ran scans with their integrated sensors.

King stood beside them on a stack of secured crates, a pair of oversized goggles slipping slightly down his snout as he worked a wrench on one of the auxiliary junctions. His stubby claws moved with impressive focus for someone so small. The room buzzed with a quiet rhythm of purposeful movement—until Hesperos, his voice calm but curious, broke the silence.

"So, King," Hesperos said without looking up from the readings in his gauntlet, "how are you feeling about the mission ahead? You know, the whole... 'forging a Titan-made weapon' part?"

King didn't answer immediately. He gave the bolt one last twist before dropping the wrench onto the crate with a clink. Then he crossed his arms with exaggerated confidence. "Well," King said, puffing his chest and throwing on his usual dramatic tone, "I mean—obviously—I'm thrilled! Absolutely honored! I mean, who wouldn't want to forge a magical soul-sword with cosmic destiny written all over it? Sounds like peak King behavior, if you ask me!"

However, Hesperos only raised a brow at King, as he wasn't entirely convinced with King's answer.

Realizing this, King only sighed as his small shoulders began deflating. "...Okay, yeah, I'm still scared." he admitted, his voice softer, more real.

Hesperos gently powered down a panel and turned his full attention to the young Titan. "What are you afraid of, exactly?"

King hesitated, then looked down at his paws. "It's... a lot of things. I mean, sure—I volunteered. I said I'd do this. I want to help. But every time I even think about using my magic, I can't stop thinking about him."

"The Grand Huntsman," Hesperos murmured.

"Yeah," King nodded. "That guy is like... the worst kind of attention you can get. And the last time I really let loose with my powers... It didn't end well. I keep thinking that if I use my magic again, he'll find us. Or worse—Luz."

He kicked lightly at the crate beneath him, eyes lowered. "She's been trying to play it cool, but I can tell. She's always trying to protect me and I get it! I really do. But I hate seeing her stressed out, like she has to carry me and everything else on her back."

He added further. "And now, with what Markus told me... that Titans aren't just 'big magical gods' of the Demon Realm. Instead we're supposed to be, like, these important cosmic beings across the entire multiverse? That our magic comes straight from Arbora herself? I mean—c'mon! That's a lot! What if I mess it all up? What if I'm not the Titan they need me to be?"

Hesperos had been listening intently the entire time, his quiet gaze never once wavering from the young Titan's small form. As King's last words trailed off into the mechanical hum of the warp chamber, the silence that followed felt heavier than the gravity generator humming beneath their feet. The pirate exhaled slowly and crouched down to King's level, resting one knee on the floor. "Hey," he said gently, his voice low but steady. "Markus might've told you the truth about the legacy of the Titans... how your kind shaped the realms, how their magic is directly linked to that cosmic tree. But you need to know something really important—that legacy doesn't own you."

King looked up at him, eyes wide and uncertain.

"You still get to write your own path, kid." Hesperos continued. "You still get to choose who you are. Whether you're a Titan, a talking dog, or the self-proclaimed 'King of Demons'—none of that changes the fact that you've got people around you who care about you, not because of your legacy, but because of you."

King blinked, his mouth opening a little in surprise.

Hesperos offered a small, encouraging smile. "Forging the sword? Yeah—it's risky and dangerous. You're gonna have to channel power most people couldn't even dream of. But it's also a chance. A chance to show everyone what it really means to be a Titan—not the scary kind that people feared, not the ancient warrior kind... only you. The kind who stepped up because you wanted to help. The kind who volunteered not because someone told you to, but because you care. That takes courage, King. Real courage."

King's throat bobbed while he looked down at his paws again, as they held his goggles.

Hesperos leaned a bit closer, his voice softening even further. "And yeah... I've noticed it too. How protective she's gotten since what happened with the Archivists. I'm worried about her too. She's carrying so much... trying to keep it together for everyone else."

King nodded slowly. "She doesn't let herself rest."

"That's because she loves you," Hesperos said. "Not because she thinks you're weak or doesn't trust you. But because you matter to her. You're her family. And I bet you obviously feel the same about her, don't you?"

King didn't need to answer that. The way his eyes shimmered was enough.

"She protects you because she loves you," Hesperos said firmly, "and you're afraid for her because you love her. That's not a burden, King. That's a bond. A powerful one at best, mate."

He reached out and gently placed a metal hand on King's tiny shoulder. "No matter what happens when you forge that sword," he said, "Luz is going to be there. I'm going to be there. So will Atlas, and Starry, and Markus. We're not going to let you go through this alone."

King's breath hitched softly. Then he sniffed and nodded, his voice small but steady. "Okay... okay. I—I still don't know if I'm ready... But... thanks. That helped. A lot."

Hesperos gave his shoulder a light pat, then stood, returning to the console. "That's what pirate-therapists are for." King let out a small laugh, wiping at the corner of his eye.

The atmosphere just a bit lighter, the trio returned to their work one step closer to the storm ahead, but stronger together in its shadow.

Soon a sudden low whir echoed through the engine chamber—faint at first, then rising steadily as pale cerulean light pulsed from the newly realigned warp core. The stabilizers hummed back to life, casting smooth lines of light along the deck plating. A final spark popped from a terminal, followed by a sharp hiss of pressure release.

Hesperos, crouched beside the main conduit junction, held a hydro-spanner in one paw, his welding goggles askew and a streak of black oil across his cheek fur. His tail twitched with barely restrained excitement as he tapped a final sequence into the control panel mounted near the energy chamber.

"Yes! C'mon, baby—talk to me," he muttered under his breath, voice buzzing with anticipation. "Stabilization node's holding... core harmonics steady... containment field's firm... just one more alignment."

He leaned in close, ears flicking toward the rising hum of the chamber, and delicately twisted the final flux regulator into place. The device clicked into its port with a satisfying snap. Immediately, the glowing blue lattice at the core's heart surged with a brighter, steadier pulse. Then... hum.

A deep, rhythmic vibration settled into the floor as the warp core locked into its restored cycle, its crystalline heart now glowing bright and steady at the center of the ship.

"Ha-HA! That's what I'm talkin' about!" Hesperos grinned, leaping up and wiping the sweat from his brow. "Ladies and gentlemen—and star sprites alike—we officially have ourselves a warp core!"

King, perched just behind a small diagnostic console, gave a triumphant little jump and pumped his paw. "Yeah! Knew we had it in the bag!" He turned to Starry, his eyes gleaming with excitement. "Did you see that? We didn't even need emergency rations this time!"

Starry let out a cheerfully drawn-out wheeze that mimicked a trumpet fanfare, their eyes spiraling in exaggerated spirals before settling into stars again. "Wooooo! Victory sparkles for Team Core Fixers! That's us, right?! I'm so happy the Warp core is all A-Okay now!"

King chuckled, rolling his eyes. "Yeah, yeah, we get it, you sparkle nut."

Hesperos chuckled under his breath as he began flipping switches on the primary nav panel to test the flow of power. The warm pulse from the engine core now coursed smoothly throughout the Donati, giving the old ship a comforting, familiar breath—like a living thing waking up from a long nap.

"Alright," Hesperos said, tone shifting into something focused and ready, "Now that she's purring again, we should let Luz, Markus, and Atlas know from their pagers that they can head back."

King hopped off the console and gave a small nod. "Yeah... I think they've probably had enough spiritual soul-magic snow bonding time for one day."

Hesperos smirked. "Starry, patch me through to the frequency."

"Oooooh! Buttons and beams and beeps—engaging pager uplink!" Starry twirled around with a flourish of his arms, then slammed one of his nubbins down on the console. "Bee-doop! BZZZT! Paging the magic trio of soul-searchers! Come home, the ship is alive! And she misses you!"

King blinked. "...Was that the official message?"

Starry nodded enthusiastically. "Uh-huh!"

Hesperos shook his head with an amused breath. "Close enough."

He looked to King, who stood quietly for a moment, watching the warp core cycle as it sent soft pulses of blue light dancing across the walls. Though nervousness still lingered behind his eyes, there was a renewed steadiness in his little frame—something forged from more than just victory over machinery.

"You good mate?" Hesperos asked gently.

King gave a small, confident nod. "Yeah. I think I am."

Hesperos ruffled his head. "Good. Because the next part? That's where it really gets fun."

As the call beacon blinked with confirmation and a low chime echoed across the ship, The Donati waited as she was ready for her crew to return and face what came next together.

Elsewhere, As the pale sun hung low behind the jagged ridges of the glacier ravine, casting long indigo shadows across the ice, Luz, Markus, and Atlas made their way back toward the distant silhouette of The Donati. The winds had calmed to a gentle breeze now, allowing them to move quickly and speak with ease, but their breath still crystallized with every word. The snow crunched underfoot, muffled by the sheer quiet of this far-off corner of the realm.

"Feels weirdly peaceful now," Luz remarked, glancing up at the sky streaked with faint aurora ribbons. "Almost too peaceful."

Markus adjusted the strap of his travel satchel, nodding as he kept a careful eye on the ridgelines. "Peace always feels strange after the kind of things we've seen. Which is why it's best to cherish it."

Atlas walked a bit ahead but still near Luz nonetheless, his cloak drifting like a soft shadow over the powder. He looked thoughtful, pensive even, his usual cheeky glimmer dimmed by the weight of everything they had discussed. However, before anyone could respond, his eyes widened suddenly.

"Wait. What's that?" Atlas stopped and pointed up, their voice strained with a growing panic.

Up ahead, hovering just above the ice, a strange figure slowly drifted into view, it was a levitating drone. Its polished, reflective blue body shimmered like a crystal in the low light, shaped like a rotating five-pointed star. At its center, a circular face with black sclera and piercing red pupils stared in two opposite directions at once, each eye adorned with two twitching eyelashes. The five rounded triangle blades orbiting its core moved slowly, hypnotically silent and watching.

Luz froze. Her heart sank into her stomach. "Oh no..." she whispered.

Markus inhaled sharply through his nose. "Archive Collective."

"Spy drone!" Atlas barked, backing up. "We have to—"

Before the words were even fully out, Luz and Markus had already drawn their blasters. Their fingers were instinctive, their stances solid. In an instant, they fired twin bolts of concentrated light at the drone. The star-shaped construct flinched and spun, returning fire with sharp beams of violet laser energy that scorched the ice in rapid, lethal bursts. It shrieked with a synthetic distortion—inhuman and mechanical—as it wove through the air, trying to dodge the attacks.

"Keep it away from Atlas!" Luz shouted, narrowing her stance and firing again.

Markus wordlessly moved to flank it, his shots careful and sharp, precise in their rhythm. Atlas, though shaken, quickly conjured a brief shield of stardust to deflect the drone's retaliation. But after a final, well-placed shot from Luz's blaster, the drone gave one last jolt, spun wildly out of control, and exploded in a burst of sparking fragments. Pieces of metal and glowing shards scattered across the icy ravine, the glow fading fast into silence once more.

They all stood still as the silence returned but now, it was heavy.

Atlas asked, voice trembling. "D-do you think it transmitted anything that it had taken while it spied on us?!"

"We can't risk it," Markus said firmly, lowering his weapon. "We need to warn the others."

Luz didn't waste another moment. She yanked her pager from her belt and pressed the signal channel. "Hesperos, come in—this is Luz. We just took out an Archive Collective Spy drone," she said quickly, her voice tight. "Repeat—a spy drone. It found us!"

There was a beat of silence, then Hesperos's voice crackled through with urgent intensity. "You what? That's not good. You three need to get back to the ship right now. We got the warp core online—we can take off the second you're back."

"Understood," Markus responded, already pivoting. "We're on our way."

Luz tucked the pager away and turned to the others. "Let's move. Fast."

Without hesitation, the trio turned and began sprinting across the frozen path, the snow crunching beneath their feet. They pushed through the biting wind, urgency in every breath, heartbeats pounding in sync with their footfalls. Time felt thinner now, every second stretched by the dread clenching in their chests. However, what they didn't see was something none of them would have expected, what stirred quietly behind them.

Amid the scattered pieces of the drone, its central circular brain, barely more than a burnt-out disk, gave a single pulse. A red flicker sparked in its center. Its secondary battery, a backup system deeply embedded in its core, reactivated with a whirring click. Though its outer shell was destroyed, the central eye flickered open—bright red, alert, and silent.

It hovered slightly above the snow, then angled upward. With a single mechanical twitch, it sent a small beam of light flashing skyward—a signal. A silent transmission cutting through the atmosphere and deep into space. The Archive Collective had received the message.

Back to the trio; snow and frost still clung to their boots and cloaks as Luz, Markus, and Atlas sprinted through the cargo ramp of The Donati, their breaths sharp in the chilled air and hearts still pounding from the skirmish near the ravine. The hatch hissed shut behind them with a mechanical clunk, sealing them away from the bitter winds of Gleiria's surface and more importantly, the growing threat that now loomed with the drone's survival.

Without pausing, Luz turned toward the front corridor. "Cockpit—now!" she called out.

Hesperos was already halfway down the corridor to meet them, his dark coat flaring as he pivoted. "We've got everything prepped! Starry's heading to the core!" he shouted as he ran beside her.

Markus gave Atlas a light nudge toward the living quarters. "Go get warm. We've got it from here," he said, his tone tight with concern, but Atlas simply nodded, his eyes still darting behind them as if the drone might have followed.

The corridor lights flickered slightly as the ship's systems reactivated from standby, giving a low hum of life that reverberated beneath their boots. Luz and Hesperos burst into the cockpit, the panels lighting up in quick sequence with every button press and lever pull Hesperos initiated. Luz quickly strapped herself into the co-pilot seat, her fingers flying over the navigational interface. "Coordinates set?" she asked, panting slightly.

"Already loaded to Seraphyx," Hesperos confirmed. "Assuming we don't explode on takeoff, we'll be back in the stars in five!"

"Let's hope Starry doesn't keep us waiting," Luz murmured, glancing at the small monitor that showed a live feed of the engine chamber.

Meanwhile, in the glowing chamber at the heart of the ship, Starry floated forward with theatrical flair, their wispy arms curling upward like spirals of ribbon. "Ooooooh, time to sparkle and ignite!" he sang, voice melodic and high-pitched, echoing faintly like a songbird dipped in cosmic sugar. They positioned himself directly over the warp core, his usually playful expression dimming into one of focus. Starry's floated toward the engine's crystalline containment chamber. A moment of stillness passed—and then, with a dazzling surge of radiant energy, they pressed their palms forward.

A brilliant beam of starlight pulsed from their chest and eyes, flooding the core chamber with glimmering light. The warp core spun faster, its crystalline rings aligning perfectly with a loud whirrrr, before bursting into a glowing golden-blue pulse. The ship trembled then steadied as its power was restored.

"Warp core fully juiced!" Starry called out through the intercom, their voice bouncing with excitement. "Like a cosmic fruit smoothie of velocity and glamour!"

Back in the cockpit, a soft chime confirmed it. "Power levels are stable. Core's back online," Luz said, exhaling with a wide-eyed sigh of relief.

Hesperos tightened his grip on the flight controls. "Buckle up, everyone."

The ship lifted off the icy terrain with a deep, rising hum. Outside the viewport, the cold white wasteland of Gleiria began to shrink as The Donati ascended rapidly through the dense, icy clouds. As the last hints of the blue-glowing planet faded below, the stars blinked back into view as it was serene, infinite, and welcoming.

With a final calibration check, Hesperos engaged the warp drive. In a thunderous flash of blinding light, The Donati cracked through the fabric of space, vanishing from Gleiria's orbit. The streaking colors of warp travel wrapped around the hull, and the crew was once again cast into the endless, beautiful sea between stars. Their next destination awaited: Seraphyx. Though their unease still lingered in their chests, for a moment, they could all breathe again.

Meanwhile, far across the stars and nestled within the shadowed sectors of a forgotten region of space, loomed a vessel as imposing as it was mysterious—The Eclipse, the personal warship of the Grand Huntsman. Alongside it now drifted a fleet of Archive Collective warships, their pristine dark exteriors reflecting the dim glow of distant stars, forming a stark contrast to the Huntsman's brutish, almost feral monstrosity of a vessel.

Inside the throne chamber of The Eclipse, the air was sharp and heavy, thick with the scent of engine oil and scorched metal. The walls were lined with dark, archaic etchings depicting ancient hunts and beasts long extinct. Twin braziers burned with ethereal violet flame beside the elevated obsidian throne, upon which the Grand Huntsman now sat, armored and unyielding, his cloak draped across his shoulders like the pelt of some great beast. The doors at the far end creaked open, metallic groans echoing like a warning. General Arulieus entered with his usual swagger, his Archive uniform pristine, his pale silver cape billowing as if caught in a wind that didn't exist. Behind his mask of cold control, his smile was smug.

"I trust you're enjoying the reinforcements," Arulieus said coolly, stepping into the ring of light cast by the throne above.

The Grand Huntsman did not turn to greet him. His voice was firm, deep, reverberating like the toll of judgment across an empty hall. "I did not summon you, General. Nor do I require your assistance. This hunt is mine alone..."

Arulieus allowed a small, practiced smile to curl at the corner of his lips. "Ah, but the Archivists seem to think otherwise, as their orders were quite clear. The Celestine Compass is of... mutual interest. As are the fugitives."

Finally, the Grand Huntsman turned. His crescent emblem on his hidden face burned with holy fire. "Spare me your paraphrasing of bureaucratic decrees, Arulieus. You and your Council whisper from shadows, while I bring justice with blade and fire. I do not need the luxury of a fleet to carry out my mission."

Arulieus did not flinch. Instead, he slowly folded his hands behind his back, his voice so ever calm. "Yet, for all your proclamations of divine purpose... you've struggled, haven't you? The fugitives continue to elude you. And the Celestine Compass remains... conspicuously absent."

There was a beat of silence. Not from shock but from boiling restraint. In one swift movement, the Grand Huntsman descended from the dais, boots slamming against the floor with finality. His cape flared like the wings of judgment itself.

"You overstep," he growled, low but thunderous. "I will not have this victory tarnished by a glory-hound parading as a diplomat. You must remember that while you're assisting me, I'm in charge of this entire operation!"

But Arulieus remained unmoved. He stepped closer, his voice like silk drawn over steel. "I do not seek glory," he replied, "Only results. Something that your righteous zeal has yet to deliver, even if you're in charge of everything."

The Grand Huntsman's gauntlet twitched at his side, a half-second away from reaching for the hilt of the blade sheathed upon his back but he stopped. Not because he lacked the will but because he knew this battlefield was not one of weapons but of words.

Arulieus smiled faintly, their singular eye glinting beneath the ambient glow of the starmap. "You want the Titan for yourself," he said quietly and confidently. "You believe slaying him will enshrine your legacy in the stars, don't you?"

The Grand Huntsman stepped closer, face inches from Arulieus's, his voice dropping to a hoarse whisper laden with fury and conviction. "It is not the legacy I seek. It is absolution. The last of his kind must fall by my hand. Not yours. Mine."

The words hung between them like a guillotine blade.

Arulieus blinked slowly, then spoke with clinical precision. "Then you'd best move quickly, Huntsman. Because should you falter again... the Archivists will not wait for your crusade to find its end."

The Grand Huntsman exhaled slowly, the tension in his shoulders coiled like a predator poised to strike. Then, with biting sarcasm curling through his otherwise righteous cadence, he tilted his head slightly and asked, "And tell me, General... how exactly do you intend to sniff out these fugitives of yours from the infinite dark? Will you lecture the stars into surrender?"

Arulieus's expression did not shift. Instead, he took a calculated step forward, voice even and unhurried, his words precise as a scalpel. "The stars may not yield, but information does. I've already enacted a wide surveillance initiative. Several of our Spy Drones have been deployed to a number of unregulated sectors and territories beyond our direct dominion. If they're hiding, as I suspect, it will be in the fringes, outposts, and in remote worlds where our reach has waned."

The Grand Huntsman gave a dry, humorless chuckle, stepping past him with slow, armored grace. "You hope to net truth from chaos," he muttered. "A fool's errand wrapped in protocol."

Before Arulieus could respond, the throne chamber doors hissed open. An Archive officer in a steel-gray uniform entered briskly, his posture rigid with urgency. "Apologies for the interruption, Lords," he said, bowing his head deeply. "We've just received a signal. One of our spy drones... it appears to have been destroyed. But not before its secondary core was reactivated. It transmitted a data burst before full termination."

Both men stilled, and soon Arulieus's eye narrowed with sharp interest. "Show us." Without another word, they swept from the throne chamber and entered the main corridor—a cold, angular artery of black alloy and red lights—marching in step toward the bridge of The Eclipse. As they moved, officers and technicians parted around them like shadows giving way to a storm.

The bridge itself was a domed command center of immense scale, its wide viewing windows revealing the endless cosmos like a canvas of war yet to be painted. Archive technicians worked in tiered stations, their eyes fixed on flickering holographic data projected from the ship's central core.

One of the bridge operators, a star sprite with half their scalp covered in neural interface plating with a red ringed planet shaped head, looked up as they entered. "Transmission trace complete," they reported crisply. "The signal originated from the planet Gleiria. Outer fringe system, neutral status. No current Archive presence in orbit."

Arulieus approached the display and folded his hands behind his back, his eyes viewing the readout. "Did the drone upload visual data before it was compromised?"

"Negative," the operator replied. "It sustained catastrophic damage before full memory dump but the burst included trace biometric signatures and trajectory scans."

Arulieus gave a slight nod. "Still useful. Have the data isolated. I want a full reconstruction of the drone's final seconds."

The Grand Huntsman loomed beside him, arms crossed. "Gleiria," he repeated, voice heavy with implication. "A forgotten rock. Of course they'd hide beneath the crust of obscurity."

Arulieus murmured. "Even ruins can offer clues. Prepare a retrieval squad. I want the drone's remains brought aboard. If the fugitives were there... we'll know soon enough."

With the order issued, the bridge crew moved into action. Keys clacked, relays blinked, and the dull thrum of the ship's core began to crescendo beneath the deck. Lights across the bridge shifted from cool ambient blue to crimson readiness.

The technician closest to the core's command interface called out, "Warp core charging. Engines spooling to full capacity." "Coordinates locked," another echoed. "Course plotted for Gleiria."

Arulieus stepped forward with composure, gazing into the vastness beyond the viewports. "Engage."

A brief, blinding pulse illuminated the forward window as The Eclipse's warp engines roared to life. The ship shuddered with restrained fury as the massive energy coils aligned. Within moments, space itself bent and twisted before the hull, forming a churning tunnel of light. Then the warship lunged into the warp tunnel, its frame consumed by acceleration and the promise of blood-soaked discovery.

Inside, the bridge fell to a disciplined calm. The Grand Huntsman stood like a statue of war made flesh, fists clenched behind his back. "They will scatter when they sense us coming," he said gravely, voice laced with grim prophecy. "But it will not save them."

Arulieus remained silent for a moment, his gaze locked on the shifting lights of the warp tunnel. Then, almost as if to himself, he whispered with unshakable certainty, "They never had a chance to begin with." 

Chapter Text

Seraphyx

The Donati exited warp above the Seraphyx Star System, its polished hull catching the dim light of a dying star. What came into view was not a world but the haunting remains of one. Seraphyx loomed ahead, fractured and desecrated. Once a full, ringed planet, it now resembled a colossal wound torn across space, its broken form clinging desperately to what little gravity it still possessed. Two sets of dark blue rings shimmered faintly around it, like bruises suspended in orbit, their density disrupted by the destruction of the world they once crowned. Smaller planetary shards hovered in uneven clusters, loosely aligned by the tattered remnants of the planet's natural gravitational field. Yet the larger fragments, those massive geological remains once part of Seraphyx's crust and mantle, were unnaturally still. Vast metallic pylons floated among them, each emitting a dull hum, generating artificial gravity fields that tethered the larger pieces together like a grotesque jigsaw puzzle locked in time. They were silent but persistent machines that kept the planet's corpse from drifting into the void.

However, it was the moon that struck the crew most or what was left of it. The satellite had shattered in a similar cataclysm, but unlike its parent planet, it had no machinery to keep its remains from scattering. Its fragments drifted listlessly, suspended in a slow ballet of inertia. As their trajectories were erratic and purposeless, as though the very concept of order had been abandoned.

Aboard the bridge of The Donati, silence fell. Luz remained silent as she remained sitting at the pilot viewing deck. King perched beside her, his tail tucked tightly, not out of fear, but in stunned reverence. Hesperos Holmes' usual swagger faded, replaced with a rare, quiet tension. His hands rested on his belt, while his thumbs tapped in a nervous rhythm as his eyes scanned the debris. Markus Star stood behind the pilot's chair, his mind working as he was trying to fit the scene into his mind. Atlas pressed their face closer to the viewport, which caused his small fingers to splay across the glass. There was something deeply unsettling in his eyes. It wasn't fear but grief and recognition of a buried, forgotten memory brushing the edges of his consciousness.

As the ship descended into Seraphyx's atmosphere or what little of it still remained of it, their horror sharpened. What had once been a lush, vibrant world of sapphire lakes and radiant flora was now reduced to a cracked, barren husk. The terrain bore the scars of immense trauma. Endless stretches of wind-blasted stone spanned the horizon, interrupted only by mountain ridges and gravity-defying rock formations that curled into the sky like frozen waves. Some peaks floated just above the ground, which had been suspended by unseen forces. While others twisted in unnatural angles fused with what remained of the planet's deep tectonic structures. The land howled with silence, as if it remembered the pain of dying. No wildlife stirred, no wind howled, and even the atmosphere seemed to hold its breath.

As The Donati flew toward a massive canyon that split the land like a gaping wound, the remains of a once-great megapolis emerged from behind a veil of atmospheric haze. Towering spires, once proud symbols of civilization and progress, now stood shattered. Some had collapsed in on themselves; others were severed midway, their upper halves lodged sideways into neighboring structures or buried beneath layers of ash and broken concrete. Although, it wasn't just the devastation that silenced the crew, it was the presence of something alien. Scattered across the skyline were multiple star constructs. Each was different in size, as several of them bore their own unique hues—azure, violet, gold, pink, red—and each had pierced through the buildings in eerie silence. Some had skewered towers from base to spire like cosmic spears, others rested partially embedded in walls, streets, or support beams. A few hung in midair, rotating slowly as if caught mid-motion before being forgotten by time itself. And there were some that had not pierced anything at all, they simply halted in space, pulsating faintly, as if waiting.

Luz's question hung in the still air of the bridge like ash. Her voice had barely risen above a whisper, yet it struck with the weight of a falling star. She took a cautious step closer to the center of the bridge, her eyes locked on the fractured skyline below, then turned slowly toward Markus, her expression caught somewhere between disbelief and grief.

"Is this.. Actually Seraphyx?" she asked, more a plea than a question. "This can't be it...."

Markus didn't answer right away. His brow furrowed deeply, gaze locked on the desolate landscape. Then, slowly, his shoulders rose with a breath that seemed to carry the burden of memory and responsibility. "It is," he said at last with a low and steady voice. "This is Seraphyx."

A beat passed before Hesperos pulled up the navigational panel from his pilot's console. A shimmering holographic map appeared in the air between him and Luz, with a blinking blue marker overlaid directly on the fractured terrain they hovered above. "These are the coordinates I received when we entered warp," Hesperos confirmed, his tone unusually subdued. "It matches up perfectly."

Luz stared back out the viewport, the revelation hit harder now that it had a name—now that the ruin was no longer abstract but real. This wasn't just another casualty of the Archive Collective's crusade. This was a place people had called home. A once living world, now silent with the deceased. "I thought..." she murmured, "I thought we'd find something left or alive."

Markus took a step forward, gently tapping the map on Hesperos's projection to zoom in on a point to the southeast of the ruined city. "There's a settlement, it's small but resilient. It's located within the city." he said, with a softer timbre.

King tilted his head. "There are people down there? After all this?"

Markus nodded slowly. "Yes, they're people who refused to abandon their homes even after it was destroyed. Since then, the planet's native inhabitants are scattered, many of whom are struggling to rebuild what little they can from the remains of their world. The Order of Arbora has been assisting them. We've sent supplies, medicine, power cores—whatever we could use. Some of us even stayed for weeks at a time to help."

He hesitated a moment, as though weighing how much to say next. There was a flicker of conflict in his eyes. "I've visited this settlement before," he continued, voice quieter now. "Several times with members from the Order. We came to do what we could. To give them hope. Or at least something close to it."

Luz narrowed her gaze slightly. "And what happened here? What really happened?"

Markus didn't meet her eyes. "There was a... cataclysm," he replied after a pause. "One that scarred the planet far beyond what nature could have ever caused. That's all I can say."

Silence once more took the bridge, but this time it was heavier. Not out of shock but instead of tension. A shared, unspoken recognition that whatever had torn Seraphyx apart wasn't just history. It was part of something much larger and it was far from over.

Hesperos broke the silence with a low sigh, folding his arms across his chest. "Whatever caused this... it wasn't natural. I've seen worlds hit by orbital bombardment, even wiped clean by celestial anomalies. But this?" He nodded toward the pulsing star constructs dotting the skyline. "This was surgical. Deliberate. A message..."

Markus leaned slightly forward in his seat, his eyes scanned the route as the settlement's location neared. His voice broke the stillness, quiet but firm. "Hesperos," he said, "start hailing the settlement. Let's make sure they know we're coming. We don't want to risk being mistaken for scavengers or raiders."

Hesperos gave a small nod, already reaching across the communications panel. "Copy that," he muttered, fingers dancing across the interface. "Switching to local broadcast frequencies. Let's hope their receivers are still intact."

A soft hum vibrated through the ship's frame as he activated the comm array. Static crackled through the speakers. "This is The Donati requesting communication with the Seraphyx settlement," he said clearly, voice professional but tinged with a subtle edge of tension. "Repeat: this is The Donati, requesting contact. Please respond."

Silence answered.

Hesperos adjusted the dial, recalibrating to a slightly lower band. "Attempting alternate frequency," he murmured.

Another broadcast. Another pause.

Nothing.

He sighed and adjusted again, trying a broader signal sweep this time.

"Seraphyx settlement, this is Hesperos Holmes of the starship Donati. We're requesting permission to approach. Does anyone read?"

The crew watched him in heavy silence, the tension mounting with every passing second. Luz fidgeted, fingers drumming the surface of the ship's pilot wheel. Atlas stood near the rear console, his normally bright eyes dimmed with quiet unease. King had settled on Luz's shoulder, tail flicking anxiously.

"I don't like this," Luz said under her breath. "Feels like we're knocking on a door no one wants to open."

Just as Hesperos was about to switch frequencies again, the speakers cracked and popped. A sudden, sharp burst of static startled the group. A voice came through, it was rough, mechanical, and tinged with the distortion of old tech but unmistakably alive.

"Identify yourself," the voice commanded. "Name, vessel model, ship designation, crew count. And state your purpose."

Hesperos straightened, relief flickering briefly across his face as he responded, tone crisp.

"This is Hesperos Holmes," he began. "Pilot and weapons technician aboard an Elerune-class light freighter, Type-6 retrofitted—designation: The Donati. Total crew complement is six, including myself."

He paused, then added with measured clarity, "We're requesting permission to enter due to depleted fuel reserves. We're en route to a distant location and require safe passage for continuation."

There was a long silence. Then, Hesperos leaned slightly toward the mic again, glancing at Markus. "We also have someone with us you might recognize," he added.

Markus stepped forward. "This is Markus Star," he said calmly, but with unmistakable familiarity. "I've visited your settlement before. The crew with me are friends, they're not a threat."

There was a longer pause on the other end. Longer than before. The voice didn't return immediately. The comms filled again with a low, unsteady static like the system itself was struggling to decide whether to accept or deny.

Then at last, the voice returned. "...Markus Star. Acknowledged."

A brief crackle, then the tone softened—less formal now, though still cautious. "You and your crew are cleared for descent. Maintain current heading. The gates will be opened upon visual confirmation. Don't deviate."

"Understood," Hesperos replied.

The signal cut abruptly after that. As the cockpit settled into silence once again, a subtle shift passed through the group like a collective exhale. Not relief, not entirely. But something akin to forward momentum. The kind that came after standing still for too long. "Well," King muttered, stretching slightly. "That wasn't ominous at all."

Luz cracked a faint, humorless smile, but didn't say anything. Her thoughts lingered on the voice that had answered—the wariness in its tone, the weight behind its words. It hadn't been hostility, but it wasn't trust either. It was survival and paranoia baked into instinct.

Markus returned to his seat, staring ahead. "They've been through a lot," he murmured. "Can't blame them for being cautious."

The Donati pierced the thin veil of smoke that clung to the upper skyscrapers, its silhouette casting a long shadow over the scarred land below. As the settlement came into view, a low voice crackled once more through the comms—firm, but now with a touch of familiarity.

"Adjust your heading by three degrees to port. Follow the beacon signal to the refueling station. Landing coordinates transmitting now."

Hesperos nodded as he received the data, quickly entering the approach vector into the console. "Coordinates locked," he said to the crew, the engines humming beneath their feet as the ship responded. "Taking us in."

Below them, the makeshift settlement slowly revealed itself from between the destroyed city center and the soot-stained ruins of what was once a thriving region. The outpost was modest in size, cobbled together from salvaged pre-cataclysm tech, rebar, and domed shelter plating. What little structure remained of the old world had been reforged—repurposed into something new and survivable. Solar panels lined the rooftops of squat buildings. Vapor collectors churned slowly along the edges of the camp, distilling moisture from the arid, dust-choked air.

The refueling station itself was nothing more than a large concrete slab reinforced with metal scaffolding and floodlights. A wide circular platform had been cleared, and at its center waited the retractable fuel mechanisms, humming with a dull green glow.

As The Donati descended, its repulsors kicked up a whirlwind of ash and grit. Hesperos gently guided the ship onto the platform, the landing gear settling with a sturdy clunk. Almost immediately, figures emerged from the shadows—station crew dressed in faded murky utility gear and rebreather masks. Without hesitation, they approached the starboard side of the ship, dragging heavy fuel lines across the ground. With practiced ease, one of them connected a thick tube to the ship's fuel intake port, while others ran diagnostics on pressure valves and energy flow.

Inside the bridge, Atlas peered through the viewport, eyebrows rising slightly. "They're fast!" they noted.

"They have to be," Markus replied, already rising from his seat. "Out here, every second counts."

The sunlight was dim, filtered through veils of smoke and faint atmospheric shimmer. The wind carried the faint, acrid scent of scorched rock and something metallic remnants of a wound that the planet had not yet healed from.

Waiting just ahead was a tall, dark-skinned woman draped in layered robes of desert-beige and dusk-blue. Her hair was tightly braided and bound with silver rings, and her piercing eyes shone with a quiet, composed strength. Despite the hard lines of her face, there was kindness behind her gaze.

"Markus Star," she said, her voice carrying both surprise and warmth. "You're a long way from Arbora!"

Markus smiled gently and stepped forward. "Anor," he greeted, placing a hand over his chest in a customary sign of respect. "It's good to see you. You're looking well."

"I've had better days," she replied with a chuckle. "But all things considered, I'm alive and that's enough. And oh? you've brought guests!"

He nodded. "Friends. Allies. We're passing through en route to the Nebula Sanctum, but I wanted to check in... see if you and the settlement needed anything."

Anor waved a hand modestly, though there was genuine appreciation in her expression. "We're stable at the moment. Power's holding, crops are manageable, and trade has been fair these past few weeks. Still," she added, tilting her head, "it means more than you know that you asked."

Behind Markus, Luz, King, Atlas, and Hesperos all watched her with a blend of curiosity and subtle admiration. There was something about Anor—grounded, unshaken by the chaos around her. Her presence had gravity. "You're welcome here," she said to the crew. "Fueling will take some time, so while you wait, I'd be honored to offer you a meal. It's not extravagant, but it's hot and made with care."

Luz blinked, caught slightly off guard by the generosity. "We'd appreciate that. Thank you."

With a gesture, Anor led them away from the refuel station. As they walked, the surrounding settlement opened up around them. The crew moved quietly through the winding walkways of metal, tarp, and stone, taking in everything.

Children ran between pillars of rubble, laughing as they played a makeshift game with chalk and metal rings. Vendors stood behind repurposed stalls, selling everything from filtered water to small devices built from salvaged tech. Some individuals were repairing solar conduits, while others carved new bricks from the ruins to build sturdier walls. Every person had a role. Every action had meaning.

Atlas lingered for a moment near a group of engineers who were reassembling a wind turbine out of old shuttle parts. His expression was unreadable but there was a flicker of something—perhaps awe, or guilt, or both. "They've lost so much," he said quietly to King, who padded alongside him. "And yet... look at them."

"They're still standing," King replied, eyes wide. "Holding on. I don't think I'd be that brave."

"You would," Luz said from ahead, glancing over her shoulder. "You are."

They passed beneath a steel archway into the heart of the settlement: a large, patchwork tent made of stretched synth-canvas and old starship sailcloth. It was stitched together with care—each panel bearing a different faded color, a mosaic of salvage and survival. The flap at the front had been reinforced with scavenged rebar, and hand-painted symbols adorned the outer seams—simple symbols that, if one looked closely, appeared to represent nourishment, unity, and protection.

Anor stepped forward and pulled back the flap, gesturing for them to enter. "Welcome," she said, her voice low with familiarity, "to our mess hall."

Inside, the air was noticeably warmer, filled with the aromas of seared spices, slow-roasted vegetables, and something sweet and earthy bubbling in clay pots. The interior was lit by warm orange lanterns, each glowing softly with bioluminescent gas harvested from native flora. Tables crafted from alloy scraps and polished stone were scattered throughout the space, while a long, stone-slab counter ran along one side—the beating heart of the kitchen.

Behind the counter stood a stout Seraphian man with a heavily scarred left arm and a white cloth wrapped around his brow. His vest was stained with years of oils and spices, but his movements were surprisingly quick, which were the mark of someone who had made a sacred art out of feeding those who needed it most. His piercing gray eyes lifted as he spotted Anor, and his weathered face broke into a wide smile.

"Anor," he greeted in a gravelly tone. "You've brought company!"

She smiled. "They're friends of Markus, these travelers are in need of a warm meal."

The chef gave a short nod, then turned to the group, his eyes sweeping over each of them with quiet curiosity. "Then you'll eat well today," he said. "Let me show you what we've got simmerin'!"

"Yay Food!" King exclaimed which earned a chuckle from Anor. Without delay, the chef set to work.

The first dish he unveiled was a Seraphian Rootspice Casserole—a layered medley of deep-purple tubers, honey-glazed flamefruit, and thin slices of seared fernleaf stalks, all slow-cooked beneath a crust made from powdered grainstone and sun-dried salt moss. The colors shimmered faintly beneath the glaze, making the dish look almost iridescent under the lanterns.

Next, he brought forth a platter of Charred Glowfish Skewers, the meat having been sourced from underground aquifers where bioluminescent fish still swam in the darkness. The meat was tender and flaky, spiced with citrus brine and garnished with pickled spiral kelp. The glowfish retained a soft luminescence, casting gentle light across the skewers like tiny lanterns of their own.

A bubbling pot was carried over to the center of the table, revealing Embercorn Stew—a savory, crimson-colored broth infused with smoky heat from volcanic peppers and filled with chunks of firestone beans, roasted root medallions, and slivers of sweetened blue onion. The scent alone made King's nose twitch eagerly.

Alongside the main dishes were smaller plates and sides: Shattergrain Flatbreads, paper-thin and crisp, infused with sprigs of frost-thistle and dusted with white herb ash. Craterfruit Chutney, served chilled, its tangy sweetness balanced with a touch of fermented spice. A bowl of Starseed Nuggets, bite-sized and nutty, coated in syrup and rolled in crushed petalflame leaves for crunch. And for dessert, a surprise addition: Molten Skycake—a rich, steamed sponge dessert made with cloudfruit extract and drizzled with crystal sap, glowing faintly with a soothing cyan sheen.

Luz's eyes widened slightly as the dishes began to cover the table, her initial hesitation melting into a smile of cautious wonder. "Woah." she said softly, glancing at Markus, "This looks honestly good!"

Markus chuckled under his breath. "Anor's people have always taken pride in making the most of what they have. Even after everything."

Atlas lingered at the edge of the table at first, eyes studying the softly glowing stew and strange colors with hesitation. But after a moment, he sat down beside Luz, slowly extending a hand to touch the flatbread before quietly pulling off a piece. The crunch echoed in his mouth as he chewed thoughtfully, then gave the faintest nod of approval.

King didn't hesitate—he practically dove into the skewers with wild abandon. "Finally!" he mumbled, mouth already full. "Something that doesn't taste like freeze-dried regret!"

Anor laughed gently, watching as the tension began to fade from the travelers' shoulders. "Food brings people together," she said, folding her arms. "Even in a broken world. Maybe especially so."

As the group continued eating, the warmth of the tent, the richness of the flavors, and the unspoken solidarity among strangers began to settle in. Outside, the wind still howled across the bones of Seraphyx. The world was still scarred, cracked, and mourning. However here, under the canvas and the glow of lanterns, life went quietly forward. For the first time in what felt like hours, the crew of The Donati allowed themselves to rest for now.

After a while of their feast, The late afternoon light of Seraphyx, dimmed by the haze of fractured rock and the distant shimmer of the dark-blue planetary rings, cast long shadows over the refueling station. The gentle noise of The Donati's systems filled the air, rhythmic and consistent, as the final gauges on the fueling panel inched closer toward full capacity.

Luz sat on a rusted bench near one of the makeshift towers, her gaze lingering on the horizon, where the ruins of the once-proud megapolis jutted like broken fingers into the pale sky. Atlas leaned quietly against the support beam beside her, their arms crossed and eyes vacant, while King perched on a crate near the edge, his tail flicking in restless thought. Hesperos stood with his hands behind his back, while he watched the sky more than the ground. Markus remained close to Anor, who stood solemnly with her hands tucked into the folds of her tattered utility cloak.

There was a pause in their conversation—just enough silence to make the wind's whistle between the rock formations feel like a low mourning cry.

Luz broke it gently. "Anor..." she began, her voice respectful, but curious. "What... What happened here? To Seraphyx, I mean. What really happened that caused all of this?"

Anor's eyes didn't immediately meet hers. Her lips parted slightly, as if the words caught on the edge of her breath before forming. She hesitated—not from unwillingness, but from the weight of the truth. Her eyes wandered to the sky, to the dark ring that circled her fractured world like a scar that never faded.

"Seraphyx was... once beautiful," she finally said, her voice soft and distant. "Before everything, the valleys here were so deep and green that the wind itself would sing as it passed through. Our oceans were so blue, they rivaled the rings you see above us now. It was a paradise. And like most things of beauty... it came at a cost" Her fingers clutched the edge of her sleeve tightly.

The group listened intently, the silence around them deepening. Luz leaned forward slightly, her brow knit with concern. Markus lowered his gaze, already knowing what was to come.

Anor continued, her voice gradually steadier. "Seraphyx was selected for one of the Archivists' annual 'Plays of Tribute.' It's... their way of flexing dominance across the stars. A celebration, in their twisted eyes, of 'order' and 'balance.' Each year, one world is chosen to provide tribute—resources, artifacts, sometimes even people."

King frowned. "That sounds more like theft."

Anor gave him a hollow smile. "You're right but we weren't just any world. Seraphyx had Rasamonium... a rare metal used in the cores of high-performance engines. It made us valuable in their eyes." She paused again, this time longer. "And yet, we resisted." The words hung in the air like a blade.

"Our people rose up when they came, we refused to offer up our tribute. As we believed that if we stood together and made it difficult for them... they would move on." She let out a slow, bitter breath. "We underestimated their cruelty."

Anor's voice wavered. "They didn't retaliate with soldiers. No... they answered our defiance with annihilation. I still remember it. The day the stars fell." Her eyes glistened, but she didn't look away. "They summoned those star constructs that you see now. They tore through the sky like divine spears. Each one a weapon of destruction. Our forests were burned, our mountains shattered, and our oceans dried up. They didn't just destroy our cities—they erased the land itself."

Atlas shifted uncomfortably, his hands curling into fists.

Anor looked down at her boots, her voice quieter now. "I watched our leader stand on the high platform in our central square, ready to meet them face to face. He believed diplomacy could still win. But then..." She swallowed, the memory vivid. "He came."

She didn't need to name the figure. The crew already knew who he was.

"One of the Archivists," she whispered. "He didn't speak. He didn't yell. He just walked calmly to the square and with just his pinky, touched the stone beneath himself." Her voice broke for a moment. "And just like that, the world cracked."

King's eyes widened. His hand instinctively reached out to brush against Atlas's arm.

"The ground split like paper. Our capital city, gravity, and moon fractured in an instant just from a single touch." Anor shook her head slowly. "And I survived... Somehow. I don't know why but I did. And the guilt..." Her voice faltered. "I carry it every day."

No one dared speak for several moments.

"But," she continued, a little more resolute, "there were other survivors. Though the ones that had been found were few in numbers. As most of us were scattered and lost... but overall I'm just grateful we were able to find one another in the end. In the wreckage of what used to be our megalopolis, we built this settlement—not to replace what we lost but to honor it."

Hesperos stepped forward, his voice quiet. "The machines that hold your world together, how did your people manage to construct them after everything?"

Anor turned toward him. "Well, we didn't do it alone obviously. Some time after the fall, we were contacted by the Order of Arbora. Markus and others like him... they helped us. They brought supplies, technology, and minds that could see beyond the loss. They worked with us. Guided us. Piece by piece, we built the graviton stabilizers. It's the only reason we're still here at all."

She looked over at Markus with a small, grateful smile. "Your order didn't treat us like a lost cause. For that... I'm thankful."

Markus nodded solemnly, though guilt still stirred behind his eyes.

"But," Anor added, her voice quiet again, "I'm still afraid it could happen again. And I still carry the guilt... that maybe, by resisting, I doomed us."

"No," Luz said firmly, stepping forward. "You stood up for your world and your people. You did what"

Anor gave her a look of deep appreciation. "Then let's hope the galaxy still has use for courage."

As Anor's final words faded, a heavy quiet returned to the group—one filled not with relief, but with reverence, sorrow, and something unspoken. Although among them, one figure trembled.

Atlas remained sitting in silence as his stare lowered to the cracked ground beneath his boots. He hadn't spoken since Anor began her story. His arms hung limp at his sides, fingers twitching slightly. From the outside, he seemed still—quiet, composed even—but within, something sharp and suffocating had begun to wrap around his chest like a vine of thorns. He couldn't bring himself to meet the eyes of the woman whose home had been shattered by the very same hands by his family, who once lifted him into the sky and told him they loved him. Now, hearing Anor describe the horrors of Seraphyx's fall—the star constructs, the silence that followed, the disintegration of her culture with a single touch—it all pulled Atlas back into the memory. A flash of light and his scream echoing through the void as the magic was siphoned from his core. The cold hands that gripped his shoulders. The blinding sensation of his own power being twisted into something unrecognizable. That pinky... the same one that destroyed a world, had once touched him with gentleness and cruelty.

Atlas's chest rose and fell unevenly, while the colors around him dimmed, and the edges of reality blurred. The tower's balcony, the people, and the sound all began to fade into a ringing silence. "Not again... please not again..."

"Atlas?" Luz's voice was soft, but alert.

She had noticed it—how his posture had stiffened, how his fingers had curled against his sides as if bracing for a fall. She took a careful step toward him, concern knitting across her face. When he didn't answer, her heart dropped.

"Atlas," she said again, more firmly, placing a gentle hand on his shoulder.

He flinched.

Everyone turned then—King, Hesperos, Markus, and Anor—each catching a glimpse of the boy's pale face and wide, glassy eyes. But before they could speak, Luz stepped forward protectively. "Um—excuse us," she said quickly, forcing a small smile. "Atlas and I... just need a moment. We'll wait for you all."

Anor blinked, confused but polite. "Of course."

Without waiting for further questions, Luz guided Atlas gently but firmly by the arm, leading him down the makeshift tower and into the bottom of Seraphyx's ruined skyline. As they passed through, Luz's expression shifted, no longer masked by composure but cracked open by worry. She had seen this before, too many times now. The same look in the mirror after she thought she failed them. The same look in King's eyes when Orion's threats haunted his dreams. The same crushing guilt that never quite let them breathe. Luz hated that she recognized it so well. Hated even more that she still believed, deep down, that she could fix it. That if she just tried harder, did more, then maybe—just maybe—things wouldn't fall apart again.

Back at the tower, a hush lingered in the aftermath of their exit. Markus shifted his weight uncomfortably. Anor frowned, casting a glance toward the entrance. However, it was Hesperos who remained the most still, his expression unreadable. His hands, usually so precise and poised, had balled into fists at his sides. He hadn't missed a single word of Anor's story. Not one tremor in her voice and every sentence had rung like an echo from a time long buried beneath a soldier's resolve. The very memory of learning of what had happened to his homeworld of Illustria. He wasn't there when the Play of Tributes happened but ever since he received the news about the planet's fate, as he always pictured it so vively in the crevasses in his mind. The blazing cities and their great towers turned to rubble in seconds. He imagined hearing the laughter of the Archivists overhead, while also imagining how loud his people's screams were. As they all witnessed such horrible destruction and atrocities all around them. Hesperos's jaw clenched with anger while his emerald eyes narrowed slightly that reflected his very pain.

Anor's account was too familiar and precise. While he sat there silently, his heart twisted—not just with sorrow but with a cold, buried vengeance. The kind that never spoke aloud but stayed sharp and deep in one's bones. The Archivists hadn't just destroyed a planet, they had made a pattern and a ritual of it.

He took a slow, deliberate breath and looked away from the group, eyes falling to the broken skyline beyond the tower. One day, he thought, "They'll pay for what they did to Seraphyx. And what they did to mine."

But for now... he waited for the right opportunity to do so.

The silence at the tower lingered just a few moments longer after Luz and Atlas's departure, the air still heavy with everything Anor had laid bare. Then, quietly, Hesperos shifted in his seat. His hands rested calmly on the railing, but the slight tension in his fingers betrayed a storm of thought behind his composed gaze.

He looked at Anor, his voice more intimate than casual. "I'm sorry for what happened here," he began, not out of obligation, but from a place of genuine weight. "And I wish I could say that what you described was rare but the truth is... it's not."

Anor offered a slow, solemn nod. "I know."

Meanwhile, Markus's eyes briefly stared at the spot where Luz had disappeared with Atlas, then back to Anor where he finally spoke, "That's why we're trying to end all of it for good."

Her brows rose gently, curious but cautious. "Trying to stop the Archivists?"

Markus exhaled through his nose—a soft, steely breath that hinted at the burden of the mission they carried. "That's the plan." He leaned forward slightly, lowering his voice to keep the conversation between them. "We're heading to the Nebula Sanctum. There's a forge where we'll be able to craft a weapon. Though, not just any weapon... one infused with Titan magic."

At the mention of it, Anor's eyes widened ever so slightly. She straightened, visibly intrigued. "Titan magic? I thought that kind of power had vanished."

Markus glanced toward King, who until now had been quietly watching the conversation unfold with cautious ears and downturned eyes. He gave the younger Titan a small, encouraging nod. "Not all of it," Markus said. "It still lives with him."

King blinked and looked up, caught slightly off guard as the focus shifted to him. There was a moment of silence as the realization settled again—that he, the smallest one at the tower, carried within him the spark of something ancient, something that had once rivaled the stars.

Anor turned her gaze to him, her voice softer now but more reverent. "You're going to forge this weapon?"

King scratched the back of his head, while he shrugged with forced nonchalance. "Well... yeah. That's the idea. My magic is said to cancel theirs out. Afterwards, we'll use it to protect ourselves when me, Luz, and Atlas return home."

Anor smiled, not a condescending one or one of doubt, but something genuine and rare. "Then I hope you succeed," she said, with a conviction that carried far more weight than just well-wishing. "If anyone can reshape what's broken... it would be someone who survived it."

The words hit King like a warm wind cutting through a stormcloud. He blinked, his tail giving a small flick. No one had ever said something like that to him before—not like that. People saw him as cute, or as a curiosity, or as a symbol. But not as a survivor or as a creator of change.

For the first time in a long while, he sat up straighter. Not with pride, but with purpose. "Thanks," he said, his voice quiet but sincere. "We're gonna try. I promise."

Anor gave him a nod, then looked to Markus. "You've got a long road ahead. But if you succeed... it will mean everything. For all of us who've lost something."

Markus met her gaze evenly. "That's the hope."

Soon Luz and Atlas returned back to the makeshift tower, Luz stepped in first, her expression noticeably steadier than it had been before, though the concern in her eyes for Atlas still lingered beneath the surface. Walking beside her, Atlas kept close—his hand held onto Luz's. A third figure followed them: a Seraphian fuel station worker in a patchwork uniform made from salvaged metals and dyed cloth, a blend of function and resilience.

"Hey guys," Luz spoke gently, addressing the group seated around the table. "The Donati's fully fueled and ready to go whenever we are."

The moment felt like a quiet turning point. Hesperos was the first to rise, brushing imaginary dust from his sleeves as his golden eyes flicked toward the tent opening. "Then we shouldn't waste time." King let out a quiet sigh through his nose as he stood up, clutching his satchel of scrolls and trinkets tighter than usual. Markus gave Anor a nod, rising beside them with that familiar mix of weight and resolve in his posture.

They all stepped out together—Markus, Anor, King, Hesperos, Luz, Atlas, and the Seraphian worker—each step through the cracked earth drawing them closer to the next chapter of their journey. Above them, the sky had deepened into a slate-purple twilight. The silhouette of The Donati loomed in the distance, quietly humming with new life at the refueling platform.

Although, unbeknownst to them in the higher reaches of the ruined skyline, a metallic shimmer blinked against the pale light.

An Archive Collective Spy Drone hovered in perfect silence, its body cloaked in semi-invisibility, which was barely noticeable to even the sharpest eye. From its internal core, a low noise was heard as its lens refocused. In its first-person view, the world below was a sea of fractured stone and resilient life. The silhouettes of Luz, Hesperos, Markus, King, and Atlas were perfectly framed as they walked toward the fuel station.

Click. Whir.

A series of photo-captures, then video recordings. Each one tagged with biometric data and spatial coordinates. The drone observed without conscience and judgement but only purpose.

Down below, the group reached the open platform of the fuel station. The Donati stood proud and still, its hull gleaming faintly with renewed power. Fuel lines had been disconnected and rolled away, and a faint plume of energy hissed from its cooling vent. The worker gave Hesperos a thumbs-up before moving to the side.

Anor turned to face the crew, her arms crossed—not with distance but with fondness. "Whatever lies ahead of you... may you walk it with clarity," she said, her voice strong despite the weight of goodbye in it. "May Arbora guide your path."

Markus turned to her and repeated the sacred words with quiet reverence. "May Arbora guide your path."

Anor's gaze lingered on Markus. "Will I see you again?"

Markus gave her a small but sincere smile, the kind born of hard-earned hope. "You will. I'll be back whenever I'm able to!"

With that, the group stepped toward The Donati's ramp. King gave a final wave; Atlas, still somewhat distant, offered a soft "thank you" under his breath. Luz squeezed Anor's shoulder gently before joining Hesperos inside the cockpit. The ship gleamed to life, as her thrusters engaged in a soft glow as systems initialized.

Inside, Luz and Hesperos slid into their chairs. Buttons were pressed. Levers shifted. The familiar tones of navigation software filled the cabin.

"All systems are ready to go!" Luz reported, her tone calm but with a hidden tension—one that only came from carrying too much responsibility for too long.

"Engaging takeoff," Hesperos responded.

Outside, the engines roared softly to life. The Donati lifted off with a low rumble, rising into the sky above Seraphyx's fractured landscape. The people below—those who had survived, those who remained—watched from a distance, some lifting their hands in farewell.

High above, the drone refocused its lens.

Click. Whir.

Another round of images. Another clip of footage—this time, capturing the ship's ascent as it rose through the shattered layers of atmosphere.

As The Donati broke through the last clouds and crossed the boundary into the silent reaches of space, the warp core began its rhythmic pulse. In a flash of radiant blue light, the ship blinked out of sight, leaving only the wind and dust in its place.

The drone did not move, it instead lingered. It floated slowly back over the settlement, hovering at strategic angles. Click. Whir. It scanned rooftops, cargo crates, solar panels, and the layout of the mess tent. It captured the structural integrity of the artificial gravity core embedded deep within the remains of the city center.

Then, without any further sound, the drone's central lens pulsed with an ominous red glow. Transmission initiated. From its body, a ripple of energy surged as encrypted data packets were fired through a subspace relay, vanishing into the void bound for unknown coordinates. The Archive Collective had seen enough and now... they knew where to strike.

Elsewhere, The darkened void of space fractured with blinding threads of light as The Eclipse and its fleet of Archive Collective Warships emerged from warp, their colossal hulls slicing into the cold silence of the Gleirian Star System like judgment incarnate. The icy world below loomed like a wounded beast, its jagged glaciers and endless tundras illuminated only by the blue sheen of the planet's moon.

One by one, the warships adjusted their formation, descending slowly into the planet's lower atmosphere. Engines thrummed with an ominous resonance, kicking up blizzards as the ships held a fixed hover over the pale white crust of the tundra.

Inside the command bridge of The Eclipse, an unnatural stillness reigned, broken only by the soft beeping of consoles and the hum of data streams crawling across translucent displays. At the center of this chamber stood two commanding figures. The Grand Huntsman stood with his hands clasped behind his back. His head was held high, his view locked upon the trembling fingers of the bridge engineer manning the scanning console. Each breath he took fogged lightly in the chilled air, not from cold, but from the tightly restrained fervor that burned within him.

"Speak," the Grand Huntsman commanded, his voice as clear and cold as a blade drawn across marble. "You said you received the drone's final pulse. Where?"

The engineer flinched slightly but recovered. "Y-Yes, my Star. Cross-referencing the last transmission's data signature now. We've triangulated the coordinates. It's just below us—on the southeastern ridge of the Tundraline Expanse."

The Grand Huntsman turned his head slowly, his voice spoke with grim satisfaction. "Then we stand at the edge of revelation."

Beside him, General Arulieus observed in calculated silence, his hands still remained folded neatly behind his back. He tilted his head ever so slightly as he peered at the holo-map projection of the terrain. "So this was their waypoint..." Arulieus murmured, the words quiet and deliberate. "Which means their journey is outbound. A short-term stop. Possibly to refuel or gain safe harbor."

The Grand Huntsman offered a curt nod before stepping toward the teleportation dais at the rear of the bridge. "Then we descend."

With a sharp motion, he raised his hand. A beam of radiant, veil-like light cascaded down over him, Arulieus, and several heavily armored Archive soldiers. In a split second, their forms dissolved in a shimmering flash.

They reappeared amidst the howling frost of the Gleirian surface. The wind was biting, flinging snow sideways like shards of glass but neither commander flinched. The Grand Huntsman stepped forward, his cape fluttering dramatically behind him, while his boots crunching into the hardened snow as he scanned the blank horizon.

Then he paused as he tilted his head back and inhaled deeply, audibly. "I smell him..." he muttered, "The scent of the Titan...The fugitive's ship was here."

Arulieus stepped beside him, the lens of his visor narrowing to analyze ambient trace particles. "Residual emissions confirm it. Warp ion trails, star engine exhaust, heat patterns on the landing vectors—all consistent with The Donati. Our quarry has passed through."

A call rang out through the static-laced comlinks. One of the scouts broke formation and sprinted across the snowdrifted slope. "General! We've located the wreckage of the drone!"

The Grand Huntsman turned, gesturing for the scout to lead them. The party advanced to a half-buried cluster of mangled metal and scorched snow—twisted shards of drone plating, still faintly humming with residual energy. One of the scouts knelt, delicately lifting a charred fragment of its optic lens.

"This," the Grand Huntsman said, kneeling beside it, "is the final gaze of obedience."

He turned toward the scout. "Recover every fragment. Every wire and scrap of memory alloy. The truth lies in its deathrattle."

The scout nodded quickly. "Yes, my Star."

With practiced precision, the soldiers began gathering the drone's remains, carefully loading them onto a floating hover cart equipped with magnetic containment fields. The soft hum of the cart echoed faintly in the quiet space around them as it began its slow retreat back toward The Eclipse.

The Grand Huntsman and General Arulieus watched them go. The former straightened, his expression sharp as ever. "We follow the ember trail," he declared solemnly. "They will burn in Arbiter's light."

Arulieus said nothing at first, but glanced toward the jagged cliffs in the distance. His voice was a quiet murmur—measured, cold, and certain. "They believe themselves to be clever. Elusive and hidden beneath layers of empathy, grief, and hope." He turned his head slightly toward the Grand Huntsman. "But all paths, no matter how winding, converge under the gaze of inevitability."

The Grand Huntsman's tone spoke with much pleasure. "In time," he said, "we shall see their hope break before the weight of absolution."

With a final glance at the snow-swept landscape, both commanders stepped back onto the teleportation circle. A rush of cascading light consumed them once more.

They rematerialized aboard The Eclipse just as the drone fragments were being delivered to the ship's primary data core chamber. Already, engineers and technicians were moving to begin decryption of its final moments.

The warships hovered still above the frozen wasteland like silent gods of judgment.

Back aboard The Eclipse, A hiss of sealed air and the low, mechanical hum of reinforced doors preceded the entry of the Grand Huntsman, General Arulieus, and their retinue of Archive Collective soldiers into the data dissection chamber deep within The Eclipse. The room—sterile, dimly lit, and veined with circuitry—pulsed faintly with the cold breath of machines. Blue-white lights shimmered down from above, casting long shadows across rows of elevated consoles and diagnostic stations. The wreckage of the drone, now stripped of outer plating and laid open like a dissected cadaver, rested atop an illuminated slab at the chamber's center.

Engineers and technicians worked in wordless synchrony, their gloved hands dancing across displays and interfaces. They worked to isolate the drone's fragmented memory core, by stabilizing its power nodes and initiating a forensic scan of its data feed.

"Stabilization holding at ninety-eight percent," one murmured. "Memory sector fourteen responding. Reconstructing now."

A sharp tone sounded, and suddenly the holoscreen before the commanders flickered to life. The image sputtered—dark at first, filled with static snow and a muted mechanical whine. Then, clarity.

From a first-person perspective, the drone's camera revealed the cold, ruined terrain of the Gleirian tundra. The subtle whir of its internal gyros was audible as it tracked movement through the frost-laced air. Then came shapes which soon morphed into figures. The camera zoomed, framing them one by one. "Magnify," Arulieus said calmly. The technician obeyed and the image sharpened.

Luz Noceda. Her stance, confident, alert, her hand resting on the grip of her blaster. Beside her, Markus Star, eyes scanning the environment with measured calm. Then Atlas—the fallen Collector. Pale, slight, cloaked in guilt and weariness.

"Identification scan succeeded," another technician reported. "Facial data cross-referenced with Archive profiles. Ninety-nine percent certainty."

A moment later, the footage accelerated—jerky and urgent. A sudden burst of light filled the screen.

Luz and Markus, both drawing their weapons. The drone's system rapidly flagged incoming threats. The feed froze as twin flashes of plasma—one violet, one electric blue—struck the lens.

A long second of blackness followed."Feed loss duration: seven-point-two seconds," said the data specialist. "Secondary battery activation confirmed. Emergency optics online."

The screen returned. The view was crooked, the camera tilted and damaged, but the surroundings were the same. Snow. Smoke. The aftermath. Then, the system cuts again, this time more naturally—its task has been completed.

General Arulieus studied the data quietly, "Their decision to disable the drone instead of fleeing implies awareness of surveillance but they underestimated the redundancy protocols."

He turned slightly to the Grand Huntsman, his voice precise. "We now have timestamped proof of their presence. The fact that they risked conflict suggests they had time. Meaning they obtained something."

The Grand Huntsman's stare never left the screen. He spoke with a grim, solemn, and absolutist tone. "Cunning is a serpent's virtue," he said. "But they forget—the light of judgment is not so easily eluded."

He stepped closer to the feed's final frame and gazed into the still image of Luz mid-motion, frozen in the act of defending her own. "This girl," he breathed, "carries the weight of rebellion as though it were righteousness. And yet, her defiance is but dust upon the wind when weighed against the will of the stars."

Before Arulieus could respond, a junior officer entered the chamber briskly, helmet under arm, posture rigid with urgency.

"Commanders," the officer said, saluting, "We've received fresh data from one of our Drones stationed on Seraphyx. Drone Forty-Seven successfully captured a full series of images and video feed—The Donati was tracked exiting the planet's atmosphere. We also obtained clear visuals of the fugitives within the ruins of a native settlement. All five targets are confirmed."

The Grand Huntsman turned to him slowly. His voice dropped into a thunderous decree. "Then our quarry left footprints in ash that we must follow."

"Yes, my Star," the officer replied immediately, tapping a command on his forearm bracer. "Setting course to Seraphyx."

General Arulieus stepped to a nearby holomap, watching as coordinates were triangulated, and the vector path adjusted. "They are acquiring allies," he said evenly. "Strategic ones. Each planet is a node in a growing resistance network."

He folded his hands behind his back. "The planet Seraphyx... known for its fractures. A fitting cradle for fractured hopes."

The Grand Huntsman allowed himself a breath. Not quite a sigh—too composed for that—but a draw of certainty, of divine resolve. "Let them gather. Let them kindle their fragile spark. We shall become the wind that snuffs it out."

Moments later, the order was relayed. The command bridge darkened briefly as the lights of Seraphyx's coordinates pulsed across the nav-chart. The Eclipse's engines groaned low with tension, and then—

Warp engaged.

The stars stretched. The icy world of Gleiria vanished behind them, and in the silence of their pursuit, vengeance sharpened its blade.

Chapter Text

Kailor's Drift

The Donati emerges from the Warp tunnel she had traveled through. The void beyond the viewport had transformed into something alien. It was no longer an open canvas of stars as the surrounding area itself was choked with a dense, swirling nebula. Its mist is colored in muted tones of dusk-blue and tarnished gold. Suspended within this sea of shadow were the fractured remains of ancient worlds: splintered asteroids, crumbling relics of long-dead temples, and rust-bitten outposts whose purposes had long since faded into dust. The occasional flicker of light from a distant beacon tower cast eerie shadows that slithered across the hull of The Donati like phantom limbs reaching from the dark.

This was Kailor's Drift.

To most, it was nothing more than a myth whispered between exiles and smugglers—an unreachable, hidden labyrinth of floating ruins and lost treasures. To the crew of The Donati, it was now their next uncertain refuge or their last mistake.

Inside the cockpit, the tension was palpable. The only sounds were the occasional creak of the hull adjusting to the gravitational eddies that rippled through the Drift like invisible tides. Hesperos Holmes scanned the erratic terrain unfolding ahead as he held onto the helm of The Donati. "Ease us in, Luz," he said calmly, though his voice carried a subtle edge. "We're navigating through more than just rocks out here. This place may hide something that might be more than we bargained for."

Luz nodded with focused determination. "Alrighty." Her hands hovered over the controls, fingers already adjusting stabilizer frequency, compensating for the gravitational anomalies blinking across the nav sensors. The Donati veered gently to port, narrowly avoiding a serrated chunk of rock that spun lazily in its own slow orbit. Derelict scaffolding clung to its surface, remnants of a failed mining post or perhaps something older. Beyond it, a broken ring structure floated silently with carved runes that had been weathered by time.

Markus stood behind them, arms crossed tightly over his chest, his usually analytical gaze fixed on the darkness outside. "Still no clear exit route," he muttered. "If we stay too long, we may not be able to leave without tearing the hull apart."

"Noted," Hesperos replied, hands light on the controls but every muscle in his frame taut with focus. "This isn't a sightseeing tour. We'll scout the safe zone and turn back before the Drift decides to swallow us whole." However, the deeper they went, the darker it became. The nebula mist thickened around them, dimming external visibility to mere yards beyond the ship. The scattered beacon lights grew rarer and more distorted. Even the stars beyond the Drift faded as it was swallowed by the fog. It felt like they were drifting into the lungs of something vast and sleeping.

However, the deeper they went, the darker it became. The nebula mist thickened around them, dimming external visibility to mere yards beyond the ship. The scattered beacon lights grew rarer, more distorted. Even the stars beyond the Drift faded, swallowed by the fog. It felt like they were drifting into the lungs of something vast and sleeping.

Luz couldn't shake the feeling that their movements were being tracked—not by scanners or signals but by the silence itself. From further inside the ship, King's voice broke the stillness. "Does anyone else feel... weird?"

He emerged slowly from the main corridor, his usually sprightly step noticeably sluggish. He looked around, as his expression had risen with uncertainty. While his claws lightly tapped a nearby panel, "Like... it's too quiet?" he added. "Not the good kind of quiet. Specifically the kind that makes your fur stand up."

Atlas, seated near the communications console, had barely moved since their descent into the Drift. His hands were clasped together tightly in his lap, and though their eyes remained open, they stared unfocused into the fogged viewport. He said nothing, but the slight tremble in his shoulders spoke volumes. The vastness around them had hollowed him into silence.

King stepped closer to Luz, as his tail twitched anxiously. "It might sound ridiculous, but... it feels like something's watching us. Like the ruins are alive or something. Is that just me?"

Luz's hands paused over the console. She hesitated, her brows pulling together. "No," she said softly, her voice steady but laced with unease. "It's not just you."

She glanced at the viewport again, heart knocking against her ribs. The shadows beyond the glass seemed to shift even when the ship wasn't moving—subtle warps in the mist that felt less like movement and more like presence. And the deeper they went, the heavier the air seemed to press against her lungs, like she was being slowly submerged.

"I've felt it since we've entered," she admitted. "I thought maybe it was just the pressure flux or paranoia, but... now I'm not so sure."

Markus moved forward, checking the ship's motion sensors. "Nothing on proximity scans. No heat signatures. No tracking pulses."

"That doesn't mean they're not here," Hesperos said grimly. "The Archive Collective wouldn't use conventional tracking if they were laying low here. They'd watch and wait for us to slip up."

Markus responded to Hesperos' comment regarding the possibility of the Archive Collective hiding amongst the multiple asteroids and ruins that laid before The Donati, "I can assure you captain, there's no Archive Collective here. As this place is located in a sector that's beyond the boundaries of their dominion."

Luz turned in her seat to look at Atlas. "You okay?"

Atlas didn't respond at first. The question hung in the air like a held breath, lingering between the quiet hum of the ship and the slow churn of nebula fog pressing against the viewport. Luz turned her gaze toward him again, as her concern began softening her expression. "Atlas?" she asked once again.

The star child blinked slowly, as if waking from a dream, their eyes glazed with the weight of something he couldn't quite name. His fingers curled slightly tighter around his knees. Then, as if compelled by an unseen force, he turned his head just slightly toward the side window near his shoulder and instantly froze. For a heartbeat, he said nothing. His breath caught in his throat. Luz noticed the change immediately; his body had gone rigid, eyes wide and fixed on something outside the glass. "Atlas?" she said again, her voice firmer now.

"I think I saw... someone." Atlas whispered.

Everyone turned as soon they heard Atlas' comment, though it was the unease evident in his tone that further gained the crew's attention. Hesperos looked up sharply from his seat. Markus moved closer, scanning the viewport. King, already feeling uneasy, his fur bristled at Atlas' remarks.

"What do you mean someone?" Markus asked.

"There!" Atlas pointed, his voice quiet and tense. "By that curved piece of ruin, it looked like... like a statue!"

The others followed his line of sight, pressing in slightly toward the window. But there was nothing now—only drifting debris, skeletal rock formations, and the slow, cold pulse of forgotten towers floating in the abyss.

"There's nothing there," Hesperos muttered.

"No," Atlas insisted, his voice wavering. "It was there and I saw it but the second I blinked it was gone!"

King's claws curled tighter against the console's edge. "You're really not helping the creepy vibes right now."

"Could be a trick from the mist outside." Hesperos offered but his voice lacked conviction.

"It wasn't," Atlas replied quietly, still staring out the window. "It knew we were looking. That's why it vanished."

A silence pressed down on them again, heavier now. The tension was no longer ambient—it was suffocating, however, the darkness got worse.

Luz noticed it first. The color drained from the fog outside the ship. The faint golds and violets that once swirled like dancing smoke began to dull, collapsing inward into gray, then black. The starlight vanished, even the ancient beacons—those flickering and distant eyes in the night—dimmed until they were no more than phantom glows. The Donati had drifted into a pocket of space so utterly black that it felt like they were moving through a blindfold.

"We just lost all external light," Markus said, his voice low.

"Visibility's zero," Hesperos muttered. "We've drifted into a blind zone."

No one moved.

Then—

Click.

It was faint, almost like a drip of water against metal. It came from outside the hull.

Then another.

Click... click.

King slightly jolted up with fear. "What was that?!"

The clicking repeated—again, then again—coming from different directions now. First above, then to port, and then beneath the ship. It wasn't rhythmic but scattered, sharp, rapid—like the staccato tapping of clawed fingers across steel.

Click-click-click-click.

Dozens of them were heard now, as the noises began to surround the ship like an invisible army that could only be sensed by sound itself.

Hesperos' blood ran cold. "That's not mechanical."

"Echolocation," Markus whispered. "It sounds like echolocation... but not from one source. There's many."

"Something's out there!" Luz breathed with fear.

The cockpit fell into a paralyzed hush. It was like the space around them was alive, filled with invisible things that clicked and listened, skittering silently between the rocks and ruins.

"We can't see anything!" King said flatly. "We're blind out here!"

"I don't like this," Atlas said, trying and failing to hide the tremor in his voice. "I don't like this at all..."

"Neither do I," Hesperos replied grimly, reaching toward the console with a slow, deliberate motion. "But if we stay dark, we're sitting ducks. We need to see what we're dealing with."

"No guarantees we'll like what we find," Luz muttered. He hovered over the switch. "Headlights on." As they flipped the switch, everyone on board braced for whatever may lie ahead of them.

The moment Hesperos and Luz flipped the switch, the cockpit was bathed in harsh, sterile light as The Donati's front-mounted headlights cut through the oppressive darkness.

What laid before them as the light illuminated in the darkness ahead stood not one, not dozens, but hundreds of humanoid forms clinging to the floating ruins and asteroids like skeletal gargoyles. Each one was bone-pale and sinewy, their elongated limbs ending in clawed digits gleaming faintly with reflected light. Their skin was leathery, veined with faintly glowing threads that pulsed like blood caught in stasis. They all wore dark colored armor with engravings, textures, and patterns that resemble skeletal parts and pieces.

They were the Strixari, vampiric-humanoid exiles from the Nyxion Star System—though they've been driven out from their homeworld by the very same Archivists who now hunted Luz and the crew... And they were very angry as the light struck them like fire. They're an aggressive species, which their aggression is known to amplify in total darkness.

The horde hissed with sharp, insectile sounds in unison. Their mouths parting to reveal double-jawed mandibles wet with dark ichor. One nearest the beam's core let out a shriek that rippled through the vacuum like telepathic static, vibrating deep inside Luz's chest.

Then they moved.

The Strixaris began clambering from their perches in a frenzy, alerting the others in a wave of guttural clicking and screeching. Those nestled in ruined towers or hiding beneath derelict ships suddenly took flight with unnatural speed, launching themselves into open space toward The Donati.

"Stars—! They're everywhere," Hesperos barked, backing away from the viewport, his hand going to his blaster out of instinct, though they all knew it would be useless against a swarm this massive.

"They're not just watching anymore," Markus muttered, teeth clenched. "They're hunting."

Blaster fire lit up the darkness—thin bolts of green energy screamed across the void as dozens of Strixaris opened fire. The first barrage struck the hull with dull, sizzling thuds, shaking the ship in sharp pulses. Several bolts scorched across the armor-plated side of the cockpit, one narrowly missing the starboard wing stabilizer.

"We're under attack!" Luz shouted, slamming her hands onto the console. The ship jolted beneath her, engines whining as she engaged evasive thrusters.

"Some of them are leaping towards us—" King started to cry out, only to be interrupted by the harsh clang of impact as something hit the dorsal plating. Then another... And another...

Atlas cried out, clutching the edge of his seat as the ship rocked violently. "They're climbing on!"

"We need to move now," Hesperos growled. "Luz, take the yoke. I'll boost the rear thrusters."

She nodded without hesitation, taking full control of the helm. "Strap in!"

As the Strixari surged forward in growing numbers, The Donati roared to life, its engines firing hot as it surged forward. The sudden burst of momentum dislodged several of the creatures that had latched onto the hull—some spiraled off into the Drift, others dug in harder.

"They're not letting go," Markus said through gritted teeth, bracing himself against the wall.

"We won't give them the chance," Luz said, voice sharp and focused, guiding the ship through the debris field like threading a needle through glass. "Hold on!"

She veered hard to port, spiraling between two massive, broken pillars of what had once been a stellar gate. The Donati scraped past them with only meters to spare as the enemy fire continued—green bolts flashing in every direction.

Though it didn't stop there at all, from behind the ruins, flocks of monstrous beasts emerged—Nocturnis. Which were giant bat-like creatures with glowing red eyes and leathery wings that spanned twenty meters across. Upon each of their backs, armored Strixari riders clung with spears and rifles drawn.

King let out a strangled gasp. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"They have mounts?!" Hesperos cursed, watching the new arrivals dive toward them in deadly pursuit.

"They're launching a full aerial assault!" Markus snapped.

"They're attacking because we;ve upset them!" Atlas whispered, voice shaking. "Like a hive. The Drift... it's their hive!"

The first wave of Nocturnis dived toward The Donati, their shrieking cries reverberating through the hull like thunder. Their wings pushed aside floating debris like paper, and the riders on their backs began open-firing mid-flight. Soon three Nocturnis were able to fly and hover over The Donati, where three of the Strixari were able to place down several ropes with grapples attached to them. They then slide down onto the surface of The Donati's roof with precision.

Soon a heavy, metallic THUMP! slammed down on The Donati's dorsal plating. Then two more in rapid succession. THUMP!–THUMP!

The entire crew felt the tremors echo through the deck, as though the ship itself had been punched by the universe. Hesperos snapped his head up from the navigation console. "Something just landed on the roof."

"No... someones," Markus said, "Three of them. I can feel it."

Everyone went silent, the cockpit suddenly filled with the suffocating stillness of dread. The thuds weren't random impacts—they had weight and intention. The kind of sound that said something was hunting from above.

Luz rose immediately from her co-pilot seat, heart pounding but expression steeled with determination. "I'm going out there."

Hesperos turned toward her, eyes wide. "What?"

"They'll breach us if we don't do something. I can't risk everyone's safety." Luz was already moving toward the lockers, her steps fast, decisive. "I'll draw them away from the hull. Give them something to fight that isn't us."

"You can't be serious!" Hesperos yelled out, "You don't have to do this! There's got to be another way—we can shake them, we can—"

"There is no other way right now!" Luz snapped, but there was no anger in her voice but only desperation. "If they punch through and decompress the cockpit, we're dead. Let me stop that from happening."

"You're not thinking straight," Markus argued, stepping closer to block her path. "You're running off like this isn't a suicide mission. You have no cover out there. You're going to be alone out there!"

"I've done it before," Luz said quietly. "I can handle it." she added further . "If they get through, we won't make it to the Nebula Sanctum."

Her mind was already made up. She moved quickly into the gear chamber just beyond the bridge, fingers working with practiced familiarity. The mechanical hiss of the compartment greeted her as the retractable space suit unfurled from its rack—a sleek, graphite gray armor plating overlaying a flexible bodysuit. She stepped into it with precision, locking each segment in place with smooth clicks before securing the oxygen tank to the reinforced spine mount. Her staff snapped into her hand with a single call. She clipped a compact plasma blaster to her thigh.

Behind her, King had followed, paws trembling slightly. "Luz... don't." His voice cracked. "Please... You always jump in and protect everyone. But lately, it's not just about protecting, is it?"

Luz didn't respond right away. She paused, one hand tightening her suit's shoulder strap. Her expression faltered—just a flicker—but she wouldn't let it grow.

"I have to do this," she said softly.

King stepped forward. "Even if it's killing you?"

Luz looked down. "I'll be back," she whispered instead.

At the same time, Atlas had edged toward the doorframe, his childlike voice tight and breaking. "Luz, don't go... What if something happens? I don't want you to get hurt..."

Luz turned to face him, then knelt quickly and pressed her gloved hand gently to his shoulder. "I promise, I'll be okay. I just need to hold them off."

However, Atlas didn't look convinced. His lower lip trembled, his fingers wringing the hem of his oversized sleeves. She gave him a soft look—one filled with a kind of tenderness she didn't always allow herself to show anymore. Then she went through the exit hatch, into the airlock chamber, and out into the void.

The door sealed behind her with a heavy clunk. Hesperos swore under his breath and slammed his palm against the console. "Damn it, Luz..."

"She's going to get herself killed..." King finally muttered, voice cracking.

Hesperos' jaw tightened. "She's not thinking. Her guilt's clouding her instincts."

"Then we bring her back," Markus said, already heading toward the suit lockers. "I'm not letting her do this alone."

Hesperos didn't argue as he was already pulling up internal status logs and re-stabilizing the ship's gravitational envelope to buy them more time. "There's another suit in compartment seven," Hesperos called. "It's oxygen-integrated and should hold for a few hours. I'll keep the ship moving, but I need someone out there to watch her back... so suit up fast!"

"I'm on it." Markus yanked open the indicated compartment, revealing a reinforced suit with an integrated pressure hood and magnetic boots. As he began strapping in, Starry moved to assist, helping him attach the power link on the oxygen line and calibrate the ambient pressure seals.

Atlas turned away, eyes clenched shut. "This is all wrong..."

"She's scared," Hesperos said, glancing back at him. "And she thinks the only way to stay brave is to bleed first. But she's not alone anymore. You hear me?" Atlas didn't reply but he nodded.

Moments later, Markus sealed his helmet, ran a systems check, and entered the secondary exit chamber. With one final glance at the crew, he stepped into the lock, exhaled—and launched out into the black, following the trail Luz had left.

Outside above the battered hull of The Donati; three Strixari soldiers had already begun tearing at the roof, preparing to breach it from above but they weren't alone anymore. Luz was coming for them and Markus was right behind her. Luz landed on the hull of The Donati with a magnetic clang, her boots locking onto the ship's surface as the stars spun quietly above her. Despite the shielded glass of her helmet and the hiss of oxygen feeding through the suit, she could hear her own pulse like thunder in her ears. The suit's HUD blinked softly, highlighting the movement of three silhouettes crouched near the dorsal access panel, which were the Strixari soldiers.

Luz raised her blaster slowly but didn't fire yet. She took a careful step forward across the sloped curvature of the hull, the stars reflecting faintly in her visor as she spoke through her external speaker, her voice calm but firm. "Get off our ship," she said. "Now."

The Strixari twisted to look at her. Three heads, six unblinking eyes, but none of them moved.

"I know you're only defending your home. Believe me, I get it." Her voice wavered slightly, but she steadied it. "But this ship and the people on board? They're my family and my home. So if you stay and keep pushing—someone's going to get hurt. And it's not going to be us."

The windless silence of the void carried her words outward but there was no understanding in the Strixari's gaze. One of them cocked its head to the side in an almost mechanical twitch, and then—

A series of guttural, static-laced syllables escaped their mouths in chorus. < Ksh'tenh nar Xiriin... Rrakth'tel Vass'ka >.

She didn't need a translator to interpret their intent, as the three raised their blaster rifles in unison. Luz exhaled softly, lowering her chin. "I did try to warn you."

She fired.

The bolt struck the lead Strixari center mass, the explosive force of the point-blank impact blasting the creature backwards with enough velocity to launch it clean off The Donati. Its body spiraled into the black, weightless, limbs outstretched as it vanished into the shadows.

As a second soldier lunged, Luz holstered her blaster in one swift motion, diving to the side, narrowly avoiding a blast that seared past her shoulder. As she rolled along the curve of the hull, she reached into a side pouch built into her suit—her gloved fingers closing around the cool texture of folded glyph paper.

She slapped the glyph against her palm and triggered the spell with a pulse of raw intent.

A sharp crack split the silence as a wall of jagged ice erupted in front of her, translucent and spiked like frozen teeth. The second soldier barreled into it headfirst with its full momentum too fast to stop. The impact hurled it backward, and with a shriek that no vacuum could silence, it tumbled into space.

The third and last Strixari opened fire, Luz ducked low and crawled fast across the ship's surface, her magnetic boots clicking with each movement. A bolt glanced off the plating beside her. Another scorched across her forearm guard but didn't pierce. She reached for another glyph, her heart pounded as every muscle of her body screamed in tension.

She slapped it against the hull and a second spire of ice burst upward, this time beneath the final soldier's feet. It lifted and tilted, throwing the creature off balance. As it scrambled for a handhold, claws screeching against metal, Luz rushed forward—shouldering into it with her full weight.

The creature slipped. For a moment, it dangled as its claws scrabbled at the ledge. Luz met its eyes through the visor of her suit. Then it was gone—falling into the void like its brethren.

She stood there for a moment, chest heaving, each breath echoing harshly inside her helmet. Her fingers trembled around the hilt of her staff. The cold emptiness of space gnawed at the edges of her resolve—not physically but mentally. The void had a voice here and it whispered you're still alone.

Just as Luz steadied herself atop the curved hull of The Donati, watching the last of the Strixari disappear into the endless dark, a second set of magnetic footsteps clanged down onto the ship behind her.

Markus had arrived, his gleaming, angular plating of his suit caught the fractured glow of the surrounding nebula. His visor dimmed against the flicker of distant gunfire and star-fog. He carried no weapon in hand—just his glowing palms and his measured expression beneath the mask.

"I saw your ice show," he said through the comms, though his voice was edged with concern. "Not bad but we still got company."

Luz didn't have time to answer as six more Strixari emerged from the haze around the ship, having leapt from the craggy sides of drifting asteroids. They landed on the hull with bone-shaking force, fanning out into a staggered formation. A few hissed in that same guttural tongue, mandibles twitching, spines raised like hackles. One of them raised its blaster rifle. Which prompted Markus to move with a sudden leap, boosted by the magnetic coils in his boots and the low-grav field of the ship, Markus hurled himself toward the armed Strixari. He closed the distance in seconds, twisting midair to avoid a shot that skimmed past his shoulder.

His hand slammed against the side of the soldier's helmet. For a moment, nothing happened, then Markus's eyes flashed white.

The Strixari's body stiffened as if struck by lightning, its arms seizing up—then, slowly and methodically—it turned its blaster away from Markus and raised it toward two of its own allies. The others barely had time to react.

BZZT–BZZT!

Two clean bolts cut through the black. The first soldier dropped instantly, twitching as their limbs froze mid-motion. The second was thrown backward by the blast, limbs curling in toward their body as they tumbled into space, a dim afterimage fading in Markus's HUD.

Luz flinched. "What—did you just—?"

"I connected with its mind," Markus said, voice clipped and calm. "It's a technique earned once you're able to perform soul magic. Though it's only temporary and it only lasts—"

The Strixari regained control with a violent, spasmodic jolt. The soldier screamed in rage and swung its rifle back toward Markus. The lights in its eyes pulsed red with feral intensity.

"—a few seconds," Markus finished.

The shot fired but Markus was already inside the guard.

He caught the barrel with one hand, twisted, and slammed his armored fist into the soldier's helmet causing its visor to crack. The second punch knocked the creature's head back with a sharp, almost mechanical snap. It went limp in an instant, as it lost its consciousness following the punch. With a final shove, Markus let the body slide off the ship's surface, where it drifted into the emptiness below.

However, within seconds, another Strixari snarled and charged him from the left. It unsheaths a thin, curved blade that gleamed with violet energy.

Markus turned and instinctively reached down. Lying on the hull near his boot was a discarded blade, left behind by one of Luz's earlier opponents. It was heavier than it looked, crafted from obsidian-colored metal and humming faintly with energy pulses.

He raised it just in time to deflect a blow. Sparks exploded as the Strixari's sword clashed against his.

The impact shuddered through Markus's arms, but he stood firm, rotating his hips and driving his blade into a counter-strike that pushed his attacker back. The Strixari adjusted immediately, whirling with an inhuman grace, its sword slicing down in a deadly arc. Markus parried, steel singing against steel. Their duel unfolded across the hull—two figures silhouetted against the stars, while their blades flashed in the dark like lightning. Each movement was calculated, vicious, the clash of instinct and training. The Strixari fought like a creature bred for war, its limbs moving with practiced brutality.

Meanwhile, Luz whirled her staff with a practiced hand, with a fluid command, she summoned a gust of force that slammed directly into one of the charging Strixari soldiers, sending the creature skidding backward across the hull, weaponless and stunned.

"Don't mess with the girl with the stick!" she proclaimed, tightening her grip—

—but that moment of satisfaction cost her.

She didn't hear the second soldier approach from behind until it was too late. A bone-jarring tackle hit her from the side with full force, knocking the wind from her lungs and sending her hurtling across the sloped plating. Her staff flew from her grip, spinning violently before it skittered to a stop several meters away on a higher section of the hull.

Her legs kicked beneath her in the vacuum, trying to find footing where there was none, she was hanging off the ledge of the far left side of The Donati.

Clang.
Footsteps.

The soldier that had tackled her now loomed above, a shadow framed in light. It let out a guttural hiss through jagged teeth as it stepped closer, lifting one foot.

"No, no, no—" Luz gritted through clenched teeth, arms shaking from strain.

The soldier raised its leg and then slammed it down toward her fingers.

She yanked her hand away just in time. The boot scraped the edge where her knuckles had just been. She winced in pain but didn't let go. The soldier pulled back for another stomp, then suddenly—

A blur of purple streaked in from the right. A clang—followed by a squelch—and a sharp cry of pain.

The Strixari was struck square in the head by a massive, comically oversized mallet, conjured in midair. The blow was enough to knock it off balance, and in the zero-g drift, it lost its footing entirely and went tumbling back across the hull with a stunned shriek.

The mallet wobbled in the air—then twisted and shimmered—shrinking down and shifting shape in an instant.

Luz blinked, breath still heaving in her chest. "...Stringbean?"

Hovering just above her was her palisman—now in their natural serpent form, eyes wide and brimming with concern. With a soft chirrup, Stringbean darted forward and coiled herself around Luz's forearm, morphing again—this time into the form of a sturdy gauntlet.

"Smart girl!" Luz whispered, smiling through gritted teeth. "Okay. You lift, I push."

The gauntlet glowed with a surge of magic as Stringbean braced herself. Luz adjusted her grip with the other hand and strained upward with all the strength she had. Her boots scraped the hull, catching finally on the ridge's edge. With one last heave and a cry of effort, Luz swung her upper body back onto the surface and dragged herself to safety.

She collapsed for a second. "Thanks Bean," she muttered, and Stringbean purred warmly in reply through the glove interface.

But there was no time to rest.

As Luz climbed back to her feet, she spotted Markus a few meters ahead—locked in a chaotic duel not with one, but two Strixari soldiers. The three of them moved like phantoms across the hull, blades clashing in bursts of sparks and arcs of metal. Markus was holding his ground, but only just. He deflected one strike only to nearly be caught by another and he was outnumbered.

Luz's eyes hardened, without hesitation, she sprinted across the roof of the ship—Stringbean transformed back into her staff and Luz instinctively held on. The ice-cold wind of space whipped at her suit, but her mind was clear, her focus razor-sharp.

Meanwhile, Markus gritted his teeth as the clang of steel echoed against the cold hull of The Donati. The twin Strixari soldiers before him circled like wolves, their movements sharp, calculated—one attacking from the left with sweeping sword strikes while the other darted in from the right with sudden jabs meant to pierce through his defenses.

His pulse thundered inside his helmet. He parried one blade, but the second followed a heartbeat later. He deflected that too, only narrowly. The strain of blocking two attackers simultaneously was beginning to show. His boots scraped along the hull, magnetic anchors struggling to keep traction against the jarring impacts. With each exchanged blow, Markus found himself giving more ground, edging closer to the limits of his balance.

His breathing grew heavier, more ragged. One of the Strixari feinted left, then delivered a punishing upward slash that scraped against Markus's chest plate. The strike wasn't deep enough to penetrate, but it rattled him. The second soldier followed with a brutal downward swing, and Markus barely brought his sword up in time to block. The force behind the impact shuddered up his arms, nearly making him drop his blade. They were beginning to overpower him while he staggered.

Then—a sharp hiss of plasma cracked through the air. A bright bolt of light shot past Markus's shoulder and struck the Strixari on the left squarely in the chest.

The creature let out a choked screech as it staggered backward, its weapon slipping from its hands. With the blast's momentum and no anchor to hold it in place, the soldier lost its footing entirely and was flung off the ship's hull, spinning helplessly into the abyss of Kailor's Drift.

Markus whipped around.

Luz stood a few meters away, blaster still smoking in her hand, her chest heaving beneath her suit. "You good?" Markus called out through the comms, half-grinning despite the adrenaline still surging in his veins.

"I'm good," Luz answered between breaths, eyes still sharp with focus. "You?"

"Getting there." Markus replied, with one enemy gone, the remaining Strixari lunged but Markus was ready this time. He sidestepped, pivoting on his heel and bringing his blade around in a powerful, sweeping arc. The steel collided with the soldier's sword, wrenching it from the alien's grasp. The weapon went flying across the hull and vanished into the mist.

Before the soldier could react, Markus surged forward and launched a solid fly-kick to its midsection. The impact knocked the wind from the creature—if it even breathed—and sent it skidding backward across the smooth plating. With nothing to grab hold of, the Strixari slid over the edge of The Donati and disappeared into the yawning dark below.

Markus exhaled hard, the fog of his breath clouding the inside of his visor for a moment. Then he looked over to Luz again. "Thanks for the save."

"Anytime," she said, already beginning to walk toward him.

Just then, their comms crackled with static then snapped into clarity.

"Luz! Markus!" Hesperos's voice rang out, sharp with urgency. "I think we're nearing the exit of this place. Get inside—hurry!"

They sprinted across the hull, boots clanking and hissing as the magnetic seals pulsed with every step. Shards of derelict ruins floated dangerously close now—wreckage shifting within the nebula's distorted gravity field, threatening to crush them with even a moment's delay. They reached the secondary roof hatch together. Luz slapped the emergency access pad, and the circular door hissed open, revealing the narrow entry shaft leading down into The Donati's upper corridor. Markus entered first, then turned and extended a hand.

Luz grabbed it, gripping on it tightly. The door sealed behind them with a thunderous clang, locking the chaos of Kailor's Drift out.

The interior of The Donati greeted Luz and Markus with a harsh hiss of pressurization as the hatch sealed shut behind them. The moment gravity normalized beneath their feet and the atmospheric systems stabilized, they didn't waste a second. They rushed through the narrow passages of the upper deck, streaked with emergency lights and the low hum of the warp drive thrumming through the walls like a pulse. The adrenaline still coursed hot inside of them but their focus was razor-sharp.

Luz reached the cockpit first, sliding back into the co-pilot's chair with a practiced familiarity. Her fingers flew over the console, reactivating controls and re-engaging the auxiliary thrusters. Her breath was still ragged in her throat, the aftershocks of survival clinging to her muscles.

Hesperos didn't take his eyes off the control displays. "You good?" he asked without looking.

Luz nodded, catching her breath. "Still in one piece."

Markus arrived seconds later, steadying himself on the edge of the cockpit entryway before moving to the rear operations console.

Hesperos turned toward Starry, the spherical droid humming with faint starlight as it floated near the upper port screen. "Starry, do we still have company?"

A moment passed. The soft flickering of the camera feeds blinked across the displays—then Starry's voice responded, gentle but firm. "Yes, Captain! Additional Strixari signatures have been detected, they're all clustered just beyond the central asteroid ring! Estimated pursuit count: thirty-two and rising! We better get outta here pronto captain!"

Luz stiffened in her seat. "They're not done with us."

"Then we make sure we're done with them," Hesperos muttered, hands moving swiftly across the nav controls. "If we're going to warp, we've got to clear the Drift's exit threshold before we punch it. If we try to warp from inside this gravity shell, we'll be torn apart." Hesperos concluded with, "In other words... let's fly like there's no tomorrow, mateys."

Outside the cockpit, the last of the fractured ruins gave way to a narrow channel—a corridor of floating debris and splintered asteroids, like the ribs of some ancient dead god. Ahead, the pale shimmer of the nebula's edge began to take form, a gradient of distant starlight barely cutting through the shadowed dust.

The exit.

"Luz, I'll steer pitch, you manage roll and rear thrusters," Hesperos barked, eyes darting between navigation vectors and hull integrity.

"I'm on it," she said, already adjusting trajectory with both hands on the yoke.

The Donati groaned under the pressure. The ship shuddered violently as they banked hard to avoid a spiraling satellite fragment, the hull skimming dangerously close to a jagged rock wall on their starboard side. A warning light flared red.

"Ten seconds to break free of the Drift's gravity swell," Starry warned, voice tight. "Incoming hostiles closing in fast!!"

"Then we'll be faster," Hesperos snapped.

The Donati surged forward, thrusters igniting in a roaring burst. Luz leaned into the yoke, her jaw tight, hands steady despite the sweat beading along her temple. She and Hesperos moved as one—pilots in perfect synchrony, their bond forged not just in practice but in shared danger.

The rear-view camera feed lit up, showing dozens of Strixari riders on their Nocturnis mounts tore through the void with monstrous grace, their wings slicing the dark as they closed the distance—blaster fire beginning to pepper the edges of The Donati's shields. Though, it was too late on their end.

The Donati cleared the final asteroid wall. Starlight engulfed the ship as it broke through the edge of Kailor's Drift and Hesperos didn't hesitate once they exited through. "Warping now!" he shouted.

With a thunderous thrum and a burst of luminous energy, space twisted and folded around them. The air inside the cockpit rippled as the starlines stretched and blurred—and in a single, beautiful moment, the Drift fell away behind them like a fading memory.

Silence.

Just the steady hum of the warp engine, the soft glow of instruments, and the exhausted breath of a crew who'd narrowly escaped death. Still gripping the controls, Luz allowed her shoulders to slump slightly as she stared into the glowing tunnel of folded space ahead of them. Her heart still raced and her muscles ached but they were safe for now...

A while later, The stars beyond The Donati glimmered like distant, unreachable lighthouses, their cold glow casting the motionless ship in a still, melancholic calm. After the chaos at Kailor's Drift, silence had become a strange comfort—a rare reprieve from the constant storm of survival. The ship floated adrift in deep space, as her engines had powered down, her shields stable, and systems running on low output to preserve fuel. A moment carved from time itself, gifted to the weary.

Inside, there was less panic now but instead more the weighty kind of silence that came after a close call.. Hesperos stood near the central observation panel, his arms crossed, and his eyes fixed on nothing in particular. From this angle, he could see the soft flicker of the control lights reflecting in the glass, and past them—Atlas and King.

They sat side by side in the corner of the lounge, near the recharge pods. King clutched a pillow that didn't belong to him. His tail had coiled tightly around his legs, and his eyes darted toward every creak of the ship. Atlas, sitting beside him, was deathly still—his arms wrapped around his knees, eyes staring wide into the distance, lost in thoughts far beyond the present.

They weren't just scared, they were haunted, and at the heart of it all, Hesperos knew why that is, he soon turned on his heel and began making his way to the med station.

Down the corridor, he found Luz alone in the med station. The overhead lights were low, tinted in a calming blue, illuminating the small space with a soft haze. Luz sat on the edge of the examination table, sleeves rolled up, a sterilized cloth pressed to a shallow cut just beneath her shoulder. She hissed quietly through her teeth as she dabbed the antiseptic, then glanced at the forming bruise on her side with a wince.

Hesperos knocked once on the frame, then stepped inside. "You're supposed to let someone else look at that," he said flatly.

Luz didn't look up. "Well, I'm used to taking matters into my own hands. Literally!"

He didn't laugh. "Luz." His tone made her glance up, finally meeting his eyes. There was no mistaking the tension in his jaw, the frustration behind his glare. However, more than that—buried under it—was something else, worry.

"You nearly got yourself killed, you know that?" he said, voice low and edged with heat. "What were you thinking?!"

"We... we were in danger alright?" she replied, reaching for another antiseptic pad. "So, I did what I had to."

"No," he snapped, stepping closer. "You didn't have to but you chose to anyway. You jumped out there on your own, with half a plan and a hive full of aliens trying to rip our hull apart."

"Look, me and Markus handled it," Luz muttered, not looking at him this time. "I'm here, aren't I?"

Hesperos's fist tightened at his side. "Aye, while that's true but you think that makes it any better? You still acted recklessly!" He added, "Look, I'm reckless myself but you had a dozen other ways to handle it. You keep doing this thing where you run toward danger like it owes you something. Like your life's the price that has to be paid every time something goes wrong!"

Luz didn't answer, as she just kept dabbing at the wound, too aggressively now. The pain flared but she welcomed it, as it was something to distract from the heat behind her eyes.

Hesperos continued, his voice quieter now. "What if you hadn't survived? What if Stringbean hadn't been there to save you? You could've risked Markus' life! You have no idea what could've happened—"

"I know exactly what could've happened!" Luz barked back suddenly, slamming the medkit shut. "I've seen what happens when we don't do anything. When we wait and hesitate!"

Hesperos was taken aback for a moment, not by the volume of her voice, but the tremble behind it. The way it cracked slightly not by anger but fear instead.

"I wasn't going to sit there while those things tore their way into the ship," she said, more quietly now. "I wasn't going to let anyone else get hurt. Not again..."

Silence fell between them.

Hesperos exhaled slowly, lowering his voice. "Listen... I know you guys haven't been okay ever since what happened at the Archive Tower. However, after what happened earlier, King and Atlas are terrified, Luz." He added, "They were scared because they thought you weren't gonna come back."

Luz said nothing.

Hesperos stepped closer, his voice losing all edge now which had been replaced by something much more gentler and rawer. "Look... I get it. I know you want to feel like if you just do more, it'll somehow make up for everything. But this?" He gestured to her bruised side, to the fatigue etched into her face. "This isn't helping anyone."

"I can't let them go through it again," she whispered, her eyes watery now but blinking it away. "So if I have to throw myself in front of the fire to keep them from ever feeling that way again, I will."

Hesperos leaned against the counter, arms folded. "You think they want you to suffer for them?"

"I think I'd rather be the one who suffers than watch them do it." she said softly. There it was, the truth bleeding through the cracks but as always, Luz caught herself too late. Her voice stiffened while her eyes darted away again, and then came the sarcasm like a reflex that functioned as armor.

"Besides," she added with a half-hearted smirk, "what else am I gonna do? Sit around and play space poker while a bunch of hostile aliens throw a party on the roof?"

Hesperos didn't take the bait. The air between them was thick, brittle like a cord stretched too far and ready to snap. Before it could, Markus stepped into the room. His approach was quiet but deliberate, as he glanced between the two of them. He had clearly heard enough from the hallway—maybe even longer than either of them realized. The soft ambience of the ship around them gave way to his voice, calm and grounding.

"Alright," Markus said, raising his hands lightly. "Let's uh, dial this down before someone says something they'll regret."

Hesperos didn't respond immediately, his jaw still locked tight and eyes flickering with restrained emotion. Luz, for her part, shifted slightly on the medbay bench, her posture guarded, her hands still holding the edge of the medkit like it might anchor her to the floor.

Markus first turned toward Hesperos. "I get where you're coming from. I do. What she did? It was risky, dangerous, and frustrating. But let's not forget why we're even here right now." He gestured lightly toward Luz. "I went out there with her and faced down those lifeforms. And we made it. The crew is safe because of that."

He paused—letting it settle before continuing. "I'm not saying it was the smartest call, but it worked. She put herself on the line, and no one on this ship was harmed because of it."

Hesperos's gaze lowered, jaw loosening slightly, though his brow remained furrowed.

Then Markus turned to Luz. "But that doesn't mean it wasn't reckless," he said gently. "And that's the part you need to hear too, Luz."

Luz met his eyes, trying not to flinch.

"What you did was brave," he continued, "and yeah, maybe even necessary in the moment. But you can't keep treating your life like it's expendable. It isn't. You're not a shield. You're not invincible. And if things had gone even a little differently out there..." He let the sentence trail off, the weight of the unspoken ending louder than words.

Luz looked down at the floor. Her fingers slowly released the medkit's edge. The silence was longer this time, more reflective than defensive.

Finally, Hesperos let out a long sigh and moved to lean against the bulkhead beside the door. The storm inside him had quieted into something softer—less like a crashing wave and more like the tide pulling back to reveal what it had stirred up.

"I'm not mad because you fought," he said. "I'm mad because you keep doing this to yourself."

His eyes flicked toward the closed medbay door, then back to Luz. "All I'm really concerned for is that if something happens to you... what then? Who's going to protect King? Who's going to look out for Atlas?"

"They care about you, Luz," he said, softer now. "They look to you to keep going when they feel like they're unable to. So if you're gone... what happens to them?" The quiet that followed lingered longer than any of them intended.

Luz sat still on the medbay bench, her posture slumped now—not in defiance, not even in exhaustion, but in something heavier. Her gaze had dropped again, not in avoidance this time, but in thought. The kind that itched at the edges of her mind, a quiet gnawing she could no longer ignore. She didn't answer right away. Markus and Hesperos exchanged a glance but didn't press. Something had shifted in her expression—her brow tensed faintly, while she sat in silence and for once, she listened.

Hesperos's words played over in her head, every syllable hitting with uncomfortable precision. The thought of the look on King's face curled up. Atlas, silent, clutching his knees with eyes far too haunted for someone his age. And she thought about her own hands, still trembling faintly. The bruises, the pain, and the reflex to throw herself at danger like it was the only way to do something.

The realization came slowly like a mist parting just enough to reveal what lay beneath. This wasn't about courage, as she had been punishing herself again and again. Every risk, every selfless act, every moment where she volunteered to stand in the line of fire—it all traced back to the same wound: The Archivists. The moment when she couldn't protect Atlas and when King had become a target after their interactions. The helplessness had burned itself into her memory like a brand.

And ever since then, she hadn't stopped trying to rewrite it.

She had told herself it was about being strong, about protecting her friends. But deep down... it was guilt. A deep-rooted belief that she had failed the people she loved most. That if she could just do enough such as fighting harder and acting faster, it might balance the scale of her dilemma but Hesperos was right.

Every time she leapt into danger without thought for herself, she wasn't just risking her own life—she was teaching King and Atlas something she didn't want them to learn, that their lives were disposable, too. Now, seated in the aftermath of it all, her body bruised and aching, her mind beginning to slow from its adrenaline-fueled fog, Luz saw it clearly. Protecting them didn't just mean shielding them from harm. It meant showing them how to survive. How to care for themselves and how to heal. That was the part she'd been avoiding because healing meant stopping. And stopping meant feeling. A feeling that meant acknowledging that she was still stuck in that moment—still trapped in the terror and helplessness of the Archivists.

Hesperos's confrontation didn't fix her but it cracked something. The thoughts that spilled through were impossible to ignore now.

Luz blinked slowly, her throat tight. She wasn't ready to say any of it aloud, as she didn't know how to. So instead, she did what she could, "I think I'm gonna... go lie down for a bit," she said softly, rising from the bench.

Hesperos studied her for a moment, then gave a small nod. "That's probably a good idea."

Markus stepped aside as she passed, offering her a quiet, understanding look that lacked judgment and pressure.

Luz gave a faint smile that was half apology and half gratitude. She soon slipped out into the hallway, the soft hiss of the medbay door sliding shut behind her. Though she didn't say it, the truth followed her like a shadow. She had taken the first step toward healing. Not loudly, boldly, but quietly and privately. Even heroes needed time to rest and permission to be human.

Back in the medbay, Markus stood beside him, silent at first, his hands resting on his belt. He watched Hesperos carefully, his normally casual demeanor traded for something more contemplative.

"I can feel it," Markus finally said, his voice quiet but sure. "There's something... hurting her. It's not just exhaustion or stress—it's in her soul."

Hesperos didn't flinch, but his jaw subtly tensed again.

"She's carrying the weight of her own guilt that's deep within her." Markus added, his tone gentle and not accusatory. The words sank like stones into the stillness.

Hesperos pushed off from the wall with a slow exhale, his voice gruff but softened by honesty. "Yeah. She's been through a lot. All of them have. King... Atlas... they've been dragged through more than most adults could handle. But Luz..." He shook his head. "She blames herself. For all of it."

He turned his eyes to Markus and added. "She thinks if she just keeps pushing and fighting, she can somehow fix every mistake. Undo every failure and save everyone, even if it breaks her in the process."

Markus nodded slowly. "Sounds familiar." Hesperos raised a brow upon hearing Markus' remarks.

"She reminds me of my friend at the Nebula Sanctum," Markus said. "She's just like her—fighting ghosts she can't lay to rest, trying to atone for things that weren't fully her fault to begin with." Markus crossed his arms, his voice more introspective now. "Both of them are chasing redemption like it's the only path forward. But neither gave themselves the space to actually heal."

He looked back toward the medbay door. "When we get there... I think she'll understand. When she meets her."

Hesperos nodded slowly, as a faint thread of appreciation in his expression had appeared. Before he could speak, Markus's gaze drifted back toward him—unwavering now and more focused than before.

"There's something else," Markus said while Hesperos stilled.

"I can feel it in you too. Not the same as Luz, but it's similar. Though unlike her, your's isn't revolved around guilt but loss instead. Something... or someone you cared for. And now there's this storm building inside you." Markus tilted his head slightly. "You're not chasing redemption, you're waiting for the right moment to settle a score."

Hesperos didn't answer right away but the flicker of something in his eyes said enough. He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck, then met Markus's gaze. "You soul-readers really don't miss much, do you?"

Markus offered a faint, knowing smile. "Not when it's this loud."

Hesperos glanced toward the front of the ship, toward the starlit path stretched endlessly ahead. "When the time comes... I'll explain all of it. But not right now. We've got a mission to finish first."

He stepped past Markus and placed a hand on the control console, watching the drift of stars outside the viewport, their path bending ever so slightly as the ship inched toward its next destination.

"We've cleared the final leg," Hesperos said, more to himself than anyone else. "The Nebula Sanctum is ahead of us now."

Markus remained still for a moment longer, watching Hesperos's posture—steady, disciplined... but tight and controlled.

He nodded. "Then let's hope it holds the answers we're all looking for."

Though in his heart, Markus already knew. The fire inside Hesperos hadn't faded—it had only quieted.

Waiting...

The low thrum of The Donati reverberated softly through the cockpit, a sound that had become as familiar as breathing to those who'd been aboard long enough to know its moods. Hesperos stepped in, the lights on the console blinked patiently, awaiting his command. He lowered himself into the pilot's seat with a quiet exhale, the worn padding groaning beneath his weight. His fingers danced across the control panel—flipping switches, checking navigation, and rerouting power. The stars outside shimmered in place, distant and unmoving, as if waiting to see what came next.

Behind him, Starry floated gently near the ceiling. The little cosmic wisp was humming an off-tune melody to itself, spinning slowly in place.

Hesperos didn't glance back. "Starry. We're ready."

"Warp jump? Ohhhh! I love the whooshy part!" Starry chirped with a giggle, twisting midair in a bright, playful loop.

"Then let's not keep ourselves waiting," Hesperos replied dryly, though there was a faint trace of amusement buried in his tone.

"Okie-dokie! Time to go ZOOOOM!" Starry sang, little arms flailing in excitement as it zipped toward the warp core embedded in the central chamber of the cockpit wall.

As Starry hovered close, their body pulsed with radiant starlight as the ship's systems detected their interface. Tendrils of magic and circuitry intertwined, glowing threads of power surging outward like veins of light across the cockpit.

The Warp Core lit up, deep within the heart of The Donati, resonating with the pulse of Starry's energy. The ship shivered not from instability but anticipation.

Hesperos leaned forward, eyes focused, hands steady on the controls. "Coordinates locked. Warp tunnel initiating in three... two..."

A deep tremor rippled through the ship's bones. Outside the viewport, the stars began to stretch and pull outward, smearing into luminous trails like wet paint across glass.

"...One."

The moment hit like a drop into gravityless space—silent, then sudden.

The Donati surged forward, propelled not by engines alone but by the rippling arc of warped space-time. The stars vanished into lines, and then into a glowing tunnel of bending color—prismatic and endless. The ship sailed into the Warp Tunnel with smooth precision, enveloped in a veil of astral light. From within the cockpit, the cabin dimmed as the soft blues and violets of the Warp Tunnel cast their glow across Hesperos's face. For a long moment, he said nothing—only staring ahead, letting the rhythm of motion and the hum of energy surround him.

Starry floated back toward the ceiling, now curled lazily in a slow orbit. "That one felt extra tingly!"

Hesperos allowed the corner of his mouth to twitch into the ghost of a smile. "Next stop," he muttered, eyes still fixed ahead, "the Nebula Sanctum."

And with that, The Donati sailed forward into the cosmic stream—carrying its bruised, burdened crew onward, toward the next chapter of their journey.

The Warp Tunnel outside Luz's window shimmered like a living cosmic river yet in constant motion—an endless, swirling colored current of lavender, cobalt, and fractured white. Within her quarters aboard The Donati, however, the silence felt heavier.

Luz sat at the small desk tucked into the corner of her room, a soft, ambient light casting a golden hue over the silver-gray walls. Before her lay a weathered envelope, unsealed and folded neatly. The paper inside had been folded and unfolded so many times that its creases were beginning to fray. Her fingers hesitated above it, trembling slightly before she finally lifted it free and unfolded it.

Her eyes scanned the words—familiar yet distant, written in ink that had faded only slightly, as though time itself hadn't had the heart to erode it. It was a letter she'd written weeks ago but never sent. One addressed to both her mom, Camila, and to Eda. She read the first line aloud under her breath, "Hi, Mamá... Hi, Eda... I hope you're okay." A pause followed along.

"I miss you both so much. I miss our talks, your hugs, the way everything felt... normal." Her eyes lingered on the word. "I didn't realize how much I'd need your voices. Your advice especially. Just... about everything that makes you two amazing..."

Her hand gripped the paper a little tighter as her gaze drifted to the rest of the room. Her voice cracked slightly as she continued, this time not reading—just speaking, quietly, to no one but herself. "I miss everyone... Amity... Gus... Willow... Hunter... Vee. I keep thinking about what they're doing right now and if they're all okay..."

Her fingers gently brushed the corner of the letter before she slowly set it aside, returning it to the small compartment beneath her desk drawer. Next to it sat a leather-bound journal that was mostly unused. The pages are still blank beyond a scribbled header. She opened it, stared at the untouched paper, and placed the pen beside it. Her hand hovered but she couldn't bring herself to write. So as a result, the page remained blank.

The weight in her chest pressed down just a little harder as she didn't know what to exactly write yet. Still, she left the journal open, not to write at the moment but to remind herself that she wanted to try. Maybe tomorrow, maybe next week but the intention was there and that mattered.

Luz exhaled shakily, trying to blink back the moisture in her eyes as she turned her attention to the necklace that lay beside the journal. The same necklace Amity had given it to her years ago, back when promises felt easier to keep.

She picked it up, her thumb running along its smooth edge. "I swear, Amity," she whispered, voice fragile but certain. "We're going to be together again. When all of this is over. When King and Atlas and I get back to the Demon Realm... I'll find you. I promise." As if sensing the emotional shift, a soft rustle stirred behind her. Stringbean transformed into her serpentine form from the wall where she was leaning on in her staff form. She floated toward Luz, her body undulating with care. Without a sound, she coiled around Luz's shoulders, resting her head softly beneath Luz's chin.

Luz gasped, caught slightly off guard but quickly smiled. Her hand rose to stroke Stringbean's head, eyes soft with gratitude. "Thanks, girl," she murmured. "You always know when I need you."

The palisman squeaked gently, her body curling closer in an embrace. Luz leaned into it, resting her forehead against the top of Stringbean's smooth head.

"You're one of the only things that still reminds me of home," she admitted, barely above a whisper. "Of who I was before all this. Before everything changed."

After a long moment, she gently pulled away and re-clasped the necklace around her neck, letting it settle under her uniform. She closed the journal and placed it back into its drawer, this time with less reluctance.

Her gaze moved toward the door. Beyond it, somewhere in the quiet stretch of The Donati, King and Atlas were no doubt waiting—perhaps not physically but emotionally. She didn't know what she would say to them yet. Perhaps nothing or maybe of everything but she knew she wanted to be with them. For now, they were what's left of her family and that was something worth holding onto.

Luz stood, Stringbean coiled like a scarf around her shoulders, and walked softly toward the door. It slid open with a gentle hiss, and as she stepped into the corridor, the Warp Tunnel light outside shimmered brighter—like it too understood that even small steps forward were still steps toward home.

Elsewhere, far and distant, The sun over Seraphyx was veiled behind a layer of copper ash and soot, casting an orange pall over the settlement that once stood defiantly in the cradle of a ruined metropolis. The ground was scorched, the air thick with smoke and the smell of burning canvas and alloy. What had once been a testament to survival—ramshackle homes, repurposed towers, and stone-hewn sanctuaries were now a graveyard that collapsed into rubble and fire.

Charred banners of the settlement's crest fluttered limply in the wind. Craters and impact zones pocked the terrain, marking where Archive Collective dropships had descended with cold precision. The attack hadn't lasted long—barely minutes. Resistance fighters, armed with scavenged rifles and makeshift gear, had stood their ground. They had fought with passion and purpose, but in the end their passion was not armor. Their bodies now lay strewn in alleys and along crumbling staircases as it was where they fell. In fact, many of them were still gripping onto their weapons, even in death. Smoke curled from shattered solar panels and twisted metallic beams. Tents had collapsed under concussive blasts. Others burned still, nothing more than molten cloth tangled in scorched wire. However, the true horror lay at the heart of the ruins.

At what had once been the settlement's square—its last remaining semblance of order—there now stood a single, grim line of survivors. Scorched, dust-covered, bruised and bloodied, they knelt or stood in silent resolve, their eyes hollow but defiant. Among them was Anor, her long robes torn, her cheek streaked with dried blood. Her shoulders sagged from exhaustion but her spine remained unbowed.

Across from them, in perfect contrast, stood two orderly rows of Archive Collective soldiers. Their polished white armor gleamed in the polluted light, visors black and unreadable, their rifles raised and perfectly still. Their formation radiated menace—not rage, not hatred—just efficiency.

A hollow silence fell over the square. Then came the sound of footfalls—measured and deliberate. General Arulieus emerged from the ranks of soldiers with the poise of a man walking into a lecture hall. Unbothered by the carnage around him, his expression was calm, while his hands remained folded behind his back. His uniform remained pristine and clean, untouched by the blood and ash staining the world around him.

He stopped several paces before the survivors, while the moment remained around them. He then spoke, "This could have unfolded... so very differently."

His gaze swept across the surviving defenders. Each word fell like a needle, precise and painless until one considered the depth of what it pierced. "There was no necessity for this outcome. No need for destruction. We were not here to wage war on the broken. We were here... to gather information."

He turned slightly, now addressing Anor directly with quiet deliberation.

"We possess undeniable visual confirmation," he said, gesturing subtly toward one of the soldiers who held a data pad aloft. On the screen: grainy but unmistakable images. Luz. Markus. Atlas. King. Hesperos. Standing amidst the ruins. Smiling. Talking. Walking.

"They were here," Arulieus continued. "In your midst. And you sheltered them."

He took a single step closer. His tone remained perfectly even, a master of calculated grace. "All you had to do was tell us. Share with us the direction of their departure. Their intended route and hints of their next destination. We would have left your quaint little haven untouched, preserved, and be given the right to exist, however marginally, as a footnote outside the tide of history."

The surviving Seraphians said nothing. Their silence was not born from fear—at least, not entirely. A raw, unspoken defiance that refused to die, even as their world had burned. None among the tattered group met Arulieus's gaze. Not Anor. Not the wounded soldier clutching a broken arm. Not the young woman kneeling with ash in her braided hair and tears still drying on her cheeks.

They stared instead at the ground, or beyond the soldiers, or into the ruins behind them. A kind of sacred stillness clung to the moment. As if to look at the man before them—to acknowledge him—was to offer him something he had not earned.

General Arulieus's eye twitched ever so slightly. He stepped forward, the calculated rhythm of his boots against the cracked stone echoing like punctuation marks in a poem of war. The silence around him thickened, like pressure in the atmosphere just before a storm. He stopped before Anor, his presence unnervingly close as his eye studied her face with the cool interest of a surgeon examining a living subject.

"There is a common misconception," he began quietly, "that resistance is noble. That defiance, when done in silence, holds some inherent power."

He let the statement hang, then pivoted slightly to speak to them all. "You mistake silence for strength. You mistake pride... for purpose."

Still, not a word from Anor or any of her surviving comrades. His voice remained soft, but there was now a surgical edge beneath it, "We are not monsters in the way your minds may wish to shape us. We are instruments of preservation, order, and inevitability."

His gaze fell back on Anor. "You had a choice. You still have one."

No response and no movement. Only the wind, whispering over the broken skyline of their ruined city.

For a moment, Arulieus allowed his hands to fall from behind his back. He clasped them together in front of him making it less formal though not less composed. "There are those among your dead," he said, gesturing subtly to the scorched edges of the square, "who might have lived. They might have endured long enough to be repurposed—employed in our beloved corp or perhaps reassigned to more useful outposts. But because of your decision to protect criminals... What has happened to them now? hm?"

His voice remained low, unraised, unhurried. "You know exactly what your silence has cost." He took another step forward, and this time, a flicker of tension moved through the survivors.

Still, no one spoke, while Anor's expression remained firm but not arrogant. She was exhausted but not broken. She simply inhaled through her nose and held the breath like a shield.

Arulieus tilted his head slightly, as if studying a particularly difficult line of text. "It does not matter to me," he continued, "whether you tell me now, or whether we extract the data from the pieces of what remains of this settlement. We will find the fugitives. We will intercept the artifact. And we will correct the course of this story you seem so desperate to prevent."

The air stood still in the shattered square of the ruined Seraphyx settlement. The quiet hung thick—smoke and silence swirling like ghosts through the skeletal remains of a world that had dared to endure.

And then... at last... a voice broke through.

Anor lifted her chin. Her voice, rough from dust and strain, still held clarity carved from her unshaken conviction. "You speak of inevitability," she said to General Arulieus, her tone steady despite the tremble in her frame, "but all I've seen from your 'beloved corp' is destruction dressed up as destiny."

The survivors beside her didn't flinch, as they instead stood straighter.

Anor's eyes locked onto Arulieus's with unblinking fire. "What your leaders did to Seraphyx was far worse than this. Far more merciless than even your calculated cruelty. You think you've broken us? No. They tried first. They shattered the sky, burned our seas, ripped the soul from the land itself... and still, we endured."

She took a breath—deep, controlled, but marked with grief as much as resolve. "You look at us and see weakness in our unity. But our strength is each other. When we say we'll stand together... we mean it."

Her gaze shifted now—not just to Arulieus, but to the rows of Archive soldiers. And then finally, to the silent figure standing beyond them: tall, motionless, cloaked in dread authority, The Grand Huntsman.

Anor turned her eyes to him without fear. "That's why I won't tell you where they went. They're not just fugitives, they're our friends."

She straightened her shoulders, her hands still bound at her sides, and added with a final, quiet defiance, "And we protect our own."

A long silence followed. The wind moaned low through the ruins, catching flecks of ash and ember as if even the world held its breath.

The Grand Huntsman stepped forward slowly. The soldiers near him instinctively cleared a path—though he hadn't spoken a word. His boots clicked upon the fractured stone as he approached the line of survivors. Each step echoed like a tolling bell.

He stopped a few paces from Anor. His gaze studied her with a cold fascination. "Such passion," he finally said, his voice deep and lyrical, "Such conviction."

He turned, arms outstretched slightly, as if addressing an unseen audience. "I have always admired the endurance of mortal spirit. Your kind is persistent... painfully so. You build from ruin. You find hope in the dust. You speak of unity while the soil still bleeds beneath your feet."

He looked back to her, the faint smile now sharpened with something darker. "But admiration does not outweigh truth. And the truth is this..."

His tone hardened. "You made the fatal error of defiance. You harbored the enemies of divine order. And worst of all... you're in the way of my destiny."

His voice dropped low, velvet and venomous. "The prize is the last Titan. And your silence... has placed you between my blade and fate."

There was no further warning. With a flourish faster than breath, he unfurled both arms. Twin crescent blades—each chained to bracers bound around his forearms—flared to life with a crimson gleam. The chains rattled with metallic hunger as the weapons danced into the air like serpents unleashed. Anor never blinked, neither did the others.

The blades sang through the air in two elegant, sweeping arcs. A heartbeat later, silence returned. Then—thud. As one, the bodies of Anor and every last surviving defender slumped to the ground, headless, lifeless, and perfectly still. Blood pooled across the broken stone in neat lines, staining the ash. Their deaths had been instant, clean, and merciless.

The Grand Huntsman slowly retracted his blades with a gentle flick of his wrists. The chains slithered back into their housings, leaving only the aftermath of his judgment behind. He stood in the quiet, his voice calm, reverent. "I do not revel in cruelty," he declared to the watching soldiers. "But I do not flinch from it either."

He turned, cloak billowing behind him as he walked from the square. "Let it be known," he said, never raising his voice, "that this world had its chance to kneel... and chose instead to fall."

The square was silent once more—save for the crackle of flames and the soft hum of Archive Collective tech still running diagnostics through the bodies of the fallen. The scent of scorched stone and vaporized blood hung in the air like a sacrament.

The Grand Huntsman stood still amidst the aftermath. He raised his head slightly, as though listening to the cries of the planet's soul in its final throes.

Then, with solemn grandeur, he turned. "General Arulieus," he intoned, his voice cutting through the smoky air like a divine edict, "the heretics are no more, and their resistance has been extinguished. This world has served its final purpose, it is no longer useful to the Collective and the Archivist's decree."

General Arulieus, who had stood silently among the perimeter with his arms folded behind his back, met the Grand Huntsman's gaze and inclined his head with a subtle nod. There was no argument nor protest but only the quiet weight of inevitability.

"Return our forces to The Eclipse," the Grand Huntsman commanded, his tone formal, absolute. "Let the warships retrieve what remains. There shall be no further need for occupation."

He cast one last look at the desolate ruins. "This world has lost the privilege of continued existence. It shall be unmade—cleansed from the stars. Its silence shall become its only legacy."

Arulieus stepped forward, his voice as ever calm and layered with measured precision. "I shall see to it that all deployed units are extracted within the next rotation."

Without hesitation, he turned to the nearest command officer and issued the return protocol. "Recall all forward detachments. Rendezvous at landing zones. Prioritize command assets. This is a full fleet withdrawal. All units... return to orbit."

One by one, the soldiers began to move. In disciplined rows, the Archive Collective forces disengaged from their positions. Boots stamped through ash, through rubble, through the traces of once-defiant life. Some paused to reload or assist a comrade with equipment; others passed the slumped forms of their victims without a second glance. The whirring engines of the transport shuttle carriers ignited across the fractured skyline. Mechanical limbs extended, their cold metallic frames descending onto what was left of the streets. The soldiers began loading up—rows of expressionless visors disappearing behind armored hatches.

General Arulieus himself boarded last. His pace remained unfazed and as he stepped inside the shuttle's main bay, he turned once to observe the Grand Huntsman still standing alone amidst the square—unmoving, like a prophet awaiting the final act of scripture.

The bay doors hissed shut.

Above, The Eclipse and its accompanying warships gleamed like predatory eyes through the stratosphere. Their hulls shimmered with reflected firelight from below, forming an apocalyptic constellation against the smog-veiled sky.

The transport carriers began to rise. Dust was kicked up in violent gusts as they ascended, spiraling toward the waiting dreadnoughts high above. The last echoes of their engines rolled like thunder over the scorched land.

The Grand Huntsman remained grounded, his arms spread wide as if welcoming divine communion. His voice was deep but firm as it steeped into the grandeur of zealotry.

"Let this wretched world return to void and shadow," he whispered to no one... and to everything. He soon flew upwards at a high velocity that, due to the speed of his flight, caused a massive shockwave around the settlement, ultimately destroying whatever ruins had remained from the invasion.

Soon the Archive Collective warships breached the upper layers of the stratosphere in rigid formation, their shimmering hulls reflecting the molten scars of Seraphyx far below. One by one, they peeled away from the planet's orbit like shadows withdrawing from firelight, preparing for departure and warp alignment.

Though not all had left, Suspended in the cold vacuum above Seraphyx, the Grand Huntsman hovered alone.

He stood in the void as if gravity still obeyed him—his long cape unfurling in the solar winds like a battle standard from an ancient crusade. Behind him, the curved underbelly of The Eclipse loomed like a silent monolith, waiting for its master's return.

His gaze turned downward. Below, Seraphyx drifted in its fragile state of unnatural cohesion. The rings of the planet still glistened like shattered glass and the artificial gravity machinery still functioned tirelessly. As it did everything it could to hold the dead planet together by engineered force.

It was, in his eyes, an act of defiance, a corpse refusing burial.

With a low exhale, the Grand Huntsman stretched his arms out to his sides. Starfire ignited around his forearms—veins of gold and crimson pulsing with divine fury. His fingers curled, and from the radiant aura around him, dozens of ethereal weapons began to manifest. Crescent-shaped blades, bound in celestial chains, spiraled to life around his form, each one gleaming with destructive purpose.

His voice cut across the void—low, righteous, and filled with cruel finality. "No sanctuary shall stand... where heresy has taken root." He raised both arms toward the planet. "Let this fractured world suffer the judgment it so brazenly delayed." swiftly he struck.

The chained crescent blades launched forward like divine serpents, arcing through space with impossible speed. They spiraled and weaved around each other, a constellation of wrath converging on their singular target: the central gravity core of the artificial containment array.

The impact was immediate, as a burst of brilliant, golden-red energy erupted as the first few blades pierced through the primary stabilizers. Then, the final blade—larger than the rest, forged from the purest core of his Star Magic—drove itself straight into the heart of the machine.

There was a moment's silence... like the world itself was taking a final breath, then came the explosion. A rupture of light and force tore through the skeleton of the machinery. Fragments of steel, glowing with unstable energy, flung outward in every direction like the bones of a mighty beast. The containment field flickered violently before collapsing altogether. Blue energy surged and died with a shriek as the artificial gravity's hold over Seraphyx vanished.

The Grand Huntsman soared backward, effortlessly weaving between the shockwaves and burning debris, his cape trailing like the tail of a comet. Below him, Seraphyx began to die its second death.

The vast chunks of the planet—once barely tethered together—now broke away completely. Mountains, city ruins, and barren plateaus drifted apart in all directions. Great canyons opened as tectonic scars that had unraveled. What remained of the moon had dislodged further, as it spun into a chaotic drift. The rings surrounding the planet fractured, scattering into a kaleidoscope of drifting minerals and cosmic dust.

Yet despite it all, he still watched silently but both steady and satisfied.

His emblem reflected the devastation with a grim, almost reverent glow. His hands slowly returned to his sides, while the radiant blades he had used faded one by one. He had spoken, and the stars had obeyed.

This was no mere military action. No cold calculation, this... was merely punishment.

"Let the cosmos bear witness," he muttered under his breath, voice steeped in cruel exaltation. "Those who shield the last Titan shall inherit ruin in his name."

He turned away from the drifting remains of Seraphyx, his expression composed but far from detached. He meant every word and action because to him, this was not an atrocity—it was justice. Cleansing fire to light the way for destiny. Without another glance, the Grand Huntsman flew toward The Eclipse, his figure cutting across the star-speckled dark like a blade.

The massive dreadnought opened its lower hangar in silent welcome. As the great doors closed behind him and the planet began to fade behind the veil of distance, the stars bore no witness, no cry, and no monument. Only drifting silence and judgment was fulfilled.

Chapter Text

Enter The Sanctum

The Donati emerged from the stream of warp travel, its hull shimmering with residual stardust as it approached its destination. The ship pierced through the fabric of space, leaving behind a fading trail of iridescent energy. Before them, the Nebula Sanctum unfolded in breathtaking spectacle, a haunting yet beautiful remnant of a lost age. Suspended in the vast cradle of the Realm of Cosmic Space, the Nebula Sanctum stood like a celestial lantern adrift in a velvet sea of stars. From a distance, the structure looked almost ethereal; a perfect, planetary-sized sphere crafted from light blue-tinted glass that shimmered faintly against the ever-shifting nebula clouds surrounding it. The glass wasn't smooth or plain but interlaced with intricate patterns. Each line of the metallic framing formed graceful, almost organic curves that spiraled and webbed across the surface. These ornate frames served both function and form, binding the immense dome together while giving it a look that resembled a living constellation.

At the exact center of the spherical glass lattice, embedded in the structural heart, was a circular insignia: a radiant star enclosed within a ring of symmetrical arcs. The star motif wasn't just decoration. It was a symbol of purpose, a guiding light for what this place had once been and still was in a new form.

Hovering around the structure in slow, dreamlike drifts were clouds of pink, magenta, and cerulean nebula mist, weaving and folding. Embedded within them were projections of stars and planetary models, some of them were static and glowing like crystal sculptures, others slowly rotating as if they were locked in a gentle orbit. These projections weren't merely for display as they were part of the Sanctum's atmospheric ecosystem. It was rather a blend of magic and science preserving the delicate balance between environment and aesthetic. Their glow cast a surreal, calming illumination onto the glass surface of the Sanctum, causing rippling patterns of color to dance along the metal framework. Emotionally, the Sanctum held a haunting sort of beauty. It carried the quiet of a library, the serenity of a garden, and the awe of a cathedral, which was all suspended in the endless theater of stars. For many who visited, it was more than a structure—it was a place of reflection. A place to remember where they came from, what had been lost, and what still remained worth protecting. The Nebula Sanctum, in all its luminous grandeur, was a monument not only to the past but to the hope that knowledge and beauty could survive even in the coldest reaches of the cosmos.

Markus Star stood at the viewing panel, his gaze hardened with memory. "There it is, the Nebula Sanctum."

Luz Noceda pressed her hands against the glass, her eyes wide with fascination. "It's incredible but there's something kinda bittersweet about it too."

King stood on the console, his claws gripping the surface. "Yeah, but y'know it's also kinda eerie. Like, who just leaves an entire planet-thing behind?"

Atlas, who had been silently observing the structure, finally spoke, "This place... it looks familiar... like something that had been made by my people. See those projections? Oh! Also look at the way the light refracts across the arches... the crystalline latticework—it's all so precise! If it is all true, then it's... beautiful and terrifying, because it reminds me how far we fell."

Hesperos Holmes, ever the pragmatist, crossed his arms. "The Star People must've abandoned this place long ago. Whatever knowledge was once stored here is likely lost or buried beneath the wreckage."

Markus turned from the panel, his expression firm. "Not all of it. That's why we're here. There's still something valuable left for us to use to create the sword. Since my friend resides here, she can help us find it." Markus soon turns to King, "Once we find the forge mold, with your powers King, it will allow us to create something strong enough to stand up against the Archivists."

King crossed his arms, tilting his head skeptically. "Oh, sure, no pressure or anything. Just forge a legendary weapon with my totally-not-terrifying Titan powers. Easy peasy."

Luz gave him an encouraging pat on the back. "Come on, King! If anyone can handle this, it's you!"

King sighed dramatically, puffing up his fur. "Yeah, yeah, I know. Just saying, if we're making a superweapon, I better at least get a cool title out of this. Like, 'King, the Cosmic Blade-forger!'"

Markus smirked, shaking his head. "Alright, King, if it helps, you can call yourself whatever you want once the sword is made. Just don't let the title get to your head."

Luz chuckled, crossing her arms. "Oh, please, it's already too late for that. He has had many titles before, most famously, 'The King of Demons' back when I met him."

King puffed out his chest. "Exactly! A King must have many titles!"

Luz watched on, while she still was a bit hesitant and somewhat fearful for her brother, she was still supportive of him and she was willing to give this whole important task a chance, as she was well aware of the importance behind it.

Hesperos strode toward the ship's controls, glancing at the group over his shoulder. "Alright, everyone, strap in. The descent might get a little rough, but nothing the Donati can't handle." He smirked, his confidence unwavering as he guided the ship into position. As the vessel adjusted its trajectory, he turned to Markus with a nod. "We'll find your forager, Markus. Whatever it takes."

Markus gave a small nod of gratitude, his gaze shifting back to the planetary-structure below. "I know we will and we'll make sure it's done right."

As The Donati pierced through the final layer of shimmering nebula mist, the Nebula Sanctum came into full view—vast, awe-inspiring, and suspended like a sacred jewel in the void. Hesperos stood at the helm, he remained steady as the light-blue sphere grew larger with each passing second. Despite having traveled the cosmos more times than he could count, something about this place always stilled his breath. It wasn't just the Sanctum's beauty or its size, it was the atmosphere it exuded. A quiet, dignified presence that reminded him of a memory just on the edge of recall.

With Markus's careful guidance from the navigational console, the Donati angled its descent smoothly, the ship's wings adjusting with quiet, mechanical grace as they approached the designated landing sector. Unlike the chaotic landings that came with rushing into battle or fleeing danger, this descent carried a calmness. The stabilizers hummed in the background as the ship slowed, drifting down through a ring of magenta vapor that parted around them like a curtain.

The landing pad emerged from the Sanctum's surface—crafted not from cold steel, but from smooth quartz-tinted metal veined with silver filigree, forming starlike patterns beneath The Donati's landing gear as a result. The platform extended gently from the main structure like a bridge between space and sanctuary. As the ship touched down with a soft mechanical sigh, the surrounding nebula light reflected across the cockpit glass which was bathing Hesperos in rippling hues of blue and violet.

The engines powered down slowly, the vibrations easing into stillness. Inside the ship, there was a moment of quiet. No alarms or rush, just the low ambience of the Sanctum's gravitational field embracing their presence. Hesperos rose from the pilot seat slowly, feeling the weight of the moment settle in his chest. This wasn't just another stop on their journey, it was a threshold. The Sanctum had once been a place of discovery, of progress and potential. Now, as a museum and greenhouse, it preserved what remained of that hope. And yet, it was also a place of reckoning for quiet truths waiting to be uncovered beneath layers of time and silence. As Hesperos made his way down the ramp, the air shifted. It wasn't truly air, not in the human sense, but rather a breathable field generated by the Sanctum itself—imbued with a faint floral sweetness and a cool, airy texture that clung to the skin like mist. The projection of stars overhead shimmered and reoriented as if acknowledging their arrival, casting his long shadow across the platform. He paused just before the grand arched doorway, waiting for the others. The entryway itself was elegant and wide, framed with vine-like silver metal that curled up along the arch in leafy fractal designs. Bioluminescent moss crept along the edges, glowing faintly in hues of lavender and sky-blue. There was a quiet reverence to this place, a stillness that both welcomed and warned. The Nebula Sanctum did not shout its presence. It whispered, beckoning its guests not just to see but to feel, to remember, and to learn.

As the group disembarked from The Donati and entered inside of the massive gates of the sanctum, their boots pressed into the soft, overgrown terrain of the Nebula Sanctum. The ground beneath them, once pristine and metallic, was now covered in thick moss-like growths that shimmered faintly under the nebula's eerie glow. The air was filled with a strange, almost nostalgic stillness, heavy with the scent of unfamiliar flora and the faint traces of old, stagnant energy. The stillness wasn't just silence—it was history, lingering in the ruins, waiting to be uncovered. Yet, that silence was broken by the ambience of unseen creatures. There were some that made clicking and chittering within the towering foliage. While others produced soft calls that resonated like distant echoes in the cavernous remains of the sanctum. The shifting light of the nebula beyond the fractured ceiling cast an otherworldly illumination over the landscape, dappling the ruins in shades of violet, blue, and green, making it feel as though the entire space existed between time—neither entirely abandoned nor truly alive.

The path before them was a mesmerizing fusion of ruins and untamed wilderness. Towering trees with luminous leaves pulsed gently in hues of violet and cerulean, their strange bioluminescent veins feeding off the residual cosmic energy left behind by the Star People's experiments. Their roots, thick and sprawling, had torn through shattered metallic walkways, wrapping around ancient columns and curling through gaping cracks in the walls, as if nature itself had decided to reclaim what was once contained. Between the trunks, vines with shifting iridescent colors hung like curtains, their tips dripping with liquid light that vanished before it touched the ground. Flowers with crystalline petals bloomed in the crevices of broken stone, exhaling glowing spores that floated lazily through the air like stars adrift in the cosmos. Strange, jellyfish-like creatures hovered in the mist, their translucent bodies pulsed with bioluminescent patterns, reacting to the presence of intruders in their domain. Some recoiled, vanishing into the deeper foliage, while others remained, gently swaying in the dim light as if assessing the new arrivals.

High above them, remnants of the Sanctum's artificial structures still clung to the moon's surface—floating fragments of walkways and observation platforms, held in place by weakened gravitational stabilizers. The shattered ceiling revealed the vast nebula beyond, its cosmic tendrils swirling lazily like an endless sea of color, giving the entire sanctum an open, dreamlike expanse that made it feel like they were walking within the stars themselves. The fusion of past and present, of ruin and rebirth, made the Nebula Sanctum feel like a place caught between two realities—one where the Star People had ruled, and one where the universe had decided to move on without them.

Hesperos adjusted his coat, his sharp gaze looked around his surroundings. "Nature doesn't waste time, does it?" he murmured. "What was once a place of order and containment has turned into a sanctuary of the untamed. The Star People's attempt to control it all—it didn't last."

Markus, leading the group, kept his hand near his belt. "They tried to preserve knowledge," he said. "But knowledge, like nature, doesn't stay caged forever. It finds a way to grow—sometimes in ways we don't expect."

Atlas knelt beside a fragment of a shattered statuette, brushing the dirt away with a hand. The carving was rough but a depiction of a celestial being with outstretched wings, its arms open as if welcoming something unseen. His fingers traced over the familiar grooves, his expression unreadable. "I've seen these before," he murmured, his voice carrying a quiet reverence. "The Osirian Travelers... They carved these for the people they honored. They believed memories could be stored in stone, that even after they were gone, a part of them would remain." He paused, glancing around at the other scattered artifacts—devices from distant worlds, trinkets shaped by hands that had long since turned to dust. His gaze lingered on a rusted metallic plate etched with star maps, its constellations distorted with time. "With all of these artifacts lying around, this place really reflects what my people did... their habit for collecting things just for their own gain. These aren't just objects, but pieces of history and fragments of the various civilizations they came across to." He added, "And to think, my people spent their entire existence gathering knowledge from different worlds and bringing them to places like here. Now, so much of it is forgotten..."

Luz watched Atlas as he traced the grooves of the shattered statuette, his voice carrying a weight she couldn't ignore. She had seen that look before, the quiet mourning of something lost, something too big to hold onto but too important to let go of.

She took a step closer, kneeling beside him as she looked over the broken idol. "It's not forgotten," she said softly. "Not really. You remembered." She gestured around them, at the overgrown ruins, at the scattered remnants of history that had become part of the world itself. "And now we do too."

Atlas was quiet for a moment, his fingers still resting against the stone.

King, who had been watching, stood beside him. His tiny claws curled slightly as he looked up at the overgrown sanctum around them. "You know... I used to think remembering meant keeping things exactly the way they were," he admitted but his voice was steady when he did so. "That if you let something change, it meant you were letting it go. But maybe that's not true."

He looked up at Atlas, his golden eyes reflecting the faint glow of the moonlight filtering through the ruins. "Maybe remembering means letting things become something new," he said. "Maybe it means letting them live instead of just... keeping them."

Atlas let out a slow breath, his gaze sweeping over the relics scattered across the forest floor. Some had rusted beyond recognition, others had been overtaken by vines, and there were some that had been claimed by the world they had been brought to. And yet, in their own way, they endured.

Luz offered him a small, understanding smile. "They're not gone. They're just part of something bigger now."

Atlas let his hand fall away from the statuette, exhaling slowly. "Maybe," he admitted, though his voice still carried the weight of something left unsaid. His fingers curled slightly, as if grasping at a thought just beyond reach. "But when I look at this... when I see all of this just left behind, I can't help but wonder if my people ever truly understood what they were doing." He gestured toward the scattered relics, his expression unreadable. "We took things in the name of preservation, but what if in the end, it really wasn't about preservation at all?"

Luz's brow furrowed. She glanced around at the relics, the fractured history spread before them, before looking back at Atlas. "I don't think it's that simple," she said carefully. "Maybe some of what your people did was... questionable, but perhaps they didn't do it out of malice in the beginning. Maybe at first, they only wanted to protect things, right? Keep them from being forgotten."

King chimed in. "Yeah! And look at this place now! It's not just a graveyard of old stuff—it's alive in a way if you really think about it. The things left here didn't just fade away, they became part of something new." He spread his little arms wide, as if to take in the entirety of the sanctum. "And you're still here to remember it. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Atlas turned his gaze toward King, a flicker of something—maybe gratitude, maybe something deeper—passing through his eyes. "It does," he admitted, though his voice was quiet.

Luz gave him a small, encouraging nudge. "Besides, history isn't just in what's left behind. It's in the people who carry it forward. And, y'know, you're kind of a walking history book," she added with a teasing grin, trying to lighten the weight in his expression.

Atlas huffed out something that was almost a laugh, shaking his head. "I suppose I am," he said, his tone softer now. His gaze lingered on the relics once more, but the heaviness in their shoulders seemed just a little lighter.

King smirked, crossing his arms. "Yeah, and if you ever get tired of that job, I know a couple of nerds back home who'd love to help."

Luz let out a small chuckle, nodding. "Oh, I know for a fact that Gus and Hunter would lose their minds if they saw this place. Cosmic Frontier is one thing, but real space? A hidden alien hideout? They'd be geeking out so hard right now." she added, "Gus would be taking notes on every little artifact we found, and Hunter—well, he'd probably be arguing about space battles and old starship designs." The thought made her smile for a moment before another pang of homesickness settled in her chest. She looked down, the edges of her grin faltering just slightly.

Atlas noticed but didn't comment. Instead, he stood, brushing the dirt from his gloves. "Then let's make sure this isn't the last great discovery to be made here," he said, offering Luz a glance that was almost knowing.

Luz straightened, pushing her homesickness aside. There was still so much to do. "Yeah," she said, determination creeping back into her voice. "Let's keep going."

As they ventured deeper, the distant rush of water grew louder, guiding them forward. Then, through a break in the trees, they saw it—a colossal waterfall cascading down from the ruins above, shimmering under the nebula's glow. The water carried a faint, iridescent sheen, infused with the strange energies of the moon. Mist rose from where it crashed into the rocks below, creating an almost ethereal atmosphere.

Markus came to a halt, turning to the others. "This is it."

King peered at the waterfall, tilting his head. "Wait—you mean, like, inside the waterfall? That's where they live?"

Markus smirked. "You'll see." He led them forward, stepping carefully across the wet stones before slipping through a concealed opening behind the cascading water. The others exchanged glances before following him, their footsteps echoing softly against the damp stone.

Beyond the waterfall was a hidden cavern, its walls lined with glowing crystal veins pulsing with energy. And standing in the center, was a tall, imposing figure—Vaileth Xar. Her yellow eyes gleamed in the dim light. Her outermost garment is a long, half-cloak draped over her left shoulder and clasped at the collarbone with an asymmetrical silver pin shaped like a stylized tree—the emblem of the Order of Arbora. Embroidered across the hem are faint, shimmering motifs: constellations, spiraling galaxies, and delicate depictions of planets stitched in silver and soft pastel luminescence. It's clear the cloak is ceremonial in nature, but the way Vaileth wore casually flung to the side, it gave the impression of someone tossing on a hoodie before stepping out. Beneath the cloak, she wore a form-fitting tunic dyed in a gradient of dusky purples and smoky pinks. The sleeves are rolled lazily to the elbows and the cuffs slightly frayed. Across the chest and shoulders, a subtle, angular layering of woven silver strips resembles the segmented pauldrons typically worn by Arbora enforcers but here, they're decorative and softened into a design that appears more symbolic than practical. Vaileth's trousers are comfortable yet practical—made of dark, slate-gray material with flexible seams. They are tucked into her favorite knee-high boots: they were white and sturdy yet lovingly worn. She had facial features that resemble that of someone who was in their forties yet it was obvious she was a lot older than she appeared. She had dark purple skin, bushy blue hair that's been tied into a bun but it was messy and her eyebrows were the same color as her hair. However, her hair had streaks of light blue going through the sides of her hair bun which signifies her age, and an upward-pointing nose. Her face is covered with small light blue stars all over her face.

Luz's breath caught in her throat, her eyes widening as she took a step forward. "No way... are you a Star Person?" Her voice wavered between astonishment and uncertainty, the weight of the moment settling in as she took in Vaileth's towering presence. "I mean, I knew we might run into something unexpected, but—wow. This is next-level!"

"Travelers of light," she spoke, her voice airy and melodic, like wind brushing across a windchime in a forgotten temple. "You walk among the path of celestial memory. Few find their way to this sanctum uninvited... even fewer do so with such purpose."

Luz blinked, not quite sure how to respond. Vaileth's tone was calm, almost reverent, each word deliberately spoken, as if rehearsed in front of some eternal mirror. The others shifted uneasily. Even Markus, who was normally composed, watched her with an uncertain furrow of his brow.

Hesperos tilted his head. "Okay, weird question, but... are you always this cryptic?"

Vaileth gave a soft, elegant smile and extended one hand in a sweeping gesture. "To exist among stars is to wear many faces. The mask of the void, the rhythm of thought, the gravity of purpose—" Markus, arms crossed, cut in flatly: "Vaileth! Look, that's lovely and all, but where's the forgery my dear friend? I am in need to create a powerful weapon. You're the only one who can help us find it."

There was a pause.

Vaileth's glowing eyes narrowed ever so slightly. She let out an exaggerated sigh and raised both hands into the air. "Uggghhh—fine, fine. Stars above! I was trying to set a tone here!"

The entire group blinked as Vaileth dropped the ethereal mystique like a discarded robe. Her posture loosened, her voice shifted into a more casual, almost exasperated drawl. She added, "Look, I thought if I opened with the whole 'mystical cosmic oracle' thing, you'd be more impressed." She stretched her arms lazily, joints audibly popping. "Turns out, playing wise and all-knowing is exhausting. Anyway."

She stepped down from the floating platform she'd been standing on and made her way toward them, bare feet padding softly on the star-glass floor. "Alright, listen up," she said with a lazy wave of her hand. "Through there, you'll find a really, really old stairway—lots of steps, very annoying—carved into the northern portion of the hill nearby. Take that all the way down till you hit a big spooky-looking bridge. Cross it, and boom, you'll find the multiple forge molds for your sword." she then added, "It should be located near some pile of artifacts, I mean there's so much artifacts laying around here it looks like rubble to me! Heh." Soon silence followed as Atlas, Luz, and Hesperos looked at one another with slight concern; however the silence didn't last long as she yawned, while leaning against the cavern wall. "Oh, and, uh... be careful please, who knows what's lurking around. Try not to get vaporized or something."

She noticed Luz's, Atlas's, and Hesperos' reactions, Vaileth crossed her arms and leaned against the side of a hovering bench. "What? You're not the only ones under pressure. Being the only Star Person not trying to blow up a planet gets tiring. Gotta find ways to keep myself entertained, y'know?"

Vaileth Xar had just finished her causal explanation about the forgery's location, still leaning lazily against the side of a floating bench as she idly picked at one of her starlight-thread sleeves. Her tone had shifted fully into something warm and relaxed—almost too relaxed, as though she hadn't had company in ages. But as her eyes drifted lazily over the group again, they landed on King and everything changed.

Her expression froze, the humor draining from her face like starlight extinguished in a vacuum. Her body tensed so sharply it was as if someone had physically yanked her upright with invisible wires. She blinked once—twice—and then her breath caught in her throat.

"...No," Vaileth whispered, eyes wide. Her gaze locked onto King as though she had just seen a ghost—no, something worse. Her limbs jerked slightly, and before anyone could ask what was wrong, she stumbled backward with a sharp gasp.

"Nononononono—this isn't—this isn't real—he can't be—"

The laid-back act shattered.

Vaileth let out a strangled noise, turning suddenly and bolting across the chamber, nearly tripping over her own feet as she made her way to the far side of the sanctum. She pressed herself against a curved segment of the nebula-glass wall, her fingers splayed wide, while her glowing skin flickering erratically as though her entire body was struggling to maintain form. "Not a Titan," she muttered. "Stars above, no—not here, not again, it's not real—it's just in my head—it's not real—it's not real—it's just—"

She sank to the floor in a trembling heap, wrapping her arms around herself. Her breaths came in short, gasping bursts, each one sounding like it took everything she had. Her pupils were dilated, her glow dimmed. King, still standing near Luz, had taken a cautious step back in sheer confusion. "I... did I do something wrong?" he asked quietly, his voice heavy with guilt.

Luz shook her head immediately, crouching slightly so she could look him in the eye. "No," she said gently. "No, King. You didn't do anything, I think..." Her voice was hushed and careful. "She might be dealing with something."

King looked back at Vaileth, who continued to rock in place, her breath shaky, her voice muttering fragments that made no sense—and yet, did. "They're gone—they were all gone—he wasn't supposed to be here—they said they were gone..." There was real terror in her voice. Not fear of King, but fear of what he represented. A fear carved from history, not the present. Luz gently placed a hand on King's shoulder. "She's scared, but not of you it seems. Something happened to her..."

Markus Star could feel his heart twist as he watched his old friend unravel before his eyes.

It wasn't just panic Vaileth was experiencing—it was a full collapse of everything she'd so carefully held together. Her glowing form, once radiant with a faint starlit shimmer, had dimmed to a pale, almost translucent hue. Her breathing was ragged, shallow, and uneven. Each fragmented sentence she muttered struck like broken glass scraping against stone, disjointed memories clawing their way to the surface. The proud, enigmatic Star Person he had once known had vanished in an instant, replaced by someone fractured and frayed.

Without hesitation, Markus crossed the distance between them, as he was careful not to startle her.

"Vaileth," he said softly, kneeling beside her. His voice lowered to a murmur. "hey... hey, look at me. You're not in danger. You're safe. You're okay..."

She didn't answer, only curled further into herself, her arms clenched tightly around her knees. Her flickering form pulsed erratically, like a dying star trying to hold itself together. Her head remained bowed, her fingers digging into the embroidered hem of her robe as though grounding herself in something real. Markus gently placed a hand on her shoulder, not to force her to move, but to remind her she wasn't alone.

"They didn't come to hurt you," he said, calm and patient. "I brought them here, Vaileth. They're with me. Their names are Luz and King—they're not from here." he gestures to the both of them before resuming, "They're from the Demon Realm. They didn't know what this would mean for you."

Her breath hitched at that, her head lifting slightly. Her gaze flicked to the side, wary and confused. "Demon Realm...?" she repeated, as if the words were foreign to her tongue yet at the same time, it seemed familiar to her.

Markus nodded, keeping his voice steady. "Yes. That's where they're from. Luz is a human. King... he's a Titan, yes. But he's just a kid, Vaileth. He doesn't even know what happened here, especially what happened to you."

Vaileth blinked slowly, her breathing gradually slowing. Her form began to stabilize, as she struggled to push back against the tidal wave of memory and dread. "They... shouldn't be here," she murmured, not as an accusation, but as a statement of fragile disbelief. "This realm itself—it isn't for outsiders. Not anymore."

"I know," Markus said, the corner of his mouth tugging into a faint, sad smile. "But they came because they need your help. I wouldn't have brought them otherwise."

Vaileth's hands relaxed slightly in her lap. She finally raised her eyes to meet him. "Help... you want my help? with what?"

Instead of answering, Markus turned and looked back toward the others. "Luz. King. Come forward."

The two exchanged a glance, Luz placing a steadying hand on King's shoulder before they approached together. Luz reached into her satchel and slowly withdrew the Celestine Compass, holding it up for Vaileth to see.

The moment her eyes locked onto the artifact, something in her broke again.

Her body recoiled, breath catching in her throat, and for a second it seemed like she might spiral back into that same pit of dread. "W-Where did you—no, that's not—that's not supposed to exist," she stammered, backing slightly into the wall behind her. "I handed it over. I was there. I saw it get entrusted with the Luminara Syndicate and placed inside the vault at Alkanos—how could it...?

She clutched her chest as though the air had been sucked from her lungs. Her voice grew unsteady, higher-pitched, choked with panic. "This isn't real—it's not real—it can't be!"

The Compass gleamed faintly, casting soft light across the chamber like a star reawakening from slumber. Its glow reflected in Vaileth's eyes, now wide with disbelief. Her breath came faster again, her whole form trembling.

Markus stood and took a slow step toward her, voice unwavering. "I know what you're feeling. I know what that Compass represents to you. Everything that happened, everything you lost. I can't take that pain from you," he went on, "but I can ask you this: help them, help us. Because if what they're trying to stop is real... then the pain we lived through might mean something after all."

Vaileth didn't respond immediately. Her eyes remained fixed on the Compass, its light dancing across her thoughts like memories stirred awake. Her breathing slowed again, the tremors in her hands subsiding. For a long moment, she said nothing. Her face remained unreadable, caught in a battle between past and present. Then, finally, with a sigh that sounded more like surrender than relief, she gave a slow nod. "...Alright," she whispered. "I'll help you. But not because I'm ready." Her gaze sharpened ever so slightly. "Because the world doesn't wait for us to be."

Markus allowed himself a quiet breath of relief. "I understand. As always, thank you for your assistance."

Vaileth stood still for a breath, her luminous eyes dimmed with residual guilt as she slowly stepped toward the group. The once-imposing Star Person, whose earlier outburst had rattled the room, now approached with noticeably softened features. A quiet pause followed her until she finally found the courage to speak. "I..." Her voice wavered. "I owe you an apology. To all of you." She cast her gaze toward the young Titan, her posture shrinking with sincere remorse which she added, "Especially to you... Seeing you triggered something I wasn't ready to face. So I wasn't really fair to you."

For a moment, silence clung to the air. Then Luz offered a warm, understanding smile and stepped forward, her tone gently reassuring. "It's okay, we get it."

King gave a small nod, his eyes sincere and earnest. "We forgive you. All of us."

Hesperos, arms casually crossed, gave a simple shrug. "Yeah, no hard feelings. Trust me, first impressions are overrated."

Vaileth exhaled slowly, visibly relieved, her starlit form settling back into a calmer glow. The tension that once crackled around her began to melt away, replaced by a quiet stillness that seemed foreign in the space she called home.

Then Markus turned to King, a note of determined energy entering his voice. "Alright, little guy. We've got work to do." King perked up as he turned toward him. "The Forgery?"

Markus nodded. "Time to make ourselves a weapon!" King squared his shoulders and gave a small, determined grin. "Let's do it!"

Before either of them could take a step, the gentle patter of feet scurrying across the floor interrupted the moment.

Atlas.

Without a word, the small Collector darted forward and wrapped his arms tightly around King's leg, pressing his forehead into the fur just above the knee. He clung to him with trembling hands. There was no tantrum or words, just pure, wordless fear threaded into a silent plea of 'Don't go'.

King blinked in surprise at first, but then softened almost instantly. He placed a paw against Atlas's back, gently petting the back of his head with his claws. He didn't need to ask why. "I'll be okay," King murmured. "I promise."

Atlas looked up at him with his glassy eyes, searching for something, anything, to anchor himself to.

"I'll come back. I swear it," King added, his voice firm despite the softness in his tone.

That seemed to do it. Slowly, Atlas nodded, his grip loosening as he pulled away, still visibly reluctant but trusting.

Vaileth, watching this unfold in quiet awe, tilted her head slightly. Her brow furrowed, not in judgment but in curiosity. There was something undeniably raw and genuine in that moment. Her eyes lingered on Atlas, then on King, and something in her expression shifted. It wasn't pity, It was recognition and understanding. Maybe even longing.

King gave Atlas one last nod, then turned to follow Markus. With each step toward the Sanctum's Forgery, the sound of their footsteps grew fainter, echoing softly down the metallic corridor as they disappeared from view.

That left only Vaileth, Luz, Hesperos, and Atlas behind in the open chamber. A long silence hung in the air between them but not uncomfortable, just of uncertainty.

Vaileth shifted slightly on her feet, casting a sidelong glance toward Atlas, who remained still but his eyes fixed on where King had walked off. Then she looked to Luz, the human girl whose presence seemed to center the group, and to Hesperos, whose nonchalant air betrayed a quiet protectiveness.

With a sigh, Vaileth broke the silence. "...He means a lot to you all, doesn't he?"

Luz nodded slowly. "Yeah. He's family."

Atlas didn't speak, but he inched closer to Luz instinctively, seeking her presence like a child to a familiar light.

Soon the chamber dimmed as the glow from the Celestine Compass began to pulse softly in Luz's hands. She then gently opened the artifact, the outer rings unfolding like petals of a rare flower. In a moment of hushed reverence, a luminous projection bloomed into the air above them. The familiar tree-like structure with its nebula-like branches arching across invisible skies, hovered in a spectral blue hue. The light that had illuminated from the artifact casted slow-moving shadows along the floors of the very chamber the group was situated in.

All eyes turned to the vision, but it was Vaileth who reacted most intensely. The moment the projection flickered to life, a shiver ran down her form. Her shoulders locked, then slumped forward as she turned sharply away, muttering something under her breath. With a fluid motion that was far too practiced to be anything recent, she reached into a cabinet storage compartment and yanked out a dark, swirling glass bottle labeled 'Dark Matter Brew'. She didn't pause and with an anxious huff, she uncorked the bottle and took a long, desperate swig.

Then another.

And another.

Within moments, she was three bottles in, the empties clinking softly against one another as they rolled into a quiet corner of the Sanctum. Her aura, usually calm and effervescent, now sparked erratically once more.

Luz, wide-eyed, stepped forward carefully, cradling the Compass against her chest. "Vaileth?" she asked,"Are... are you okay?"

Vaileth spun around with a nervous, twitching smile, her pupils dilated slightly, "What? Me? Pfft, yes, totally fine. Never better," she said with a forced laugh, though the way her hands trembled as she reached for a fourth bottle betrayed the truth. Her lie crumbled almost instantly under the weight of her own exhaustion. She exhaled sharply, setting the unopened bottle back down as her shoulders slumped again—this time not from tension, but from the sheer weariness of keeping up a performance. "No... No, I'm not okay!" she admitted. "You brought me that!—that thing! Of all things!"

Her eyes locked on the Compass again, not with wonder, but dread. "And I know why you did it," she added bitterly, turning her gaze toward Hesperos. A sudden flicker of magic passed through her pupils—glimmering spirals that revealed the faint traces of her mind-reading gift. She squinted, as if peering through layers of space and memory. "You... You're the one behind the Alkanos heist. Aren't you?"

Hesperos, caught mid-adjustment of his blaster holsters, stiffened. His tail flicked uneasily behind him. "Okay, yes—technically that was me," he admitted, raising both hands with a weak smile, "but in my defense, when I was hired by The Archivists!—"

However, Vaileth cut him off with a voice that showed how much disbelief she was in, "T-the Archivists??!!?" she added, "Are you insane?! Do you have any idea what you might've done?!"

Hesperos added, "I didn't know what it was at the time. I didn't even know the system it was connected to—"

"—To this," Vaileth snapped, gesturing toward the Compass. "To them."

Before tension could rise further, Luz stepped in. "Vaileth, he didn't know. None of us did. And we wouldn't have brought it if we didn't believe you could help. Hesperos isn't with the Archivists anymore—he's been helping to keep us safe from them."

Atlas stepped beside her and nodded in quiet agreement, offering Vaileth a hopeful glance. His expression was gentle, but his voice—though small—held conviction. "He's not like them... He protected Luz and King..."

Vaileth studied them all. Her arms crossed, and for a moment, it looked like she might shut down again—retreat into the protective cynicism she wore like armor. However, it was the sincerity in their eyes that pierced through the fog of her panic.

She gave out a long, slow and defeated sighed before saying, "I didn't think I'd ever see that device again," she murmured, walking toward the projection. Her fingertips reached out, grazing the luminous tree branches that shimmered above. "When you said it came from a 'dead star system' during the heist, Hesperos... that dead system wasn't just any system."

The room held its breath for the big reveal. "It was Celestialopolis," she finally revealed. "My homeworld. The home of the Archivists..."

The words hung heavy in the air as they sank into everyone's thoughts.

Luz blinked, stunned. Hesperos's ears drooped slightly in quiet guilt. Even Atlas's eyes widened in disbelief. "So..." Luz started, trying to wrap her mind around it. "We weren't just carrying a lost artifact..."

"You were returning a relic to its origin," Vaileth said softly, her voice almost reverent now. "A compass made by our own kind. One of the last remnants of the Old Star Empire... and you brought it straight to me."

The revelation was thunderous in its stillness. It wasn't anger that radiated from Vaileth anymore—but a mix of awe, grief, and something that almost resembled fate catching up with her. She stepped away from the projection, pressing a hand to her forehead.

"No wonder they wanted it back," she muttered. The room fell into a pensive silence, Vaileth's hand lingered against her forehead, as if she was trying to steady the tidal wave of memories that were breaking loose from the depths of her mind. She stared into the heart of the projection—the luminous tree that spun slowly, patiently, like it had waited countless ages to be seen again. Her voice, when it came, was quieter and steadier. "I built the Compass, I am its creator." she admitted at last. "Long ago... back when I still believed we could map the threads of the cosmos like constellations on parchment. When the Nine Realms weren't myth, but places I could feel in my bones."

Luz stepped closer, her heart pounding, her thoughts drifting back to her strange encounter with Markus, "Markus mentioned about the other realms too. Like... entire universes tucked into corners of reality we could never reach by ship. I thought he was just trying to mess with my head at first but it's making much more sense now. Especially with what he's shown me so far."

Vaileth shook her head gently. "He was trying to prepare you, after all."

Vaileth added. "The universe doesn't split into alternate realities the way some theorize—instead it unfolds and expands. Each realm exists within the same reality but they're so wildly different in structure, magic, and distance... Most beings don't even realize they're there. They're not parallel worlds but they're instead exotic, unreachable places." She walked slowly beneath the projection, the starlight painting her pale face in shifting hues of blue and violet. "I've been to all of them."

She gestured toward the projection, and with a graceful motion of her fingers, the tree's branches pulsed, "Each realm on this map exists within the same cosmic web," she explained. "But you can't get to them by warp travel, or flying long enough. Not even the fastest ship could reach them. You'd burn out long before you crossed the threshold." She raised her hand again, and the projection shifted. Each branch and nebula flickered to life with unique magical patterns—some glowing with shifting sand, others with crystalline vines and emberlike patterns. "They're unreachable because the very laws that govern them are different. Each realm is defined by a different kind of magic. Cosmic Space, where I live, is structured around Star Magic. The Demon Realm is shaped by Titan Magic—organic, chaotic, and creative. And the others..."

Her voice softened, drifting into something that resembled longing. "There's the Valley of the Chronomancers, where time doesn't flow in a line, but blooms like a flower in all directions. The Foundry of Origins, where raw creation is made through everything like a heartbeat. The Hollow Cradle of Destruction, a realm constantly unmaking itself. The Verdant Hollow Realm. The Barren Sands Realm. The Dream Realm, each of them being the embodiments of the concepts of Life, Death, and Reality."

Vaileth concluded solemnly. "They're beautiful but dangerous because of how hidden they are behind layers of cosmic insulation. They weren't meant to be found easily."

"Then how do we even get to them?" Luz asked. "If warp travel doesn't work and we can't fly there, what do we use?"

Vaileth took a step back from the projection, She seemed deep in thought, her eyes reflecting a cascade of starlight as memories, ancient and heavy, before drifting back into focus. "There was only one way," she said quietly, her voice now more grounded, shaped by experience. "You would've needed the necessary technology that is capable of allowing fast travel between realms. That's where my people came in." She added, "My people, the Star People, we created the very technology to reach them. Devices capable of bypassing the magical insulation that separates each realm from the next. The key wasn't brute force or speed, it was resonance. You had to harmonize with the natural laws of each realm to even graze their borders."

She turned, walking slowly across the floor as the projection rotated behind her, bathing the room in nebular light. "We developed countless tools over generations, but the one that changed everything... was the Travelscope. A trans-realm conduit forged with both arcane science and Star Magic. It didn't just pierce through space, it aligned with it, by absorbing a star and converting it into sustainable energy to create the very highways of light that functioned as fast travel to get to the other realms."

At that, Luz perked up slightly, her expression shifting from awe to intrigue. "Wait... the Travelscope. I know about that!" She stepped forward, her fingers tightening slightly around the Celestine Compass in one hand. While in the other, she snapped her fingers together. "We've used one before. That's how we got here, to the Realm of Cosmic Space. There was one in the Demon Realm and with King's help, we activated it and it brought us here."

Vaileth blinked, clearly stunned. "You used a Travelscope?"

Luz nodded. "Yeah. It was hidden at a cliffside that could only be reached through a network of caves. Besides that..." she added, "that's not the only way I've traveled across realms. Back home, we have a portal door! One that lets me travel back and forth between the Demon Realm and the Human Realm. It's how I kept in touch with my family. I mean- there were two of course, the original one relied on Titans blood to function but it got destroyed. The new one however, was made by Atlas himself."

Vaileth stared at her for a long, silent moment. Her lips parted slightly, as if words had momentarily abandoned her. Finally, she let out a soft, stunned breath—half laughter, half disbelief. "You truly are something you know that?" she whispered, not unkindly. "Most beings never walked through more than one realm in their lives. And yet you've crossed three like it's as natural as stepping between rooms."

Luz gave a small, sheepish shrug. "Guess I never thought of it that way."

Vaileth soon spoke once more, "When my people made our breakthrough with The Travelscope, the events that transpired truly defined the golden age of the Star People. We soon began to integrate the technology of The Travelscope with our vessels and with that, the Old Star Empire was born. It was an age of discovery and innovations." She paused beneath the swirling light of the projection before shortly adding, "It ignited something in us. Wonder but also ambition. With the realms now easily accessible, we began to reach outward, not only to explore, but to preserve. In the beginning, my people sought knowledge, not for conquest but for understanding. We archived cultures, languages, magical phenomena, anything we could find. We called it the Doctrine of Collection, a pact to safeguard all knowledge and prevent its loss to time."

Luz, Atlas, and Hesperos listened intently, the air between them growing heavier with every word.

Vaileth added, "When we encountered the various life forms in each realm, we came bearing gifts, ideas, and understanding of who they were. And in return, the other realms welcomed us with cautious kindness. There was a shared wonder between us then."

Vaileth's eyes lowered slightly, her fingers unconsciously brushing the edge of the floating projection. "But ambition is a strange thing, as it always feeds onto itself. Our curiosity for what lies beyond and our desire to preserve... slowly transformed into something else. We began to see ourselves not as visitors... but as stewards and rulers. We whispered in the ears of the leaders of every realm and their nations, we offered solutions to conflicts we subtly instigated. We embedded ourselves into the internal affairs of each realm."

Hesperos's brow furrowed. "You mean to say your people started the chaos just to fix it?"

Vaileth nodded slowly, her voice low. "Yes. And each time we 'restored order,' we were praised, it eventually got to the point we were depended upon. However, dependency... is a dangerous thing, one day, entire realms found themselves unable to function without us."

Luz shifted slightly, "You turned them into puppets." There was a pause as Vaileth's face trembled for just a moment, before she nodded again. "We did."

She stepped away from the group now, her voice growing more distant, as though remembering the light of a time long buried. "And then came the First Realm War. The cracks we'd carved across the realms—through deception, political manipulation, and engineered distrust—finally ruptured. Rebellions broke out, but instead of helping, we saw opportunity. My people seized upon the chaos with precision. They installed loyal governors, replaced leaders with sympathizers, and deployed armed legions. One by one, the realms fell under the banners of our empire."

"Although despite everything attributed with our conquest, we were still inclined to the general idea to understand everything, even what was never meant to be understood. That's when we found them." She turned fully now, her face half-lit by the tree. Her eyes met Luz's, whose expression was serious and unwavering. "The Titans." Vaileth said.

"We discovered their world, the Demon Realm, during the third wave of settlement expeditions and expansion. I was overseeing one of the research teams and I never expected we'd find living organisms so saturated with ancient power, so intertwined with the realm's very foundation. The Titans weren't just creatures, they were natural forces." Her voice faltered, ever so slightly. "And I was the one who reported it and catalogued their existence, their biology, and their connection to their own magic, Titan Magic." She took a shaky breath. "My discovery changed everything..."

The weight of guilt pressed itself across her posture, bowing her shoulders as she walked back toward the center of the room. "The Star Empire's leaders, The Archivists, saw the Titans not as protectors but as threats. They feared their unpredictability and raw might, but what they feared most was their magic. During my discovery, I learned that Titan Magic was twice as powerful compared to our's. In fact, the Titans were immune to our powers due to the development of an evolutionary ability to cancel it out. Due to this revelation, We responded the only way an empire does when faced with a force it doesn't understand—we waged war against them."

Luz's eyes widened, her grip on the Compass tightening.

"It was the beginning of our end," Vaileth said, her voice a whisper now. "The Demon Realm became a warzone. We built outposts, orbital sanctuaries, and entire colonies. Each of them were designed to harness or weaken the Titans. But we were arrogant, as we underestimated them. They were the first to truly resist," Vaileth continued. "They refused to bow and to be seduced by our influence."

She closed her eyes. "The war lasted for decades, then centuries, ultimately culminating in a thousand year struggle. In our desperation, the Archivists began seeking alternative solutions. That's when the Star Pieces came into the conversation."

Atlas stirred. "The ones scattered across the Nine Realms..."

Vaileth nodded. "Yes. Artifacts of immense cosmic power. Each one attuned to a fundamental force of existence. We learned that if united, they could form the Wishing Star. A weapon—or a miracle—depending on how you used it. The Archivists intended to use it as a weapon in this case..."

She opened her eyes, her expression now tinged with quiet fury. "The Archivists approached me. Ordered me to create something that could find them all, as they were well aware of my journeys in each Realm. They wanted a device that is tuned to the essence of each realm. A navigational key."

She looked down at the Compass in Luz's hands. "The Celestine Compass." Vaileth said.

"I obeyed," she continued, "because I believed... perhaps foolishly... that it might end the war. That we could use the Wishing Star to restore balance. But deep down, I knew this was wrong. I knew that this wasn't the way for our civilization to survive... yet I still did it anyway. By the time I finished the Compass, it was already too late. Our forces were shattered. The Titans, too, had suffered mass extinction. We destroyed each other. Neither side won. Though in the process, the realms we had under our control were liberated, though its inhabitants weren't familiar or never knew their liberators."

Luz swallowed hard, her voice soft. "And what happened after?"

Vaileth's jaw tensed. "Orion happened. He rose to power during the aftermath; He was young, calculative, and already deeply embedded in the Archivists' ranks. He needed someone to blame for our failure. Someone visible. So they made me the scapegoat because of it. I was the one who had discovered the Titans. The one who built the Compass." She turned away from them slightly, her back straight despite the emotional weight she carried. "They erased my name from our archives, stripped me of my position, and so I fled before I dealt with harsher punishments they wanted to inflict onto me. I took any information I've made that dealt with the Star Pieces with me, including the Compass. Not out of vengeance... but out of fear. I knew the moment they regained it, they would try again. They would try to hunt down every Star Piece and finish what they started." Her voice lowered to a near-murmur. "I couldn't let that happen."

Luz stepped forward, her expression a mix of grief and admiration. "So you've been running ever since."

Vaileth looked over her shoulder, her eyes shimmering. "No... I've been hiding ever since."

"When I reached this old research station," she began slowly, " I thought I'd find peace but instead, I found shame. I couldn't bear to keep it anymore. Not after everything that happened."

Her hand gestured gently toward the artifact in Luz's grip, her voice now little more than a whisper. "So I gave it up. I surrendered the Celestine Compass to the only ones I believed could protect it better than I ever could—the Luminara Syndicate on Alkanos."

Atlas raised a brow, curiosity piqued. "You trusted them?"

Vaileth nodded, albeit with a trace of hesitation. "The Syndicate is... not without flaws. But they value their possessions highly, so they fiercely defend it. I left it with them in exchange for one promise: that they would guard it with their lives, and never let the Archivists near it."

She fell into silence for a moment, as if the memory of that parting still clung to her spirit. "But even then," she continued at last, "I knew that simply hiding the Compass wouldn't be enough. The Archivists are patient and ruthless. If not in one age, then perhaps the next they'd come looking. And when they did, I needed to ensure that there were those who could stand against them."

Her voice grew steadier now, a quiet strength rising from the pain. "That's when I helped form the Order of Arbora." Hesperos blinked with astonishment, "You were its founder?"

Vaileth nodded, her hand now lightly touching the projection of the Great Tree. The image shimmered under her fingertips. "We were a small circle at first. It at first consisted of just travelers, scholars, and exiles like myself. We were individuals who had seen the truths buried beneath history's illusions. We devoted ourselves to the preservation of knowledge—true knowledge. Not just the locations of the Nine Realms, but the meaning behind them. As well as understanding the true origins of magic and the legacy of Arbora itself." Her hand fell to her side again, and she turned fully to face the group. "During my travels, I began to notice anomalies... strange patterns in time, subtle shifts in realm frequencies, bursts of power with no discernible origin. Most would've dismissed them but I... I recorded them."

She added, "Across ages and across realms, I kept notes of writings, sketches, magical residue samples. What looked like meaningless fragments slowly began to form a mosaic. A pattern of events that occurred thousands of years apart in places that had never touched. Yet each one left behind signs that felt familiar over time."

Luz leaned in, drawn by the gravity of her words. Even Hesperos, ever skeptical, had dropped the sharp edge of his gaze. Atlas remained silent but a faint tremble passed through his fingers.

"It wasn't until I began studying the Titans," Vaileth continued, her tone deepening, "that something clicked. Their magic resonated with a frequency I had encountered before. Not as potent, but undeniably familiar."

She waved her hand, conjuring a suspended orb of golden light. Within it shimmered intricate runes, swirling vortexes of realm energy, and outlines of titanic skeletons inscribed with glowing script.

"I began to run experiments. Though they were dangerous since I combined my own Star Magic with the elemental magics from the various beings of the other realms. Each time, the result was... startling. The energies didn't repel or clash but harmonized. And always, just beneath the surface, there was something else—something older. That's when I came to the conclusion of a greater force that exists beyond us."

Luz's eyes widened, "Arbora."

"Exactly," Vaileth answered, "These findings were what I used to create the Order of Arbora. As a means to understand and honor the source, to seek balance with it."

Hesperos let out a low exhale. "And you never thought to share this with the rest of the Star People? With your own Archivists?"

"I did," Vaileth replied quietly. "They dismissed it as a myth. Called me obsessed, said I'd lost myself in dreams. Maybe they were right... but I saw something they couldn't or wouldn't." She added, When the order was founded, our ultimate goal was never to rise in rebellion. We knew we couldn't overpower the Archivists with brute force. But knowledge... real knowledge—that was something even they feared. And if we could pass it on to the right hands, maybe the cycle would finally break."

"Although with all honesty... I didn't expect this," she murmured at last, voice almost inaudible, while she turned her gaze towards the compass. "I truly didn't expect to see it again... Not in a situation like this."

She stepped forward, cautiously, as though approaching an old wound that hadn't quite healed. "I thought I had made peace with it," she continued as her voice grew steadier, though tinged with exhaustion, guilt, and pain that had been long buried. "After everything I gave to the Order of Arbora—every map, every theory, every truth I uncovered—I thought maybe... maybe I could atone with it. But standing here now..." She trailed off, shaking her head faintly.

Luz opened her mouth to speak, but something in Vaileth's expression stopped her.

"No matter how much I teach," Vaileth said, quieter now, eyes lowering to the floor, "no matter how much knowledge I offer, it never feels like enough. Because the truth is..." Her voice cracked slightly. "I'm not just the one who created the Compass. I was their mentor..."

There was a beat of silence. She continued, "The Archivists," she said, barely above a whisper. "They weren't always what they are now. They were curious, brilliant, and passionate for knowledge. I saw so much potential in them... and I thought I could guide them. Shape them into protectors of truth."

Her jaw trembled, and she bit down hard to steady it, "But I failed." she said.

She didn't try to disguise the tremor in her voice this time. "I thought I was helping them build a better path, one built on understanding, not conquest. But somewhere along the way, they lost themselves... and I—I didn't see it happening. Or maybe I did and I just turned away."

"However, one thing is certain and that is that I failed them." she repeated. "Now... I live with the consequences because of it."

A thick, heavy silence fell over the room. The kind that seemed to press against the walls and weigh down the very air. Vaileth's confession hung there, raw and unshielded.

It was then that Atlas, who had been silent for some time, let out a soft, frightened noise. His eyes had gone wide at the mention of The Archivists, his fingers twitching at his sides, and without thinking, he moved closer to Luz—so close that he pressed into her side and clutched at her arm with both hands.

Luz immediately reacted, her free arm wrapping protectively around him. "Hey, hey," she whispered gently. "It's okay. I've got you."

Atlas didn't speak. His eyes remained fixed on Vaileth, though his small form trembled with visible fear. The name Archivists clearly struck deeper than just memory, it was trauma, fresh, jagged, and now it had resurfaced. Vaileth looked over and saw him. The expression on her face softened, folding into a grief so tender it felt almost maternal. She didn't reach for him, but she bowed her head slightly.

"I'm sorry," she said quietly, as though addressing Atlas now. "For what they've done. And for the part I played in shaping what they became."

There was no excuse in her voice. No plea for forgiveness, only regret. The room remained silent, but the atmosphere had changed. The grief was still there, still clinging to the corners like shadows at dusk—but there was a current of something else now, too. Not hope but maybe the faintest flicker of redemption.

Chapter Text

A Forge Of Hope

Meanwhile, King and Markus traversed and managed to arrive at a cavern. The cavern stretched before them, vast and echoing, its walls adorned with bioluminescent fungi that pulsed in eerie, rhythmic waves of pale blue and violet light. Jagged rock formations jutted out from the ground like the ribs of a long-forgotten beast, and the air carried a damp, metallic tang, thick with the scent of earth and decay. Markus and King stood at the precipice of a sprawling underground chasm, their eyes drawn to the ominous bridge ahead—a precarious construct of obsidian and bone, suspended by rusted chains that groaned under an unseen pressure. Below, the darkness seemed infinite, an abyss that swallowed all light, hinting at horrors long buried beneath the surface.

Markus exhaled sharply, his breath visible in the unnatural chill of the cavern. Shadows flickered across the cavern walls as the bioluminescent fungi pulsed, casting an eerie glow over the precarious structure. "That bridge does not look stable," he muttered, his grip tightening on a portion of a boulder near the bridge.

King huffed, puffing out his chest. "Well... this is our only way, so that really doesn't leave us with any choice, man."

Markus hesitated before stepping onto the bridge, feeling the wood flex beneath his boots. King, far lighter, scampered ahead with surprising agility, his claws clicking against the aged planks. With every step, the chains rattled like unseen whispers in the dark, and below them, the abyss seemed to stretch endlessly, swallowing sound.

"You sure about this, King?" Markus asked, gripping the frayed rope railing.

"Nope! But when has that ever stopped me?" King called back, his voice echoing.

Halfway across, a gust of wind surged through the cavern, sending loose debris tumbling into the abyss. Markus instinctively reached for King, but he planted his feet firmly, staring ahead. At the end of the bridge, an enormous set of stone doors stood partially ajar, revealing the chamber beyond.

As they stepped inside, the temperature shifted—no longer the damp cold of the cavern, but a dry, stagnant air filled with the scent of old metal and soot. The chamber was immense, its vaulted ceiling lost in shadow, while the walls bore ancient scorch marks, remnants of fires that had long since burned out. The forge itself stretched across the expanse, lined with towering molds carved from stone. Each was shaped to form different weapons—some crude, others intricate, their edges lined with arcane inscriptions that flickered faintly under the dim light. Forges of different sizes stood dormant, their once-roaring flames reduced to smoldering embers, and an array of half-forged blades and broken armor littered the floor, evidence of a time when this place had been alive with purpose. A massive anvil sat in the center, its surface etched with deep grooves from centuries of hammer strikes. Heavy iron chains dangled from above, swaying slightly as if disturbed by an unseen force, and ancient tools lay scattered across rusted workbenches, their craftsmanship hinting at a level of precision rarely seen. There were piles of artifacts laying about in the forge room.

King's eyes widened. "Whoa... so this is where they made the big, bad swords, huh?" He looks around and notices the multiple piles of artifacts scattered around as a large mess. "My goodness, Vaileth wasn't wrong either. I get these are artifacts from other worlds left by her people but it's appearing more like rubble to me."

Markus ignored King's comments regarding the piles of artifacts as he ran his fingers along the edge of one mold, feeling the fine etchings of ancient runes. He then spoke, "Yeah. And now, we need to make one of our own. The kind that can stand against the Archivists."

King glanced up at Markus. "Then we better not mess it up." Markus nodded, rolling up his sleeves. "Let's get to work."

Markus continued running his hands along the rows of ancient forge molds, each carved from an un-worldly stone, their intricate patterns telling the story of weapons forged long ago. His eyes scanned the different shapes, his anticipation growing as he searched for the right one... then there it was. A perfect mold for an arming sword, its design simple yet refined, the kind of blade that could strike with both precision and strength.

King trailed behind him, his claws tapping against the stone floor. "Okay, not to rush your dramatic moment or anything, but do you actually know what you're looking for? 'Cause from here, it looks like you're just touching stuff and nodding like some fancy art critic."

Markus exhaled a small chuckle, shaking his head. "I know what I need, King. I just have to find the right one."

King crossed his arms. "Right because picking a sword mold is some deep soul-searching experience."

Markus smirked, brushing his fingers over a particularly large mold before moving past it. "You'd be surprised. A weapon isn't just about strength—it's about balance, control, and how it fits in your hands. The right sword feels like an extension of yourself."

King raised an eyebrow. "Huh. And here I thought it was just 'stabby end goes into bad guy.'"

Markus let out a laugh. "That's the simple way to put it, I like your spirit." He stepped forward, eyes drawn to a particular mold—an arming sword. The moment he saw it, something clicked inside him. It was perfect.

A grin spread across Markus' face as he carefully lifted the mold, his fingers tracing the worn edges. "This is it," he murmured, his voice filled with a mixture of relief and excitement. "The one we need."

King tilted his head, hopping up onto a nearby stone to get a better look. "Really? That one? What makes it so special?"

Markus' eyes glimmered as he traced the engravings along the mold. "An arming sword is reliable, fast, and versatile. It's not too heavy but has enough weight to land a solid blow. Perfect for both offense and defense." He smiled to himself. "It's the kind of sword that can adapt. That can last."

King, still catching his breath after crossing the bridge, tilted his head. "You're really into swords, huh?"

Markus chuckled, shaking his head. "You have no idea."

Markus set the mold down carefully, his gaze lifting toward the towering machine before them. It was massive, built into the chamber's very foundation, with layers of ancient metal panels adorned with engravings that pulsed faintly with residual energy. At its center was a large, circular chamber, its interior coated in a dark, soot-stained material that suggested it once held immense heat. The edges were lined with complex mechanisms—wheels, levers, and intricate tubing that twisted together like veins of some forgotten mechanical beast. Despite its imposing and technical appearance, there was something unmistakably medieval about it, as though the machine itself was a relic of two worlds—one steeped in ancient craftsmanship, the other in celestial innovation.

King looked impressed as he padded closer, "Okay, I'll admit it... this thing is kinda cool," he muttered, tilting his head as he examined the device. "Like... imagine how many marshmallows you can roast with this kind of thing!"

Markus let out a small chuckle as he ran a hand along the smooth metal. "This isn't just some random forge... Look at the craftsmanship, the structure—it's too intricate, too deliberate." His fingers traced over an engraving of a flaming hammer, surrounded by constellations woven into the metalwork. His eyes narrowed as a realization set in. "This... this was built by the Blacksmith Dwarves of the Foundry of Origins Realm.

King blinked. "Okay, I have a feeling you mentioned them earlier back on our ship but you didn't go into further detail about them!"

Markus turned toward him, excitement flickering in his expression. "Well you're not wrong King. While The Foundry of Origins Realm is where some of the greatest weapons in history were made, the ones who were responsible for their creation was due to The Blacksmith Dwarves. They were legendary—it's said they could forge weapons strong enough to cut through time itself." He gestured to the engravings. "The Star People must've taken this forge from them, or at least copied their designs, to make their own weapons."

King crossed his arms. "So, basically, we're about to use a celestial, magical blacksmith machine that may or may not still work... and the guy who's gonna power it has no idea what he's doing." He let out a dry laugh. "Oh yeah, this sounds safe!"

Markus grinned. "It wouldn't be an adventure if it was safe." He then motioned toward the center of the machine, where a circular indentation lay waiting. "That's where the power source goes. And that's where you come in."

King took a step back, "Uh, hold on." He jabbed a claw at Markus. "I know you want me to power up this thing but you do remember that my magic is basically a 'figure-it-out-as-you-go' situation, right?!"

King stared at the power chamber, his paws clenching at his sides. The forge, with all its ancient, imposing grandeur, that felt larger than life and him. The idea of using his Titan magic to power it sent a ripple of unease through his chest. He had come a long way since discovering what he truly was, but that didn't change the doubt gnawing at the edges of his mind.

"I dunno about this, Markus..." King muttered, shifting from paw to paw. His tail flicked anxiously behind him. "I mean, what if I mess up? What if I don't have enough power? What if I have too much power?" He gestured wildly at the machine. "What if I blow up this thing, or us!"

Markus, who had been adjusting the forge mold in its slot, turned toward King with a patient expression. He crouched down to King's level, resting his arms on his knees. "You're overthinking it."

King scoffed. "Oh, wow. Thanks. That totally fixes everything."

Markus chuckled softly, shaking his head. "King, listen... I get it. You don't know the full scope of exactly how your powers work yet and that's scary. But that doesn't mean you're incapable. You've done things before without fully understanding them—you've saved people. You just have to trust yourself."

King let out a heavy sigh, his small shoulders slumping. He could still feel it—that pull deep within his chest, the raw energy coiled inside of him, waiting. It was always there, but controlling it? That was the part that terrified him.

"I just... I don't want to mess it up," he admitted, his voice quieter this time. "Everyone keeps acting like I'm supposed to be this big, important Titan, but half the time I feel like I'm just faking it. Like if I try too hard, something bad's gonna happen."

Markus exhaled through his nose, considering his next words carefully. Finally, he spoke, his voice steady. "I get that. I really do. But you're not alone in this. You have people who believe in you—not because we expect you to be perfect, but because we know you can do this. And if something does go wrong, then we fix it. Together."

King glanced up at him, his golden eyes searching Markus' face for any hint of uncertainty but there was none, just confidence and reassurance.

"...Man, why do you have to sound so wise all the time?" King grumbled, crossing his arms.

Markus grinned. "Comes with the job."

King huffed but didn't argue. He took a deep breath and stepped toward the center of the platform, his paws tingling as he mentally prepared himself. "Alright... I'll try." He shot Markus with a narrowed look. "But if I blow up, I'm haunting you."

Markus smirked. "Duly noted."

King made his way to the platform at the base of the forge. Taking a deep breath, King began drawing Titan glyphs around himself—symbols of strength and endurance, ones he had learned back in the Demon Realm. As he positioned himself in the center, King pressed his paws firmly against the glowing glyphs, his small frame tense with concentration. At first, nothing happened—just the soft hum of his magic stirring beneath his touch. He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to focus, but doubt still clawed at the edges of his mind.

"Come on... work," he muttered under his breath, his tail flicking anxiously behind him.

Markus stood close by, hands gripping the sides of the mold as he kept watch. The moment King's energy connected with the glyphs, a faint pulse of light rippled outward, illuminating the ancient symbols etched into the forge's platform. A low, mechanical groan echoed through the chamber as the machine stirred to life, gears grinding together in a sluggish awakening.

"There you go," Markus encouraged, his voice steady. "Just keep it going."

King took a deep breath, trying to steady himself as he channeled more energy into the forge. The glow beneath his paws intensified, spreading across the platform in a web of interconnected lines, reaching toward the machine's power chamber.

Then, the real pressure hit.

A sudden surge of energy raced up King's arms, like a jolt of electricity snapping through his veins. His ears flattened, and his claws dug into the stone beneath him. His Titan aura, normally a soft, ambient glow, flared into something far more intense—bright enough to cast Markus' shadow across the walls.

The forge responded in kind. The central hearth chamber roared to life, its burners flickering with a deep crimson fire, fueled by the sheer force of King's power. Markus could feel the heat rising in the air, sweat forming at his brow, but he didn't dare let go of the mold. "Are you still with me, King?" Markus called over the growing hum of the machine.

King gritted his teeth. "Yeah—yeah, I just... wow, this is uh, a lot!" His entire body tingled from the energy coursing through him, and he could feel his magic fighting to stay contained.

Markus nodded, adjusting his grip on the mold. "Just keep steady. You're doing great."

King let out a shaky breath, his voice lower now. "You know, I never really thought I'd be doing something like this. My dad—he could probably do this in his sleep!"

Markus glanced at him, sensing the nervous edge in his voice. "Yeah, well... he'd be proud of you!"

King twitched at that but he didn't respond right away. Instead, he focused on keeping his energy steady, watching as the forge's mechanisms continued to shift and awaken.

The Titan glyphs around King pulsed faster now, reacting to the raw aura radiating from his body. The glow expanded, forming a swirling vortex of Titan energy around the forge's power chamber. The machine's ancient mechanisms, once still and lifeless, now moved with a renewed purpose—rotating hoops, twisting gears, and smoldering embers working in unison to prepare the materials for forging.

While King continued, something shifted. The energy flow grew stronger, wilder, and King's breath came out in short, sharp gasps. His limbs trembled as the light radiating from his body intensified, pushing the glyphs to their limits. His Titan magic—so vast, so untamed—was building too fast and he could feel it.

"Markus," he panted, his voice tight. "I— I don't think I can hold this much longer!"

Markus' gaze snapped toward him, immediately recognizing the strain in his expression. "Hang in there! You're almost done!"

King squeezed his eyes shut, his claws pressing deeper into the stone. "It hurts! I can't— I don't know how much more I can take—"

Markus' voice softened slightly, though there was urgency in his tone. "King, listen. I know this is a lot, but you're stronger than you think! You've got this!"

King let out a strained chuckle, despite the sweat forming at his brow. "Yeah? Says the guy who's just standing there while I do all the work!"

Markus huffed, shaking his head. "Trust me, I'm putting in my share. You think holding this thing steady is easy?"

"Pfft, I don't see you glowing like a magical sun!" King quipped through gritted teeth.

Markus smirked. "Fair point." But then, his expression turned serious again. "You're doing great. Just a little more, okay?"

The glyphs beneath him flared violently, their golden glow nearly blinding. The platform trembled, tiny cracks splintering outward from where King sat. The machine, now fully powered, hissed and roared, its internal mechanisms spinning at full force.

"King, listen to me!" Markus called over the noise, his tone firm but urgent. "You need to release the energy—now!"

King groaned as his head throbbed from the pressure. His entire body felt like it was on fire, his chest too tight, his power coiling too intensely inside of him. His glyphs flickered as they were barely holding him together.

"King, now!" Markus shouted.

King's eyes snapped open—and with one final, desperate push, he let it all go.

A blinding surge of energy burst from him in an instant, a massive beam of golden light erupting from his mouth. The sheer force of it shook the chamber, sending shockwaves across the stone walls. The air crackled with raw Titan energy as King's beam surged into the forge's mold, striking with such intensity that the entire chamber trembled. The ancient mechanisms of the machine whirred and twisted, absorbing the pure magic and directing it with precision into the frame of the waiting sword.

Markus watched with a mixture of awe and urgency as the glowing energy seeped into the mold, illuminating every intricate rune and groove etched into the metal. The sword's outline pulsed brilliantly, shifting from an intangible radiance into something solid—a weapon being born from raw Titan essence.

The forge's inner mechanisms began to rotate in response to the energy intake, refining the molten power into the very structure of the blade. The metal darkened from its initial blinding glow, cooling into a deep obsidian black, yet the edges of the weapon shimmered with a molten crimson hue, as if the fire of the forge had been permanently sealed within it. Markus could see it forming—the blade's sleek, arming sword design taking shape, its straight edges and tapered point giving it an air of both elegance and lethality. The runes on the mold flared brightly, carving delicate patterns into the metal that only flickered into visibility when the light hit just right.

As King's beam continued to pour into the forge, the molten energy condensed as it became denser. It shaped the fuller of the sword, reinforcing the structure so that it would withstand even the strongest of blows. The crossguard took shape next—a gleaming golden guard, angular and proud, with a small blue crystal embedded at its center. The crystal absorbed some of the Titan's lingering energy, glowing faintly as if it had been awakened from a long slumber. Markus barely had time to admire the details before the sword's final feature began to emerge—the handle and grip, forged with a blend of blue and gold to complement the crossguard, wrapped in a material that seemed both ancient and newly woven. Finally, the pommel settled into place—a triangular-shaped diamond, cut so precisely that it refracted the glow of the Titan energy still radiating from the blade.

"King, you're doing it!" Markus called out, trying to encourage him.

But King wasn't responding.

The Titan glyphs beneath him—strained beyond their limit—began to fracture. The very ground trembled as the platform buckled, and before Markus could react, the structure collapsed beneath King's weight.

The once-contained beam shot wildly across the chamber, scorching the stone walls, sending loose debris tumbling from above. The air filled with the sound of metal groaning and machinery bursting apart as his energy tore through the forge's mechanisms. The ancient machine, unable to handle the untamed surge of Titan power, buckled under the strain. Gears snapped, pistons exploded in a shower of sparks, and several hoop-like mechanisms twisted and turned erratically before collapsing entirely. The forge, which had stood the test of time gave way, its once-mighty structure reduced to a crumbling ruin.

Markus barely had time to react before the platform beneath King finally gave in, collapsing into rubble beneath him. The moment the glyphs vanished, King's beam flickered uncontrollably, losing its cohesion. With one final, uncontrolled burst, his energy arced wildly before cutting off entirely.

King let out a weak, exhausted wheeze before dropping forward, his tiny body slamming onto the cracked stone. Dust and smoke filled the air, and the only sound left was the faint humming of the completed sword still resting within the forge mold. "King!" Markus shouted, immediately rushing to his side. His boots crunched against the broken stone as he slid to a halt next to the Titan, who lay on his back, his chest rising and falling with heavy, exhausted breaths. The Titan groaned, his tail twitching. "Did... did we do it?"

Markus let out a relieved chuckle, placing a hand on his back. "Yeah, buddy. We did it."

King gave a weak "Weh..." before flopping onto his side, too drained to say anything else.

Markus exhaled, turning back to the forge. Over there, resting in the mold, was the sword, black and red with a yellow aura glowing around. The air around it still shimmered with heat and raw magic, it was done.

Markus glanced back at King, who was still sprawled out on the ground, barely lifting a paw. "So..." King mumbled. "Am I now 'King, the Cosmic Blade-forger'?"

Markus snorted. "Of course buddy, your father would be very proud of you."

King groaned. "Ugh. Worth it... at least tell me it looks cool since it's my first time creating literally anything.. with my powers..."

Markus smirked, twirling the sword in his grip before resting it over his shoulder. The blade's faint glow reflected off the cavern walls, the energy within it still alive and waiting.

"Oh, it's beyond cool," Markus said. "It's legendary."

King gave a weak thumbs-up before sighing dramatically. "Good. Because I'm never doing that again!"

Markus chuckled, shaking his head as he looked back at the sword. It wasn't just a weapon—it was a symbol. A testament to what they had accomplished, and what was yet to come. As the dust settled around them, Markus let out a tired sigh, rubbing his forehead and briefly pulling his ears back before they flopped right back up. He glanced back at King, who was still sprawled on the cracked stone, his chest rising and falling in slow labored breaths.

Markus nudged him lightly with his knuckle. "Alright, champ. You good to move?"

King let out a groggy groan, barely lifting his head. "Define 'good'... Because right now, I feel like I just got stomped on by a titan. Oh wait. I am a titan!" He chuckled weakly before sighing. "I don't think I've ever used that much magic before. Feels like my bones turned into jelly."

Markus smirked and stood, offering a hand. "C'mon. We should get back to the others before they start thinking we fell into some trap."

King squinted up at him. "Technically, we did. But sure, let's get outta here before I accidentally blow up something else." He grunted, rolling onto his paws before attempting to stand. His legs wobbled the moment he put weight on them, and he nearly face-planted.

Markus instinctively reached out, steadying him. "Whoa—easy there."

King huffed, shaking his head. "I got this, I got this. Just... y'know. Testing the legs." He took a slow, careful step forward, his claws scraping against the stone. He slightly slanted a bit to the left as he concentrated on keeping his balance.

Markus watched him closely, arms crossed. "Not bad."

King puffed out his chest, taking another careful step. "Told ya. I'm totally fine!" He took a third step—too quickly—his legs buckled slightly, "Woah!" King shouted. Markus immediately caught him before he could fall.

King grumbled, reluctantly leaning against Markus' leg for support. "...Okay, maybe like... eighty percent fine."

Markus shook his head with a chuckle. "You'll be a hundred percent by the time we're topside. Let's get moving."

King sighed dramatically but started walking, still a bit unsteady but gaining confidence with every step. As they made their way out of the chamber, he glanced up at Markus. "Hey... thanks. Y'know, for not freaking out back there."

Markus gave him a sideways glance, smirking. "Oh, I was definitely freaking out. I Just didn't show it."

King snorted. "Yeah, right."

Markus laughed, patting King lightly on the head as they finally stepped back onto the path leading to the surface. "C'mon, let's go. I think we've earned a break."

King groaned. "And snacks. Lots of snacks."

With that, the two pressed forward, the faint glow of the newly-forged sword illuminating their path as they made their way back to the others.

Chapter Text

A Revelation to a Decision

The ambience of the Nebula Sanctum filled the space, punctuated only by the low, ambient swirl of starlight projections shifting overhead. The mood was momentarily still, the tension of earlier conversations now tapering into a calm lull as the group awaited King and Markus Star's return from the forgery chambers. Yet, even amidst the calm, Vaileth's eyes soon caught on something—or rather, someone—who didn't quite share in that stillness.

Atlas was pacing in uneven circles near one of the crystalline walls, his fingers twisting together in a silent rhythm of nervous energy. Every few seconds, he'd glance toward the corridor where King had left, then back to the floor, lips pressed tightly together in a line that barely concealed the worry bubbling inside him. Vaileth, lounging against a curved support beam with her arms crossed and her usual laidback air about her, tilted her head slightly. Her gaze lingered on Atlas longer than a glance should have. She narrowed her eyes thoughtfully, pushing off from the beam with a subtle sigh.

She crossed the room with a casual stride, she didn't rush him, didn't intrude. She just came to a stop a few steps in front of him and folded her arms again, this time in a more thoughtful posture. "You're going to wear a trench on my floor," she said lightly, her tone was playfully dry but not unkind.

Atlas blinked and stopped mid-step, as if caught in the middle of something forbidden. He glanced up at her nervously, a small guilty look flickering over his face. "Sorry," he murmured. "I'm just... waiting for King." Vaileth raised a brow. "Figured as much." Her expression softened. "You seem... a bit more than just impatient, though."

They hesitated, then nodded. "I just..." Atlas paused, trying to find the words. "I always get nervous when he's away. Even if it's just for a little while..."

Vaileth let out a soft, knowing hum. She tapped a finger against her chin. "You two seem pretty close."

Atlas perked up a little, as though grateful someone noticed. "Yeah. We are. King and Luz... they're both really important to me. Ever since we met... they've always been there for everything. Even when I didn't know how to ask for help."

There was something vulnerable in the way he spoke, a fragility just beneath his voice that Vaileth didn't miss. She saw it for what it was not weakness but deep-rooted attachment. "They didn't treat me like I was just some broken thing," he went on, quieter now. "Or some weapon. They saw me, they never used me. Even when I didn't know who I was. Luz helped me find pieces of myself I thought I'd lost forever. And King... he makes me feel safe. Like I have a family... for once."

Vaileth remained silent, watching him carefully. She didn't smile, but the warmth in her eyes deepened. "But lately..." Atlas looked down, twisting the hem of his sleeve between his fingers. "I keep getting scared. What if I lose them? What if something happens, and I'm alone again? I know it sounds childish—" they immediately stopped speaking. Vaileth asked Atlas softly, "Hey, are you okay?" Atlas replied, "Yeah- It's just- I'm sorry."

Vaileth's gaze lingered on Atlas long after he finished speaking. There was a weight to his words that settled in her chest, familiar and sharp like the echo of an old scar. His fear wasn't born of childish insecurity but it was the kind of fear that only bloomed after real, devastating loss. She tilted her head slightly, the more she watched him, the more something inside her twisted—not out of pity, but out of recognition. She had seen this before, in others, and in the mirror: that desperate grasp at something—someone—that made the world feel less like it was crumbling.

This wasn't just about friendship. Atlas' attachment to Luz and King wasn't some surface-level bond. No, Vaileth saw it now—clear as the stars etched into the sanctum walls. They were his tether. His last thread of stability, of love, of safety.

A thought flickered at the edge of her mind, one she hesitated to act on. But after another moment of silence, she stepped closer carefully and cautiously. Her voice, when she spoke, was softer than usual, stripped of its usual sarcasm and teasing bite.

"Atlas..." she said softly, enough to draw his attention without startling him. "Can I ask you something?"

He turned toward her, wary but listening. "I've been around long enough to know what it looks like when someone's holding themselves together by a thread." Her tone was calm, careful. "And I think... Whatever happened to you, it wasn't just about loss. I think someone hurt you. Someone close..."

Atlas stiffened slightly, his lips parting in a quiet breath. "I'm not asking to pry," Vaileth continued, more gently now. "But if you'll let me... I can look. Not everything, just a memory. One of the recent ones. I can find the truth, if you're okay with that. But only if you want me to."

Atlas looked torn. His mouth opened, but no words came. Instead, he turned his eyes toward Luz, who stood nearby, having overheard the exchange. She gave him a soft, encouraging smile, one that radiated the calm only Luz could offer. "It's okay, Atlas," she said. "Vaileth won't hurt you. You're safe."

He hesitated a moment longer, then slowly nodded. "Okay," he whispered.

Vaileth stepped forward, her movements deliberate and delicate. She raised both hands and placed her palms gently on either side of his head. Her touch was cool, but not cold—it was calming in a strange way. Her eyes fluttered shut as she whispered an incantation under her breath, one meant for memory-seeking, one she hadn't used in a very long time.

And then—

A rush of color, sound, pain.

She saw it. Not just the moment it happened but the silence before it. The sterile white of a cosmic chamber. The pressure of invisible restraints holding Atlas in place. A voice—two voices—echoing around him, both cruel and familiar. And then light. Blinding, burning light, tearing through him.

His screams echoed in her ears, but worse than that was the look in his eyes: not fear, but betrayal. A betrayal that carved itself into the core of his being. She saw the ones who did it; The Archivists.

Her breath caught in her throat as the realization hit her, The Archivists were his siblings. And they had drained his Star Magic with no remorse, no hesitation. They had left him broken and powerless.

The vision faded, and Vaileth's eyes snapped open, pupils dilated with horror. She staggered back a step, her palms trembling as they left his temples.

Atlas was already hugging himself, eyes wet, shoulders tense like he expected judgment or worse. There was no anger on Vaileth's face. Only grief and something far deeper—guilt. Her expression, for once, held no pretense of sarcasm or laidback ease. Only raw, aching sorrow.

"You..." she whispered. "You were just a kid." she added, "I didn't know," she said quietly, more to herself than to anyone else. "I didn't know they were your siblings..."

The silence that followed was thick but not empty. It was a silence that held—it held grief and understanding, it also held the delicate tension of two people quietly recognizing the bruised mirror between them.

Vaileth exhaled slowly, she didn't speak right away, as she needed a moment.

Atlas soon sat quietly on the edge of a bench, his hands clasped tightly in his lap, his legs swinging faintly—like a child unsure whether to run or stay. Obviously he didn't choose to run, so instead he waited. There was a tension in his shoulders, a hesitant glance upward as if preparing for rejection, or worse... pity. However, that wasn't what Vaileth wanted to offer.

She walked over, slower this time. Not as a mage, not as a former mentor of the Archivists, not as someone from a grander age of magic but just as herself. A woman worn down by years of silence and scars that still whispered in the dark. And now, someone who had truly seen him not by glancing.

"Hey," she finally said, her voice softer than before, but still laced with her casual bluntness. "Mind if I get down here with you?"

Before Atlas could answer, Vaileth eased herself into a crouch, then a full kneel so that her eyes were level with his. Her knees popped slightly with the motion, and she winced. "Ugh—yeah, this is why I don't do the whole mentor pose very often."

"You know..." she started, her voice softer than usual but still colored with her usual wryness, "they got both of us."

Atlas blinked. "What?"

"The Archivists." She gave a short laugh, one that didn't reach her eyes. "They betrayed you because they think you're insignificant in their eyes. They betrayed me because of belief." She added. "I thought I was guiding and teaching them. Preparing them to be better than me but I ended up creating monsters who thought control was wisdom and domination was balance."

She looked at him, meeting his eyes without flinching. "They used you because of what you've become. They threw me away because I wouldn't become what they wanted."

Atlas's mouth parted slightly. He hadn't expected that. He had spent so long feeling like the only one—like the world revolved around the gravity of his own pain. But now, sitting before him, was someone who bled in the same colors. Whose scars didn't match, but mirrored his in their purpose. "I..." he started, voice fragile, "I didn't know."

"Course you didn't, starlight," Vaileth replied gently. "That's the whole trick of it." She continued "But here's the thing, they failed to erase what makes you strong."

Atlas's brows pinched slightly in confusion.

"They drained your magic. Took everything they could from you. But they didn't take your heart, Atlas," she said. "You still care. You still hope. You still reach out to people like Luz and King, and cling like hell even when you're terrified of being left behind."

He flinched but Vaileth offered a small, fond smile, "That there is stubborn, cosmic-level willpower."

Atlas stared at her, stunned into stillness. "You're stronger than any of your siblings," she continued. "Even without your powers. Because strength isn't in how bright you shine—it's in how long you keep shining, even when someone tries to snuff you out."

Those words, sincere and unwavering, struck deeper than he expected. For once, he didn't feel like the fragile thing in the corner, the burden to protect. He felt—seen. Not as a victim. But as someone who had survived something terrible and kept moving forward. A survivor. For a long moment, Atlas didn't say anything. He just stared at her while his face shifted. The hollow, helpless fear that had defined his posture for a while... it began to bend. Not into arrogance or bravado but into something sturdier and quieter.

And then, softly, so softly it might have been missed, he spoke. "I'm sorry... for what they did to you," Atlas said.

Vaileth blinked, as the words hit harder than she expected. She'd spent so long burying her pain beneath smirks and shrugs and sarcastic quips, she'd forgotten what it felt like to have someone acknowledge it. No excuses or pity but just... a simple, genuine sorry. Her throat tightened as she hadn't realized how much she needed to hear that. "...Thanks," she said, her voice just above a whisper. She gave him a small nod, as if sealing a silent pact between them. "That... means more than you think kiddo."

They sat in quiet stillness for a breath or two but something had changed. The energy between them had shifted, no longer mentor and child. No longer a cosmic elder and a fallen star. Just... two people who were survivors in the end. Two mirrors of the same reflection

Vaileth tapped a finger against her knee, then pointed it toward him. "You know kid, I hope you know that you still got that spark, especially at your age. That thing that makes people believe things can change by taking on opportunities to do so."

Atlas tilted his head, curious.

She rose to her feet slowly, exhaling as her knees cracked a little. "Which is why... I'm done standing on the sidelines."

He looked up as his brows lifted slightly. "I'm in," she said simply. "I'm going to help you all to stop the Archivists... whatever it takes. I'll do what I can to undo the very mistakes I've caused."

Atlas stared at her with wide eyes but no longer just full of fear. Something else was in them now, the beginning of belief. "Really?"

Vaileth smirked, hands resting on her hips. "Told you. You've got stubborn willpower. Turns out, it's kinda contagious!"

Atlas smiled, his smile was small but it was real. And for the first time in a long while, neither of them felt entirely alone.

Soon the low crunch of boots against the dry soil signaled the approach before the group came into view. Markus Star emerged first, his usually pristine uniform smudged with soot and streaked with the dull metallic dust of the Forgery. He carried himself with that same air of composed regality, though his expression betrayed a hint of satisfaction beneath the soot. Clutched tightly in his hands was the newly-forged weapon: a short, sturdy sword. The blade glowed faintly with quiet potential. Just behind him trailed King—his stubby limbs carrying him with a bounce that was equal parts pride and nerves.

They had made it back.

Atlas's head snapped up the moment he caught sight of them, and his reaction was immediate. With a sound that was half a gasp and half a cry of relief, he rushed forward and threw his arms around King in a tight embrace. He didn't say a word, he didn't need to. The way their fingers trembled against the back of King's back, the way his eyes clenched shut and his shoulders relaxed, it said everything. King returned the hug without hesitation, his short arms barely wrapping around Atlas's middle, but his presence alone was grounding.

Luz's eyes immediately went to King and, more notably, the sword he carried. "Wait—hold on..." she said, blinking. "Is that—? You actually did it?"

King looked up at her, a sheepish grin forming beneath the ivory mask of his skull. "I, uh... yeah. I did." However, after a moment, he soon puffed his chest in pride for his accomplishment and gave out a much more confident answer, "You know what? Yeah, I actually did! I did that!"

Luz's face lit up like a festival lantern. Without hesitation, she rushed over and scooped him into a warm, gentle hug, peppering his skull with playful nuzzles. "I'm so proud of you, you little bonehead!"

"Ahhh! Stop!!" King laughed, the sound lighter than it had been in months. For a long time, he had been afraid of using his powers, of what they could attract, of what they meant. But here and now, in the warm safety of Luz's arms, that fear didn't feel so suffocating, it felt... manageable. For the first time since Orion's threat, King didn't see a weapon to be feared, he saw a tool of protection, purpose, and choice. King's shoulders relaxed at her touch. That old gnawing dread that his powers only ever brought ruin and fear seemed to soften. Being in Luz's arms, being told not that he was powerful, but that he was loved—that was the reminder he needed.

From behind them, Vaileth chuckled lightly, arms lazily folded but expression warm. "Now that was adorable. You three are like the world's most chaotic, overpowered found family."

King turned to her with a tilt of his skull. "And you didn't run off after all that bonding stuff?"

Vaileth smirked. "Me? Run? Please. If I ran every time emotions got messy, I'd never get anything done. Besides..." Her gaze softened as it fell on Atlas, "...someone's got to make sure this kid doesn't implode from feeling too much at once."

Atlas smiled again, a little more freely this time.

Markus, having caught up, eyed the group and gave a nod of approval. "Looks like things went better here than I expected."

"Long story short? I'm emotionally compromised and signed up for war but I'm not complaining!" she said. Vaileth soon spoke softly, "I'm just glad I'm able to have an opportunity to do what's right for once." She soon then asked her friend, "Sooo Mark, what's next? Is that all you wanted to do?"

Markus replied, "Well, forging the sword was just the first part of the plan. The second part is where our actual plan begins. We have the intention to head to Astralis Prime, from there, we must meet with the Council of Arbora to give them the Celestine Compass in order for it to be safeguarded in their hands. The Archivists won't be able to find it once it's been given to the council." He soon gestured towards Luz, Atlas, and King, "Afterwards, we need to send Luz, King, and Atlas back home. It's become too dangerous for them to stay here in our realm for any longer." Markus concluded, "Once they get home and the order has obtained the Celestine Compass, the Archivists and their plot will be stopped. They won't be able to act when the convergence occurs."

"Astralis Prime..." Vaileth murmured, more to herself than anyone else. "Color me impressed, this plan might actually work. If there's still a place left in the cosmos where hope breathes—it's there." she added, while cracking her neck. "Astralis Prime is as close to cosmic off-the-grid as it gets. The Council of Arbora won't just keep the Compass hidden—they'll make sure it vanishes from even the Archivists' dreams."

Her tone shifted when she turned to Luz, King, and Atlas. The smirk faded, replaced by something more sincere—quiet, thoughtful. "So. How's that sound to you three? Are you really ready to go back?"

Luz gave a small smile but her voice was steady. "Honestly? Yeah. I'm ready." She took a breath and continued, the words coming slower now, thoughtful and measured. "I know the Council of Arbora will keep the Compass safe, and that's huge. Without it, the Archivists will be fumbling in the dark. But... that doesn't mean we can just sit around. The Star Pieces in the Human and Demon Realm are still out there—somewhere—and we must find them soon! Going home means we're gonna protect it—before the worst can happen." She then crossed her arms loosely, she added in a soft yet quiet tone, "Although I won't lie... I miss home, like so so much. I really do. I miss my mom and Eda. I miss my friends, Willow, Gus, Hunter, and the others. I miss talking to Vee about literally everything. I miss holding Amity's hand like it's the best thing in the world." she chuckled quietly, Then she turned back to Vaileth, her expression much firmer now. "We've been through so much but I know where we need to be now."

King puffed up his chest a little, trying to present himself as the strong, confident Titan he was growing into but the flicker of emotion in his big eyes revealed the storm brewing underneath. "Yeah, same here," he said with a nod. He tapped his claw on his chin dramatically. "The Star Piece tied to the Demon Realm... it's probably connected to me somehow. It's my realm, my lineage. And if I don't take responsibility for that, who will? So yeah, we need to get it, hide it, and make sure no snooty space-wizard ever finds it." Then, despite the swagger in his tone, his voice dropped a little. "And besides... I miss Eda. And Lilith. I miss waking up to Hooty screaming the sunrise at us." He let out a tiny sigh and looked down. "I guess I just wanna feel like I belong again." He glanced toward Luz and Atlas, "At least, now we'll be able to."

Atlas had been quiet the entire time, he didn't speak right away, not until both Luz and King had finished. When he finally did, his voice was quiet, but full of emotion. "I don't have my magic anymore," he said, not with bitterness, but with quiet resignation. "When they took it from me... I thought I lost who I was. For so long, I thought being a Collector—having that power—was the only thing that made me... me." He looked up at Luz and King, and something warm sparked in his eyes. "But these two never saw me that way. They've never treated me like I'm broken. I'm still part of this team. Still loved." He smiled faintly, the edges of his voice lifting. "So yeah... I'm ready. I might not have my star magic, but I've got something better. I've got them. And wherever they go, that's where I want to be."

Vaileth stepped forward slowly, she reached out and placed a hand lightly on Luz's shoulder, then King's horned head, and finally on Atlas's cheek with a tenderness only he had seen before. She said, "When you return home, you better find your Star Pieces and protect your realms. Not because it's a mission... but because it's your heart that leads you. And if the time comes, the final battle won't be won by magic alone." She concluded. "It'll be won by the ones who never stopped choosing hope. Even when everything else was taken from them."

The group stood a little taller now. Closer. The fractures between them, the wounds from past mistakes, were still there but they were beginning to heal. For the first time in weeks, the air didn't feel quite so heavy. There was a unity forming amongst them, not built from strategy or power, but from the simple, quiet choice to stay. To fight as one.