On a small spaceship
The steady hum of the small ship's engines carried through the narrow passage. Footsteps echoed softly against the walls until a young girl emerged into view, her cloak of pale blue and gold trailing behind her like starlight.
She walked with a strength beyond her years—her stride firm, her posture proud—yet there was a softness to her presence that drew the eye as surely as her confidence did.
Her hood was lowered, revealing a face few could ignore. Youthful yet fierce, framed by golden strands of hair, her amber-blue eyes glimmered bright and unflinching.
There was something in that gaze—determination, promise—that spoke of the master she might one day become.
Inside the living chamber, two figures awaited her.
The first was her master, Seraphine Kairiel, cloaked in a deeper, richer version of Ariana's garb. Gold embroidery laced her robes with intricate detail, befitting her higher station. Her beauty was the kind that endured beyond age—refined and calm, her eyes warm yet commanding. She carried the quiet authority of one who led not by fear, but by presence.
Beside her floated Alanis Eryndor, levitating cross-legged in meditation. His robes shimmered like winter—white threaded with silver and faint gold, sharp against the dim glow. His face was striking, carved with stern angles, his silver pupils piercing as though they could read truths unspoken.
Ariana stopped before them and bowed her head before lifting her eyes.
"Masters," she said, voice steady yet reverent. "The pilot has informed me—we are arriving at our destination."
For a moment, silence lingered. Seraphine's gaze softened as she studied her disciple, while Alanis's eyes flickered with calculation, already weighing the implications of their arrival.
Then Alanis opened his eyes fully, raising a brow with quiet curiosity.
"Someone's soul has recently awakened on this planet."
Seraphine's gaze narrowed. "Are you certain? Could it truly have been strong enough for you to sense it from here?"
He closed his eyes again, his voice calm yet firm. "There is no mistaking it. Ordinarily, I would not feel such a ripple until we reached the ground. But this one… is different."
Rising smoothly to his feet, his robes settling around him, he continued, "This awakening may belong to a prodigy—one on the same level as your disciple."
Ariana's brows drew together, and Seraphine's lips pressed thin with disbelief.
"Do you already plan to claim this prodigy?" Seraphine asked, her tone edged with sarcasm.
"I would, if I could meet them. But I fear they may already be tied to the fugitive we pursue," Alanis replied, striding toward the cockpit. "The soul awakened at least a day ago. I sense only the residue now. But its strength speaks for itself."
At the front of the ship, the pilot guided the vessel closer to the planet's protective gate.
The intercom crackled to life.
"Identify your vessel."
"This is the Hao delegation," the pilot, Corr, replied evenly. "I am their designated pilot."
A pause followed, filled only by static. Then the worker's voice returned, more deliberate this time:
"Confirming… delegation aboard: Grandmaster Alanis Eryndor, Grandmaster Seraphine Kairiel, and her personal disciple Ariana Solen."
The names echoed through the chamber, carrying weight even when spoken by an unseen worker. For a moment, it felt as though the ship itself held its breath.
"Confirmation granted," the voice concluded. "Proceed to the planetary gate."
The engines thrummed softly as the vessel glided forward, drawing nearer to the world of Solus.
Seraphine's brow furrowed, her voice sharp with disdain. "Not even in the Confederacy's capital were we subjected to such demands. Yet here, at the edge of its borders, we are forced to identify ourselves like wandering merchants."
Alanis opened his eyes, silver pupils glinting in the starlight. His tone was calm, but carried the weight of inevitability.
"That is the way of the new Confederacy. Their grip has become stronger. We may resent it, but it is the shape of their rule now—and a reminder that the age of the Hao Empire has ended. It is the people's government that reigns."
Seraphine's lips pressed thin. She did not like his words, but neither could she deny them.
Alanis turned back toward the chamber. "And this is no backwater. This is Solus—the throne world once ruled by Cain Velastinite, the Undead King."
Seraphine's eyes hardened. "But it is only an outpost now. His reign ended thousands of years ago."
"Even so," Alanis said quietly. "This world stands because of the conditions of surrender he agreed upon with the Great One. We honor them, whether we wish to or not."
His tone closed off further conversation. "Do not dwell on it. Our task is to capture the fugitive. That alone is our mission."
He resumed his meditation, robes settling around him in silence.
Ariana glanced at her master, then at Alanis, lips parting as if to speak, but no words came. The sting of humiliation settled in her chest, yet beneath it stirred something else—an ember of defiance she did not yet understand.
Beyond the ship's hull, the world of Solus loomed closer. The small ship finally passed through the Gate, covering the planet's atmosphere, its nose angled toward the City of Dhas.
The ship descended, skimming the jagged towers that jutted upward like fangs. Neon veins spread across the city's base, pulsing in lurid blues and reds, painting the streets like arteries of false light. From above, Dhas seemed alive—and hungry, forever buried in its artificial night.
At last, the vessel touched down on a steel platform clinging to the side of a black tower. The trio descended the ship while the pilot, Corr, still sat inside the cockpit.
"Corr," Alanis directed, his tone brisk. "We will be on this planet for a long time. You may return and inform the Order that we will continue our investigation here."
The young disciple stood behind her master, her hands clasped firmly behind her back. Her poise was disciplined, though her amber eyes betrayed the quiet anticipation of someone who had only ever heard the city spoken of in whispers.
The ship's ramp hissed open. Waiting with his entourage was the Mayor of Dhas: a tall, broad man draped in silks too fine for the grime of the city, his chain of office gleaming in the harsh light. His smile was wide, toothy, and calculating.
"Honored Grandmasters," he boomed, arms spreading in mock grandeur. "The city of Dhas welcomes you. A rare honor to host the Hao Order's finest. I am Mayor Mash Grave, at your service."
Seraphine inclined her head politely, but her tone was businesslike. "We are here on important matters, Mayor. We will require accommodation for a length of time—perhaps months."
"I will have the finest rooms prepared," Grave said smoothly. His grin widened. "But may I see the Hao insignia, to confirm your identities?"
The words were a calculated insult. Ariana's jaw tightened, her hand twitching toward her blade, but Seraphine's soft touch on her arm stilled her.
Alanis drew the insignia from his robes, his voice carrying a thread of warning. "Does this suffice, Mayor of Dhas?"
Grave's grin faltered. He bowed quickly. "Of course, Grandmaster. Do forgive me—I am bound by Confederacy rules."
Seraphine cut him short, her eyes sharp. "Then let us not waste more time. Where is the designated guardian of this world?"
The mayor spread his hands with a chuckle. "Ah, but there is none. Solus has yet to be assigned one. Perhaps after the Freedom Festival, the Confederacy will finally bless us with their choice."
The trio exchanged a glance, suspicion flickering between them, but said nothing further.
They followed him down into the city's depths—first by stairwell, then by lift, until the hum of Dhas grew louder around them. The noise was not one voice, but thousands layered together: shouts from markets, the grind of machines, the wail of neon signs struggling to stay lit.
At the ground level, a quiet lobby awaited them. Workers hurried to arrange a long table laden with delicacies—food that only the wealthiest of Dhas could ever taste.
"Let us eat," Mayor Grave urged. "Surely you must be weary after such a journey."
The Grandmasters exchanged a glance, then sat opposite the mayor and his entourage.
As they began to eat, Alanis set down his cup and spoke. "Mayor Grave, let us be direct. We are here to hunt a fugitive."
The Mayor's eyes narrowed. "A fugitive?"
"A Huaren warrior," Alanis clarified, his tone steady. "And not just any. A Supreme."
The room froze. Gasps broke out. One aide dropped a goblet; another muttered a prayer.
Mayor Grave stammered, color draining from his cheeks. "A… Supreme? Here? On Solus?"
Seraphine leaned forward, her voice calm but heavy. "Yes. And do not think we came here blindly. Just as the Hao Empire has fallen, so too has the Huaren Empire. Their warriors are few, scattered in seclusion. But their knowledge remains—and it is with them that we joined hands."
Alanis's gaze hardened, silver eyes unblinking. "After careful collaboration with what remains of the Huaren Order, we judged the trail of this fugitive Supreme. Every trace, every whisper, every shadow across the stars pointed here. Solus."
Murmurs rippled through the hall, louder than before.
"The Huaren themselves confirmed this?" the Mayor asked, his voice breaking despite his attempt at composure.
"Yes," Alanis replied firmly. "They know him better than any of us. He is an intergalactic war criminal, wounded and hunted, but still dangerous. And if they tell us he hides here, then here he must be."
Seraphine added, "He should be outside the city walls—deep in the Red Desert. That is where our search begins."
Mayor Grave's oily smile struggled to return, though sweat glistened at his temple. "Then may the gods watch over Dhas… and may the Confederacy reward your courage."
The trio rose from the table, following a worker toward their chambers. Behind them, the lobby erupted into hushed panic and fearful whispers.
City Entrance
The wall's entrance loomed ahead, a towering barrier of stone and steel, lit so brightly it seemed to burn away all shadow. Spot guided the glider forward, hands steady on the handlebars as the boys sat behind him. Ry and Zen said nothing, their small forms pressed close, while strangers filed past them in solemn silence.
They passed through the radiant arch.
On the other side—darkness.
Ry let out a startled cry, clinging to Spot's arm. "Uncle Spot, I can't see!"
Zen wrapped his arms around his brother, whispering softly as if his voice could ward away the black.
Spot's tone carried calm assurance, each word steady. "Only for a little while. By the count of five, the city will be before us."
And as he said, the dark broke.
The glider rolled forward into an expanse alive with light—but not sunlight. Neon gleamed from countless signs, harsh and unnatural, bathing the streets in shifting colors. Towering buildings reached high into the gloom, their peaks swallowed by shadow, while at ground level the press of humanity churned ceaselessly beneath the glow.
Zen's eyes widened. "Wasn't it afternoon just now?"
Spot gestured toward the towering walls that sealed the city. "The sun cannot touch this place. The Confederacy meant for lights to mimic the day, but… they've been failing for years." His gaze flicked upward, thoughtful. "Once, they never faltered."
Ry, silent until now, stared up at the endless forest of structures, awe flickering across his face. "It's so big…"
Spot's hand settled gently on his head. "Correct. One of the Confederacy's largest cities. Though its greatness is not what it was." His voice carried a note of quiet melancholy, lost in memory as he guided the glider into the crowded arteries of the street.
The boys clung to every sight. Shops bursting with color, strange vendors hawking wares, creatures of unfamiliar shape threading through the mass of people. Yet every glance they cast was returned in kind. The crowd's eyes lingered on them.
"Don't stare too long," Spot murmured. "And don't invite stares in return."
Ry tugged at his sleeve, breaking the tension. "Uncle Spot, why don't we ride the glider? Why push it?"
Spot's laugh was soft, almost weary. "Because if I rode it, half these people would be in the infirmary. The streets are too crowded." He nodded upward where sparse lines of sky traffic glimmered around the skyscrapers. "That is where gliders belong. But our destination waits below."
They pressed deeper into the city's maze until, at last, Spot turned sharply down a quieter lane. The press of the crowd eased. Before them stood a shop with faded lettering etched across its sign: Drun's Magic.
The boys spoke together, voices hushed with wonder. "Magic? What kind of shop is this?"
Inside, silence embraced them, a sharp contrast to the chaos outside. Dust motes swam lazily through the dim light. The air felt expectant, as if holding its breath.
"It's a shop that repairs things," came a voice from behind a curtain.
A young man emerged, his frame broad, his short brown hair tousled, strength evident in every line of his build. His eyes widened, recognition flashing there before a smile broke across his face.
"Uncle Spot?"
Spot blinked, stunned. "Gray…?"
"Who else?" The man's grin widened. "It's me. The little Gray, all grown up."
Spot stepped forward and embraced him, his voice rough with disbelief. "I thought you'd left this place. And now—look at you."
Gray laughed, flexing with playful pride. "Looks like my growth gene woke up late. Forty-five years old, and it finally decided to kick in."
The boys edged closer, curiosity plain. Gray crouched, extending a hand. "And these must be Uncle Sam's sons. Nice to meet you."
Spot's reassurance was gentle. "He's Drun's boy. It's all right."
Small hands met his large ones, the shake awkward but genuine. Gray's grin softened. "They're adorable."
Spot chuckled. "So were you, once." He shrugged off his coat, setting it aside as Gray lifted their bags with practiced ease.
"Come upstairs," Gray said warmly. "Dad's been waiting for you."
They climbed the narrow stairs, Spot's voice carrying ahead. "And Lune?"
"She's here too. In the kitchen with him."
At the landing, Gray called out. "Dad—Uncle Spot's here!"
From the kitchen emerged a man older still. White hair framed a weathered face, his skin bronzed and lined by years, an apron still tied around him. Drun stopped when he saw Spot, his expression twisting, and in an instant, he closed the space between them.
He pulled Spot into a fierce embrace, his voice unsteady with emotion. "Welcome back, Spotty."
Spot's arms returned to the hold, his throat tight. "I'm back, old friend."
The years between them vanished in that moment, replaced by the bond of a reunion long overdue.