One Month Later...
Planet 35, Galaxy 18, Universe 10 :
The transition from warp was less a smooth glide and more like being spat out by an impatient cosmic giant. The Whispering Wind, Shirou's battered but reliable gunmetal-grey scout ship, shuddered violently before settling into the chaotic splendor of Universe 10. Outside the reinforced viewport, space wasn't just dark; it was a canvas splattered with the violently beautiful aftermath of stellar death. Nebulae burned in impossible shades; electric violet, radioactive green, molten gold; their tendrils swirling like the ghosts of supernovas. Distant stars pulsed erratically, their light distorted by lingering shockwaves.
"Whoa," Shirou breathed, momentarily forgetting the throbbing headache from the rough exit. He leaned forward, his usual cynical smirk replaced by genuine, wide-eyed awe. The vibrant chaos resonated with something deep inside him, a stark contrast to the sterile void he usually traversed. "Talk about overcompensating. Did the local star god have a really bad millennium? Tons of supernovas is right... Looks like a cosmic toddler got hold of a paintbrush full of pure energy." He patted the ship's console affectionately, the gesture feeling oddly grounding amidst the visual cacophony.
His destination was Planet 35 in Galaxy 18. The client's instructions, delivered via a heavily encrypted burst transmission weeks ago, had been characteristically sparse: 'Tall mountains. Big locals. Extract 500ml of Gorogilian Blood Plasma. Extreme Caution Advised. Payment: 100 Dust upon verified delivery like we discussed. Coordinates attached.' Simple, direct, and lucrative. The client's identifier; a subtle, swirling cerulean sigil; was one Shirou knew already: Merus. The blue god wasn't exactly chatty, but he was forced into the job after his encounter with him and Shinji. Dust was Dust, and 100 Dust bought a lot of high-caliber ammunition and decent whiskey.
Navigating the supernova-blasted void was a navigational nightmare. Space shimmered and warped with residual energy, making his sensors flicker and hiccup like a dying robot. Stars seemed to jump positions, phantom gravity wells tugged at the hull, and the background radiation sang a constant, high-pitched whine against the ship's shields. "Feels like flying through a sauna full of angry bees wired on cosmic caffeine," Shirou grumbled, adjusting Emerald's; his rifle's power feed. The sleek, custom-built rifle rested in its charging cradle beside him, humming faintly. "But hey, hazard pay, right Emerald? Maybe enough for that phased-plasma upgrade you keep hinting at." The rifle, naturally, remained stoically silent.
After hours of tense piloting, Galaxy 18 finally resolved on the long-range scanners; a swirling, dense disk of stars pulsing with an unusually high, almost oppressive, background energy signature. It felt less like a collection of stars and more like a single, massive, barely contained power source. "Definitely Merus's idea of a fun vacation spot," Shirou muttered, powering down the main engines and switching to silent maneuvering thrusters as he approached Planet 35.
The planet was a bleak, desolate orb. Jagged, rust-colored rock formations dominated the landscape, stretching towards a thin, ochre atmosphere like the broken teeth of some colossal beast. No oceans, no vegetation, just endless valleys of gravel and those unnervingly symmetrical, towering monoliths. Shirou set the Whispering Wind down in a desolate valley, the only sounds the dying whine of the thrusters and the low, mournful howl of a gritty wind scouring the rocks. He cycled the airlock, the scent of ozone and ancient dust hitting him as he stepped out, his boots crunching loudly in the profound silence. He scanned the colossal "mountains" surrounding him. They were too regular, too... lumpy.
"Alright, Gorogilians!" Shirou called out, his voice echoing strangely flat and swallowed by the dense air. He slung Emerald across his back, keeping his hands near the quick-release holsters at his hips. "Playtime's here! Got a tiny vial to fill for the blue boss. Won't hurt a bit... probably!" He chuckled, the sound brittle in the oppressive stillness. He scanned the towering forms again. "Seriously, though, did Merus give me the wrong coordinates? Feels like a giant rock garden designed by a depressed architect out here. Where's the 'Big Locals'?"
CRUNCH.
The sound wasn't loud; it was the universe itself compressing. Something the size of a small orbital station slammed into Shirou from behind. He didn't fly; he became a high-velocity smear of atoms carving a deep trench through the nearest "mountain." Rock exploded outwards like shrapnel as he skidded, tumbled, and finally slammed to a bone-jarring halt in a choking cloud of dust and pulverized stone. Pain, bright and hot, flared across his back and ribs. Groaning, he pushed himself up onto his elbows, spitting out a mouthful of gritty blood. "Okay," he wheezed, blinking dust from his eyes, his ribs screaming protest. "Definitely not mountains. Note to self: 'Tall Barbarians' translates to 'Gorogilians the size of skyscrapers.' Blue Boss dramatically undersold it."
The "mountain" he'd plowed through groaned, a sound like continents grinding together. It shifted, immense plates of moss-green, fur-covered hide sliding over bedrock muscle. A single, obsidian-black claw, larger than Shirou's ship, dug into the ground for purchase as the behemoth rose to its full, terrifying height; easily 250 meters. Tiny, intelligent red eyes, burning with primal fury, glared down at him from beneath a craggy, moss-encrusted brow ridge. It threw back its head and roared, a physical wave of sound that hit Shirou like a hammer, shaking the bedrock beneath him and making his teeth rattle.
Shirou scrambled, adrenaline overriding the pain. He spotted Emerald, miraculously intact but half-buried under rubble nearby. "Miss me, sweetheart?" he gasped, lunging for the rifle just as a fist the size of a small starship engine slammed down where he'd been. The impact sent shockwaves rippling through the ground, throwing Shirou off his feet again.
"Alright, big fella! Guess introductions are over!" Shirou brought Emerald up to his shoulder, the familiar weight and hum a comfort. He didn't bother with warning shots. PING! PING! PING! PING! A rapid-fire barrage of hypersonic slugs, designed to punch through battlecruiser armor, erupted from the barrel. They struck the Gorogilian's thick, mossy hide with bright sparks and sharp cracks. The beast barely flinched, swatting irritably at the stings like a man bothered by flies. One slug ricocheted dangerously close to Shirou's head.
"Seriously?!" Shirou yelped, diving sideways as another massive fist carved a new canyon where he'd stood. Dust and rock fragments rained down. "Tougher than the immortal folk's ego! Emerald, time for the spicy stuff! Let's see how you like laser seasoning!"
He thumbed the selector switch. Emerald hummed, gathering energy with a rising whine. FZZZT-CRACK! A sustained beam of searing emerald light, thicker than Shirou's arm, lanced out and sliced a burning, smoking line across the beast's forearm. This time, the reaction was visceral. The Gorogilian bellowed in genuine, thunderous pain, recoiling and clutching its injured limb. The smell of burnt fur and ozone filled the air.
"Got your attention!" Shirou grinned, a feral edge to it. "Now, hold still for the blood dra– WHOA!"
The ground trembled violently. A second Gorogilian, equally massive and equally enraged, emerged from behind a nearby ridge Shirou hadn't even registered was a ridge. Its foot, a slab of mossy flesh and rock the size of a city block, descended like a falling continent directly towards him. There was no time to run, only to react. Shirou dropped flat, rolling desperately under the colossal toes as they slammed down with earth-shattering force. The shockwave compressed the air, nearly crushing him flat against the ground. Trapped in the stifling, earthy darkness between two titanic ankles, the scent of ancient dirt and something vaguely fungal thick in his nostrils, Shirou saw his chance. Planting Emerald's butt against the rough, calloused sole of the foot pinning him down, he angled it upwards and fired a concussive pulse charge point-blank.
THOOMF!
The recoil slammed Shirou hard into the ground, knocking the wind out of him. Above, the Gorogilian roared, not in pain this time, but in startled outrage. The concussive blast, amplified by the confined space, hammered upwards. The giant stumbled backward, momentarily off-balance, its massive foot lifting just enough. Shirou didn't hesitate. He scrambled out from the suffocating darkness like a cockroach escaping a rolled-up newspaper, scooped up Emerald, and channeled every ounce of his strength and agility into his legs. He launched himself upwards, a human projectile rocketing kilometers high, breaking through the planet's thin atmosphere into the sudden, cold, silent vacuum of space. He flipped, stabilized using tiny directional thrusters on his boots, and brought Emerald to his shoulder. Below, the two behemoths looked like angry green hills amidst the rust-colored wasteland.
"Lights out, ugly," Shirou whispered, his breath fogging his visor for a second before the suit's systems cleared it. He took a micro-second to calibrate, compensating for atmospheric distortion, gravity, and the sheer scale. PING! PING! Two blindingly intense laser beams, thinner than threads but hotter than the hearts of stars, lanced down from the void. They struck true, vaporizing the tops of the Gorogilians' skulls in silent, brutal flashes of incandescent light. The giants froze mid-roar, swayed like felled sequoias, then collapsed forward with ground-shaking finality.
Shirou landed lightly near one of the twitching corpses, the silence now profound except for the settling dust and the faint sizzle of cooling rock. He pulled out a reinforced collection vial bearing Merus's cerulean sigil. "Messy business," he sighed, wiping sweat and grit from his forehead with the back of his hand. He expertly inserted the needle into a massive artery still pulsing weakly. The dark, viscous plasma, thick as tar and glowing faintly with captured cosmic radiation, pulsed into the vial. "But profitable. Hope he appreciates the effort. Payment better be upfront this time, Blue Boss." He filled three vials, securing them carefully.
As he capped the last vial, the ground trembled again. Not from aftershocks. Three more sets of furious red eyes, glowing like malevolent embers, appeared over distant ridges. "Oh, come ON!" Shirou groaned, slapping his helmet in exasperation. "Is it bring-your-own-Gorogilian day? Did Merus book the whole damn planet for a group bloodletting?!" Despite the complaint, a familiar, adrenaline-fueled grin spread across his face. The fear was gone, replaced by the exhilaration of the hunt, the challenge. This wasn't just a job anymore; it was proving his worth, pushing his limits. "Alright, you oversized lawn ornaments! You want practice? I'll give you practice!" He cacked, the sound echoing weirdly in his helmet, and darted forward, Emerald blazing anew.
What followed was less a battle and more a lethal ballet of extreme survival. Shirou danced between titanic feet that could crush mountains, dodged boulders thrown with casual, terrifying force (which he vaporized mid-air with precise laser shots; "Bullseye!" he'd yell into the comms, mostly for his own benefit). He used the giants' own momentum against them, firing precise shots at ankle joints to send one crashing into another with seismic impacts. He scaled sheer rock faces to gain vantage points, peppering eyes and sensitive spots. He felt the burn in his muscles, the strain on his reserves, but he pushed through, fueled by sheer grit and the promise of Dust. "C'mon, Emerald! Show these overgrown moss-balls what a real supernova looks like!"
Finally, facing the last three who'd cornered him against a particularly sheer cliff face, Shirou planted his feet. Sweat plastered his long, multi-colored hair to his forehead inside the helmet, his breath came in ragged gasps over the suit's comms, but his grin was wide and feral. Emerald felt heavy in his hands, its energy reserves dipping dangerously low after the sustained firefight. "Alright, Emerald. One big kiss for the road. Let's give 'em a finale they won't forget... assuming anyone's left to remember!"
He poured every last ounce of his energy, both physical and the faint thrum of resilience, into the rifle. Emerald hummed, the sound rising to a scream that vibrated through Shirou's bones. The air crackled violently with static discharge, ozone thick enough to taste even through his filters. The emitter glowed blindingly white, then erupted. Not a beam, but a tsunami of pure, concentrated emerald energy, thicker than the Whispering Wind itself. It didn't just hit the Gorogilians; it engulfed them in an annihilating tide. Flesh, bone, rock; everything vanished in an instant of incandescent fury. The beam didn't stop; it punched through the thin atmosphere like tissue paper, a brilliant, scarifying green lance across the void, finally dissipating in a silent, spectacular bloom of energy near the edge of the star system.
KABOOOOOOOOOM!
The recoil was monstrous. Even braced, Shirou was hurled backwards like a ragdoll, skidding across the blasted rock for dozens of meters before coming to a stop against a smoldering boulder. Silence fell, profound and absolute, broken only by the frantic beeping of his suit's low-energy alarm and the sizzle of molten rock where giants once stood. Shirou leaned heavily against the boulder, gasping, every muscle trembling with utter exhaustion. His vision swam. "Whew," he rasped, the word barely audible. "That... that was an amazing practice session. Definitely top five hardest jobs. Right behind... babysitting that chaos gremlin, Shinji." He looked at the three vast, smoldering craters, then down at the collection vials secured on his belt. "Mission... accomplished. Client gets his goo."
He forced himself to stand, swaying slightly, and trudged back towards the Whispering Wind, its metallic gleam a welcome beacon in the desolation. He paused only to glance back at the ravaged landscape; the craters, the shattered rock formations, the pervasive smell of ozone and char. "Bit of an eyesore now," he mused, his voice rough. "Client didn't specify leaving the planet intact... and frankly, after that workout, I deserve a little demolition bonus." A tired, mischievous glint sparked in his eyes despite the exhaustion. He raised Emerald one last time, the rifle feeling like it weighed a ton. He aimed not at the surface, but at the coordinates his suit's geological scan indicated were the planet's unstable core. "Emerald... Finale. Make it quick. I need a nap."
A smaller, but intensely focused, emerald beam lanced downwards. A moment of profound stillness. Then, deep within the planet, a light ignited; a cold, green eye opening. Planet 35 didn't explode; it simply imploded, collapsing inwards with terrifying speed before vanishing in a silent, localized gravitational anomaly, replaced by a rapidly expanding, incandescent cloud of superheated debris.
Shirou watched the destruction for a second, a grim satisfaction warring with bone-deep weariness. He stumbled into the Whispering Wind, collapsing into the pilot's chair. The hatch sealed with a hiss. "As expected," he groaned, feeling the deep, hollow ache of total energy depletion in every fiber of his being. "Big laser equals big nap. Coulda used a smaller Emerald Laser... but where's the fun in that? Or the guarantee." He fumbled with the controls, his fingers clumsy. "Hope Universe 6 has decent coffee... or a quiet nebula I can drift in... for a week." He programmed the autopilot for the long, slow haul to Universe 6, the coordinates Merus had given him for rendezvous weeks ago. He didn't even bother taking off his boots. As the ship hummed to life, Shirou's head lolled back against the headrest, and he was instantly, profoundly asleep, snoring softly amidst the faint smell of ozone and burnt Gorogilian.
The Stardust Weaver; Deep Space, Universe 6 :
Aboard the Stardust Weaver, the atmosphere was 4 universes away from Shirou's explosive escapade. Peaceful. Almost... unnervingly domestic. A month of fruitless searching for allies across the war-torn cosmos, jumping from one wary system to another, had settled into a comfortable, if slightly monotonous, rhythm. The initial tension had eased, replaced by the quiet hum of the ship's engines and the soft interplay of personalities confined within its durasteel walls.
Merus, his deep cerulean skin reflecting the soft, ambient glow of the navigation console, piloted the vessel with serene, ancient focus. His luminous eyes scanned the star charts and sensor readouts, his movements economical and precise. "Adjusting course by 0.3 degrees to avoid residual chroniton particles from the Veridian Weave's last temporal surge," he announced, his voice calm and resonant in the quiet bridge. "Estimated arrival in the Tylos System for resupply and passive sensor sweep: 14 standard hours." He was the steady hand, the cosmic compass, the calm center around which their little group orbited.
In the ship's common area, nestled between the bridge and the living quarters, a scene unfolded that would have baffled any cosmic observer expecting fugitives from a God of Destruction. Shinji, Miryoku, and Kuro sat around a small, rectangular table. Projected above it by a device Shinji had painstakingly replicated from memory was a shimmering holographic chessboard. Miryoku, her luminous white hair tied back in a loose, slightly messy ponytail, leaned forward, her brow furrowed in adorable, intense concentration. Her violet eyes darted between the glowing pieces. She tentatively reached out and moved a white pawn forward two squares. "Um... Shinji?" she asked, her voice soft and melodic. "Is this... harmonious? Does it create a good resonance for the defense?"
Shinji, his sunshine-yellow hair with its green ends sticking up at odd angles, grinned. He'd found an odd comfort in teaching them Earth chess, a tangible connection to the world he'd lost. "It's a solid opening, Miryoku! Classical, even. Like... like setting up your light-paths before the Harmony Festival! You're controlling the center." He moved his black knight, the hologram flickering slightly. "See? Now my knight threatens that pawn. It's about applying pressure, creating options."
Kuro, perched on the edge of his seat, wasn't even looking at the board. His signature layered goggles were pushed up onto his forehead, revealing intense dark eyes fixed on a complex molecular diagram scrolling across a datapad balanced on his knees; stress fractures in the Custodian's null-alloy, likely. His black hair fell into his eyes, ignored. With a flick of his finger on the datapad's edge, his black queen glided diagonally across the holographic board. "Check," he stated flatly, his voice devoid of inflection. "Your harmonic pawn is now strategically irrelevant, and your knight's positional value has plummeted into negative territory. Probability of your survival beyond the next three moves: 3.2%. Margin of error: negligible." He still didn't look up.
Miryoku pouted, a surprisingly human expression on her ethereal features. "Kuro! That's mean! I was trying to build a resonance field!" She gestured vaguely at the board, light shimmering faintly around her fingertips as if unconsciously trying to influence the game. "It felt balanced!"
Shinji groaned, rubbing his temples. "You used to let me win sometimes, Kuro."
Kuro finally glanced up, a ghost of a smirk playing on his lips. "Shinji, To borrow a quote from your home planet : 'Chess is mental torture.' " he sniffed disdainfully, "What the hell does Kasparov's quote has to do with this?" Shinji exclaimed angrily as Kuro ignored him.
Merus drifted over from the bridge doorway, holding a shimmering glass filled with a vibrant yellow liquid that pulsed gently with captured starlight. "Lemon smoothie for the harmonizer?" he offered Miryoku kindly, his ancient eyes crinkling slightly at the corners. "Guaranteed to restore cognitive pathways... or at least provide a refreshing burst of solar resonance."
Miryoku beamed, her momentary frustration forgotten as she took the glass. The smoothie seemed to glow brighter in her hands. "Thanks, Merus!" She took a sip, her eyes lighting up with genuine pleasure. "Mmm! Perfect resonance! It's delicious!"
Shinji watched the exchange, a warm feeling momentarily displacing the ever-present ember of grief and rage that fueled his Trascender core. This was their rhythm now. Days filled with:
Shinji & Kuro: Deep dives into theoretical physics and engineering. Shinji would explain Earth concepts; combustion engines, quantum computing (primitive by Kuro's standards), even the rules of baseball; and Kuro would dissect them, rebuild them with multiversal principles, or dismiss them as charmingly inefficient. ("So, if we inverted the phase variance before the subspace filter..." Shinji would venture. "Obviously," Kuro would cut in, eyes still on his datapad. "Elementary spatial mechanics. Like explaining basic hygiene protocols to a Gorogilian.") Shinji's earnest curiosity constantly sparred with Kuro's dry, razor-sharp wit and utter disdain for the "unquantifiable garbage" of spiritual energy. Yet, Shinji saw the fierce intelligence, the drive to understand the Custodian, the multiverse's limits, and the things beyond. There was grudging respect beneath the sarcasm.
Miryoku & Shinji: Moments of shared wonder. They'd spend hours by the main viewport, pointing out nebulae shaped like singing whales or planets ringed with crystalline ice. Shinji would share stories of Earth's oceans and mountains; Miryoku would describe Luminara's Prism Falls and Stellar Stream. They invented elaborate histories for unnamed worlds ("That desert planet? Definitely ruled by sentient, philosophical sandworms who debate the nature of humans!"). Shinji found genuine, quiet peace in these moments, a reminder of beauty and connection amidst the cosmic war. Miryoku's innate light seemed to soothe the Voidheart's constant, trauma-fueled thrum.
Miryoku & Kuro: An odd-couple dynamic fueled by fundamental differences. Kuro constantly needled her about her "inefficient" harmonic energy expenditure ("The energy wasted on that minor luminescence could power a small city's defense grid for 4.7 hours"), her eating habits ("Your caloric intake is insufficient for sustained harmonic projection under stress. Eat this nutrient-dense protein paste. Now."), or her optimistic outlook ("Illogical. Statistical probability of universal peace within the next millennium is 0.00004%, trending downwards"). Miryoku, in turn, patiently tried to explain concepts like "resonant frequencies of friendship" or "the harmonic balance of hope," which usually made Kuro roll his eyes so hard Shinji worried they'd get stuck, and mutter about "emotional static interfering with critical analysis." Yet, Shinji noticed Kuro always had an extra nutrient bar ready when Miryoku looked tired after practice, and Miryoku sometimes caught him staring at her light-weaving with something other than scientific appraisal; a flicker of something almost like awe, quickly masked.
Merus: The quiet anchor. He made the smoothies (using literal captured starlight and synthesized citrus essence). He mediated minor squabbles ("Kuro, describing Miryoku's harmonic theory as 'sentient pixie dust' is counterproductive to group cohesion"). He offered fragments of ancient wisdom when Shinji sought guidance about his powers or his rage. And always, always, his luminous eyes scanned the void on the bridge monitors, a silent vigilance against the ever-present threat of Saganbo's hunters. The strain of being hunted, of his diminished power compared to his counterpart, showed in the faint tightness around his eyes and the way he sometimes held himself, but he never wavered in his quiet care for the fragile little family forming aboard the ship.
Shinji moved his king, a futile gesture against Kuro's ruthless, pre-calculated strategy. "Alright, Kuro. Checkmate in... what, two moves? Yeah. I concede. Again." He sighed dramatically, dissolving the hologram with a wave. "One day, I swear, I'll find a strategy that slips past that calculator you call a brain."
"Doubtful," Kuro said, snapping his datapad shut with a decisive click. "The variables are finite and predictable. Unlike the chaotic mess of your spiritual energy signatures." He stood, stretching stiffly. "I require 73 minutes of REM cycle synchronization to optimize cognitive function. Try not to crash the ship into a metaphorical wall of sentimentality while I'm offline." He headed towards his makeshift lab, a partitioned section filled with humming scanners and holographic schematics of the Custodian.
Miryoku finished her smoothie, the glass now glowing faintly with residual harmonic energy. "He's grumpy," she said softly, watching Kuro disappear, "but he cares. In a very... Kuro-shaped way." She smiled at Shinji, the light in her violet eyes warm. "Another game? Maybe I can beat you this time! Without Kuro calculating my doom!"
Shinji laughed, the sound genuine and warm in the quiet hum of the ship. "You're on! Just don't ask Kuro for tips when he wakes up. His 'help' usually involves dismantling my strategy atom by atom and pointing out its inherent flaws in excruciating detail." He reset the holographic board.
Merus watched them from the doorway, a rare, soft smile touching his lips. This fragile peace, this camaraderie forged in shared flight and purpose, was precious. He could feel the weight of the Custodian's mystery, the looming threat signified by the 3,926 universes, and the ever-present shadow of Saganbo. But here, now, with Shinji teaching Miryoku chess moves and Kuro grumbling in his lab, there was a semblance of normalcy, a spark of hope. He knew it couldn't last. The void had a way of shattering tranquility. But for now, he savored the lemon-scented calm.
Edge of Universe 6 :
The transition was seamless, silent. A sleek, obsidian vessel, shaped like a shard of fractured night, materialized from warp without a ripple. It radiated cold malice, a void within the void. On the dimly lit bridge, bathed in the crimson glow of threat displays and navigational beacons, stood two figures.
Nirvana stood utterly still, shrouded in shifting, resentful shadows that seemed to actively consume the ambient light around her. Her form was indistinct, a silhouette of profound stillness and chilling silence. Her presence wasn't loud; it was an absence, a vacuum that sucked in sound and warmth, leaving behind a feeling of deep, gnawing dread. Beside her, vibrating with barely contained kinetic energy, practically bouncing on the balls of his feet, was Torento. He cracked his knuckles, the sound unnaturally sharp and loud in the hushed bridge, like dry twigs snapping. A manic grin stretched across his face, wide and predatory, as he gazed at the starfield displayed on the main viewer. A highlighted trajectory pulsed; the Stardust Weaver's last known course.
He threw his head back and laughed, a sharp, grating sound that echoed metallically in the confined space, making the deck plates vibrate. "Finally! Universe freakin' Six! Took long enough crawling through that dimensional backwater!" He punched the air, a blur of motion. "IT'S SHOWTIME!"
He whirled towards Nirvana, his energy crackling like static discharge. "C'mon, Shadow-Sister! Enough lurking! Let's go squash a bug and collect our bonus from the Boss! Bet I can make the Trascender squeal like a stepped-on space-slug before you even get your gloom properly deployed!" He zoomed towards the exit hatch, a streak of impatient motion, already radiating bloodlust.
Nirvana didn't move. Her head tilted slightly within her cowl of darkness. No sound escaped her, but the temperature on the bridge seemed to drop several degrees. A faint, chilling sense of focus emanated from her, cold and sharp as a scalpel, directed unerringly towards the pulsing trajectory line. Her silence was deeper than the void outside, and infinitely more terrifying. The hunt was on. The fragile peace aboard the Stardust Weaver, the lemon-scented calm, was about to be obliterated by a storm of Monarchy and devouring shadow.