Clink. Clink. Clink.
Metal hit stone. The sound echoed through the open void, bouncing between cliffs of dark rock and the towering steel hull of the warship nearby.
Dozens of men worked the surface. Pickaxes rose and fell. Boots scraped over gravel. Dust floated in slow arcs, never falling.
One man stopped to stretch. His arms sagged. Sweat ran down his face, catching in his rough beard.
"Man, how do they expect us to mine all this? I don't think it's even possible."
Another worker rested on his pickaxe, leaning just enough not to fall.
"Stop whining. You signed up like the rest of us. Oh, wait—what? You thought they'd add you to their main squad?"
The bearded man paused, lips tight. Then he lifted the pickaxe and struck again. Sparks jumped from the stone.
"No. It's not that. I'm doing this for my family. We come from weak vessels. I know the tier types are supposed to be random, but… every generation of mine, same thing. No strength or chance in this world. Mining, this is the only thing I can do right now to feed them."
The other man snorted.
"Bro, I don't care about your sob story. Look around. Half these guys are here for family too. Or money. Or both. Doesn't really matter. If you're out here, you're already a bad guy in the world's eyes. They don't care why."
The pickaxe stopped.
"Yeah… I guess you're right."
He turned. Faces blurred through the dust and starlight. Men lifted stones into carts, dragged crates toward waiting loaders. A hundred bodies. None of them are heroes.
His gaze drifted back.
"So tell me… which one are you?"
The other man stared at the stars.
"The world screwed me too many times. I'm joining Apex. This place needs new rulers. At least they gave us work. I mean, look at this—mining an asteroid. In space. Crazy, right?"
The bearded man let out something close to a laugh.
"Yeah."
He looked up.
The sky wasn't black. Not fully. A haze of deep violet washed over the stars, as if someone had spilled paint across the void. Tiny suns pulsed in the far distance. Too small to warm, but still alive.
Between them, strange things moved. Long serpents of light that drifted slowly, like rivers made of glass. Wings shimmered in the distance. Shapes too far to name. Space wasn't empty. It breathed.
Smaller rocks floated nearby, trailing behind the giant like children following a parent. One of them sparked as it turned, catching light from a star that looked close enough to touch.
The asteroid groaned. Its surface cracked beneath the weight of drills and boots.
On the far side, a huge warship. No, a carrier. It crawled over its shell of the asteroid. Metal towers reached out like claws, scanning, digging. The engine hummed low, a sound you could feel in your chest more than hear.
Dozens of smaller ships circled it. Their shadows slid over the workers like falling ash.
The bearded man gripped his pickaxe again.
Behind him, the stars kept watching.
Inside the carrier ship, one wall stretched high and clear—a single pane of glass from floor to ceiling. Beyond it, nothing but space.
Still and Endless.
A man stood before it.
He wore a mask. Blue metal, shaped like flowing water, with soft engravings that shimmered under the room's light. The Mask had an opening that made it easy for his mouth to be seen.
Despite the age marked in his beard and the gray threading through his indigo hair. His frame filled the tailored lines of a dark suit. One hand hung by his side. The other held a cigarette, smoke curling slowly through the cold light.
He didn't speak for a while.
He just watched the asteroid drift, like a wound moving through the stars.
Then, his lips parted.
"This is going to take a very long time."
A voice broke the quiet. Laced with mockery.
"Why are we even here, old man? Who's dumb enough to attack a rock in space?"
The masked man didn't turn. He just let the smoke curl higher.
"Call me that again, and I'll throw you out the glass. We'll see if the void is as patient with you as I've been."
The words didn't rise. They didn't need to.
They sank.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It pressed.
Boots shifted. Then another voice, cooler and amused, rumbled from behind.
"Bold."
The younger man stepped into the light. His build was lean, honed like a blade. Each movement spoke of control, not weight. His eyes didn't stray from the older man, but the grin on his lips said he didn't mind the threat.
From his wrist to his elbow, lines curled up his skin, dark as ink but not ink at all. They pulsed faintly, alive with buried stones that caught the glow of the room. Veins twisted beneath the surface. The marks didn't just sit, they moved.
Held back.
Held in.
Then a voice, low and smooth, rolled out like a slow tide.
"Relax, Jov."
A man lounged at the long table near the center of the room. One leg over the other. Feet on the polished metal. His coat draped off one shoulder like it had never been worn right.
Thick braids of gold hair fell across his chest, catching the light like molten chains. A lazy smile tugged at his mouth. It hadn't changed since he walked in.
His eyes did all the work. They watched.
Always.
"Intel says headquarters has been sniffing around. We're the backup. Just in case they get stupid."
Jov breathed out through his nose. His arms were folded tightly. One foot tapped against the floor, once.
"I was enjoying myself with the ladies. Now I'm locked in this tin can with the two of you."
The words dropped flat. No weight behind them. But something under his skin twitched, like he needed to move, needed to burn off the edge building in his chest.
"Let's get this over with. They're still waiting for me back home."
The masked man sat down. The chair gave a deep creak as he leaned back. One hand gripped the armrest, fingers sinking in. His knuckles strained white. The muscles in his jaw barely moved.
"You two sicken me."
The blonde stayed still, half-shadowed in the room's low light. His grin didn't move.
"Now, now. That's not fair. You know how important we are to Apex."
His tone stayed calm. But his eyes never left the masked man. Cold, watchful, sharp enough to see through steel.
Jov's grin widened. He tilted his head like a child waiting for a lecture to end.
"Yeah. You might be strong, but they need us. That means there's nothing you can really do."
The silence returned. No reply. Only the soft hum of the warship around them, like the ship itself had ears and didn't like what it heard.
Then it broke.
"Commander. Unidentified ship approaching. Looks like headquarters finally sent a team."
A trooper stepped forward from the console wall. His armor gleamed under the soft white lights. Jet black plates, trimmed in moving purple lines that crawled along the edges like veins searching for a pulse.
His helmet showed no face. Just a thin red slit where the eyes should have been.
Jov's arm twitched. The mark across his wrist flared faintly. Stones lodged under his skin caught the glow of the console, shining like something buried too deep. His fingers curled once. The smile came back.
"So, they really sent someone."
He rolled his wrist, slow, letting the marks shift.
The blonde stood. His coat slid smoothly as he brushed it down with one hand. He stretched like he'd been napping.
"Guess it's showtime."
He turned to the trooper.
"Who'd they send this time?"
The trooper straightened. Shoulders locked. No hesitation now.
"Team Vortex, sir."
His hand rose. One clean motion. The room was lit with pale blue. A holographic map blinked into the air between them.
A single ship drifted forward. Long and sleek. Its design is sharp and quiet. Like something meant to cut before being seen.
The light danced on their faces.
No one moved.
Jov rolled his neck. A faint pop echoed. His whole body rose, like a beast shaking off sleep.
"We should blast them before they get any ideas. Save us the trouble."
The blonde's smile twitched, then faded. His eyes followed the flickering ship on the hologram.
"Yeah... and if that's really Team Vortex, we might've just found the hammer the HQ plans to drop on us."
His gaze shifted toward the front. The light from the display caught on his golden braids.
"They were supposed to be off-world. Guess that mission wrapped early."
His voice dropped.
"What's the move?"
The masked man didn't speak right away. His gaze slid to the trooper near the console.
"Any signs of battle prep?"
The trooper didn't shift.
"No, sir. But they're closing in. No signs of weapons."
Fingers tapped on the console. One beat. Then another. Each thud landed with weight, like a stone into dirt.
Eyes still on the ship, the masked man spoke.
"I won't let them ruin what my Lord has set in motion."
His voice cut through the room like a blade drawn in silence.
"Tell the crew to aim for the ship. All weapons. I want no survivors."