The orbital industrial sprawl of Synnax Prime, nicknamed Rusthaven by its denizens, was a place that chewed up lives and spat them into the void. The metal ring of factories and salvage yards rotated slowly around the moon, catching the dim light of Synnax in jagged glints, reflecting it against the soot-darkened bulkheads of habitats. Airlocks hissed and clanged, conveyor belts groaned under the weight of raw ore, and the perpetual hum of generators set a rhythm that could almost pass for life.
Kael Arcturus knew every inch of Rusthaven, or at least every inch that mattered for survival. At twelve standard cycles old, he had already learned that the narrow metal bridges were better than the wider ones because they creaked less under weight and were easier to hide beneath when the Security drones passed overhead. He had learned that the discarded hydro-mining suits could be reconfigured into rudimentary armor, that acid baths in the industrial tanks could erase most fingerprints, and that a whispered cough in a crowded salvage chamber could either save your life or betray it.
It was the kind of place that honed instincts more than morals. And Kael's instincts were sharp.
The boy crouched on a maintenance strut three levels above the floor, peering down at a pair of Imperial Security Enforcers patrolling the scrap yards. The black-ceramic visors of their suits reflected the chaos below, scanning for movement, scanning for life. Kael's hand brushed against the edge of a metal conduit, the coarse surface grounding him, keeping him human. For a moment, he allowed himself to feel the tension in his chest, the familiar flutter of fear. Then he exhaled slowly, counting to ten, focusing his mind on the rhythmic hum of the generators.
It was always there, that hum—a background pulse that seemed to resonate within his skull. Sometimes, when he concentrated, it sang. Not audibly, but in the subtle vibration against his neurons. He had learned early that this resonance could mask his presence from detection, not just by machines but by the human senses trained to perceive the unnatural. He had learned to hide it, to bury it beneath layers of ordinary behavior.
Kael was not supposed to exist.
Two cycles ago, the Empire had wiped out the research station where his parents had worked, a small orbital lab nestled on a less prominent ring of the industrial zone. His parents, Dr. Mirus Arcturus and Dr. Lyra Seine, were among the few who had dared to pursue the forbidden studies of early mentalic amplification. When the Imperial Purge came, there had been no warnings, no chance to flee. The security drones had locked down the station, cutting off every route of escape. Kael remembered the blast doors sealing shut, the staccato of plasma bolts against reinforced bulkheads, the screams that still haunted his sleep.
He had survived because his mother had acted with a desperation born of love and terror. In her final moments, she had injected him with the prototype neural stabilizer, a concoction that had no guarantee of survival, let alone success. It had burned through his veins like liquid fire, his vision swimming with colors that had no names, and yet it had worked. The enhancement had stabilized the part of his brain that allowed him to sense, control, and eventually suppress his nascent mentalic abilities.
He had hidden those abilities ever since. To show them would have been to die—or worse, to attract the wrong attention. The Empire had declared mentalic research illegal for a reason, and Kael understood why. Power like that, especially in a child, was dangerous.
He shifted slightly on the strut, mindful of the small scrape that could betray him. Below, the Enforcers moved in tandem, their footsteps mechanical, practiced. Kael's eyes traced the rhythm of their movement, his mind running calculations for the optimal moment to descend. It had to be now. Hesitation would cost him dearly.
Using the narrow support beams, he began his descent, careful to dampen the metallic clinks with the fabric of his sleeve wrapped around the wrist braces. The first level approached, a lattice of pipes and grated walkways that smelled of ozone, oil, and rust. Kael's stomach twisted slightly as he prepared for the final drop to the floor, a fifteen-meter plunge that would place him out of sight behind a stack of compressed scrap.
The drop was swift and silent, his knees absorbing the impact with practiced precision. He rolled once and pressed himself against the shadow of a towering stack of metallic waste. His pulse slowed to normal, his breathing controlled. From here, he could watch and wait. The Enforcers passed within meters, oblivious. Kael allowed himself a tiny smile.
But there was no time to linger. Survival demanded movement, and the next objective was a small maintenance depot on the far side of the yard. There, he would find the components he needed to repair the micro-harvesters that scavenged metal from derelict hulls. These devices were crude, but with a few adjustments, they could collect raw materials efficiently. Materials that Kael would use to assemble the first iteration of his inventions—tools that would be essential for the coming years, tools that the Empire could not allow to exist.
The yard stretched endlessly, a chaotic mix of stacked hulls, conveyor belts, and steam vents. Kael moved low, keeping to shadows, his small frame making him almost invisible against the backdrop of industrial decay. He passed a worker—a scavenger older than he looked, eyes hollow but sharp. The man gave a subtle nod, and Kael returned it with a flick of his hand. Recognition between survivors was a silent language; trust was too dangerous to grant.
At the depot, he found what he sought: a pile of micro-harvester components, partially dismantled, partially scavenged. He crouched, sifting through the pieces with deft fingers. Wires, conduits, tiny motors—each had a purpose, each could be repurposed. He laid them out on the grated floor, examining their condition. A tiny spark flickered in one of the motors, and Kael's hand twitched instinctively toward it, calming the electricity before it could arc. No one could see him. Not yet.
As he worked, he allowed his thoughts to drift back to his parents. His father, meticulous and patient, had taught him to observe patterns, to notice the slightest deviation in a system. His mother, brilliant and impulsive, had taught him to trust intuition when logic faltered. Both lessons were seared into him now, guiding every motion, every decision. And yet, even with their teachings, Kael was acutely aware of his mortality. One mistake, one misstep, and the Empire would reclaim what it thought it had destroyed.
By the time he finished assembling the first harvester prototype, the yard had quieted. Nightfall in Rusthaven was a relative concept; the orbiting factories cast their harsh lights across the sprawl, washing the shadows in pale orange. But the Enforcers had returned to the central tower, their patrols reduced to distant echoes. Kael exhaled, a soft puff of relief. The device hummed to life, small but efficient, collecting metal shards with almost predatory precision.
He touched the surface of the harvester with a reverence he rarely afforded any object. This was more than a tool—it was a lifeline, a seed. The beginning of something greater. Kael allowed himself a brief vision of the future: hidden enclaves, secret laboratories, inventions decades ahead of their time. But he pushed the thought away. Dreams were dangerous when reality was so immediate.
The sound of movement snapped him back to the present. A shadow detached itself from the corner of the yard, fluid and deliberate. Kael's heart stuttered, but he forced himself to remain calm. Out of the darkness emerged a boy, perhaps a year older than Kael, with a scavenger's garb and a grin that promised mischief—or trouble.
"You're Kael, aren't you?" the boy whispered, stepping closer, eyes bright in the dim light.
Kael tensed. "Who wants to know?"
The boy laughed softly, a sound that didn't match the harshness of Rusthaven. "Name's Juro. I've seen you before. Always moving, always hiding. You've got talent."
Kael's instincts screamed. Juro could be an ally—or a threat. He considered the options quickly. The boy was fast, alert, and clever. That made him useful. Dangerous, but useful.
"What do you want?" Kael asked cautiously.
"Information. And maybe a partnership," Juro said, leaning closer, his voice barely audible above the industrial hum. "I know the Enforcers are hunting you. But I also know how to move without leaving a trace."
Kael studied him. The boy was human, yes—but he was also bold, reckless in a way that reminded Kael of himself. He decided to test him. "If you lead them here, if this is a trap…"
Juro held up his hands in mock surrender. "I know the risk. But I've got eyes in places you don't. And I can keep you alive—for a price."
Kael's mind worked rapidly, weighing options. Trust was scarce. Allies were scarcer. But solitude had its limits, especially when survival depended on resources, on knowledge, on movement. He nodded once, sharp. "Fine. But one misstep…"
"Deal," Juro interrupted, with a grin that was half daring, half insanity.
The two boys moved together through the shadows, silent in a city that had no mercy. Kael felt a flicker of something he hadn't in a long time—hope. But he buried it deep, knowing that hope was a fragile shield. What mattered was survival, and the Empire's shadow was long.
As they navigated the twisted maze of corridors and walkways, Kael allowed himself to notice the subtle patterns of Rusthaven again—the vibrations through the floor, the faint magnetic hum from the conveyor belts, the rhythmic pulse of the generators. These were constants, anchors in a world that had no mercy for the weak.
And somewhere, deep in the recesses of his mind, the resonance sang again—a soft, unbidden vibration, reminding him that he was different, that he was more. But he pushed the thought away. Not yet. Not while the Enforcers hunted, not while he was still a boy among shadows.
Survival first. Everything else could wait.