The hologram flared to life at the center of the Vigilant Path's council chamber.
One by one, the faces of the Traveler captains took shape in the air, each projected from a different ship, sometimes separated by several star systems. This was one of the defining traits of the Traveler people: there was no capital, no central world. Their unity rested solely on the fleet… and on the Council.
Kaelen stood straight before the circular table, his hands clasped behind his back. To his right, slightly behind him, Athriox observed the scene in silence.
At sixteen years old, he had grown quickly.
His features were refined, yet marked by an unusual maturity. His dark hair was tied in the traditional style of ancient Traveler navigators, and his gray eyes—flecked with silver—studied each hologram with methodical focus. He did not speak. He listened.
"Captain Kaelen of the Vigilant Path, it is good to see you among us," said the deep voice of a man projected in translucent form. "Captain Seresh of the Nomad. We are all present."
"Then let us begin," Kaelen replied.
The holograms adjusted, revealing nearly a dozen captains—women and men of diverse origins, all bearing the same mark: the weight of decades spent surviving in the Pegasus Galaxy.
"The problem is simple," declared Captain Lysa of the Horizon. "There are too many of us."
A murmur rippled through the channel.
"Too many," she repeated. "Our ships were never designed to shelter entire generations. Our food reserves are under constant strain. Our habitation modules are reaching their limits."
"We have always survived this way," another captain retorted. "By adapting."
"By fleeing," Lysa corrected. "By postponing the inevitable."
Athriox mentally noted every argument. He had already read the numbers. Studied the projections. The Council was merely giving voice to an old problem.
"Colonizing a world is impossible," Seresh added. "The Wraith will awaken from their hibernation within a few decades. And staying too long in one place…"
"…is tantamount to signing our death warrant," Kaelen finished.
The holographic gazes turned toward him.
"So what do you propose, Kaelen?" asked a harsher voice. "We all know your lineage has guided our people before."
Athriox felt—more than saw—several gazes shift toward him.
"I propose that we stop thinking solely in terms of immediate survival," Kaelen replied. "And begin preparing for the future."
Silence followed.
"I brought my grandson today for a reason," he continued. "Athriox is not here as a passive observer. I am training him to succeed me."
A more pronounced murmur spread through the Council.
"He is too young," someone objected.
"And yet," Kaelen replied calmly, "he already understands our systems better than many of our engineers. He reads the language of the Ancestors. He understands their legacy."
Athriox remained impassive.
"Overpopulation is not merely a logistical issue," he said at last. "It is a symptom."
All eyes froze.
"A symptom of our stagnation," he continued. "We survive, but we no longer evolve. The Travelers were founded on movement, adaptation… and innovation."
A heavy silence followed his words.
"The Heir of the Ancestors speaks well," someone murmured.
Athriox did not react. It was a title borne by his family for generations, ever since one of the last surviving Lantians had settled among their people and passed hyperdrive technology to the Travelers.
"The Council will decide," Kaelen concluded. "But time is running out."
The silence lingered a few more seconds… then Athriox stepped forward.
"With your permission."
Kaelen did not turn his head; a slight nod was enough.
Athriox raised his hand and activated his own terminal. The captains' holograms froze briefly, then a new projection appeared at the center of the circle—a three-dimensional star map far more detailed than standard Traveler charts.
"Over the past months, I have modified the range and discrimination algorithms of our long-distance scanners," he explained calmly, "by combining Traveler principles with fragments of Ancient protocols."
"That's impossible," a captain immediately objected. "Pegasus subspace interference makes that level of range unusable."
"That was true," Athriox confirmed. "Until now."
He slid several data layers into view. The murmurs ceased.
"By increasing differential resolution and recalibrating residual gravitational echo analysis, we isolated an extremely specific energy signature."
He paused.
"A Lantian signature."
The holograms went still.
"I have located an Ancient ship," Athriox continued. "Outside known Wraith routes. Damaged… but intact."
A silent shock passed through the Council.
"A warship?" Seresh asked slowly.
"According to the residual signatures, yes."
The silence that followed was no longer disbelief—it was vertigo.
Kaelen felt something tighten in his chest.
Pride.
Not only because Athriox had just disrupted the Council's political balance—but because he had asserted himself calmly, without arrogance, before those who would one day be his adversaries.
"A Lantian warship," Lysa murmured. "That could…"
"…change everything," Kaelen finished.
"The Council must rule immediately," another captain declared.
"No," Kaelen replied. "Not yet."
He looked at Athriox.
"This discovery belongs to all Travelers. But its use must be cautious. And prepared."
The holograms nodded slowly.
One by one, they faded away.
When silence returned to the chamber, Kaelen finally turned to his grandson.
"You knew this would cause a political earthquake."
"Yes," Athriox replied.
"And you did it anyway."
"Because it was necessary."
Kaelen placed a hand on his shoulder.
"Then you have truly begun walking your own path."
…
The Vigilant Path shuddered slightly as the mooring fields engaged.
Athriox stood in the observation bay, hands clasped behind his back, watching the slow approach of the second Traveler vessel. The Wayfarer's Dawn drifted with practiced precision, its modular sections bearing the scars of decades of travel and successive repairs. Antennae deployed, airlocks open, transfer arms ready to lock.
Two wandering cities, briefly meeting in the immensity.
Technical teams were already at work behind the observation windows, exchanging hand signals and verbal confirmations. Nothing was ever left to chance during these maneuvers. One mistake could cost lives, with crews moving between ships.
Athriox looked away.
Since the Council meeting, the atmosphere aboard had changed. Conversations were quieter, more tense—but also charged with new energy. For the first time in a long while, the Travelers were no longer speaking only of rationing or evasive trajectories.
They were speaking of the future. An Ancients' warship would allow them to fight back if a hive ship threatened them. They would no longer need to flee.
He left the bay and descended toward the lower decks, where the metal vibrated more strongly, where the ship's life felt rawer. The tactical training deck already echoed with muffled detonations and instructors' voices.
The air smelled of ozone and heated metal.
Athriox retrieved a Particle Magnum from a secured rack. The weapon was heavy, dense—built for real combat, not simulation. Its thick barrel still bore simplified engravings inspired by Ancient aesthetics, a distant heritage passed down to the Travelers.
He took position at the firing line.
The target deployed mechanically at the far end of the hall, suspended on a mobile rail. Athriox inhaled slowly.
He fired.
The recoil traveled up his arm, absorbed effortlessly. The impact lit the target with a bluish halo.
He stepped forward, adjusted his angle, and fired again.
Then again.
Each shot was measured, deliberate. He did not seek speed, but consistency. The score board, manually tracked by an instructor, began displaying high numbers.
Murmurs rose behind him.
Then—
A shot cracked to his left.
Sharper. Faster.
Athriox instinctively paused.
The neighboring target vibrated under a tight cluster of nearly overlapping impacts. The score was announced aloud.
Higher.
Athriox turned his head slightly.
The shooter stood upright, weapon still raised, perfectly at ease. She was his age, perhaps a little younger. Her dark hair, tinged with auburn, was tied high, revealing a face marked by near-insolent confidence.
He had never seen her before—she must be from the other ship. She lowered her weapon and met his gaze without hesitation.
"Not bad," she said. "But you shoot like you have all the time in the world."
A few stifled laughs followed.
"Haste leads to error," Athriox replied calmly.
She raised an eyebrow.
"And hesitation leads to death."
She stepped closer, studying him.
"Larrin. Wayfarer's Dawn crew."
"Athriox."
At his name, several gazes sharpened. Larrin noticed—and smiled.
"So it's you."
He turned back to his target, adjusted his stance slightly, and fired.
Faster.
The impacts were clean, precise. The score climbed past the previous one. A murmur of approval swept the room.
Athriox lowered his weapon.
"Satisfied?" he asked.
Larrin gave a short laugh.
"Better."
She raised her Magnum immediately.
"But watch closely."
She fired without waiting for the target to reach optimal trajectory. Three shots. Then two more. All focused on a single point.
The score was announced.
Higher still.
Athriox stared at her, impassive.
"Do you always try to provoke?" he asked.
"Only those worth testing."
She held his gaze.
"Again?"
Around them, conversations had fallen silent. Even the instructors were watching now, without intervening.
Two styles.
Discipline versus instinct.
They resumed position.
Shots rang out—fast, precise. The scores climbed, converged… then matched.
Finally, one of the instructors raised a hand.
"That's enough for today."
Larrin lowered her weapon with an annoyed sigh.
"Shame."
Athriox holstered his.
"It was only training."
She looked at him more closely now, less provocative.
"You're the one preparing the expedition to recover the Ancients' ship, right?"
"Yes."
She nodded, satisfied.
"Then we'll meet again."
Without waiting for a reply, she turned and rejoined her crew.
Athriox remained still for a few seconds, eyes fixed on Larrin's silhouette as it vanished down the corridor. He hadn't lost—but he hadn't won either. And for the first time in a long while, it made him want to go further.
A light laugh pulled him from his thoughts.
"Athriii!"
Vivi bounced up beside him, her light hair still tousled by the artificial winds of the airlocks. Her eyes sparkled with mischief.
"So… what was that?" she asked, gesturing theatrically toward the firing line.
Athriox turned to her, a faint smile forming on his lips.
"Nothing important," he replied neutrally.
"Nothing important?!" Vivi exclaimed, laughing. "For the first time, you care about a girl—and you tell me nothing?"
Athriox raised an eyebrow, amused despite himself.
"I don't care… I merely acknowledge her skills," he clarified.
"Hahaha!" Vivi laughed, hopping in place. "You call that 'acknowledging'? You almost blush when you talk about her!"
He rolled his eyes at his sister's antics.
"I am not blushing."
"Mmm… sure," she said with a mischievous grin. "But I know you, Athriox. And I know when you're interested. Even when you try to hide it."
He looked at her silently for a moment, then allowed himself a discreet smile.
"Then I should expect commentary every time I meet someone interesting?"
"Absolutely!" Vivi declared, hopping again. "And I'll remind you that I'm your sister first. No one gets to take my place."
She winked at him, then dashed toward the common quarters, still laughing at her own boldness.
Athriox watched her go for a few seconds, his chest feeling a little lighter. He would never show it—but these small moments, these bits of teasing, reminded him what he was protecting, and why he had to keep moving forward, no matter the cost.