The debris field groaned around them, massive chunks of metal and rock grinding silently in the vacuum. The ship's hull creaked as Kaelen threaded them through narrow gaps lit by the distant flashes of battle.
"Status?" he demanded.
"Shields at forty percent," Ceyra reported. "Hull stable, for now. But that Dominion cruiser tagged us with a tracker—I can feel it."
Lyra sat stiffly in her chair, eyes distant. "They won't stop. Not until one of them has the Seed."
Rhyss glanced at her. "And the other voice—the woman? Azhira? You think she's any better?"
Lyra shook her head. "I don't know. She… felt like she was everywhere. Like she knew us."
Kaelen frowned. "Then we stay invisible. No alliances. No trust."
Before they could argue, a shadow swept across their viewport—a gargantuan derelict drifting through the field. It was unlike anything they'd seen: spires of black crystal fused with ancient metal, humming faintly with power.
Ceyra's eyes widened. "That's not Dominion tech. Not Chorus either. That's… older."
"Older?" Rhyss asked.
"Precursor," she whispered. "From before the fall of the first civilizations."
Lyra's breath caught. The Seed pulsed in her chest, reacting violently. "It wants us to go inside."
Kaelen cursed under his breath. "Every time you say that, something tries to kill us."
"Or save us," she countered.
They docked at the derelict's outer ring. Inside, the ship's corridors were eerily intact—walls etched with glowing symbols that shifted as they walked. The air was warm, almost alive.
Rhyss ran his fingers over a wall. "Feels… organic."
"Stop touching things," Kaelen muttered, weapon raised.
As they entered the central chamber, the lights flared. A massive construct stirred—a guardian of shimmering stone and liquid metal, its many eyes opening one by one.
"You carry the Seed," it intoned, voice reverberating through their bones. "Prove you are worthy, or be erased."
Energy coalesced into a swirling labyrinth around them, walls of light cutting off every exit.
Kaelen spun, blade igniting. "Great. A test."
Ceyra's voice was grim. "No. This is a trial."
From the labyrinth's depths, shapes began to emerge—echoes of enemies they had fought, and some they had not yet met. Among them, the towering silhouette of the Echo-Lord.
Lyra's pulse quickened as the guardian's voice thundered again:
"Survive… and the path will open."
The first wave attacked.