The Ark tore free from the neon haze of Cindralis and plunged into the black sea of stars. The hum of her engines thrummed steady beneath Kael's boots, a heartbeat of purpose after days of poisoned wine, hidden knives, and guild politics.
He stood at the bridge viewport, staring at the void ahead.
"Course locked for Draxos IV," Joran reported. The pilot's fingers flew across his console. "Mining colony. Used to be a jewel of the Frontier's ore supply. Now…" He trailed off.
"Now it's a graveyard," Rhea finished. She kicked her boots up on the console, chewing on a stim-stick. "Ghost Fleet raids stripped the place bare. Whole families wiped out, others sold to Taren's recruiters. If anyone's still alive, they won't be in a welcoming mood."
Lyra stepped closer, her eyes luminous in the glow of starlight. "That's why we need them. Survivors of Draxos are strong. They know suffering. If they rise, others will follow."
Kael nodded, though unease gnawed at him. "Then we'll give them a reason to rise."
The Ark broke through the roiling ash clouds of Draxos' upper atmosphere. Below stretched a scarred world of red rock, deep canyons, and strip-mines gouged into the planet's flesh. Fires burned unchecked. Smoke plumes curled upward, staining the sky.
"Reading life signs in the central colony dome," Joran said, voice tight. "Fewer than five thousand. Used to be fifty thousand."
Kael clenched his jaw. "Take us down."
The landing bay groaned under the Ark's weight, half its doors twisted and scorched. Armed men and women in scavenged armor surrounded the ship as the ramp descended. Their leader, a broad-shouldered man with burn scars across his jaw, stepped forward.
"State your business, outsiders. You've got thirty seconds before we open fire."
Kael raised his hands slowly. "My name is Kael Ardyn. I'm here to fight the Ghost Admiral."
The man barked a laugh, harsh and bitter. "We've heard that before. Every outsider talks big, then leaves us in the dust. Why should we trust you?"
Kael met his gaze without flinching. "Because I won't leave. I'll fight with you, bleed with you. Or I'll die trying."
The man studied him for a long moment, then lowered his weapon. "Name's Garrick. You want to prove yourself? Then help us survive the night."
Night on Draxos came fast. Red shadows stretched long across the broken landscape as alarms wailed. Ghost Fleet raiders descended like vultures, ships black against the crimson sky.
Kael and his crew joined Garrick's militia at the barricades—rusted vehicles welded into walls, mining drills repurposed into cannons. Civilians huddled in the dome's interior, fear etched on their faces.
Lyra stood at Kael's side, her hand brushing his as they readied their weapons. "You don't have to carry this alone."
Kael gave her a grim smile. "I'm not sure I know how to do anything else."
Then the first blast hit. The barricades shuddered, fire streaking across the night. Ghost Fleet troops poured from drop-ships—black-armored figures with burning visors, their rifles spitting plasma.
"Hold the line!" Kael roared.
Kael fought like a man possessed. His blade crackled with energy as it cut through enemy armor. Plasma fire scorched the ground, searing the air with ozone. He moved instinctively, every strike precise, every parry protecting the militia fighters beside him.
Rhea's daggers flickered in and out of the chaos, each throw dropping another raider. Joran manned a mounted cannon, his curses drowned by the thunder of its blasts.
Lyra's power surged like wildfire. Shields shimmered into existence, deflecting plasma that would have torn men apart. She raised her hand, and a wave of force hurled enemies back into their own ships.
But the Ghost Fleet pressed harder, their discipline unyielding. For every one that fell, two more surged forward.
Kael cut down another soldier, his chest heaving. Garrick staggered beside him, blood streaming from a wound in his arm.
"They'll break us," Garrick gasped. "There's too many."
"Not while I stand," Kael growled.
A massive raider mech thundered from the drop-ship, cannons blazing. Civilians screamed as its fire ripped through the barricades.
Kael sprinted forward, weaving through blasts. He leapt onto the mech's leg, his blade slicing into armor joints. Sparks flew. The machine staggered, trying to shake him loose.
"Lyra!" Kael shouted.
She raised both hands, eyes blazing. Energy surged, wrapping the mech in a shimmering field. Kael plunged his blade deep into its core. The explosion lit the night sky, the mech collapsing in a blaze of fire.
For a heartbeat, silence reigned. Then the militia roared, surging forward with renewed fury.
The Ghost Fleet faltered. One by one, their lines broke. Within minutes, the battlefield was theirs.
Smoke drifted over the ruined barricades. Bodies—friend and foe—lay strewn across the ash. Garrick limped to Kael's side, his scarred face pale but resolute.
"You fight like a demon," he said hoarsely. "Haven't seen anything like it since… since before Taren."
Kael clasped his arm. "This fight isn't over. But if we stand together, we can make sure it ends with freedom."
Garrick's eyes hardened. He looked at the battered but living survivors, at the militia raising their weapons in shaky triumph. Then he nodded.
"Draxos stands with you, Kael Ardyn. Whatever you're building… we're part of it."
Later, as fires smoldered and the wounded were tended, Kael found Lyra sitting on a broken barricade, her hair tangled, her face streaked with soot.
"You saved us," she said softly.
Kael sat beside her, exhaustion heavy on his bones. "We saved each other."
For a moment, neither spoke. The stars burned above, cold and eternal. Then Lyra leaned against him, her warmth grounding him in a galaxy gone mad.
"You carry the weight of everyone you save," she murmured. "But don't forget—you're allowed to carry me, too."
Kael turned his head, pressing his forehead gently against hers. "I don't know what I'd do without you."
"You'll never have to find out."
Their lips met, a fleeting spark of tenderness amid ash and ruin. A promise in the darkness.
When dawn came, Garrick raised the flag of Draxos above the colony dome—a tattered symbol of resistance, now reborn.
Kael watched it rise, resolve hardening in his chest. Havenreach. Cindralis. Now Draxos. Piece by piece, the Frontier was awakening.
But so was Taren.
And Kael knew his brother would not let these victories go unanswere