Lyra woke suddenly, though she hadn't realized she had been sleeping. It wasn't the noise of the scavengers or the whine of a failing system that roused her, but the abrupt silence of the small, makeshift cavern. She had drifted off staring at Orion's sleeping form, her pulse rifle resting across her lap like a forgotten promise.In the weak, persistent blue light of the Lunara filter, the Strategist looked impossibly young. The heavy lines of exhaustion around his eyes were still there, but without the cold mask of calculation, his face was merely that of a man under extreme duress. He was a puzzle Lyra had no training to solve. Every Solari briefing had focused on the machine of the Lunara military; none had prepared her for the sight of a breathing, vulnerable man who hated the war just as much as she should. Her eyes fell back to the small, smooth panel that had slipped from his pocket—the star-map fragment. Unable to fight the curiosity, and certain he was deeply asleep, Lyra carefully reached out and plucked the small piece of metal from the rock floor.She ran her thumb over the delicate silver etchings. Even in the stylized Lunara rendering, she recognized the shape. It was a partial schematic of the Vega Cluster, the star cluster that marked the historical center of the Lyrae system. The Solari called this region the Ascendant Cradle, the mythic birthplace of their empire.My home, your home. The thought echoed in her mind.Lyra traced a specific cluster of stars on the upper quadrant. "The Three Sisters," she whispered, a name only residents of the sector would use. It was a non-official grouping of three small, bright, habitable worlds. They had been colonized by Solari pioneers centuries ago, lauded as paragons of expansion."A thousand years ago, the Lunara called them The Silence," Orion's voice cut through the stillness, cool and low. Lyra flinched, dropping the star-map. It clattered softly against the rock. Orion was awake, his dark eyes fixed on her, alert and dangerously calm. There was no accusation, only observation."You shouldn't touch what is not yours, Warrior," he said, pushing himself up, wincing as he shifted his injured leg. Lyra snatched the artifact back up, intending to return it, but held it fast. "I know these stars. My family settled on the third world, Lyra-Gamma. It's the Ascendant Cradle. It is sacred to the Solari."Orion watched her, his expression unchanging. "Sacred. Before Solari expansion, those worlds were pristine observatories. The Lunara maintained them as scientific outposts, valued only for their extreme orbital stability. We harvested energy there, studied the nebula patterns, and communicated with no one. We had peace." He rubbed his temples slowly. "Then the 'Ascendancy' arrived with their cleansing fire, demanding compliance or incineration. We refused the compliance, and they delivered the incineration."His version of history was a poison Lyra had never tasted. She recoiled. "That is Lunara revisionism! The Lunara were preparing those systems for an invasion! Your silence was a threat! Our records show our fleets only moved to liberate the territories.""And our records show your fleets only moved to expand your definition of 'order'," Orion countered, leaning forward slightly. "This is the crux of our war, Lyra. We are two sides of the same shattered glass. We fight because we fear each other's history more than we trust our own future."He held out his hand, palm up, indicating the star map. Lyra placed it in his hand, their fingers brushing for a prolonged, charged second."Lyra-Gamma was known for its floating gardens," she said quietly, suddenly remembering something distant and irrelevant to war. "My grandmother used to take me to the lower city domes. The sky was always twilight blue there, and they had these huge, synthetic flora displays that smelled like cinnamon and rain."Orion closed his hand around the star-map, his gaze softening slightly. "On the second world, before the Solari arrived, we had no domes. Only open-air platforms near the peaks. We listened to the seismic whispers of the planet beneath, and sometimes, at the darkest cycle, we would play music—tonal patterns meant to mimic the rotation of the nebula's core."He looked at her, his dark eyes now holding not strategy, but shared wistfulness. "We called it the StarCrossed Serenade."Lyra felt a physical ache. They had both found different forms of quiet beauty under the same hostile sky."This changes nothing," Lyra asserted, leaning back abruptly, pulling the mental distance between them. "You're still Lunara. I'm still Solari. We are enemies, Strategist."
"Indeed," Orion agreed, the tactical edge returning. "But enemies who must now decide whether to call our respective homelands for extraction. The scavengers have likely dispersed by now, and the power cell is draining. We have survived two days. We cannot survive five."Lyra felt the chill of her reality returning. If they called for rescue, her fleet would arrive, and Orion would be taken prisoner—or killed. If his fleet arrived, the same fate awaited her. The truce was about to break."The magnetic anomaly," Lyra said, thinking out loud. "If we can climb to the ridge, we might find a small sector of signal neutrality. We could send a highly encoded message without giving away our precise location—just our general sector."Orion nodded. "A sensible risk. If we are captured by scavengers, we are sold for parts. If we are captured by our enemy, we are interrogated for data. I prefer the latter odds. We move at the next twilight. One hour of rest, then we climb to the high ridge."He looked at her, the gravity of the decision weighing heavily in his expression. "We must be clear, Lyra. When the call is made, we are no longer allies of necessity. We revert to war status. Are you prepared to take me, or be taken, when the rescue arrives?"Lyra tightened her grip on her pulse rifle, feeling the familiar, comforting cold of the metal. "I am always prepared, Strategist."