The glow of Valeris stretched out beyond the glass, bathing the sky in hues of molten gold and deep crimson. The two scorching suns hung low on the horizon, casting long shadows across the sprawling expanse of Kynara's capital. The city, even in its wounded state, exuded a quiet resilience. From this altitude, the shattered buildings and skeletal remains of once-thriving districts blended seamlessly with the sleek, glimmering towers that had withstood the siege. Reconstruction drones buzzed like insects far below, weaving through half-finished scaffolding and welding new steel onto old bones. The scars of war were visible, yet they didn't diminish the city's beauty. they enhanced it, a testament to survival against impossible odds.
Ethan Walker stood motionless, a lone silhouette framed against the vastness of the cityscape. His reflection stared back at him, distorted slightly by the window's curvature.
The suite perched high atop the orbital spire was a marvel of engineering, sleek and luxurious, with seamless panels of polished obsidian and floors that emitted a faint, soothing warmth. The room breathed with life, the ambient systems humming softly like a heartbeat. The lighting subtly adjusted as Ethan moved, dimming when he neared the floor-to-ceiling windows, brightening when he stepped away, almost as if the room itself was trying to comfort him.
He rubbed his temple with two fingers, feeling an old scar. The silence was comforting. He loved the quiet. The absence of gunfire, the lack of distant explosions, it relieved him, but it also unfortunately made the memories sharper. He could still hear the screams echoing in his skull, the frantic shouts of fallen comrades, the wet, visceral sounds of his daggers meeting flesh.
A faint chime interrupted his spiraling thoughts, a notification from the building's AI security system.
Status Update: Incoming arrival.
They're here.
Ethan exhaled slowly, dragging a hand down his face. He hadn't prepared for this. The idea of sharing a meal with Governor Tallis Krell, the face of the Federation's distant, indifferent authority on this galactic sector, twisted something bitter in his gut. Where had Krell been when the Syndicate had scorched entire settlements to ash? When families in outposts had been dragged into the streets and executed as examples? When children had starved in the rubble of their homes, their corpses gnawed on by feral desert beasts?
Ashen Prime had only come when the war was already won. When Ethan and the ragged coalition of resistance fighters, mercenaries, and surviving local Federation guards had bled to break the Black Sun Syndicate's chokehold on the planet. Krell wasn't here to honor that sacrifice, or maybe he was. That's what this meeting was truly all about for Ethan.
Ethan ran his fingers through his short hair, trying to calm his growing irritation. He glanced at the door, the polished steel surface gleaming like a blade.
He turned back to the window, watching the suns rise higher, bleeding light across the sky. For a brief, fleeting moment, he wished he could disappear into that light.
The double doors slid apart with a soundless precision, revealing Governor Tallis Krell, a man who entered like he owned every molecule of air in the room. His stride was slow but deliberate, each step measured to project authority without a trace of haste. The room itself seemed to shrink in response to his presence, as if the architecture acknowledged his status and bent to accommodate it.
Krell's uniform was a work of art, a deep, near-black blue that hugged his frame with military precision. Silver accents lined the seams, subtle but unmistakable, catching the room's soft glow in sharp, deliberate flashes. The Orion Federation emblem, a blue star encircled by gleaming orbital silver rings, was emblazoned across his chest, polished to a mirror finish. It wasn't just a uniform; it was a declaration of power.
His face bore the wear of years spent navigating the brutal currents of galactic politics, with hard lines carved around his mouth and eyes. His silver-streaked hair was slicked back without a single strand out of place, a rigid crown that added to his air of meticulous control. Yet it was his eyes that anchored him. Cold, calculating, and sharp enough to cut through titanium. They weren't the eyes of a politician. They were the eyes of a predator, but then again all politicians were predators.
Krell didn't scan the room or take in his surroundings. He didn't need to. His gaze locked onto Ethan the moment he crossed the threshold, dissecting him with a single glance. It wasn't the casual curiosity of someone meeting a war hero. It was the piercing stare of a tactician analyzing a battlefield.
Behind him, Captain Rhaegis Voelker entered with the silent menace of a looming storm. The man was massive, his form wrapped in matte-black combat armor that made no noise as he moved. Subtle holographic displays pulsed along his vambraces, flickering with data streams only he could read. He carried no visible weapon, but Ethan didn't need to see one to know the truth. Voelker was the weapon. Every inch of him radiated danger, from the rigid way he held himself to the cold, detached expression etched into his face.
The captain took his position by the entrance, standing motionless like a statue. No shifting weight, no restless fidgeting. Just pure, unwavering discipline. An elite enforcer bred for war, trained to kill with the same ease most people reserved for breathing.
Krell, however, moved with a different kind of lethality. His lips curved into a smile, a precise arrangement of muscles that carried no warmth. It was the smile of someone who had rehearsed the gesture a thousand times, practiced it in mirrors until it looked just human enough to pass. It never touched his eyes.
"Mr. Walker," Krell greeted, his voice as smooth as polished steel, every syllable dripping with cultivated charm. It wasn't just a greeting; it was a performance. The voice of a man who commands an entire galactic sector's capital space station. "It's an honor to finally meet the man who shaped Kynara's future."
He extended a hand, fingers long and slender, the kind of hand that had signed execution orders without a second thought.
Ethan didn't move at first. He just stood there, watching Krell like he was waiting for the man to drop the act. The room's silence stretched, the hum of hidden technology the only sound beneath the weight of the moment. Even Voelker didn't flinch, he just watched, his gaze distant but ever aware, like a wolf keeping tabs on the weakest member of a herd.
Finally, Ethan stepped forward. He grasped Krell's hand with just enough pressure to be firm but not aggressive. The governor's grip was colder than he expected, fingers like polished stone. They shook once, the exchange as brief as a spark, before releasing.
"Governor," Ethan said, voice low and even. He didn't thank Krell for the honor, didn't acknowledge the praise. He just said the title and nothing more.
For a fraction of a second, something flickered behind Krell's eyes. Not annoyance, but interest.
The governor's smile widened, just barely.
This was going to be an interesting meeting.