The days following the final meeting with Governor Tallis Krell stretched out like an unfamiliar quiet that Ethan wasn't sure how to embrace. The constant hum of chaos that had defined his life on Kynara, the relentless cycle of battles and desperate survival had faded to a low murmur. The absence of conflict should have been a relief, but instead, it left him feeling unmoored, like a blade dulled after countless clashes, unsure of its purpose without the grindstone of war.
Valeris City was healing, piece by piece. Workers moved through the streets in coordinated waves, patching up damaged infrastructure and reinforcing weakened buildings. Drones hovered overhead, sweeping debris from the alleys and squares, their metallic limbs carefully sorting salvageable materials from scrap. Civilians slowly reclaimed their normal lives. The markets reopened, and the once-half empty cantinas filled with the quiet buzz of conversations and clinking glasses. There was hope, fragile but persistent, like the first shoots of green after a wildfire.
Ethan couldn't sit idle. The stillness made him restless, so he filled his days with simple mercenary contracts. He patrolled the city perimeter, his boots crunching over scorched earth, eyes scanning for any remnants of opportunistic raiders and bandits. He escorted supply convoys to outlying settlements, his presence enough to ward off most threats without a shot fired. When he wasn't on guard duty, he helped coordinate relief drops to mid-sized and smaller communities, ensuring resources reached the people who needed them most. The work wasn't thrilling, but it grounded him. A quiet rhythm that kept his muscles loose and his instincts sharp, like a warrior maintaining his form even in peace.
Yet the nights were different.
When the streets quieted and the city dimmed, Ethan would retreat to the hangar where his ship rested like a slumbering beast. He'd sit cross-legged on the cold metal floor, the Astral Slayer resting on his lap. The dagger felt heavier in the silence, its blackened blade faintly pulsing with energy. Ethan would close his eyes and focus, breathing slowly, trying to deepen the bond with the weapon. He knew it was alive in some way, more than just a tool.
And sometimes, he heard it.
A voice. Soft, distant, barely more than a whisper. It echoed in his mind like someone calling to him from the far end of a corridor, words blurred and indistinct. The voice never grew louder, never became clearer, no matter how long he meditated. The moment he tried to focus on it, to grasp the meaning behind the sound, it slipped through his fingers like sand.
Still, he kept trying.
He waited. Worked. Watched Kynara slowly rebuild itself from the ashes.
Three days into Ethan's quiet routine, a sleek Ashen Prime transport pierced through the clouds over Valeris City, its hull gleaming with the polished silver insignia of the Orion Federation. The ship landed with a controlled precision, its thrusters hissing as it settled onto the landing pad near the Coalition hangars. The ramp descended smoothly, and a dozen engineers emerged, their uniforms crisp but already smudged with the marks of their trade. Grease stains, plasma burns, and the faint scent of coolant clinging to their gear.
Leading them was Raevis Kael, a sharp-eyed specialist with a no-nonsense demeanor and fingers permanently marked by the faint black of welding residue. Her crimson hair was tied back in a messy knot, and her tool belt clinked with every step as she scanned the hangar with the weary, calculating gaze of someone who had seen far too many broken ships in her life.
Ethan met them at the hangar entrance, nodding in greeting. Without much preamble, he led them to his starship. The unnamed, battered vessel that had carried him to this universe. It sat in the dim light like a dormant beast, the once-sleek exterior dulled by Kynara's relentless atmosphere. The engineers spread out, encircling the ship like vultures, their voices a low hum of technical chatter as they began their inspection.
They ran scanners along the hull, knelt to examine landing gear hydraulics, and tapped on panels to test their integrity. Raevis crouched near the main thruster assembly, running her gloved hand along a seam that had been hastily welded shut. Sparks of residual energy flickered from the contact, causing her to mutter a curse.
"I see someone already patched her up," she said, standing and wiping her hand on her trousers. She tapped the hull with the back of her knuckles, the sound hollow and uneven. "This section's holding by a thread."
Ethan nodded, watching her work. "Hired a few local engineers. They did what they could, but this thing needs more than basic repairs."
Raevis snorted. "Yeah, I'll say. It's a miracle this thing survived such a rough planetary landing." She motioned for her team, who immediately began prying open access panels and extending diagnostic probes. "I'm guessing this ship's not exactly standard-issue Federation tech?"
Ethan crossed his arms, leaning against a nearby supply crate as he lied. "No. Salvaged pieces here and there. Rebuilt what I could."
She squatted to inspect an exposed conduit, brow furrowing. "Some of these components... they aren't just non-standard. They're unclassified. Hell, I don't think I've even seen this alloy before." She ran a scanner over the metal, and the device flickered with confused readings. "The density's off the charts, and the composition doesn't match anything in our databases."
"Found it on a wreck during a job," Ethan said without flinching. Another lie rolled off his tongue as easily as breathing. "Figured it might be useful."
Raevis gave him a sideways glance but didn't press the issue. She had the tired look of someone who had dealt with too many mercenaries to care where their scrap came from, as long as it didn't explode in her face. "You've got some luck, I'll give you that," she muttered.
Her team continued cataloging the ship's quirks and oddities, occasionally glancing at Ethan like he was a scavenger with an uncanny knack for stumbling onto priceless tech. They found energy conduits laced with microscopic crystalline filaments, a hull plating material that subtly shifted under light, and a latent, dormant power core buried deep in the ship's frame that pulsed with an unknown energy signature. Every discovery only deepened their confusion, and every explanation Ethan gave was deliberately vague.
He watched them work, his fingers unconsciously brushing the hilt of the Astral Slayer strapped to his side. The ship had been his first connection to this universe, a lifeline that had carried him to Kynara, and now, it felt like a part of him. Letting these engineers strip it down and rebuild it felt strange, but necessary. It had carried him through a storm, and now it deserved to be more than just a broken relic.
"Alright," Raevis finally said, standing and stretching out her back. "We're gonna need at least a week, maybe more. This thing's a mess, but there's potential here. If you're lucky, we'll have her flying better than she ever has."
Ethan nodded, feeling the faintest flicker of something like hope. "Take your time," he said. "I'm not going anywhere."
For now, at least.