The dim glow of the city bathed the skyline of Valeris, its towering structures stretching toward the heavens like silent sentinels. From the window of his temporary hotel suite, Ethan could see the neon-lit streets below, a river of movement pulsing through the heart of the capital. Pedestrians hurried along walkways, their faces illuminated by the flickering signs of storefronts and hovering holo-ads. Speeders wove between towering skyscrapers, their engines humming softly as they disappeared into the labyrinthine streets.
Despite the life that thrived below, Ethan felt isolated. The city was alive, but its people were blind to the conflicts that still lurked in the shadows. Power struggles continued behind closed doors, syndicates shifting their influence in the absence of the old rulers. He had seen this cycle before, one war ending, only for another to begin in its place. But for now, none of that mattered.
He sat cross-legged in the dimly lit room, the Astral Slayer resting across his lap. The sleek, molecular dagger felt impossibly light, yet it pulsed with a silent weight...a presence. His breathing slowed, his mind sharpening to a singular focus. He had done this meditation before, searching for a deeper connection to the weapon, to whatever entity lay within.
At first, only the hum of his own thoughts filled the silence. The ambient noise of the city faded away, replaced by a void-like stillness.
Then, like a signal struggling through interference, the whisper came.
"…E…th…an…"
The voice was distant, like an echo from across time. It wavered, slipping through cracks in his perception, never fully forming. He strained to grasp onto it, to pull it into clarity, but it remained elusive, just beyond his reach.
Then came the vision.
A vast, infinite emptiness. A shadowed figure standing at the edge of his awareness. It wasn't a trick of the mind. Ethan could feel its presence, a force watching him, studying him. The shape flickered like a mirage, shifting between indistinct forms, neither fully solid nor entirely ethereal. It was like trying to focus on a reflection in rippling water.
He reached out, his pulse quickening. If he could just see it, just hear it, maybe he could understand.
A sudden wave of static surged through his mind. His breath hitched, his vision blurring. The figure recoiled, or perhaps he was the one being pulled back. Before he could process what was happening, the void collapsed, and he was back.
His hotel room surrounded him once more, dark and quiet save for the faint hum of city life beyond the walls. The Astral Slayer vibrated in his hands, resonating with the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.
It felt… alive.
He exhaled sharply, running a hand down his face. It was happening more often now, these whispers, these fragments of something beyond his understanding. Each time, the voice became clearer, the figure more defined. And yet, he still had no answers.
Was it a warning? A message? Or something else entirely ?
He could only let his thoughts drift as he returned to his bed and slept.
Ethan's mornings, when he wasn't on a mission somewhere on the planet, started the same way it always did...with pain.
At the Guild Branch Headquarters, his training regimen was merciless. There was no room for complacency, no space for comfort. Every day, he pushed himself further than the last, knowing that if he wanted to survive what lay ahead, he couldn't afford to be anything less than at his peak.
His mornings were a gauntlet of brutality.
Live combat drills had become an unavoidable ritual. He squared off against multiple seasoned mercenaries. No handicaps, no holds barred. Full-contact sparring meant every mistake came with a price, every hesitation earned him a punishing strike. His instructors weren't there to go easy on him. Their blows were real, their lessons even more so.
"Your enemies won't give you a break, Walker. Numbers, deception, extremely desperate attacks. Anything will be used the moment they realize you are C-Rank or higher."
The words of his lead instructor rang in his head as he moved, dodging an incoming strike before countering with a precise elbow to the ribs. His opponent grunted, staggering back. Ethan pressed forward, knowing better than to let up.
The sessions where he faced Guild Branch master Darrik Voss alongside other D-rank mercenaries left him especially bruised, sometimes bleeding, but always sharper.
The physical training was relentless. Hours of endurance runs under simulated high gravity, weight training that pushed his muscles to their limits, reaction drills designed to test his reflexes in the most extreme conditions. He moved through them all like a machine, sweat dripping from his brow, his breathing measured.
But this wasn't just about brute strength. It was about strategy.
One morning, after another grueling session, Ethan stood in the middle of the training hall, arms aching, lungs burning.
"You're going to be a C-rank mercenary, Walker," one of his instructors, a scarred veteran named Vance, growled as he reset the simulation room for another round. "That means thinking two steps ahead, not just fighting harder. If you want to survive out there in the vast space, you adapt. Otherwise, you die."
Ethan nodded, already rolling his shoulders, preparing for the next fight. He didn't need to be reminded. He knew the stakes.
He must and will adapt.
Between combat and endurance drills, Ethan threw himself into VR flight simulations.
He wasn't going to be a passenger when his ship was finally repaired. He would master piloting it himself.
His AI, Iris, had tailored the simulations to be as unforgiving as possible and he wouldn't have it any other way.
Zero-G combat maneuvers. He learned how to control his trajectory in the vacuum of space, using controlled bursts of propulsion to dodge incoming attacks. High-speed pursuit tactics. He chased down simulated enemy ships through asteroid fields, dodging debris while staying on target. Escape and evasion drills. When outnumbered, he had to outthink and outmaneuver his opponents rather than rely on firepower alone.
More often than not, he failed.
Again and again, he crashed, miscalculated, lost control. But each failure became a lesson. He adjusted, corrected, and improved. Each mistake made him sharper, more instinctive.
The more he trained, the more he could feel it.
The sensation of the controls beneath his fingers. The sheer speed of the ship as it cut through the void. The adrenaline of the chase, the thrill of the hunt.
Every time he engaged in a simulation, it felt more natural, more right.
Soon.
Soon, he would be among the stars again.
And this time, he would carve his own path instead of crashing down into an unknown planet.
When he wasn't away on missions, training, or meditating, Ethan spent his time chasing ghosts.
The origins of the Astral Slayer were an enigma. Its power undeniable, its whispers relentless. If he was going to wield it, he needed to understand it.
His search began in the archives of Valeris, a sprawling labyrinth of history and knowledge. The data vaults contained records stretching back centuries, but most public files held only fragmented myths and forgotten history about this mysterious race. There were stories of a celestial civilization that once wielded immense psychic energy, their abilities so powerful that they could bend reality itself.
But what happened to them?
Why had an entire race of such formidable beings vanished?
The more he searched, the more questions he uncovered.
So he dug deeper.
Through a combination of Guild clearance, underground contacts, and discreet inquiries, Ethan gained access to restricted data vaults and private collections. These were records that most people weren't supposed to see.
That's when he found the first real clues.
Scattered across different sources, buried in the remnants of forgotten civilizations, was a name that kept appearing.
The Savior.
A lone figure among that race. A traitor to her own kind.
The texts suggested that she had turned against her people, forging a weapon designed to destroy them and end the dark times.
Ethan's grip tightened around the Astral Slayer as he read the words. Could this blade truly be that weapon?
The thought sent a chill through him.
His mind drifted back to that battle against Drakor Krenna. The words of that mysterious old man who had appeared from nowhere...
Even then, the weight of the blade had felt more than just steel and energy. It had felt like a decision made eons ago, still waiting to be fulfilled.
Ethan turned to Iris, his AI companion, for further analysis.
She processed every reference to Astral ruins and anomalies, forming a potential trail. A path through the stars that could lead to more answers.
"There may be more ruins, Ethan," Iris stated, her voice cool and unwavering. "More secrets buried across the stars. If we follow this path, we may uncover not only the past… but a greater purpose."
A greater purpose.
Ethan looked down at the dagger in his hand, its surface gleaming under the dim light.
The whispering voice.
The visions of the shadowed figure.
The energy that pulsed through the blade whenever he touched it.
The Astral Slayer had chosen him. But for what?
Drakor Krenna was dead. If that had been the weapon's only purpose, then why was it still calling to him? Why were the visions growing stronger instead of fading?
No. This wasn't over.
The blade still had a role to play, and so did he. The answers wouldn't come easily. They wouldn't come without danger.
But that didn't matter. Ethan would find the truth one day.