The ancient ship had slept beneath Arcturus for over ten millennia.
Buried beneath a jungle thick with engineered beasts, the White Night had endured—its systems intact, its secrets sealed. And now, after ten thousand years of silence, it stirred under the command of a new captain.
Silas Vire stood in the cold heart of the lower decks, where the air felt ancient and the walls whispered of failure.
Here, in the cryogenic dormitory, the last generation of the White Night Clan had fallen asleep.
And never woken up.
Row after row of glass sarcophagi stretched into shadow. Most were filled with bones—thousands of years reduced even these once-proud psionic beings to dust and splinters. Silas walked slowly, reverently, past the remains.
This was not a battlefield. It was a tomb.
Then he stopped.
One chamber glowed.
Still active.
Frost clung to the seams of the hibernation pod, and beneath the translucent surface, a silver-haired woman lay in silence—still, but not dead.
Porcelain skin.
Ethereal silver hair that drifted like starlight in zero-g.
She looked too delicate to have outlasted an empire.
And yet she had.
Silas placed a gloved hand on the glass, wiping away a layer of time.
Her eyes opened.
Twin sapphires, bright and cold, locked onto his.
And then she moved.
The pod hissed open, vapor curling away from the seals as her feet hovered above the floor.
Not walking—floating.
A field of psychic force shimmered around her like a veil of unseen silk.
Immediately, dozens of Predators decloaked and aimed their plasma weapons. Shoulder-mounted cannons tracked her movements, servos whining, kill algorithms primed.
Silas raised a hand to halt them.
The girl's voice didn't come from her lips.
It came into his mind—clear, pure, and ancient.
"You are the new captain of the White Night?"
He didn't reply. She didn't need him to.
"You have nothing to fear. I was created to guard the altar… not to destroy intruders."
"As long as the Zerg altar remains sealed, I will not raise my hand against you."
Then came the system prompt:
[Ding. The White Night Clan psionic entity 'White Warbler' requests to join your crew. Accept?]
Silas didn't hesitate.
Accept.
[Ding. Crew acquisition successful.]
[Crew Registered: White Warbler]
The HUD on his techband flickered as her stats streamed in:
[Name] White Warbler
[Race] White Night (Ancient Psionic Lineage)
[Spirit Energy] 50,000 / 50,000
[Power] 20
[Constitution] 20
[Spirit] 500
[Talents]
Ancient Sinner – Hostile reaction from all ancient races: –100 Favorability
Guardian of the White Night – While aboard the White Night, Loyalty fixed at 100. Grants S-Class Piloting Authorization
Sworn Enemy of the Zerg – Gains 100% bonus combat effectiveness against Zerg. Loyalty becomes –100 to all Zerg-aligned factions
Psychic Sovereign – S-Class psionic aptitude. Grants experience bonuses when teaching others psychic control
Last Torchbearer – Final living member of the White Night Clan. Probability of producing future White Night descendants increased
Silas blinked.
The ship had been a windfall.
But she was a miracle.
A living S-Class psion with sealed knowledge from a dead empire. A weapon. A key. A legacy.
And her loyalty was absolute.
"White Warbler," he asked quietly, "you mentioned the Zerg altar. It's aboard this ship?"
She nodded.
"It lies beneath the bridge—locked in subdimensional stasis. The last act of my people was to trap it within the Void of Space, just beyond physical time."
"But the core remains. And if it is awakened—"
She didn't finish.
She didn't need to.
Silas remembered the Zerg Crisis from historical records—how half the sentient species of the Star Sea were consumed in a generation. How it had taken the combined might of five empires and the sacrifice of ten thousand worlds to exile the swarm back into the subspace veil.
"Then why not destroy it?" he asked.
Her eyes dimmed slightly, and for the first time, a flicker of sorrow cracked her composure.
"Because… it can't be destroyed."
"Not by any force we possessed. The altar core is not a construct. It is a seed. A shard of the Zerg Overmind itself, cast into matter like a cancerous god-embryo."
"To shatter it would be to scatter its essence across a thousand planes. It must be sealed, always… or reborn."
Silas stood in silence, the weight of her words sinking deep into his bones.
"I see."
White Warbler hovered slightly closer.
"I will remain here. I can keep it dormant. But if the mercenaries knew of its presence…"
"They were hired to retrieve it," Silas said flatly.
She closed her eyes.
"Then this is only the beginning."