Sure enough, Lyra Caelis looked up—and there he was.
Silas Vire stood near the Hyperion's landing ramp, a neutral expression on his face, arms folded as the crew of Vulcan's finest shipwrights surrounded him with awe.
The lead foreman, a stocky Vulcan artisan with a face full of soot and a chest like a forge anvil, approached him with a datapad.
"Captain," the foreman said, voice gruff but professional. "We've completed preliminary scans. Your S-class cruiser and the A-class freighter both passed integrity checks."
"The Hyperion—S-class—is pristine. Some minor shield coil recalibration and hull polish, nothing serious. But the White Night… she's older. Been planetside for too long. We found surface-level corrosion on several auxiliary manifolds."
Silas raised an eyebrow. "How long?"
"Twenty-four hours, tops," the foreman said, tapping the pad. "With full teams on both."
He handed Silas the invoice.
Silas scanned it, then blinked.
"Half a million credits?"
The foreman shrugged. "S-class, Captain. She's not a backyard scout skiff."
Silas exhaled and turned to the side, where Celeste Vale stood admiring the strange fusion of alloy and organic ship designs in the Vulcan shipyard. She sipped from a crystal-glass tea vial, calm and unbothered.
"Celeste," he said, holding out the datapad. "Mind settling this?"
"Huh?" She blinked, confused. "Wait—why me?"
"You've been eating, drinking, and occupying two registered cabins aboard both ships," Silas replied without missing a beat. "Think of it as back rent."
Her eyes narrowed. "That doesn't add up to five hundred thousand credits!"
"Life in the Void is expensive," he said with a faint smirk.
With a grumble, she pulled out a sleek black StarBank card and swiped it across the technician's interface. The card glowed—an ultra-luxury Black Nova-tier account. The technician's eyes widened.
This wasn't just a passenger.
She was a walking vault.
Silas raised an eyebrow. "Didn't know you had that kind of capital."
Celeste looked away, muttering, "You never asked."
Just then, Lyra Caelis stepped forward, her sharp-featured face unreadable.
"Long time," she said, her voice neutral.
"Long enough," Silas replied.
They exchanged a few clipped pleasantries—no warmth, no tension, just the weight of history hanging between them. Then she walked past, her gaze lingering on the Hyperion. Regret flickered behind her composure.
That ship alone was worth more than entire fleet contracts.
If she had played her cards differently…
Silas didn't bother acknowledging her thoughts. He had no intention of rekindling anything.
Instead, he took Celeste with him into Vulcan's capital node—a megastructure mall fused into the side of a volcanic mountain. Celeste moved like a creature returned to its natural habitat, bouncing between stalls of alien textiles, alloy jewelry, and exotic beverages with the wide-eyed glee of a spoiled noble on shore leave.
Silas trailed behind, quietly grateful he'd brought a squad of Predators in civilian cloaks.
He needed the backup.
As he watched Celeste haggle over a crystalline datapad stylus, the system pinged in his neural feed.
[Location Check-In Detected: Vulcan Forge Market]
[Initiate Check-In?]
[Confirmed.]
[Reward Unlocked: 1,000 Iron Riders. 100 Battle Titans.]
He froze.
That… was new.
The Iron Riders he understood—autonomous light infantry capable of planetary suppression. But the Battle Titans? Those were rare, atmospheric-capable warframes standing three stories tall, each one the equivalent of a small platoon in firepower.
[Deployment Status:
– Iron Riders: Stored aboard Hyperion, Dormant Deck Seven
– Battle Titans: Stored in White Night's cargo caskets, Airborne-Ready]
His lips curled slightly.
With those assets, his forces weren't just formidable—they were overwhelming.
He would have to reorganize the White Night's internal deck layout to optimize titan deployment, but that was a welcome problem.
As the system confirmed logistics, he leaned against a rail, overlooking Vulcan's glowing foundry plains. He sipped a local delicacy—Starfruit Milk Tea—sweet, sour, and surprisingly refreshing.
Celeste beamed at him. "You liked it!"
He said nothing.
Then, overhead, the sky changed.
A shadow passed over the horizon.
Ten frigates. Two B-class escorts. One A-class warcruiser at the center.
Silas's eyes narrowed.
Official military alignment. Not pirates. Not mercenaries. Someone serious.
Around them, other alien travelers stopped and stared, murmuring in multiple tongues.
"That insignia—"
"Dark Elves."
Celeste paled slightly.
Silas stood.
So did the game.
And the Void had just shifted again.