Syra received a small timetable and a dominion uniform to wear, imbellished with its signature star with an infinity knot. It was obvious of the power this ship held—and of her precarious position within it. She wasn't here as a respected pilot or even as an equal. She was a tool, a means to an end. A pawn playing a role to survive.

  As everyone settled into their stations Syra absently picked at her nails.

  "Eyes forward, Jharis," Renwick said without looking at her, his voice carrying the weight of command.

  Syra nodded, her expression locked in neutral. She settled into the pilot's seat, familiarizing herself with the Dominion control systems. Awaiting the three other pilots sign in, the Arc hummed to life, and she felt an exhilarating rush of power vibrate through her and everyone around her.

  With a practiced hand, she guided the ship out of the Weave and into the expanse of space. The stars stretched before her, and the familiar hum of the engines filled the cockpit, grounding her in the moment.

  "Coordinates set," she confirmed, her eyes scanning the readouts.

  "Plot a course to the Yenna system," Renwick instructed.

  "Understood." She plotted the course, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves.

  As they soared deeper into the void, she felt a strange mix of excitement and trepidation. The Arc handled like a dream, compared to the Nebula, responding to her every command with ease. Unlike the flickering faulty sensors and outdated tech she had on her own ship.

  Minutes turned into hours as they traversed the blackness, and Syra lost herself in the rhythm of piloting, her worries fading into the background. She could almost forget that she was working for Dominion again, piloting a ship worth more than half the population of the Weave.

  "Jharis. Hit the hay." Lt. Lucan said after four - maybe five - hours. leaving no room for argument, "Tannis will take over for now."

  Syra wordlessly signed out of her station returning everything to their default functions. She reached instinctively for the buckle strapping her into the chair but the belt defragmented and disabled itself automatically. Syra rolled her eyes, "Fancy pants."

  She stood up, reaching high into the air to stretch out the length of her body and began her descent through the halls of the Arc. She'd been on a ship like it many times. All the same uniform Dominion standard tech - stuff off-worlders could recognize in an instant. Most of Dominion's ships were built the same. Built for endurance and strength. Tall and long, shaped similarly to that of a teardrop when upright or a weapon of mass destruction depending on how you looked at it.

  The Elysium was different. It was made by Astor Industries and they only made the best. The Arc's were Sennian through and through, lacking the refinement of passion projects such as the Elysium. It was one of a kind. And she got to pilot it. Syra stared out the port window at the large sleek shadow of a ship attached to the side of the Arc. She let her mind wander to the fact that in some other world she never got this opportunity and she was rotting away in a prison on some forgotten planet or worse. She didn't want to even think about worse. She closed her eyes and said a quiet reverent prayer to Syrali, despite not fully believing the words. She needed someone to thank and it could have only been by divine intervention that she was yet again spared from prison.

  She opened her eyes, letting out a slow breath of relief and continued down the hall to the canteen. A few gazes flicked her way as she entered. It was a room big enough to put some distance between them but not big enough to disappear. Syra helped herself to the meal trays offered.

  Dominion Arc – Crew Canteen, Dinner Rotation.

  Syra flexed her shoulders as she began walking to an empty table, rolling out the tension that had settled in after hours in the cockpit. The recycled air smelled of heat, steel, and food—real food--or as real as got. Grilled synth-meat, dark-seared with a crisp outer layer, its protein fibers engineered to mimic the chew of real beef. A light glaze—something vaguely savory, a Dominion-standard sauce—glistened over it. Alongside it, a portion of aeroponic greens: a mix of hydro-grown spinach and boiled vegetables, the closest thing to fresh she’d get out here.

  Dominion chefs weren’t artists, but at least they knew how to keep things balanced—slow-burning carbs, protein, and fiber, all calculated deliberately to keep a soldier at peak efficiency.

  She grabbed a hydration pack—black ion tea, chilled—from the dispensary before finding a table near the bulkhead. Around her, crew murmured over their own meals, forks scraping against standard-issue plates. The officers’ table across the room had fancier options—real cuts of meat, richer sauces, maybe even a fruit garnish—but this?

  This was good enough. Basic, but solid.

  Syra cut into the synth-meat, took a bite. It was hot, well-seasoned, satisfying. Not home, but it would do.

  The sound of footsteps approaching made her glance upwards and Renwick was walking towards her.

  Oh shit, she thought mid-chew. What did I do now?

  Instead, he put his tray on the table and sat opposite her.

  Syra blinked. Oh. Okay? She eyed him suspiciously but continued eating. He could've been handsome in the right lighting. Not Syra's type, but she knew plenty of people who fawned over Dominion officers and would've definitely been one of them. People like him meant credits, power and influence. If he was married, she hadn't seen any indication of it and judging from the small terse interactions they'd had since being stationed here, she could take a few educated guesses as to why.

  Renwick's eyes glanced up and she looked away.

  "There are other tables you know," she said, a little too boldly for someone in her position but she was never one to swallow her words.

  "This one will do," he said as he unscrewed the lid of hot steamed soup

  She continued eating, feeling slightly miffed he was invading her space but ultimately ignored it as long as he ate in silence. He shook salt across his tray and began eating for a few minutes. Syra was halfway through her meal when Renwick spoke again.

  “What makes a good soldier, Syra?”

  Her fork paused briefly before she kept eating.

  She chewed, swallowed, took a slow sip from her hydration pack, then flicked her eyes up to him. “Why?”

  Renwick set his knife down neatly beside his plate. “Because I’m wondering if you still think you are one.”

  Syra bit the inside of her cheek, debating with herself how to handle this situation. "You've read the reports, what's there to tell?"

  "Your version of events. I saw a promising career. A pilot with skill, discipline, and a future. Someone who could've been standing in my position right now. But I saw a soldier who threw it all away." Renwick said. “So why’d you do it? Why did you defy a direct order on Thenia?”

  His voice was level. Not accusatory. Not judgmental. Just a question, spoken with the same calm certainty that had made him a commander.

  Syra exhaled through her nose and pressed the edge of her fork into the grain pilaf. “You weren't there,"

  Renwick picked up his cup, took a deliberate sip, then set it down. “You weren’t the only one given those orders. No one else disobeyed.”

  Syra clenched her jaw. “Doesn’t mean they were right.”

  “The orders came from High Command.”

  “I know exactly where they came from, sir.”

  Renwick studied her, gaze like a knife peeling back layers. “So you thought you knew better than High Command?”

  Syra let out a short, humorless breath. “In that moment? Yeah. I did. The sky was burning. Not the kind of fire you see in orbital strikes—thick, choking smoke that covered the surface of the planet. People running, screaming into comms - my comms - that weren’t getting answered. There were families, parents and innocent children, trying to cram onto ships that weren’t there. Dominion transports lifting off while civilians pounded on the airlocks, begging for room. I go to sleep and I still hear their voices in my head.” Her grip tightened around her fork. “The evacuation site I was assigned to was full of people who weren’t ‘approved.’ They weren’t officers, they weren’t Dominion personnel. Just refugees, workers, locals trying to get the hell off the planet. And I was supposed to leave them.”

  She leaned forward, feeling her blood begin to rise into her face, her anger spiking as she recalled the moment, “I requested an override. Denied. I asked for clearance to take non-military personnel if there was space. Denied. They had already made their decision. High Command called it a loss and moved on.”

  Renwick was watching her carefully now, unreadable as ever.

  “So yeah. I made a choice. I broke formation, I landed, and I took as many as I could fit in my transport while also managing to pull off three other transport holds full of people."

  Renwick didn’t speak right away. When he did, his voice was calm, measured. “And do you think they were wrong?”

  Syra didn’t hesitate. “They weren’t thinking about the people down there. Just the numbers. Just the logistics. And yeah, maybe that’s their job but when I took my oath under the Sovereign star, I meant it. Maybe I was just supposed to do mine and shut up about it.” She stabbed at a piece of synth-meat, jaw tight. “But those orders were bullshit. If following orders means standing there and watching innocent people get slaughtered, then fuck that job. And fuck High Command.”

  Despite her fear of being sanctioned, Renwick's lips curved for an imperceptible moment before he let a beat of silence pass and then spoke again. “And your squad?”

  She lifted her chin. “I gave them a choice.”

  “They followed you.”

  “Two stayed. The other two refused.”

  “They could have died."

  "People were already dying. They knew what was at stake." She thought about Rikka and Jorven - loyal and good to a fault. She didn't know them well, had only met them a day prior to taking the mission but they had proven themselves that day. If it had been up to Syra she would've awarded them with a medal of honor.

  Renwick didn’t look away. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  Syra’s fingers curled around her fork. “Of course it does.” Her voice was quieter now, but sharper, more controlled. “I’ve run through it in my head a hundred times, wondering if I was reckless. If I put them in unnecessary danger. If I should have thought it through more, fought it a different way. But I had seconds to make an executive decision and I did."

  Renwick held her gaze for a long moment. “You regret it?”

  “I regret what I lost because of it. I regret the people it affected adversely. But no. I don’t regret doing it.”

  Renwick stared at her, assessing her intensely, then gave her a measured nod. “Good.”

  Syra narrowed her eyes slightly. “Good?”

  "Yes," he said simply, "Good."

  Then continued eating as if the conversation had never happened.

  Syra exhaled, leaning back in her chair. “Alright,” she said, setting her fork down with a quiet clink. “You’ve had your answers. Now I want one.”

  Renwick didn’t react, just wiped his knife clean against his napkin before setting it neatly beside his plate. “Go ahead.”

  “Why did the Dominion recruit me?” She met his golden Sennian hazel gaze directly. “You know my record. You know the risks. You could’ve picked any pilot in the Weave, but you choose a dishonored exile?”

  Renwick met her gaze, steady as ever. “Because you’re the only one who can do this job.”

  Syra huffed. “That’s a terrible reason.”

  “It’s the truth.”

  She scoffed, shaking her head. “You’ve got an entire fleet of pilots who aced their scores, just like me. So why me?”

  Renwick didn’t hesitate. “Because you’re not like them.”

  She frowned.

  “You fly off-grid. You know how to move through places the Dominion can’t reach. You think on your feet, adapt when things don’t go according to plan. And most importantly, you’ve already proven you’re willing to make the hard call.”

  Syra clenched her jaw.

  “This isn’t a job for just any pilot,” Renwick continued. “We don’t need someone who just follows orders—we need someone who knows when not to. Someone who understands risk. Who won’t hesitate when the time comes to act.” His eyes didn’t waver. “That’s why we came for you. We offered two of our best pilots the role. Both of them now lay cold in the Sennian memorium. I won't risk another.”

  That made her pause.

  Her fingers tapped against the edge of the tray as she mulled that over. "Why was Dominion in the Weave the day I got arrested?"

  "We were there for you."

  She blinked. “You’re telling me,” she said slowly, “that I just happened to get picked up for smuggling the same day you were there to recruit me?”

  Renwick didn’t answer right away. "That seems to be the case."

  Syra’s stomach twisted. “How did you know I was there? Since it's all out in the open, I've done it a few times and I've never been caught.”

  Renwick sat back, folding his hands neatly in front of him. “We picked up a signal.”

  Her pulse kicked. “That’s not possible.”

  Renwick’s expression remained unreadable. “The signal came from a ship called the Nebula. Your ship.”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I didn’t have a beacon. No distress relay, no tracker. My ship was stripped down—deliberately off-grid.” She locked eyes with him. “So what the hell did you pick up?”

  "I don't know what to tell you, Jharis. That was exactly what happened."

  Syra’s fingers curled against her tray.

  Someone—or something—had led them straight to her.

  Syra sat back, fingers curling around the edge of the table. Someone had tagged her ship.

  And she hadn’t even known.

  Colt flitted into her mind but she brushed him away. He would never. Colt may have led them astray a few times on a few misleading treasure hunt, but he'd never sell her out to Dominion. No. It had to be someone else.

  Syra scraped the last bite of synth-meat off her plate, chewing without really tasting it. Renwick had already finished, his tray neatly set aside, his posture just as composed as it had been when he first sat down.

  She didn’t say anything else. Didn’t ask more questions. She wasn’t going to get any answers tonight.

  With a quiet sigh, she pushed back her chair, grabbed her tray, and stood. Renwick didn’t stop her, didn’t say another word. He had gotten what he wanted from this conversation. For now.

  She dropped her tray at the return station and headed down the corridors of the Arc. The ship hummed softly around her, the constant vibration of the engines a steady reminder of their forward momentum. She ignored the passing glances of other crew members, kept her head down, and made her way to her assigned quarters.

  The door slid shut behind her with a hiss, and for the first time that day, she was alone.

  Syra sat on the edge of the bed, rolling her shoulders, trying to release the tension that had settled there. She kicked off her boots, stripped down to her undershirt, and collapsed onto the mattress.

  She was asleep in minutes.

  It felt like she barely slept before the soft, repetitive chine of the alarm dragged Syra out of sleep. She groaned, rolling onto her side, eyes barely cracking open as the red-lit numbers on the wall display flickered.

  05:30 ST—Arrival Confirmed.

  Syra exhaled, rubbing her face before swinging her legs over the side of the bed. The steady hum of the ship felt different now—subtler, the deep thrumming of the engines shifting as the Arc adjusted its course.

  She pushed herself up, grabbed her jacket from where she’d tossed it, and made her way to the viewport.

  The second she looked outside, she knew.

  They were here.

  Beyond the thick glass, a massive asteroid field stretched for miles, chunks of rock drifting like frozen debris in the void. Some were small, others the size of battlecruisers, the jagged edges illuminated by the ship’s navigation lights as the Arc weaved carefully through.

  Syra let out a slow breath, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the glass. Today was the day.

  The hangar lights burned bright against the polished hull of the Elysium. Even among the sleek Dominion fleet, the ship was something else entirely—a masterpiece of engineering, built for speed, precision, and absolute dominance in flight.

  Syra stood at the base of the boarding ramp, heart hammering once, just once, before she forced it to steady.

  She’d waited for this.

  Renwick stood a few paces behind her, arms crossed. “Try not to break it.”

  Syra smirked as she stepped forward, running a hand along the cool metal of the entry hatch before palming the control panel. The hatch hissed open, and the interior lit up, soft blue guidance lights flickering to life.

  The moment she stepped inside, she felt it—the weight of the ship around her, the raw power humming beneath the surface, the smell of new equipment.

  The cockpit was a thing of beauty. Sleek interfaces, high-res displays, controls molded for absolute precision. It was hers for now.

  She slid into the pilot’s seat, fingers brushing over the flight controls as she let out a slow breath.

  Then, with a flick of switches, the Elysium came alive.

  Engines thrummed, the cockpit displays flickered through startup sequences, and the entire ship seemed to breathe beneath her hands.

  Her hands tightened around the controls.

  A deep hum vibrated through the hull as the reactor core engaged, sending a flicker of soft blue light through the cockpit displays. Screens lit up in sequence, glowing lines of text scrolling as systems booted.

  → PRIMARY SYSTEMS: ONLINE

  → SECONDARY SYSTEMS: ENGAGING

  → LIFE SUPPORT: STABILIZING

  A hiss of air filtered through the vents as oxygen scrubbers cycled in fresh, clean air. Syra inhaled slowly, feeling the ship wake up around her.

  The heads-up display flickered as the Dominion’s flight system ran a full diagnostic.

  STATUS: POWER STABLE. STANDBY MODE ENGAGED.

  She flexed her fingers over the flight controls, rolling her wrists as she tested movement. The control column responded with zero lag, smooth as a knife through soft fabric.

  She ran through her pre-flight checks like muscle memory.

  She adjusted the pitch, yaw, and roll, feeling the subtle shift in response as the thrusters warmed beneath her.

  Renwick moved through the hangar with practiced efficiency, his steps precise, his presence enough to send crew members snapping to attention.

  “Status report,” he said, barely pausing as a deck officer fell in step beside him.

  “Final system diagnostics are complete. The Elysium is at full operational capacity. Fuel levels at one hundred percent, weapons systems primed, and flight controls are responsive.”

  Renwick gave a curt nod. “Good. I want another check on the stabilizers before launch. Last thing I need is a compensation failure mid-flight.”

  “Yes, Commander.” The officer peeled away, relaying orders to the engineering crew already scrambling over their stations.

  Renwick reached the flight control terminal, where a tech was monitoring the Elysium’s ignition readouts. “Give me a response analysis. I want to know how she handles before she’s in open space.”

  The tech hesitated a fraction too long, tapping hurriedly at his console before answering. “Slight overcompensation in the forward thrusters, but within operational limits.”

  “That’s not what I asked,” Renwick said flatly.

  The tech swallowed. “She’ll pull hard on tight maneuvers, but nothing the pilot can’t adjust for.”

  “Not good enough. Make sure the response is even across all vectoring.” Renwick turned, scanning the hangar as the final clearances rolled in over comms. “I want all non-essential personnel off the deck in the next two minutes. No delays.”

  Crew members moved quickly, their pace doubling as Renwick’s orders passed through the ranks. Engineers secured toolkits, flight techs ran their last checks before retreating to the upper viewing stations, and the deck officer gave him a sharp nod.

  “All clear, sir. Ready for launch.”

  Renwick turned toward the Elysium, its engines humming, the soft blue of its running lights pulsing in a steady rhythm. He activated the comms.

  “Elysium, you are cleared for launch.”

  Syra grinned flicking a few switches and adjusting her throttles. The thrusters kicked in, a deep, hum vibrating through the Elysium’s frame as Syra eased the throttle forward. The ship lifted smoothly, stabilizers adjusting with a slight hiss of pressure shifts. The hangar lights blurred beneath her as she cleared the deck, the guidance systems feeding her a steady stream of altitude and thrust data.

  “Flight path is clear,” a voice crackled over comms.

  Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.

  Syra couldn't help but laugh at how smoothly it moved. Her hands were steady on the controls, her focus locked on the hangar doors peeling open ahead, revealing the endless stretch of deep space.

  She angled the nose upward, fingers tightening around the throttle.

  With a sharp burst of acceleration, the Elysium shot forward, leaving the hangar behind in a streak of blue light. The engines roared in perfect harmony, every motion seamless as she pulled into open space.

  Beyond the viewport, the asteroid field loomed, an endless maze of drifting rock and shadow, much larger and open then it looked from the inside.

  Syra grinned, adjusting her trajectory.

  Now the real test began.

  Syra watched from the pilot's seat as the Elysium settled into position near the asteroid's surface, the landing thrusters engaging with a low rumble. Outside, the hollowed rock of the asteroid loomed large, its gaping mouth of a cave entrance jutting from the surface like the maw of some ancient beast. Wisps of frost coated the jagged edges, glistening in faint light from the ship's floodlights.

  “Right, take us in.”

  Syra blinked at the display, then turned to Renwick. “You’re joking, right? You want me to land in that hole?” She gestured toward the narrow cavern. “That entrance barely fits this ship. You realize the second I drop us in there, the thrusters could loosen the rock and bring half the ceiling down?”

  “It can be done,” Renwick said, his tone sharp. “Two of our ships have already completed entry inside. The cavern is much larger inside. It’s continuing deeper that’s the issue.”

  Syra exhaled, hands steady as she lowered the power on the secondary engines, causing the ship to shudder slightly. “By the Sovereign, alright then.” She studied the readings carefully, noting the structural instability on the cave walls. “If the rock is loose, the exhaust from the forward thrusters could cause unnecessary disturbance. I’ll need to shut down secondary engines and rely on controlled descent with the primaries.”

  “Shut down secondary engines?” Novak, seated at the co-pilot’s station, turned to her, disbelief clear in his voice. “Are you nuts? You’ll have no lateral control if something shifts.”

  Syra’s fingers tapped across the controls, adjusting grav-stabilizers before shifting her gaze to Novak. “I’ll still have enough thrust from the primary engine to maneuver. It’s a controlled gravity descent, same principle used in deep mining ops.” She turned back to her display. “You would know that if you were a good pilot.”

  “Knock it off,” Renwick snapped, cutting through the tension. “Do what you must. Just don’t kill us.”

  Syra nodded, her focus locking back onto the controls. Slowly, she reversed the engines into a controlled landing pattern, careful not to overcompensate or jostle the controls more than a fraction of an inch. Any sudden force could destabilize the surrounding rock.

  The Elysium descended, slipping into the tight maw of the cavern, its floodlights carving through the darkness as the walls pressed in around them. Frost and dust swirled in the wake of the ship’s low-thrust descent, the sensors flickering as they struggled to adjust to the dense, mineral-rich surroundings.

  She barely breathed as she guided them lower, the ship’s frame groaning slightly from the temperature shift. After what felt like an eternity, the landing struts made contact with the cavern floor, a controlled hiss of hydraulics filling the cockpit.

  “We’re down,” Syra announced, fingers still firm on the controls. She let out a slow breath, tension bleeding from her shoulders.

  The Elysium hung in the cavern, suspended in near silence. The ship's stabilizers hummed softly, the only sound against the vast emptiness outside. Frost and dust swirled in slow, lazy spirals from the low-thrust descent, barely visible in the dim glow of the floodlights.

  Syra exhaled through her nose, her grip firm on the controls. "Alright, we're in. Now what?"

  "We need to go deeper," Renwick said, still watching the sensor readouts. "Landing here isn't enough. The others are further inside."

  Syra eyed the cavern ahead, its jagged walls tightening into an even narrower passage, one that barely looked like it could accommodate the Elysium's wingspan. "You're asking me to take this ship down a tunnel we can’t even scan properly?"

  Renwick didn't hesitate. "Yes."

  Syra muttered something under her breath and shifted forward in her seat, her hands moving deftly across the console. "Fine. But if we get wedged in there, I’m making you dig us out."

  Novak snorted. "That'd be a first."

  Syra ignored her, switching the thrusters to low-output manual control. The stabilizers compensated as she nudged the ship forward, inch by careful inch, the metal frame groaning as it adjusted to the uneven gravitational pull inside the cave.

  The floodlights stretched further into the tunnel, revealing slick crystalline walls, jagged protrusions catching the light like fractured glass. Some formations were small, barely noticeable—others jutted out like frozen spears, waiting to gut anything that came too close.

  "Slow and steady," she muttered, fingers tightening around the controls as she adjusted the pitch.

  The tunnel narrowed even further, forcing her to rotate the Elysium's wings just enough to slip between two massive rock formations. The ship’s hull brushed against the edges, sending a deep scrape vibrating through the cabin.

  "Watch it," Novak hissed.

  "You want to fly?" Syra shot back, her focus locked on the tunnel ahead. "I don't know who decided the Elysium was the best ship to do this in. You could've sent in something smaller."

  "The Elysium has state-of-the-art gravity stabilizers." Renwick said sharply. "The gravity disturbances destroyed the Jets we first sent it."

  She barely breathed as she threaded the ship lower, adjusting the thrusters to maintain perfect balance in the uneven space. The deeper they went, the colder it became—the frost thickened on the glass, creeping in slow tendrils across the viewport.

  Then, suddenly—the tunnel opened up.

  The cavern beyond was massive, far larger than the entry chamber. A vast, empty space stretched out before them, lit only by the dim glow of their floodlights bouncing off crystalline structures. The ceiling arched high above, lined with deep cracks and hanging formations, some of them looking precariously loose.

  Syra checked the readings—the others had landed here. Or, tried to. Ship debris could be seen way down below.

  She exhaled, easing the Elysium down with a careful hand, the landing struts deploying. Syra slowly reversed the engines in a landing pattern, careful not to jostle the controls more than an inch as she descended, finally reaching the cavern floor after what felt like an eternity.

  “We’re down,” she said, releasing a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

  The Elysium let out a low metallic groan as it settled fully onto the icy cavern floor, its landing gear straining slightly against the slick surface. Syra’s eyes flicked across the monitors, watching as sensor readings wavered—the dense mineral composition of the cave was scrambling parts of their system.

  “We’re blind in here,” Novak muttered, checking her console.

  “No kidding,” Syra murmured, adjusting the scanners again, but the distortion remained.

  Renwick’s voice cut through the comms. “Stay sharp. If this place is interfering with our sensors, we’re flying dark from here.”

  Syra leaned back in her seat, fingers still idly brushing the throttle controls. The tension wasn’t gone—not yet.

  Something about this place felt off.

  The soldiers disembarked, their suit lights slicing through the darkness. The cavern stretched out before them, a sprawling chamber of jagged crystalline formations that grew out of the floor and walls like the teeth of some vast, frozen beast. Frost clung to every surface, shimmering in the lights like a thin veil of silver.

  The transport ship hissed as it settled onto the icy cavern floor, its landing gear groaning against the slick surface. Frost crawled up the hull, the chill from the cavern seeping into everything, even through the ship's insulated walls. Syra adjusted the controls with steady hands, her gaze flicking over the monitors that struggled to make sense of the massive crystalline expanse surrounding them. The ship's scanners were unreliable here, distorted by the dense ice and pulsating crystals that seemed almost alive.

  Through the viewport, the cavern stretched endlessly, a hollowed ginormous abyss of shimmering glacial stone. Layers of frost and ice refracted the faint blue glow emitted by the crystals embedded in the walls, giving the entire place an ethereal, otherworldly light.

  "Well," she murmured, taking in the view. "This is something else."

  "This place feels like a tomb," came a voice over the comm. One of the soldiers, his unease clear even through the static. "Can't even see where it ends."

  Renwick's voice cut in, sharp and commanding. "It's a tomb if you treat it that way."

  Syra didn't join the chatter, keeping her hands steady on the controls as she watched the readouts. The temperature outside was dropping fast, and the ship's systems were working overtime to hold steady. This wasn't her first icy mission, but there was something different about this place—something she couldn't quite put her finger on.

  The sound of boots echoed behind her as Renwick entered the cockpit. He loomed near the doorway, his presence impossible to ignore. His uniform, crisp and heavy, bore the Dominion star, and his gaze was as cold and sharp as the frost outside.

  "Prepare for descent," he said briskly, his tone leaving no room for argument.

  "Yes, sir," Syra replied, keeping her voice neutral. She stood from her seat, reaching for her jacket and zipping it up. She'd been on edge since they landed, the tension in her muscles refusing to ease. Finally, it felt like they were doing something.

  But as she started to step past him, Renwick's hand shot out, stopping her.

  "Not you," he said firmly.

  Syra blinked, her brow furrowing. "Sir?"

  "You're staying here with the ship," Renwick continued, his tone matter-of-fact. "If things go sideways down there, we need you ready to lift off immediately."

  For a moment, Syra hesitated. "With all due respect, if anyone's suited to help navigate whatever's down there—"

  "That's exactly why you're staying here," Renwick interrupted, his voice steady but unyielding. "This isn't a discussion, Jharis. Your job is to get us in and out. If we run into trouble, you're our only way out of this place alive."

  Syra's shoulders dropped slightly, though she nodded. "Understood."

  Renwick's gaze lingered on her for a moment, as if ensuring there would be no further argument, before he stepped back toward the corridor. "Stay sharp. If we call, you lift off. No delays."

  "Got it," she said again, returning to her seat.

  Renwick left without another word, the sound of his boots fading into the distance as he joined the rest of the team. Syra sank into the pilot's chair, exhaling through her nose as she stared out into the cavern again. Below, she could see the soldiers moving in formation, their lights flickering against the icy walls. Renwick led them toward a deeper tunnel, disappearing into the shadows of the massive expanse.

  Her gloved fingers tapped idly against the armrest. She understood the logic—she was the best pilot they had, and if things went wrong, they'd need her at the controls, ready to get them out. Still, the gnawing frustration of being left behind settled in her chest, leaving her restless.

  The comm crackled to life again. "Descending now," Renwick's voice came through. "Keep the ship hot, Jharis."

  Syra glanced at the monitors, then back out at the crystalline cavern. The glow was constant, faint pulses of blue light rippling through the ice like a heartbeat. She leaned forward slightly, her gaze narrowing.

  "All systems stable," she replied. "Standing by."

  The comm went silent, leaving only the faint hum of the ship's engines. Syra leaned back in her chair, her eyes flicking to the viewport. She hadn't been part of a team in what felt like years...she shook her head, forcing the thought away. That was behind her now. This was the deal. Fly the mission, complete the job, and buy herself a second chance.

  She drummed her fingers against the console, her gaze fixed on the cavern's endless depths. Whatever they were walking into, she couldn't shake the feeling that it was something far bigger than any of them.

  Syra adjusted the monitor display in front of her, her fingers gliding over the controls as the flickering feeds from the team's helmet cams came to life. The images were grainy, distorted by the interference from the crystals lining the cavern walls, but it was enough to follow their progress. A shaky map of the labyrinth below the ship was piecing itself together on the secondary screen, though the deeper they went, the more fragmented the data became.

  She leaned forward, resting her elbows on the console as the pale blue glow from the crystals bathed the screens in ghostly light. Renwick's camera feed was the clearest, positioned at the front of the group. His sharp, deliberate movements cut through the haze as he navigated the icy terrain with precision. He gave quick, clear commands to the team, his tone calm but firm.

  "Steady," he said, his voice carrying through the comm in measured tones. "This ice is slicker than it looks. Mind your footing."

  Through his feed, Syra could see the uneven path ahead. The crystals jutted out at strange angles, their surfaces wet with condensation that dripped onto the frozen floor below. The air shimmered faintly with the pulsating light from the walls, and the faint sound of water echoed in the distance, amplifying the eerie quiet.

  "Eyes sharp," Renwick continued, his tone unwavering. "I don't know if we're alone down here. If you see movement, report it immediately."

  Syra flicked to the other helmet cams, watching as the soldiers followed closely behind him. They moved in formation, their weapons at the ready, their boots crunching softly against the frost-coated floor. One soldier muttered something about the crystals feeling "alive," and another quickly shushed him, clearly unsettled by the atmosphere.

  She returned to Renwick's feed. He stopped suddenly, holding up a fist to halt the group. The camera panned across a jagged outcrop of ice, where the crystals grew in tight clusters, their faint blue glow seeming to pulse in time with the faint vibration in the air.

  "We're close to a power source. The artifact isn't far."

  Syra frowned, leaning closer to the screen. The way he said it—close to a power source—sent a ripple of unease through her. He wasn't guessing; he knew. She'd flown missions for plenty of Dominion commanders before, and most would have barked orders without a second thought. Renwick wasn't like that. He moved with intention, measured and observant, as if he could feel the cave itself breathing around them.

  "What's your read, Commander?" one of the soldiers asked through the comm.

  Renwick crouched, his camera tilting down as he examined the ground. He reached out with a gloved hand, brushing away a thin layer of frost to reveal jagged markings carved into the ice. The feed flickered as he studied the pattern, but Syra could see the faint glint of metal beneath the ice.

  "This isn't natural," Renwick said quietly. "The artifact's energy is affecting everything down here—reshaping the ice, the crystals, the air. It's creating a field of distortion."

  One of the soldiers shifted nervously, his breathing audible through the comm. "I can see it..." their hand waved in front of the camera but Syra couldn't see what they were seeing. "What does it mean?"

  Renwick straightened, his voice steady. "It means we stick to the plan. No deviations. Keep your focus and follow my lead."

  The camera feeds shifted as the soldiers complied, their helmet cams panning across the crystalline walls. Syra switched between views, her eyes darting to the secondary screen where the cavern map updated in real time. The deeper they went, the more fragmented the signal became, the path narrowing into a single corridor that stretched downward like a frozen throat.

  Renwick's voice broke the tense silence. "We're close. No more talking. Keep comms clear."

  Syra's gaze locked on his feed. The corridor widened ahead of them, opening into a massive chamber. Renwick's camera tilted upward, and even through the grainy interference, Syra could see the scale of the space. The walls were lined with massive crystal spires, each one glowing brighter than the last. At the center of the chamber was a jagged altar of black ice, its surface pulsing with faint blue light. Like a heartbeat.

  "That's it," Renwick said softly. There was no triumph in his voice, only the grim certainty of someone who knew they were walking into something far bigger than themselves.

  Syra adjusted her headset, her voice steady despite the tension coiling in her chest. "Renwick, your readings are spiking. That thing is putting out enough energy to fry a small fleet."

  "Understood," Renwick replied, his voice calm. "Stay ready, Jharis."

  Syra nodded, even though he couldn't see her. She couldn't shake the feeling that something was waiting for them in that chamber—something none of them were prepared for. But Renwick? He was steady. Unshaken. And somehow, that steadiness kept her grounded too.

  The static thickened as Syra squinted at the monitors, trying to focus on the hazy images from the helmet cams. The frost inside the cavern seemed to distort everything, and the further Renwick's team ventured, the harder it was to make out details. The pulsing light of the crystals reflected in faint halos, casting the cavern into an eerie twilight.

  "Artifact in sight," Renwick's voice crackled through the comm, steady but tinged with something she hadn't heard from him before—a flicker of awe. "Approach with caution. We don't know what we're dealing with."

  Syra's hands hovered near the landing gear controls, ready to lock the ship down for a quick retrieval if the team needed it. On the monitors, she could just make out a large jagged shape of something darkly coloured embedded in the ice ahead. It glowed faintly, pale light flickering from deep within like the dying embers of a fire.

  "What are we looking at?" one of the soldiers asked, his voice muffled by the interference. His helmet cam bobbed as he moved, the light on his suit sweeping over the structure.

  Renwick's camera feed came into sharper focus as he stepped closer to the object. The artifact—if that's what it was—rose from the cavern floor like a jagged spire, half-buried in ice and crystalline stone. It looked ancient, its surface etched with deep grooves and markings that shimmered faintly in the low light. The energy pulsing from within cast eerie shadows across its surface, making it seem almost alive.

  The soldiers fanned out cautiously, their movements slow and deliberate. Syra switched between the helmet cams, her fingers dancing over the controls to enhance the feed. The spire's markings became clearer as one of the soldiers, Lucan, approached it, his energy rifle raised.

  "I've got something here," Lucan said, his voice tight with a mix of curiosity and unease. He swept his helmet light across the spire's surface. "Markings... looks like writing. Old script. Nothing I recognize."

  "Scan it," Renwick ordered, his voice clipped. "Let's get a reading."

  Lucan knelt near the base of the spire, his camera panning down. As he moved his scanner closer, the screen flickered violently, static overtaking the image for a moment. Syra cursed under her breath, adjusting the monitor's settings to stabilize the feed.

  And then she saw it.

  Through the interference, a faint shape began to emerge. The camera tilted upward as Lucan stepped back, his breathing audible through the comm. Encased in ice at the center of the spire was a figure—a man, frozen in time, his form perfectly preserved within the crystalline structure. His head was tilted slightly forward, one arm outstretched as though reaching for something, his hand clutching a jagged object that seemed fused to his palm.

  "What the hell...?" Renwick's voice broke the silence. His camera swung to focus on the figure, capturing the haunting image in sharp relief. The man's features were sharp, almost regal, his expression calm despite the frozen stasis. Pale lines etched into his skin shimmered faintly, just visible beneath the ice.

  Syra leaned forward, her breath catching. "Renwick... do you see that?"

  "We see it," Renwick replied tersely. "Stay quiet."

  The team's helmet lights converged on the figure, illuminating him in stark detail. The object in his hand—small, jagged, and glowing faintly—seemed to pulse in time with the spire's light. Whatever it was, it wasn't natural. The entire cavern felt as though it were alive, reacting to their presence.

  "Is it dead?" another soldier muttered, his voice shaky.

  "Doesn't look like it," Lucan said uneasily. "Looks like... stasis, maybe?"

  Renwick stepped closer to the figure, his movements careful. "Lucan, get the readings on that object. Don't touch it until we know what we're dealing with."

  As Lucan aimed his scanner at the artifact, the ground suddenly rumbled beneath their feet. A low, resonant groan echoed through the cavern, deep and guttural, like the sound of something ancient awakening. The crystal walls vibrated, their glow intensifying before dimming again. Ice cracked and splintered, thin fissures racing outward from the base of the spire.

  "Fall back!" Renwick barked, his voice rising over the sound of shattering ice. "Everyone, regroup! Now!"

  The camera feeds shook violently as the soldiers scrambled for footing. Renwick's cam swung upward, catching a burst of light from the artifact as it flared suddenly, casting the cavern in a blinding white glow. The interference on Syra's monitors surged, the static overtaking the feed entirely. Syra looked up from the feed to see the entire cavern lit up with blue light. Was it about to explode?

  "Commander?" she called, panic creeping into her voice. "Renwick, respond!"

  No reply.

  "Renwick!" she tried again, her hand instinctively reaching for the thrusters.

  The comm crackled suddenly, and his voice cut through, sharp and commanding. "Hold your position, Jharis! Do not move! We're stabilizing!"

  Her heart pounded as the monitor flickered back to life. Renwick was standing near the spire, barking orders to the team as they formed a defensive line. The artifact's glow had dimmed slightly, but the frozen figure inside remained unchanged. The jagged object in his hand, however, pulsed brighter now, its energy rippling outward like waves.

  "Get me readings on the energy output!" Renwick shouted. "This thing's waking up."

  The monitors flickered violently, static crackling as Syra struggled to make sense of the chaotic images from the team's helmet cams. The sharp bark of Renwick's voice echoed through the comms, but his words were drowned out by the deafening roar of gunfire.

  "Contact! Contact!" one of the soldiers shouted, his voice panicked. His camera feed jerked wildly, showing flashes of light, ice shattering, and the dim glow of the artifact as the cavern erupted into chaos.

  Syra's stomach twisted as she gripped the console, trying to keep herself steady. "What's going on?" she called, her voice taut with urgency.

  "Hostile!" Renwick barked back, his tone sharp and commanding. The sound of gunfire intensified. "Jharis, hold position! Do not—"

  The line cut to static.

  "Fuck!" Syra yelled, her heart hammering in her chest. She flicked switches, trying to stabilize the feeds, but the interference only worsened. "Renwick, respond!"

  Nothing. Just garbled static.

  Her fingers danced across the controls, her gaze darting between the monitors. The cavern map was completely unreadable now, and the helmet feeds had devolved into chaos—flashes of light, muted shouts, and distorted images of figures moving too fast to make sense of. Every second felt like an eternity as the silence inside the Elysium grew heavier.

  "Come on," she muttered under her breath, trying to force the comms to reconnected. She toggled the broadcast channel again, her voice sharper now. "Team Elysium, respond! Renwick, are you—"

  "Jharis, we're approaching the entrance!" There was a hint of desperation in his tone that she hadn't heard before, and it sent a jolt of adrenaline through her.

  "Hurry up or we'll all be buried alive down here."

  Syra gritted her teeth powering up the thrusters. The ship jerked and strained, fighting against the sudden changes in gravitational pull. As she brought the ship level with the ledge, she looked for Renwick and the others but couldn't see them.

  She pressed her finger on the comms, "Commander, respond. What is your position? Over."

  Only static replied, and Syra's stomach twisted with panic. She opened her mouth to call out again when a cold blade pressed against her throat.

  She froze, barely daring to breathe.

  Who the fuck was on board?

  The ship had been sealed tight, the sensors were all clear. A startling feeling that he had been hiding in the ship since leaving the Weave crossed her mind.

  "Take your finger off the comm," a low, dangerous voice commanded, the accent surprisingly unfamiliar, the blade pressing just enough for her to feel the sharp sting of its edge.

  Her heart hammered against her ribs, fingers trembling as she lifted her hands from the console, cutting off the connection to the commander. Slowly, her eyes shifted sideways, catching a glimpse of the intruder's hooded figure in the reflection of the glass. His face was veiled, but his presence radiated danger.

  "Who the hell are you?" Syra managed, voice barely a whisper, the blade still close enough to slit her throat with the slightest movement. "How-how did you get in here?"

  The figure didn't answer right away. Instead, the ship rocked violently again, the tremor stronger this time, and the stranger staggered, catching himself on the wall beside her. His hand left a smear of dark blue blood across the panel as he struggled to stay upright.

  Syra's eyes widened, understanding immediately this stranger was injured. His breathing was ragged, the weight of whatever he'd been through etched into the lines of his body.

  That was her opening.

  Before the attacker could tighten his hold, Syra grabbed his wrist with both hands and threw her weight back, forcing the chair to lurch and scrape against the metal floor. The movement sent the stranger stumbling forward. Syra twisted her torso, slamming her elbow back with all her strength. She contacted the stranger's side, right where the blood stain was strongest. A muffled grunt told her she'd hit the mark.

  The knife wavered away from her throat, and Syra didn't waste a second. She grabbed the attacker's wrist with both hands, twisting sharply. A howl of pain echoed through the cockpit, and the knife clattered to the floor. She shoved the chair back, knocking the stranger further off balance, and sprang to her feet, spinning to face her assailant.

  She didn't know what she was expecting but she was certainly not expecting the man before her. He was cloaked in fabric but beneath was flawless armor, clearly not standard issue for any Dominion soldier. The matte black plating fit seamlessly around his body, segmented for maximum flexibility, with faint blue energy lines pulsing between the panels. Around it he wore layers of black fabric, and a veil to cover his face.

  Despite the wear and tear—scuffs, scratches, and dried blood—the armor's high-tech design was unmistakable. It looked like the kind of elite gear reserved for special forces or shadow operations, far beyond anything the Dominion would waste on ordinary grunts, far beyond anything Syra had seen with her own eyes.

  The stranger's eyes narrowed beneath his hood, and before she could even process the flicker of anger on his face, he lunged. He was faster than anyone bleeding out should be, his movements fluid and precise despite the gash on his side. Syra barely sidestepped in time, the blade slicing through the air where her throat had been a moment before.

  Her fist shot out instinctively, aiming for his injured side, but he twisted, his elbow slamming into her forearm with enough force to stagger her. His next strike was already coming—a brutal kick aimed at her midsection. She pivoted, deflecting his leg with her forearm, the impact reverberating through her bones.

  He pressed the attack relentlessly, closing the distance with a flurry of punches. Syra ducked under one swing, her boot slipping slightly on the smooth floor, but she recovered fast, spinning low and slamming her heel into the side of his knee. He staggered briefly, growling in pain, but it didn't slow him down.

  Stars danced in her vision, but she blinked them away, instinct kicking in. As he closed the distance again, she feinted low, drawing his weight forward, then drove her knee into his side with every ounce of force she could muster. He choked on a pained gasp, the wound tearing open wider, blue blood spilling freely down his side.

  But he didn't stop.

  He swung again, his knife carving through the air, but Syra ducked beneath it, spinning into his blind spot. That's when her eyes caught it—something strapped to his belt. It was small, glowing faintly with a strange, pulsing light that seemed alive. The artifact. Her pulse quickened.

  It had to be what Renwick and his team were after.

  She darted forward, slipping past his next swing, and grabbed for the object, jumping a foot away. Her fingers closed around it, but the instant she touched it, pain exploded in her hand. It was blinding, searing, like molten fire racing up her arm. A cry of agony ripped from her throat before she could stop it, and she jerked back, clutching her arm as the artifact fell from her grasp.

  The glowing object hit the floor with a heavy, resonant thud, the pulsing light intensifying for a moment. Both of them froze - their gazes locking briefly before flicking to the artifact.

  Syra lunged again before he could reach the artifact, aiming to pin the man down. But he was ready this time. With a swift, brutal move, he caught her arm, twisting it behind her back and slamming her face-first into the console. She grunted, her vision blurring from the impact.

  Before she could recover, the threw her against the wall, her back hitting it with a crunch, and snatched the artifact from the floor, securing it once more to his belt.

  Syra, panting through the pain, forced herself up, her hands trembling as she reached for her blaster on the floor but he kicked it away and aimed his own at her head. He unleased a string of words in a language she'd never heard before that clearly meant he was pissed. "Fly," he rasped, his voice thick with pain, though the blade didn't waver from her throat. "Or your days end here."

  "I—I can't leave," Syra stammered, forcing herself to think. "My commanding officer is still down there. I need him. He's the only one who can give me my freedom."

  The ship shook again, more violently this time, and dust fell from the ceiling. The entire asteroid mine seemed to be collapsing. The hooded figure's grip on the blade slackened slightly, and he leaned against the wall, his breath coming in heavy gasps.

  "You leave now," he muttered darkly, "or death will be your only freedom."

  She could feel the rumbling growing stronger, and the jagged walls of the asteroid seemed ready to swallow them whole. She didn't want to die.

  Syra knelt on the cold floor of the cockpit, her breath coming in shallow, ragged gasps. Blood dripped steadily from the cut above her brow, warm against her skin in stark contrast to the cold metal beneath her. She pressed her trembling hands to the floor, trying to push herself upright, but her body protested with every movement.

  Behind her, the stranger stood, his breath labored, the metallic scent of blood clinging to the air between them. She could hear his boots scrape against the floor as he shifted, and then the unmistakable whine of a blaster charging.

  "Okay, okay," she said through gritted teeth, her voice brittle. Slowly, she pushed herself to her feet, every motion careful and deliberate. She stumbled slightly, catching herself against the edge of the console.

  Without another word, she slid into the pilot's seat, her fingers automatically finding the controls. The engines hummed faintly, a steady rhythm beneath her shaking hands. She didn't look back at him. She didn't need to.

  Her hands moved over the controls, flipping switches, adjusting the throttle. The Elysium groaned as it came to life, its thrusters kicking up ice and debris as it began its ascent. The faint pulsing light of the cavern disappeared beneath them, the icy walls reflecting the glow of the ship's engines.

  Syra's jaw tightened, her focus locked on the monitors. The cavern's static-filled outline flickered faintly, and her heart twisted at the thought of the team she was leaving behind. Renwick, Lucan... they were down there.

  Her gaze darted to the hidden panel near the console. It was her only chance.

  As the ship climbed higher, she moved her hand subtly to the side, her fingers brushing over the release switch. A single flick of her thumb, quick and precise, sent the life pod shooting out beneath the ship. It struck the icy surface with a faint hiss before bouncing into the shadows below, its automated systems activating.

  The stranger's hand clamped down on her shoulder.

  Her breath hitched, her stomach dropping as she heard him move behind her. She didn't have time to react before the butt of his blaster slammed into her temple. Pain flared bright and sharp, her vision tilting violently before going black.