The familiar green-brown sphere of Agon-Tor dwindled rapidly in the main viewport, shrinking from a world to a disc, then to a bright marble against the infinite velvet blackness spangled with the distant, unblinking eyes of stars.

  Corym stood mesmerized, watching his entire life recede at an impossible speed. The rugged outlines of the northern crags where they’d hidden, the faint patchwork quilt of the southern fields he’d worked only yesterday, the almost invisible speck that was Oakhaven village – all dissolving into the curve of the planet, soon to be lost entirely.

  The Pelican climbed silently, punching through the thin atmospheric shell into the raw, silent cold of the Vestian Reach. Below, he knew, Dynasty cruisers were likely already establishing orbital patrols, their faceless soldiers questioning villagers, searching homes, tightening their grip. His home. Invaded. Occupied. Because of him.

  The bridge was quiet now, the frantic energy of their escape replaced by a low, humming tension. Modelo moved quickly between consoles, checking diagnostic readings, murmuring technical jargon to himself. Vantis stood near the navigational display, arms crossed, staring impassively at the swirling holographic star chart, his expression unreadable. Ceephax, the bronze droid, glided silently towards the galley, presumably to begin cleaning up the remnants of their interrupted breakfast. The silence felt heavy, thick with unspoken fears and the immediate, aching loss that radiated from Corym in waves.

  He felt a light touch on his arm and flinched, turning abruptly. Ashryn stood beside him, her storm-grey eyes holding an unexpected softness. The hood of her cloak was thrown back, revealing the striking frame of her pale hair against the muted blue of her tunic. She didn’t say anything, just met his gaze, her expression conveying a depth of understanding that went beyond words. Then, hesitantly, almost shyly, she reached out further, her arm brushing his, her hand settling gently on his shoulder.

  The simple human contact, after the chaos and violence, was startling. He looked at her, bewildered by the quiet empathy radiating from her. Before he could react further, she leaned in slightly and, surprising him completely, put her arm around his shoulders, pulling him into a brief, slightly awkward but undeniably comforting hug. Her hair smelled faintly of something clean, like rainwater on stone.

  "I'm so sorry, Corym," she murmured, her voice low, meant only for him. "For all of this. For what you had to leave behind."

  He stiffened for a moment, unused to such casual intimacy, then felt something crack deep inside him. The tightly held control threatened to shatter. He pulled back slightly, blinking hard against the sudden sting in his eyes, but didn’t completely shrug off her touch. "It’s… okay," he managed, his voice rough. He cleared his throat, forcing himself to meet her gaze. "Thank you. All of you. For… getting me out. Maybe you're right. Maybe they would have found me sooner or later anyway." A grim sort of acceptance settled over him, heavy as lead. "Might actually be safer with you lot, crazy as that sounds."

  Ashryn withdrew her arm slowly, offering him a small, sad smile. "Safety is relative in this galaxy. But yes, perhaps the devils you know…"

  "Well," Vantis interjected briskly, turning away from the star chart, cutting through the quiet moment with pragmatic efficiency. "Touching though this is, nostalgic reflections won't keep Dynasty destroyers off our tailpipe. We have the Egg," he nodded towards the ironwood chest now securely strapped down near the engineering console, "and we have our newest, most volatile asset." He flicked a glance at Corym. "The question is, where the bloody hell do we go now?"

  Modelo straightened up from his console, pushing his magnifier onto his forehead. "He's right. Our jump signature from Agon-Tor will be logged. They know roughly which direction we were headed. Standard procedure is to blockade likely outbound systems within a ten-parsec radius, maybe wider if they flag this as high-priority." He grimaced, showing teeth stained slightly blue from some residue on his tools. "And given they likely connected Corym to Renmyr, and intercepted unsanctioned magic use… I'd say this qualifies as high-priority."

  "We need somewhere to disappear," Ashryn stated, her brief display of empathy replaced by focused practicality. "Somewhere busy enough to lose our signature amongst background traffic, somewhere we can potentially access a high-volume jump point leading further out-system before they can effectively cordon off the entire system."

  "Which leaves limited options," Vantis mused, tapping thoughtfully on the console. "Most nearby systems are resource-poor asteroid belts or sparsely populated wordlets like Agon-Tor – too quiet. Easily blockaded."

  Corym thought back to the travel brochures he used to hoard, the vox-casts describing gleaming cityscapes. "What about… one of the Core Worlds? Sqraax Prime?"

  Vantis scoffed. "Fly straight into the heart of the lion's den? Suicide."

  "Not necessarily," Ashryn countered, considering Corym's suggestion seriously. "Sqraax Prime is the administrative hub of the entire Vestian Reach. Extremely high traffic density. Dozens, maybe hundreds of ships arriving and departing every standard hour through multiple stable jump points. It adheres to the principle of hiding the needle in the haystack."

  "A very big haystack crawling with Dynasty patrols, orbital customs checks, and mandatory docking inspections," Vantis argued.

  "Security protocols on heavily populated Core Worlds are often focused on large-scale threats or mass transit," Ashryn reasoned. "A single, unassuming cruiser like the Pelican might slip through the cracks if we maintain proper procedure and avoid drawing attention. Hiding in plain sight."

  Vantis still looked skeptical. "It's risky. One random scan, one alert customs official…" He trailed off, then shrugged, a gesture of reluctant concession. "But finding a clear path directly out to the Farthest Rim from here, without crossing major monitored routes… that's riskier." He looked towards the droid, who had finished its tidying and stood silently nearby. "Alright, Ceephax needs to calculate the optimal approach vector and departure window for Sqraax Prime. But I want an extra layer of security."

  Vantis reached inside his tunic and withdrew his own wand. It was starkly different from Ashryn’s elegant, unassuming branch. His was crafted from what looked like polished ebony, stark black, unadorned save for sharp, angular silver runes that seemed to absorb rather than reflect light. The tip was a shard of smoky, dark quartz that pulsed with a barely visible, deep violet light. It felt cold, somehow, even from a distance.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  He held the wand aloft, muttering a complex series of harsh, guttural syllables quite unlike Ashryn's clear tones. The violet light at the wand’s tip intensified, swirling into intricate, sigil-like patterns that hung suspended in the air around it, casting sharp, geometric shadows on the bridge bulkheads.

  He walked over to the motionless Ceephax and gently tapped the droid on its smooth head with the glowing wand tip. The violet sigils flowed from the wand, sinking into the droid’s bronze casing, momentarily outlining its internal circuitry like a ghostly x-ray before fading entirely.

  "Layered predictive algorithms and probability filters," Vantis explained tersely, retracting his wand. "Beyond standard Dynasty tracking. Should give Ceephax an edge in finding the quietest path through their sensor nets." He glanced at the droid. "Well? Get calculating."

  Ceephax's photoreceptors brightened slightly. "Affirmative, Master Vantis. Incorporating supplementary logic protocols." The droid turned towards the main navigation console, interfacing directly. Complex trajectory lines and probability cones began overlaying the star chart. After several moments of intense calculation, Ceephax spoke, its synthesized voice perfectly modulated.

  "Analysis complete. Optimal strategy corroborates Mistress Ashryn's assessment. Proceeding directly to Sqraax Prime offers the highest probability of successful transit concealment, calculated at eighty-three point seven percent, assuming adherence to recommended low-emission approach vectors and minimal interaction with orbital authorities. A calculated entry window exists approximately seventeen standard hours from current time, aligning with peak commercial traffic."

  The droid displayed a proposed flight path – a long, curving trajectory towards the planet. "Furthermore, the Sqraax Prime primary outbound jump point offers multiple viable trajectories, significantly complicating Dynasty attempts at predictive interception should our passage be detected."

  "Sounds like a plan," Modelo said, looking relieved. "Hiding amongst the core world shipping lanes. Risky, but maybe just crazy enough to work."

  Ashryn nodded. "Set the course, Ceephax."

  "Course laid in and engaged," the droid confirmed. The low thrum of the Pelican’s engines deepened slightly as the ship altered its trajectory, aligning itself for the long journey towards the heart of the Vestian Reach.

  Despite the lingering fear and the fresh grief clawing at him, Corym felt a strange, unexpected flicker of something else: excitement. Sqraax Prime. He'd only ever seen it in flickering holo-images – towering crystal spires scraping nebula-streaked skies, elegant sky-bridges, rivers gleaming like spilled quicksilver through lush, impossibly green forests. A core world, the vibrant center of civilization in this sector. To see it for real… even as a fugitive, the prospect held a spark of wonder. He watched the distant stars shift slowly in the viewport, the reality of his situation – hurtling through space towards an unknown future – finally beginning to sink in.

  As the ship settled onto its new course, the immediate tension seemed to ease slightly. Vantis returned to monitoring sensor readings, Modelo began running low-level diagnostics on the newly taxed engine core, and Ashryn found a data-slate and began reviewing what looked like complex historical documents. Corym felt adrift, unsure of his place in this new dynamic.

  After a while, Modelo looked up from his console, noticing Corym still lingering uncertainly near the bench. "Hey," he said kindly, gesturing down the short corridor leading past the medbay. "Probably ought to show you where you can stay. Get settled in a bit?"

  Corym nodded gratefully. He followed Modelo down the corridor, past the medbay hatch, to another, unmarked door. This door, however, featured a strange circular mechanism set into its surface – a metallic dial etched with numerous glowing runes, surrounding a central keyhole-like slot.

  "What's this?" Corym asked.

  "Ah," Modelo grinned. "Bit of shipboard magic. Saves on space. One physical doorway, multiple potential rooms. Standard dimensional compression charm, enhanced."

  "Standard?"

  "Well, standard for ships built by people who know their way around applied thaumaturgy and engine repair," Modelo amended. He pointed towards the dial. "Watch." He turned the dial, aligning a specific sequence of runes with a marker above the slot. "This one's mine." He pushed the door open.

  Corym peered inside. It was small, functional, but undeniably cluttered. Workbenches were covered in tools, disassembled electronic components, coils of wire, strange crystal arrays. Schematics were pinned haphazardly to the walls alongside faded holo-images of unfamiliar star systems. It smelled faintly of solder. "Cozy," Corym remarked dryly.

  Modelo chuckled, closing the door. He turned the dial again, aligning a different set of runes. "Ashryn's." This room was the complete opposite. Neat, serene, it held simple furnishings, several shelves filled with data-slates and actual bound books, and surprisingly, numerous small pots containing lush, green plants thriving under soft grow-lights. It smelled faintly of soil and herbs. He closed that door too. "Storage." Another turn, revealing shelves stacked with ration packs, spare parts, emergency supplies.

  "This doorway acts as a tunable anchor point between baseline reality and several small, co-existing pocket dimensions,” Ceephax's voice stated politely. The droid had glided silently up behind them “Quite ingenious, though potentially unstable if the modulating frequency drifts."

  "Yeah, thanks Ceephax," Modelo said, rolling his eyes. He turned the dial one last time, selecting a simpler, almost blank rune. "And this one… is spare. Guest quarters, basically." He opened the door onto a small, plain room containing only a simple bunk bed built into the wall, a small fold-down desk, and a storage locker. It was clean, basic, anonymous. "It's not much," Modelo said apologetically. "But it's yours for now. Can probably scrounge up some spare blankets."

  "No, it's… it's fine," Corym said quietly. "Thanks, Modelo."

  "Right then," Modelo clapped him briefly on the shoulder. "Holler if you need anything. Galley's always open, mostly." He headed back towards the bridge, Ceephax gliding silently after him.

  Corym stood alone in the corridor before the blank door to his new room. He pushed it open and stepped inside, the hatch hissing shut behind him, sealing him in the small, quiet space. He looked around at the bare walls, the functional bunk, the empty locker. It was a room for someone with no possessions, no past attached. A room for a fugitive.

  He walked over to the narrow bunk and sank onto its edge. The silence pressed in on him, broken only by the low hum of the ship travelling through the void. Agon-Tor felt impossibly far away now, a lost dream. Kannon, Firon, his grandparents, his mother… Images flashed through his mind: the pub, the fields, the hearth, Kannon's forced grin, Peter's weary resignation. The life he knew, the life that had been ripped away in a single, terrifying night, felt like a physical ache in his chest.

  He lay back on the bunk, staring up at the blank ceiling panels. The adrenaline had faded completely, leaving behind a vast, echoing emptiness. He was Renmyr's son. He held a dragon's egg. He was travelling with the Herald's descendants on a desperate mission to the edge of the galaxy. It was too much. The tightly held control he'd maintained since the escape finally crumbled. A choked sob escaped him, then another. He curled onto his side, pulling his knees towards his chest, and wept, mourning the simple life, the lost home, and the terrifying uncertainty of the path stretching out before him.