Background static crackled as Aurania thumbed the comm switch. “Samara, we’ll be touching down in about ten minutes.”

  The warm sound of her sister’s voice answered back. “Berilinsk is ready for you, we’re all excited to see you again.”

  Aurania exhaled slowly and leaned back in the co-pilot’s chair. Coming home should have been comforting, but instead it tightened around her like a vise. She was returning without answers, without a cure for the storms tearing Nox apart. Every kilometer they closed on the planet’s surface only sharpened the weight pressing in her chest.

  It had been a seventy-hour haul from Garrick Station, long enough for the crew to wear new grooves into the ship. The common room now felt lived in—pillows and giant couch fresh from the store, mugs scattered across new end tables, and an egregiously oversized screen Veolo had practically begged for.

  The setup reminded Aurania of the Liberty Union vessels, familiar enough to trick the ship into feeling like home. They had settled on a new game to explore together, the story following a bunch of chromed out mercs in high-stakes heists set in a backdrop of neon skyscrapers. Tamiyo opted to fly the ship anytime they settled in to play though, saying it reminded her a little too much of Batist.

  The ship hit the atmosphere with a low rumble muffled by the advanced hull. Aurania braced a hand against the console as the view beyond the canopy smeared into dark cloud bands. The air itself felt alive—charged, unstable. Lightning crawled sideways across the sky, jagged veins of white and blue that lanced from horizon to horizon.

  Even at mid-altitude, the turbulence was worse than she remembered. The stabilizers whined, and the ship shuddered. It hadn’t been this violent when they’d left. She shot a glance at Tamiyo in the pilot’s chair—the little CIPHER’s antennae were angled back, electric-blue eyes focused in concentration.

  The planet's surface roiled in storms.

  Entire valleys were shrouded under boiling cloud fronts, their edges faintly glowing as if fire itself lived inside them. Aurania thought of the villages down there, of homes half-buried under rain-swollen rivers. She clenched her teeth. No matter how much trouble they’d endured—derelict ruins, hostile planets, escaping the Liberty Union—this storm over her people’s heads grew worse by the day.

  The ship pierced a gap in the clouds, revealing Berilinsk far ahead. The village was dim against the swollen dusk, its outer walls braced with new plating, lightning rods stabbing upward like a forest of steel. Even from this distance she could see them sparking, absorbing strike after strike.

  Tamiyo eased the ship down through the last sheets of cloud, guiding it toward the flatland beyond Berilinsk’s main residential cluster. Their village had no true spaceport, most ships landed over in Owangara, but Samara had directed them to land in the outer thalgrain field. It had been cleared after harvest and the soil was dark and bare. If they failed, the fields would never see seed again.

  As the landing struts thudded into the ground, vibrations gently rattled through the hull. The Aether Core wound down to a background whisper. Silence fell, broken only by the occasional tick of cooling metal.

  Aurania slowly stood up. “Let’s go.”

  Large hooves and small boots echoed in the wide staircase as they made their way from cockpit to ops center, then stepped into the cargo lift. The platform shuddered as it descended, the inner walls sliding past—Deck 3, Deck 4—until they dropped into the cavernous hold on Deck 5. The lift’s gates clanged open.

  Everyone was there waiting:

  Brolgar and Brana, sitting atop strapped down cargo crates. Veolo and Amalia, shoulder to shoulder. Inelius loomed behind them with his arms crossed. Violet stood a little apart, her gaze already on the doors that would open to Nox’s charged air. Raine and Riza stood near Elias’ cryo pod, which hovered above the deck via anti-grav repulsors. Such tech was scarce outside the Conservatory, but their new ship proved to be full of surprises.

  For a moment, Aurania took in each face—their family forged in fire and tragedy, standing ready for whatever came next.

  She began moving toward the forward doors and Soren fell into step beside her. The hold was cavernous, ambient light from the overhead fixtures glinting off crates and gear lashed tight for the haul. Her mind was already three steps ahead—Samara waiting outside, Berilinsk in peril, the Conservatory—

  “You alright?” Soren’s voice cut through her focus. “I can feel it. Your worry. It’s like a grip in my chest.”

  She didn’t bother to deny it. “I’ll be fine. We’ll do what we came here to do—take a breather, get our bearings. Night after next, we’re off-world again.”

  But as the words left her, she noticed his expression didn’t ease. Something else pressed at him, faint but heavy. Her gaze narrowed. “What is it?”

  Soren’s jaw worked for a moment before he shook his head. “It’s nothing.”

  Aurania stopped him with a hand on his arm, her tone firm. “Tell me.”

  He let his eyes roam across the team. “You’ve all accepted me more or less, even Brolgar,” he paused, nodding to the d’moria, who faintly returned the gesture. “And I can’t say how much that means after everything that’s happened. But…” his gaze shifted toward the sealed airlock. “The last thing we did in Berilinsk before leaving was a funeral. The Departure.”

  “Oh,” Aurania breathed. “You’re worried about being an outcast again while we’re here.”

  He quickly shook his head. “I told you it’s nothing, Aurania. This isn’t about me. There are bigger things to worry about.”

  Violet stepped closer. “You still shouldn’t feel like an outsider. Regardless of what put Nox in this mess, you’re working your ass off to help fix it.”

  Aurania went quiet for a long moment, thinking. Then she looked Soren in the eyes. “Bring me my axe.”

  He recoiled skeptically, eyes flicking across the cargo bay. “For what?”

  She didn’t answer.

  He frowned, then looked over to where their weapons were stored, but didn’t move from his spot. He extended a hand toward them, and a moment later, the massive greataxe ripped free of its clamps. It soared across the bay, spun once, and slammed into his grasp. He held it one-handed, unsure, then offered it to her. For a beat, no one said anything. The hold seemed to grow quieter, the air heavier.

  Aurania just watched him, unblinking. “Hold onto it. Carry it everywhere you go in Berilinsk.”

  His brow furrowed. “Are you sure? Won’t it send the wrong message? Me walking around town, armed with your weapon?”

  Veolo grinned. “When I first came to Berilinsk and Aura picked me as one of her warriors, Violet told me there were two rules. One: don’t give Amalia caffeine and alcohol at the same time. Two: nobody touches Aura’s greataxe.”

  Violet nodded. “The fact that she’s letting you hold it speaks volumes. To my knowledge, no one else in this room has ever laid a hand on it.”

  Soren turned back to Aurania, searching her face. “Is that true?”

  A faint blush touched her cheeks, but her eyes stayed steady. “I told you I trust you. Carrying it will tell everyone else the same.”

  He looked down at the weapon—at its polished edge, at the countless marks that spoke of battles won and survived. Slowly, he lifted his gaze back to her. “Thank you.”

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  The hiss of the airlock pressurizing filled the hold as the boarding ramp began to extend. Tamiyo tilted her head, breaking the silence. “So why can’t we give Amalia caffeine and alcohol at the same time?”

  Amalia laughed a little and rubbed the back of her head with one hand. “Something about the combination makes me incredibly hyper and insatiably horny.”

  Raine smirked, holding back laughter. “That… doesn’t sound like a problem.”

  Amalia grinned. “It’s fun at first, but it gets exhausting fast. And I usually go wayyy overboard, so by the time the effect wears off, I’m just sore everywhere the next day.”

  Violet groaned under her breath. “Take my word for it guys—do not test this theory.”

  Inelius chuckled low in his throat, the tension in the room easing a notch as the outer doors clanked and began to peel open.

  The first rush of Berilinsk’s atmosphere poured in, heat clinging to Aurania like a second skin, thicker and heavier than she remembered. Nox had always run warm, but this was different—oppressive, the kind of heat that felt stolen from the heart of the sun itself. It pressed into her lungs with every breath, carrying the tang of scorched soil and electricity.

  Her chest tightened. The planet was shifting faster than anyone had prepared for. Every day it circled closer to the sun, the storms grew more violent, the air more suffocating. The estimates had been around 500 days—with the time they burned alongside the Liberty Union, they should still have around a year left. But now, staring out across the fields and jagged skyline…

  Aurania wondered if they even had months.

  Morning light burned against the horizon, filtered through high sheets of stormclouds. As the boarding ramp thudded into place, the crew stepped forward together, and Aurania felt both comfort and chaos walking toward her home once again.

  A crowd had gathered at the edge of the field—every face a familiar one, waiting to welcome them back. Murmurs rippled as people caught sight of the squad, their eyes searching for reassurance, for proof that the long journey had meant something. Many of them were there for another reason too—to welcome Elias home, in whatever way he could still return.

  Riza had kept Berilinsk informed through messengers sent at every chance, but most of what they’d endured—The Bastion, The Cradle—remained untold. Those stories would wait for Samara and Serava. For now, the people simply watched, expectant and silent, as the crew descended into the rising heat of Nox.

  Samara pushed her way through the crowd, her presence as grounding as ever. Aurania’s chest eased the moment her sister’s arms wrapped around her. When they broke apart, Aurania’s gaze dropped—Samara’s belly was full and round, the signs of new life unmistakable. She reached out, brushing her hand gently over the curve with a soft smile.

  “Looks like you’re close,” Aurania said. “It’s truly amazing how many times you’ve done this.”

  Before Samara could answer, Riza walked past, the cryo pod drifting beside her. “She’s insane for doing it more than once. Our whole race is insane.”

  Samara arched a brow at her, glancing at the pod, but didn’t respond. She just let Riza walk past. A faint smile tugged her lips as she looked back to Aurania. “Since when does she tell jokes?”

  Aurania’s throat tightened with something bittersweet. “You can thank Elias for that.”

  Samara’s expression flickered at the name, but she didn’t linger on it. She looped her arm through Aurania’s and began leading her through Berilinsk. The streets bore scars of the quake—splintered walls patched with whatever scrap could be scavenged, foundations still propped by temporary braces.

  Aurania frowned. “I thought most of this would’ve been repaired by now.”

  Samara shook her head, the movement weary but calm. “It would be, if the ground ever stayed still. We’ve had smaller quakes every few weeks since. Nothing like the first, but enough to undo progress. At least people know how to react now.”

  As they walked deeper into the village, the squad began to scatter. Violet, Veolo, Amalia, Brana, and Brolgar slipped off in different directions, heading for familiar streets and doorways that felt more like home than the ship ever could. Inelius and Raine were approached by an excited older couple of lazarco that Aurania didn’t recognize—Inelius’ parents, surely.

  Retirement in Berilinsk seem to be suiting them more than fine.

  “Aura!” the honeyed tone of Serava greeted her as they came upon the Matron. Her sister pulled her into a warm embrace. When they broke apart, Aurania found herself alone with her sisters, Tamiyo, and Soren.

  “Come,” Samara said, eyeing the axe in Soren’s hand with amusement. “I’m most eager to hear the finer details of your travels.”

  Silvara’s Hall was another welcome sight, its high frame and carved stone a sharp contrast to the makeshift repairs that still scarred much of Berilinsk. Inside, the air was cooler, quiet, save for the distant echo of footsteps. The long table stretched along the left wall of the chamber, polished dark wood that bore the marks of centuries of meals, councils, and arguments. Above it, the mural of Enderfield still hung—ancient lacravida painted in broad strokes of gold and crimson.

  Aurania slowed when her eyes caught on it. She had sat beneath that mural nearly every day of her life, watching it while learning, debating, or dining with her sisters. But now it looked foreign, almost hollow. She wasn’t the girl who had grown up staring at painted legends anymore. She had seen the truth of it.

  The mural felt like a mix of memory and lies.

  They took their seats, Samara at the head of the table, Aurania and Serava each on her sides. Soren set her axe nearby and sat next to Aurania as if he hadn’t even thought twice about it. Tamiyo sat across from Soren, next to Serava.

  Aurania noted to herself how the last time they were here, Tamiyo was glued to Soren’s side like a shield. She found herself happy that the CIPHER no longer felt the need.

  Samara gestured to her aides, who bowed and hurried away. Within minutes, trays began to arrive—bowls of steaming vegetables and spiced meats, platters of glazed bread rolls, and pitchers of chilled water that immediately began to sweat in the heat.

  “Eat,” Samara said, waving them on. “The road has been long, and Berilinsk owes you no small thanks for returning.”

  Tamiyo’s little legs kicked idly, dangling from her chair as she devoured roll after roll, cheeks puffed out like a child stealing treats from the kitchen. Even Serava cracked a smile at the sight, though her gaze never strayed far from Aurania. The meal gave them anchor enough to breathe, and then the talk began. Piece by piece, Aurania unfolded their path—the heavier details that couldn’t be entrusted to messengers:

  Orryx Station.

  The Gitaxan.

  Philos.

  Elias, Piria, and Soren’s rage torn loose after their friend was murdered. Inelius stepping up to help put them back together. Soren told of being drawn into the group instead of being outcast as he expected. All of it came in waves, tears welling, falling, and stopping as the story unfolded.

  Boadicea was a hard tale, still so fresh in memory. Samara and Serava had already picked up on how different Violet was when she stepped off the ship—as well as the new hand cannon attached to her hip. Serava bowed her head and closed her eyes when they told what happened to Amaryn.

  Finally, they told them of The Cradle. The truths that were discovered in its depths alongside the mysterious ship that brought them here. Serava looked deeply shaken when they told her how they had all been created—genetically engineered by Tywin Enderfield eight millennia ago. And lastly, Riza’s dramatic exit from The Liberty Union.

  Samara listened intently the entire time, eyes narrowing at each detail, hands folded neatly before her. Serava said little, but the expression in her eyes shifted constantly as the tale wound on.

  Through it all, the weight of their tale was eased by the bond that had grown with Soren. Aurania did not shy away from it as they talked. She blushed more than once, as did he, but she wasn’t ashamed of her attraction to him.

  She was beyond frustrated she couldn’t do anything about it.

  The table grew quiet after the story was finished, silence hanging as heavy as the heat outside. Samara leaned back, eyes moving from Soren to Aurania, to Tamiyo, then to Serava.

  “Well,” she said at last, a wry smile touching her lips. “It has been quite a shift since we last saw each other, Soren. I must say I’m happy with the direction things have gone. You have behaved most admirably alongside my people. You have my thanks.”

  “You’re welcome, Chieftess,” Soren said, reaching for a glass of water.

  “Please, just Samara is fine if we’re not doing anything official.”

  Soren nodded, gesturing towards her with his glass before drinking.

  “Would you be interested in siring my next child?”

  He choked on his drink.

  As he coughed and sputtered, gasping for air, his eyes darted around the table—first to Aurania, then Serava, then to Tamiyo who looked just as confused as he did.

  Aurania groaned under her breath and set her bowl down. “Don’t overthink it, Soren. All but two of Samara’s children are with different fathers. It’s common among lacravida.” But she couldn’t help but give her eldest sister a hard glance.

  Samara just smiled back warmly.

  “It’s a compliment,” Serava added softly. “It means she admires you. That she believes you have qualities worth reproducing.”

  Soren’s jaw worked, then he let out a slow breath, pushed back his chair, and stood up. He bowed his head. “I do appreciate the offer, Samara. Truly.” He picked up the greataxe and strode toward the door. “But if I can ever figure out how to get this damned power under control…”

  Aurania’s stomach dropped. Her skin flushed hot as she felt what was on the tip of his tongue.

  Soren stopped at the doorway, looking back over his shoulder. “There’s only one of you sisters I’d ever feel like impregnating someday.”

  And then he was gone.

  Aurania sat frozen, eyes wide, every nerve in her body roiling like the storm overhead.