As the dart touched down on the warped metal sheets, bolts and pistons groaned under the full weight of the ship. A sharp whistle cut through the dark, empty hangar.
With a hiss, the bulkhead clicked open and released a cloud of steam. Through it stepped a shadowed figure. A short, slender man emerged, wrapped in thick, tattered robes embroidered with golden seals from a long-forgotten era. Slung across his back was a slender silver staff, bound in red twine that coiled upward to culminate in a short, curved blade.
From the satchel at his waist, he drew a short, bulky rod. With a fluid flick of a switch along the lower dial, it hummed to life, casting a warm amber glow. As he moved through the dead hallways of the derelict station, he was met with nothing but the creaks and groans of aging beams and loose panels, whispering their protest into the silence. After walking for what felt like hours he finally found it. Not a treasury, not an armory, not even a archive but something far more mundane. Yet for a monk of the Ember Path, even the ordinary becomes extraordinary—so long as it bears the imprint of the divine. If it touched the gods, it was sacred. He wiped the grime from the side of a container marked BIOLOGICAL WASTE. Inside, nestled in cracked foam and dust, sat a set of ten stained test tubes. Each bore a seal and a name etched into the glass: Auros von Soloria. His stoic demeanor shattered. His eyes widened, breath caught somewhere between awe and reverence. With trembling fingers, he verified the markings one by one. Then he dropped to his knees. Clutching the prayer beads around his neck, he bowed low and began to whisper praises in a language long dead—words known only to those who still believed in the divinity of Imperial blood. He used the ropes on his body twisting around the container building a makeshift backpack to carry the find back to his ship.
The long trek back was filled with fanatical chanting and joyous song. Until he finally returned to the ship hangar. But unlike the earlier, eerie silence, the space now pulsed with the noise of hammering and the low hum of machinery. Ahead of him, two gene-bound brutes and their human handler were already at work dismantling the Dart. The massive creatures tore steel panels from the ship’s hull with their bare hands, metal groaning and screeching under their grip. As the handler spotted the monk, he cleared his throat and declared, “By Mauvarian law, any trespasser on the private territory of a royal salvage company is required to surrender all assets to said company, and in return, will be granted the right to be dropped at a nearby settlement of their choosing.” The monk’s demeanor hardened, his expression freezing into something more akin to a stone effigy. In a voice devoid of emotion, he uttered, “Those who stand in the way of the Ember Path shall be burned.”
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The handler, a short, wiry man, instinctively reached for the baton at his belt. A chill crawled up his spine as he felt the oppressive weight of the monk’s murderous intent settle over the hangar like a storm cloud. “Look, buddy,” he said, trying to keep his voice steady, “I don’t make the rules. You’ll have to take it up with our regional office on the nearby planetoid. No reason for this to turn violent.” He didn’t understand why he was suddenly so afraid. After all, he had the upper hand—two gene-bound behemoths stood at his side, each capable of tearing a man in half. The monk had to be bluffing, just another fanatic trying to intimidate his way out of trouble. But then the monk raised his eyes to the ceiling and cried, “Oh Ascended, may this appease you, as I—a humble servant—carry out your will!” In one fluid motion, he unfastened his sling. With a twist of his hands, the silver staff extended, locking into place with a sharp, metallic snap. “Assaulting an officer of a royal salvage company will be seen as an act of terrorism and will be met wi—” the handler shouted, but the words were cut short as the monk’s staff slammed into his lower jaw with brutal force, dislocating it on impact. The handler crumpled, his garbled cries drowned beneath the steady, fervent prayers spilling from the monk’s lips.
The two mutants paused for only a moment before the scene registered. Then, with a guttural roar, they charged in a frenzied, uncontrollable stampede, the floor trembling beneath their massive steps as they barreled toward the seemingly feeble monk. Effortlessly, he vaulted over the charging behemoths and sprinted down the corridor. The gene-bound might not have been known for their intelligence, but without a handler to restrain them, they became something far worse—ruthless. Their thunderous footfalls shook the metal beneath him, drawing closer with terrifying speed as he darted through the winding station corridors. He reached into his satchel, fumbling until his fingers closed around a small metallic orb. Lifting it to his lips, he whispered a quick prayer, then hurled it over his shoulder. The orb clattered against the floor with a heavy thump, then pulsed to life—glowing with a harsh green light that expanded into the shape of a cube. As the hulking gene-bound tore through it, their momentum died in an instant, bodies locked in mid-charge, muscles straining against an invisible force that held them frozen.
The monk didn’t look back. Just ahead, at the edge of the platform, he spotted it—their ship. A small freighter, unremarkable and standard-issue in Mauvarian space, but right now, it looked like salvation. He knew it as always the Ascended rewarded the faithfull and as always he was destined to succeed. Moments later, the monk was off heading for the jumpgate leaving the station behind to crumble and degrade...
