The moon Vorr-Epsilon 5B2 wasn’t just a garden; it was a cathedral of biomass engineering constructed on the foundation of stolen starlight.

  The translucent amber trees we first saw were merely the outer wall of the forest. As we moved deeper into the temperate zone, navigating a floating archipelago suspended over a sea of literal golden nectar, the true scale of the operation revealed itself.

  This wasn’t just farming. It was alchemy on a planetary scale.

  The air tasted of cinnamon and high-voltage ozone. It hummed against the skin, vibrating at a frequency designed to encourage rapid cellular growth. Nyx and I moved through the undergrowth, which consisted of ferns the size of buses that swayed to a rhythm I couldn’t hear. The ground was soft, covered in moss that glowed when stepped on, absorbing the kinetic energy to prevent erosion.

  “Look at the water,” I whispered, pointing to a stream cascading off a floating island above us in slow-motion low gravity.

  The water wasn’t blue. It was a shimmering, opalescent white.

  “Processed spirit-water,” Arthur analyzed via our secure comms-bead, his voice sounding tinny but awestruck from his perch in the distant Spire on Kyris-9. “Saturated with purified mana, specifically cultivated to enhance growth and Essence density. One cup of that would restore a Tier 4 mage to full capacity. They’re using it to irrigate… turnips.”

  We flattened ourselves against a massive root as a harvester skiff drifted by. It wasn’t a sleek warship. It was a barge of carved wood and anti-gravity silk, crewed by creatures that looked like four-armed monkeys wearing the livery of House Vorr — a stylized silver serpent coiled around a fractured galaxy.

  They were singing. Not a dirge of slaves, but a harmonious, complex work-song that synchronized their mana-weaves to the harvest.

  “Happy workers?” Nyx asked, her brow furrowed. “That’s new. Not very smart of them but perhaps they have their reasons. A little more suspicion is probably healthy.”

  “Happy, or compliant,” I corrected. “But look at their collars. No lights. No slave brands. They’re actual citizens. Or Vassals. It makes sense for people in Core worlds to be more integrated into their systems.”

  This moon defied our expectations. Kyris-9 was a hellscape of dust and misery. This… was paradise. But paradise often hides the sharpest thorns.

  We reached the edge of the agricultural zone and looked out over the main settlement: Aurelia.

  It wasn’t a fortress city like Alpha-Prime. It was built into the landscape. Crystal spires grew organically from the cliffs. Bridges of woven light connected the floating districts. There were parks, universities, theaters. Thousands of Kyorians, mixed with dozens of other species, walked the streets in fine robes.

  There were no soldiers in riot gear. Just peacekeepers in ceremonial armor carrying staves, without any other visible weapons. Their signatures were well hidden, but my [Void Perception] showed an average of Tier 6 combatants and artisans — a significantly higher level of power than we have encountered so far.

  I sat on a mossy overhang, the clothes I stole from a worker’s quarters fluttering in the gentle breeze. The gas giant hung huge and majestic in the sky, its storms a beautiful swirl of violet violence painted against the void. It took up nearly half the horizon, a constantly churning canvas of celestial wrath held at bay by physics. Beyond it, distant stars twinkled — other suns, other worlds. The view was mesmerizing.

  I felt small. Not weak, just… minor.

  “Beautiful,” I breathed, staring at the vastness. “Think about it, Nyx. Really think about it.”

  “About what?” she asked, scanning the city perimeter for sniper nests, her assassin instincts refusing to relax.

  “About where we started,” I said, watching a transport ship ascend toward the stars, trailing sparkles of exhausted mana. “A few years ago, I was worried about giant bugs in a damp cave. I thought the horizon was the end of the world. Now… I’m sitting on an alien moon, breathing air that tastes like candy, looking at a galaxy teeming with life. Ancient empires. Magic that can rewrite gravity.”

  I traced the rings of the gas giant with my finger.

  “Integration brought war,” I admitted, feeling the weight of the millions dead in Delta-3. “It brought the Kyorians. It brought death. But it also opened the door. The universe is infinite, Nyx. And for the first time, we aren’t locked in the basement.”

  “Infinite danger,” Nyx countered dryly, sheathing a dagger. “Infinite things trying to eat us. Infinite political complexities.”

  “Infinite wonder, too,” I smiled, feeling a genuine spark of awe amidst the tension. “I never thought I would leave the planet let alone see a tree made of amber. Or a ship that sails on gravity. Despite the blood… I’m truly glad for the existence of Essence.”

  We infiltrated Aurelia at sunset.

  We used the stolen clothes to use as a disguise to infiltrate again, blending in as low-level fertilizer merchants visiting from a border colony. We visited taverns, eavesdropped in parks, and accessed public data-terminals in the massive, open-air library.

  The information flow was staggeringly free. The Kyorians here were relaxed, arrogant in their safety. They did not think anyone could bypass their wards and shielding, which were clearly very impressive based on preliminary inspection by my [Void Perception]. It reaffirmed just how ancient and powerful the Spire network had to be, allowing us to completely ignore all their protections.

  The Vorrs weren’t hiding their failures; they were contextualizing them.

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  We sat in a booth at a place called “The Starlight Sip,” nursing cups of glowing tea that tasted like liquid optimism.

  “The withdrawal from Sector 847 — the newly integrated worlds — was a tactical realignment,” a Kyorian merchant at the next table was complaining to his friend, a Dweorg engineer with gems embedded in his beard. “The House lost face, sure. Trillions of credits wasted on the initial invasion fees. The System taxes heavily for unprovoked annexation attempts that fail to produce a prompt result.”

  “Governor Vorr pushed too hard,” the Dweorg grunted, tearing into a loaf of spirit-bread. “He bet the family treasury on securing an apparently new Sovereign Anchor world. Instead, he got embarrassed by the locals. The Elders are furious.”

  “Furious? They’re terrified,” the merchant lowered his voice, looking around. “The War on the Southern Front isn’t going well. The Swarm is pushing back harder than predicted. We lost the mining colonies in the Azure Belt last week. House Vorr is overextended.”

  I sipped my tea, hiding a smile behind the cup.

  So they were fighting on multiple fronts. And losing. The expedition to the Confluence had been a desperate gamble to secure a new resource base to fuel their other wars. And we had made it too expensive.

  “Did you hear about the recruitment?” a waitress asked, dropping off a plate of honey-glazed void-beetles. “The Patriarch is calling for Specialists again.”

  “Another suicide mission?” the merchant scoffed. “Like the one to the Abyss Core?”

  “No,” the waitress leaned in, her four eyes blinking in sequence. “They say it’s for… retrieval. Something deep in the contested zone. High pay. Immunity from conscription.”

  My ears perked up. Recruitment. Specialists. Retrieval.

  I glanced at Nyx. She nodded imperceptibly.

  “Where is this recruitment happening?” I asked casually, affecting a bored tone, playing with my merchant token.

  “At the Bastion of Silks,” the merchant answered, eyeing me. “But don’t bother, friend. They want Tier 5s and above. Mercenaries with specialized kill-sets. Special bonuses for anyone with Fate Weaving or Divining skills.”

  Tier 5s. Specific counters.

  I finished my tea.

  “Interesting,” I said. “Maybe I will watch the show.”

  We left the tavern. The night air was cool, scented with jasmine and star-dust.

  “A recruitment drive for a retrieval mission,” Arthur mused over the link. “Sounds desperate. And potentially lucrative for intel. If they need mercenaries, their regular troops aren’t enough.”

  “Could it be about Earth?” Nyx asked. “Planning a second wave?”

  “Doubt it,” I shook my head. “They’re trying to stabilize their core territories. If they are losing colonies to a ‘Swarm’, they need assets to plug the holes. Earth is a burnt investment right now. Too costly. But we’ll have to double check to be safe.”

  But Millimos… Millimos had fled Earth because of a specific danger sense. If he was involved in this recruitment, it might be his way of regaining face. Or acquiring a weapon to fix his problem.

  I needed to know more.

  We moved toward the Hall of Silks — a massive, domed structure in the center of the city made of interwoven light-fabric.

  It was heavily guarded. Not by peacekeepers, but by Elite Guards in Gold-trimmed armor — dressed similarly to the livery of Hadrian’s personal retinue.

  The aura radiating from the building was immense.

  “I can’t get close physically,” Nyx hissed, reading the mana-currents. “Too many high-tier detection grids. Karmic scanners. They would see the shadow on my soul.”

  “I think I can. I’ll make sure to have all contingencies regarding the Glimpse ready to be safe.” I said.

  I retreated to a secluded alleyway behind a spice market where crates of saffron blocked the view.

  “Jeeves,” I whispered into the link. “Prepare the memory buffers. I’m going into the recruitment center via Glimpse. I want to know what they are retrieving. I suspect this concerns us.”

  “Ready, Master. High Tier Infiltration Protocols active.”

  I sat down on a crate. I closed my eyes.

  [Glimpse of a Path.]

  The sounds of the market faded. The scent of spice vanished.

  I stood outside the Hall of Silks. I dropped my Veil into the Deep Void frequency, hiding my soul under layers of non-existence.

  I walked past the Gold Guards. They moved a little as I passed, perhaps sensing something, but their scanners showed nothing.

  Inside, it was an auditorium.

  Hundreds of mercenaries were gathered. Massive Orc-kin with giant axes. Slivers of living shadow. Kyorian dressed warriors that looked like ancient ronin with broken blades.

  On the stage, a hologram flickered to life.

  It wasn’t a recruiter.

  It was Millimos himself.

  But he looked different. He wasn't wearing his grey suit. He was wearing the full ceremonial armor of House Vorr — black plasteel etched with silver snakes devouring stars.

  And his eyes… they looked tired.

  “Attention,” his voice boomed, calm and terrifying.

  “The House has need of tools,” he said. “We have lost a Key. An artifact of the First.”

  The crowd murmured.

  “It was lost in the New Sector. We need you to infiltrate the Blind Sector to retrieve a new one as Divined by our Weavers. A region of high-entropy storms where standard navigation fails.”

  He paused, looking over the crowd with disdain.

  “The mission is simple. Infiltrate the Storm. Retrieve the Ancestor’s Compass. Return. The survivors will be granted Titles, Land, and Platinum Tier Citizenship.”

  “But be warned,” he added softly. “The Storm eats memories. And there are… things… living in it that mimic your worst fears.”

  I stared at the hologram.

  The Ancestor’s Compass. Lost in a Blind Sector.

  Was this why he fled Earth? Was his pendant a one time use and he needed a replacement? Or did it tell him to go find this?

  Millimos continued. “We depart in three cycles. Processing begins now. Step forward for biological scanning.”

  I stepped closer to the stage, intending to steal a data-pad lying on the podium — something with coordinates for the Blind Sector.

  But as I moved, Millimos’ hologram flickered.

  He turned his head.

  He looked directly at where I was standing in the simulation.

  “Odd,” the hologram murmured. “You there. Halt. The feed is…”

  I grabbed the pad.

  I didn’t read it. I opened the Maw and quickly swallowed the data.

  The Glimpse ended.

  I snapped back to the alley.

  “Got it,” I grinned at Nyx, holding my head as the information settled.

  “They’re going treasure hunting. They lost a Compass. And I think I know where they’re going.”

  I looked up at the stars. The universe was getting smaller. And House Vorr was bleeding.

  “They are weak,” I realized. “Distracted. Overextended. This isn't just about resources; it’s about legitimacy. I don’t know what this item exactly is but I think stopping them from obtaining it is probably a good idea.”

  It was time to stick a finger in their wound.