The Serpent’s Coil Nebula was a silent, breathtaking storm—swirling clouds of turquoise and violet gas drifting past the main viewscreen, veiling newborn stars in a cosmic haze. Aurania saw none of its beauty. She only saw the faces of her team as they scattered about The Cradle of Gravity, preparing for the coming mission.

  The weight of command was a familiar pressure in her chest, a low hum that vibrated in time with the ship’s Aether Core. It wasn't the weight of strategy—the plan was simple, brutal, and clear. It was the weight of the people who would execute it.

  Her mind flicked across the faces of her team, remembering where each was at on the ship.

  Inelius, a steady, grounding presence in the ops center, his four arms moving with diligent purpose as he planned. Veolo, restless and sharp, rolling her shoulders as she reviewed the pirate base’s defenses. Amalia, surprisingly still for once, her usual bubbly energy coiled tight beneath a mask of professional focus. Soren, meditating down in the large, vacant room on Deck 4.

  And Violet.

  Aurania’s concern had been growing for the gunslinger lately.

  Ahead, a splinter of obsidian cut through the cosmic haze—Pulse’s ship, The Ghost Step. It moved with a predator's confidence, its sleek, matte-black hull absorbing the nebula’s light. The Cradle of Gravity being the faster ship, they let Pulse take the lead so they didn’t run away from him.

  Aurania turned and started down the steps from the cockpit, the low hum of the ship vibrating through her hooves. The mission prep was done. The team was ready. But there was one more variable she had to account for, one more frayed edge that needed to be addressed before they went into the fire.

  Her steps seemed to echo more on the grated decking as she descended to the cargo hold. The air was cooler here, smelling of gun oil, recycled air, and the faint, metallic tang of the ship's hull. The hold was well lit, a cavern of stacked crates and secured equipment, the silence broken only by a single, sharp sound.

  Click.

  Violet was there, seated at a workbench facing the port side of the ship. Her focus was absolute, a kind of meditative ceremony she had fallen into. Morgan's Mercy lay disassembled on a cleaning mat before her, its heavy, nickel-finished components arranged in a precise, almost ritualistic pattern. The sound was her sliding a freshly polished heat-sink magazine back into place, testing the fit.

  Aurania stopped a few paces away, body half-turned to already head back up the stairs. "Violet, I need to borrow you for a minute."

  She didn't look up. Her fingers moved to the next component, a small calibration tool in hand. "Hold on," she said, her voice flat, detached. "I'll be there in a bit."

  The words hung in the cold air, devoid of disrespect but heavy with a misplaced priority. Aurania's jaw tightened. She didn’t move, but her tone darkened.

  "It wasn't a request."

  Violet’s hands stilled. For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, extremely slowly, she set the tool down, her gaze still fixed on the weapon. She rose without a word and followed Aurania out of the hold.

  The walk to the common room was silent and heavy. When they arrived, the space felt too large and empty. Brolgar was at the galley counter, a thick stew simmering on the heatplate, the rich scent a stark contrast to the sterile tension between the two women. He looked up as they entered, his expression questioning.

  "Brolgar," Aurania said, her voice leaving no room for argument. "Give us the room. Do me a favor and make sure no one interrupts us."

  She moved over to the giant window looking over the stars, and sank into a large chair facing it. Violet settled delicately into a chair next to her, posture tense.

  Brolgar came over with two cups of warm, spiced cider and set them on the small table between their two chairs. Then he turned and lumbered toward the door without a word. It hissed shut behind him, leaving them in a profound, charged silence.

  Aurania picked up her mug but didn't drink, the warmth seeping into her palms. Outside the viewport, the nebula's colors bled into one another, a slow, cosmic dance that felt a million miles away. She kept her gaze fixed on it, not yet ready to look at the woman beside her.

  "You've been... sharper since Mol'eyne," Aurania began, her voice quiet. "Focused. I've never seen you this locked in."

  Violet's reflection shimmered on the glass. "The mission requires focus. That's what you need from me. That's what I'm giving."

  "Focus is one thing," Aurania said, finally turning to face her. "Blindness is another."

  Violet’s jaw tightened, but she didn't look away.

  "Have you ever wondered," Aurania continued, her tone softening just slightly, "why I've chosen to train Veolo for leadership but never tapped you or Amalia? You're both more than capable."

  That seemed to catch Violet off guard. Her posture shifted, a flicker of something—pride, maybe, or resentment—in her eyes.

  "It's the same reason Riza doesn't like to give orders," Aurania said, leaning forward. "You're all brilliant at what you do. You have a fire that drives you. It's what makes you incredible warriors. But fire doesn't just warm; it consumes. And I just don't want to see you burn so hot you destroy yourself."

  Violet was quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to the untouched mug in her own hands. "I know my limits," she said finally, though the words lacked their usual certainty.

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  "I'm not telling you to give up that passion," Aurania pressed gently. "That drive to protect the people who can't protect themselves—that's the best part of you. But you have to temper it. There's always a price, Violet."

  Violet's head snapped up, her eyes blazing with a cold, absolute conviction. "I'm willing to pay it," she said without thinking.

  The words hung in the air between them, stark and defiant. Aurania's expression hardened, the warmth draining away, replaced by something cold and dangerous. Her tone grew deadly.

  "Even if it's Amalia's life?"

  Violet flinched as if struck.

  Aurania didn't let up. "Even if it's everyone on Nox?"

  A tense, suffocating silence stretched between them. The nebula outside seemed to watch, its colors swirling with an indifference that felt almost cruel. The mug in Violet’s hand shook just slightly, the only outward sign of the turmoil Aurania’s words had unleashed.

  When Aurania spoke again, the sharp edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a weary honesty. “Before Amaryn… before Mol’eyne… I used to be able to rely on you to keep my own temper in check. To be the one who kept the rest of us in line when I was seeing red. Now…” She let out a slow breath. “Now it feels like it’s the other way around.”

  She set her mug down. “That shit at Radiant Horizon? I’m glad we did it. I’m glad those people are free. But you rushed in without a word to any of us. No plan, no recon—just pure, righteous fire.” She leaned forward, her gaze intense but not accusatory. “That’s not how a team works, Violet. That’s how a team gets killed.”

  Violet remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the table. She didn't argue. She didn't defend herself. She just sat there, absorbing the weight of the truth.

  “I’m not trying to lecture you,” Aurania said, her voice softening further. “And I know you resonate with that whole ‘goddess of vengeance’ story. I don’t even think that’s a bad thing.”

  Violet finally lifted her head, meeting Aurania’s gaze. Her eyes were still guarded, but the hard, icy edge had softened, replaced by a raw, aching vulnerability. She was finally listening.

  The silence in the room felt different now, less a battlefield and more a vigil.

  "Can I… tell you a fear of mine?" Aurania asked.

  Violet’s expression broke, the last of her defensiveness finally giving way to genuine surprise. A small, humorless smile touched her lips. "It's hard for me to imagine you being afraid of anything."

  Aurania’s gaze dropped to her own hands, still warm from the mug. "More than you know."

  Violet’s expression softened completely. She reached out, her hand settling on Aurania's shoulder. "Tell me."

  Aurania took a slow, shaky breath. "When I saw you start down this path... after Amaryn... I told myself you just needed time to process. To grieve. But the more I watch, the more I fear you're losing yourself completely to the anger." Her voice cracked, just slightly, on the last word.

  "I don't want to lose you, Violet." The words were a raw admission, stripped of all command and authority. Aurania leaned forward and pulled her into a hug, her arms wrapping tight around Violet's shoulders, holding on like she was afraid Violet might just turn to ash and blow away. "So please... just make sure you're not causing more suffering while you're trying to help."

  Violet was still for a long moment, then her own arms came up, returning the embrace with a fierce, trembling grip. She buried her face in Aurania's shoulder, her voice muffled but clear. "Thank you. I'm sorry I made you worry.”

  When they finally pulled apart, Violet's eyes were wet.

  "You're not going to lose me," she said quietly. Then, with fierce eyes, she said, "No power in the ‘verse is going to keep me from watching out for my family."

  Later, as the mission clock ticked closer to their arrival, Aurania made her way back up to the cockpit. The bridge was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the consoles and the swirling cosmic light from outside. Tamiyo was at the helm, her antennae twitching slightly as she navigated the dense nebular currents. Inelius was in the co-pilot's chair, his gaze fixed on the tactical display.

  He glanced up as she entered. "All good?"

  "Getting there," she replied. She came to a stop between the two chairs, her arms crossed as she stared out at the approaching asteroid field.

  The silence stretched for a moment, filled only by the low hum of the ship.

  "So, do you believe it?" Inelius asked. His voice was casual, but the question wasn’t.

  Aurania didn't look at him. Her gaze remained fixed on the swirling violet and turquoise clouds ahead. "Believe what?"

  "The myth."

  Aurania was quiet for a long moment. Then, she let out a deep sigh. “There are lots of reasons people start believing things. A lot of times, it’s because they just don’t understand what they're looking at.”

  She turned her head slightly, her reflection a grim overlay on the cosmic chaos. “A rival pirate faction could send a thermobaric rocket into a compound, purge a place someone deems ‘wicked,’ and others call it divine judgment—who knows. I was reading about Earth’s history once and saw there were primitive tribes that worshipped airplanes because they would drop crates of supplies by accident during a war.”

  Her voice grew colder, laced with a fresh, bitter irony. “Hell, look at lacravida spirituality. The Mothers of Life—by design.”

  A tense beat of silence followed, the weight of that last phrase hanging heavy in the cockpit. Inelius held her gaze, his expression tense.

  “So, do you believe it?”

  Aurania looked hard at him, her lips parting as if to finally answer.

  But before she could speak, Tamiyo’s head snapped up, her antennae twitching erratically as she stared at her console. The calm focus was gone, replaced by alarm.

  She urgently keyed the external comms. “Uh, Pulse? I think we have a problem.”

  Aurania’s head snapped toward Tamiyo. “What problem?”

  Pulse’s filtered voice crackled over the open channel, sharp with an alarm that mirrored Tamiyo’s. “Sensors are reading a massive, unstable energy from the asteroid’s core. And… multiple hull breaches. It’s venting atmosphere.”

  “Look,” Tamiyo whispered, her hand lifting from the controls to point out the main viewport.

  Aurania leaned forward, her eyes following Tamiyo’s gesture as The Cradle of Gravity cleared the last veil of nebular gas. Ahead, the Red Consortium's asteroid base hung in the void. It wasn't quiet.

  It was dying.

  Her chest grew tight. Before she could even process the sight, Soren's voice came over the internal comms from the common room, a choked, disbelieving sound.

  “Are you guys seeing this?”

  Outside the viewport, the scene unfolded in horrifying clarity. The jagged, fortified rock was bleeding light and heat into space. The hangar bays, gaping maws in the asteroid's side, were a furnace. The deck plates had been slagged into rivers of molten metal, glowing a dull, angry orange even through the vacuum. The skeletal wrecks of docked pirate ships were twisted into grotesque sculptures of melted steel, their hulls peeled back like burned parchment.

  There weren’t any patrols like Pulse had warned about, no active shielding.

  The whole damn place was on fire.