Whisper in the void

Chapter 5: The Whisper in the Void

The Drift

Dan felt most at home aboard the Astrea.

The steady hum of the ship, the way the controls responded instantly to his touch—this had been his home for longer than he cared to admit.

Now, it was all he had left.

He exhaled slowly, sinking back into the pilot’s chair. The flight systems were locked on autopilot, guiding him through the cold void of space.

His body ached, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. The past few days had been hell.

Running from the Hierarchy, gathering whatever intel he could, he had pushed himself to the edge. But none of it mattered—not yet. The Prince was close, and he had to reach him before the Hierarch did.

More than that, he had to try—one last time—to make him understand.

Humanity was worth saving.

And time was running out.

The ship was too quiet now.

Too empty.

But Dan didn’t have the energy to dwell on it.

His eyelids grew heavy.

And as sleep crept over him, his mind drifted backward—

Back to the first time he met Prince Landrid.

The Derelict

The crew had been uneasy.

A heavy cruiser in open space usually meant one thing—turn tail and run.

But this one was different.

It had taken heavy damage—its hull scarred with deep fractures, entire decks exposed to the void. The power core flickered on emergency reserves, barely keeping the wreck afloat.

And the crew?

Gone.

Not dead. Not floating in space.

Just gone.

No bodies. No signs of struggle. Just another ghost ship drifting in the dark.

Their real target had been the research station nearby.

A stealth-class carrier frigate was docked to it, its sleek, black hull blending into the void. But when they boarded, they found the station just as lifeless as the cruiser.

No signs of a struggle.

No distress beacons.

Just an empty husk.

Inside, they found supplies, raw materials, and, most importantly—a fully operational frigate.

Not a bad haul.

A Bad Feeling

Jorun Kaas ran a gloved hand along a crate, checking the manifest.

Kaas: “Food rations. Fuel cells. Even medical supplies.” (low whistle) “Hell of a stockpile for an empty station.”

First Mate Garrik Rho pried open another crate.

Garrik: “Yeah, and that’s the part that bothers me.” (pulls out a bundle of ration packs) “This stuff’s fresh. Someone left in a hurry.”

Captain Therik Vos stood near the main console, scanning the flickering screen.

Therik: “No logs. No crew. No bodies.” (exhales sharply) “I don’t like it.”

Dan, standing by the frigate’s boarding ramp, crossed his arms.

Dan: (quietly) “You’re not wrong.”

Ships didn’t just get abandoned like this.

Not unless something forced them out.

Garrik frowned.

Garrik: “Like what?”

Dan didn’t answer. Instead, he glanced around the dimly lit station, the silence pressing in.

Something felt off.

And then—

Bare feet.

A rapid patter against metal.

Dan tensed. The station had been dead silent a moment ago. He turned sharply, catching a flash of yellow and gold disappearing down the corridor.

Garrik spun toward him, hand on his sidearm.

Garrik: “What the hell was that?”

Dan didn’t answer immediately.

His eyes stayed locked on the dark passageway, the dim emergency lights flickering overhead.

Dan: (low, steady) “Flash your light over here.”

The beam swept across the corridor.

Nothing.

Dan scanned the shadows, his instincts still on edge.

But whatever had been there—whatever had been watching them—was gone.

The Stowaway

It was three days into the journey before Dan noticed it.

Missing rations.

At first, it was small—a dried fruit pack here, a ration bar there. Easy to overlook.

But Dan had been keeping track. And the numbers weren’t adding up.

So, eventually, he decided to follow the crumbs.

Late into the ship’s cycle, when most of the crew was asleep, he moved quietly through the cargo bay, stepping over scattered bits of food.

The trail led him to the storage hold.

Dan crouched low, pressing his hand against the cold metal floor.

Something shifted in the shadows.

His eyes narrowed.

Dan: (low) “Alright, kid. I know you’re in there.”

A long pause.

Then, the faintest movement.

A small figure curled up between two crates, barely breathing.

Dan exhaled, glancing toward the entrance before stepping in further.

He had no idea how the kid had made it aboard, but he sure as hell knew what would happen if the crew found him.

He had to keep this quiet.

Dan: (whispering) “Stay put.” (reaches for a ration pack) “I’ll—”

The storage door hissed open.

Dan froze.

Quartermaster Jorun Kaas stood in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes sharp.

For a second, the silence hung thick between them.

Then Kaas’s gaze drifted past Dan—

And landed on the boy.

Dan clenched his jaw.

Shit.

The Boy Who Shouldn’t Exist

The bridge was already buzzing when they dragged the boy in.

The crew gathered, voices rising, arguments breaking out.

Captain Therik Vos sat in his chair, watching the chaos unfold.

Garrik Rho: (arms crossed) “We should toss him. He’s dead weight.”

Lucky Dresk: (grimacing) “Bad omen. Ships go quiet, whole crews vanish, then we find him? No thanks.”

Skiff Jalen: (snorts) “You superstitious idiots. He’s just a kid.”

Ironhide Rann: (grumbling) “I say we space him. No one sneaks aboard my ship without consequences.”

The boy stood silent through it all.

Unmoving. Watching the crew like he was studying them.

His golden eyes glowed faintly.

The sight unsettled them.

Then, the boy reached into his pocket.

And pulled out a gem.

A red ruby, glowing like a heartbeat.

And in a stately voice, calm and absolute, he finally spoke.

Boy: “I am Prince Landrid of the Landrid. Rightful ruler of the Lefferet.”

The room fell silent.

Dan’s stomach turned.

The name—he knew that name.

But it wasn’t possible.

The boy lifted his chin, eyes burning.

Boy: “I require passage beyond the Veil. In return, I offer you this—my Heartstone.”

A long pause.

Then, the crew burst into laughter.

Loud. Raw. But not as confident as before.

Only Dan didn’t laugh.

Because in his gut, he already knew—

They had made a mistake.

The Offer

The crew erupted in laughter.

Loud, raw, and genuine—but tinged with unease.

Jorun Kaas doubled over, slapping his knee. Garrik Rho let out a deep, mocking cackle. Even Skiff Jalen, who had been wary, couldn’t help but chuckle.

Kaas: (grinning, wiping a tear) “Oh, that’s rich. A destroyer of worlds? Kid, I’ve heard some wild things, but that—” (laughs again) “That takes the prize.”

Garrik: (shaking his head) “Look at him! He’s a damn stowaway with a fancy speech! You expect us to believe you’re some kind of god-king?”

(The boy didn’t react. He simply stood there, expression unchanged, golden eyes calm as the laughter raged around him.)

Only Dan didn’t laugh.

He stood stiff, arms crossed, watching the boy in silent unease.

Because Dan had seen a lot of things in his life—things no one should ever see. And yet… nothing had ever made his stomach turn quite like this kid.

Captain Therik Vos exhaled through his nose, the faintest trace of amusement flickering across his face.

Therik: (flatly) “No thanks, kid.”

(Without another word, he reached forward and took the stone.)

The moment his fingers wrapped around it, the glowing red surface pulsed—as if something inside had felt the touch of flesh.

Therik barely spared it a glance before shoving it into his pocket.

Therik: (gesturing) “Put him in the brig. Let him stew for a bit.”

(Ironhide Rann and Red Vaylen grabbed the boy by the arms. He didn’t resist. Didn’t even blink.)

As they dragged him toward the exit, Dan finally spoke.

Dan: (low, muttering) “This is a mistake.”

Therik: (turning) “You getting sentimental on me, Varo?”

Dan didn’t answer. He just kept his eyes on the kid as they took him away.

And as the doors slid shut behind them, for just a brief second—Dan swore he saw the boy smirk.

As the brig doors hissed shut, the laughter finally died down. The crew settled, still chuckling under their breath, shaking their heads at the absurdity of it all.

Captain Therik Vos sighed, rubbing his temples before turning back to his command chair. He reached into his pocket, feeling the smooth, pulsing surface of the so-called Heartstone, then let out a dry chuckle.

Therik: (shaking his head) “The Landrid are mindless beasts, and the Laefrret are a damn myth.” (glances toward the brig) “Kid can spin all the stories he wants, but we’re not stupid enough to believe in fairy tales.”

Dan didn’t respond.

Because deep down, he wasn’t so sure anymore.

And the way the boy had smirked as they took him away…

The First Sign

That didn’t feel like a fairy tale.

It felt like the beginning of something far worse.

That night, Dan sat on the cold metal floor of the brig, a ration pack in his hands.

The kid hadn’t eaten since they found him. Dan wasn’t sure he even needed to. But something about the way he sat there, quiet and still, made Dan toss the pack through the bars anyway.

Dan: (gruffly) “Eat.”

He devoured the food, tearing into it with unnatural hunger, as if he had never eaten before. As if he didn’t know when he’d get another chance.

Dan watched, arms crossed, keeping his expression neutral—but something about the way the kid ate unsettled him.

When the last scraps were gone, the boy licked his fingers clean, slow, methodical, before finally looking up.

For a while, they ate in silence.

Then, the boy spoke.

Boy: (calmly) “I lived on a world unlike any you’ve ever seen.”

Dan raised an eyebrow, waiting.

Boy: (softly) “Lush, endless forests. Rivers like silver veins running through the land. And warriors—tall, strong, beautiful.”

Dan chewed his food, listening.

Boy: “They taught me everything. Survival. Hunting. Fighting.”

His golden eyes flickered in the dim light, reflecting something almost wistful.

Boy: “We’d fight every day. For many cycles. But that got boring.”

(He stretched his legs out, his golden eyes glinting in the dim brig light, as if the memory was a fond one.)

Boy: “So I thought… maybe I’d bring them some humans to play with, too.”

(Dan stilled, the weight of that sentence hanging in the air.)

Boy: (tilting his head) “Because I remember… when I first found them, there were humans. And they weren’t as grumpy back then.”

(Dan exhaled, shaking his head, rubbing his temples.)

Dan: (dryly) “So you’re not really a prince there, huh?”

(The boy grinned. A little too wide. A little too sharp.)

Boy: “No. But I can be.”

(He sat up straighter, eyes burning with something almost childlike, something excited.)

Boy: “I remember everything about them. And they ain’t never had a prince before.” (shrugs) “But I could be a great one. Only—”

(He paused then, frowning slightly, as if the thought had just hit him.)

Boy: “Well… they have a Queen.”

(He tilted his head, genuinely perplexed.)

Boy: “I don’t really know what a prince does.”

(Dan stared at him. A kid—or something wearing the skin of a kid—talking about an ancient warrior race like they were a bored tribe looking for entertainment.)

Dan exhaled sharply, muttering under his breath.

Dan: “Yeah… I think that’s the least of your problems, kid.”

(But something deep inside him whispered that this was just the beginning.)

And so, Dan told the boy stories.

Long-forgotten tales—of warrior kings, of stoic philosopher-emperors, of men who built empires with steel and wisdom alike.

Each night, as the ship drifted through the void, the boy listened.

At first, he sat casually, legs crossed, arms resting over his knees. But as the stories deepened, he leaned in closer, eyes glowing brighter, hanging onto every word.

He never interrupted. Never asked questions. He only absorbed.

Dan saw the change.

The boy, once wild, detached, otherworldly, now watched him differently. As if, in those stories, he was finding something he had been missing—something he didn’t even know he had been searching for.

Dan got so carried away with these stories, each night passing in quiet conversation, that he didn’t notice how close they had gotten to port.

Didn’t think about what would happen next.

Didn’t realize—

They were now only weeks away from the pirate haven where Therik Vos and the crew planned to sell the boy into slavery.

And by the time Dan did realize it—

It was already too late.

The next morning, something was different.

Dan felt it before he saw it—that strange, prickling sensation at the back of his mind, the feeling that something had shifted.

When he entered the brig, he froze.

The boy was gone.

In his place stood a young man—taller, broader, his once-childlike frame now strong, almost regal. His golden hair shone under the dim cell lights, his skin still shimmering faintly, but now with a presence that felt powerful, controlled.

Only the eyes were the same.

Those glowing, unreadable, golden eyes.

Dan swallowed. What the hell…?

Meanwhile, the ship was in chaos.

Captain Therik Vos stood on the bridge, fuming, his voice like steel.

Therik: (low, furious) “Somebody had better start talking.”

Jorun Kaas was livid, pacing back and forth, his face twisted in anger.

Kaas: (snarling) “The damn gem is missing! And if I find out which one of you bastards took it, I’ll have your fingers for souvenirs!”

The crew shouted over each other, accusations flying like bullets.

Garrik Rho: (pointing at Skiff Jalen) “You were on watch last night!”

Skiff Jalen: (hands up) “Oh, piss off! I never even went near the damn brig!”

Lucky Dresk: (grinning nervously) “Well, technically, we’re all pirates, so I mean—”

Kaas: (snaps) “Shut your mouth, Dresk!”

Ironhide Rann: (grumbling) “That thing was worth a fortune… somebody stole it.”

Therik: (deadly calm) “Or worse—someone let the boy take it.”

The bridge fell into a tense silence.

Because, suddenly, a much bigger problem loomed.

The gem was gone.

And the boy—no longer a boy—was still here.

The surveillance logs flickered on the screen, the entire crew crowding around the terminal, watching in tense silence.

Therik Vos stood at the front, arms crossed, jaw clenched. Jorun Kaas hovered nearby, seething, while the others watched with a mix of curiosity and growing unease.

The footage played.

The brig, exactly as it had been the night before—Dan sitting on the floor, the boy curled up against the wall. The timestamp rolled forward, uneventful… until the moment everything changed.

At 03:17 ship-time, the screen glitched.

A sudden flicker—a burst of static—then the boy was just there, standing.

But not as a child.

The figure that now stood in the brig was taller, broader, older. His golden eyes burned, his posture eerily composed.

And in his hand—the gem.

Jorun Kaas: (voice low, dangerous) “He didn’t take it. He just… had it.”

A cold chill ran through the crew.

They scrubbed back through the footage, slowing it down frame by frame.

The transition wasn’t natural.

At 03:16:58, the boy was sitting, untouched.

At 03:17:00, **the screen distorted, warped—**as if something rewrote reality for a single second.

And when the image stabilized, he was changed.

Garrik Rho: (staring at the screen, uneasy) “What the hell are we looking at?”

Therik Vos: (coldly) “Something we don’t understand.”

Jorun Kaas: (voice hard) “I don’t like it. I don’t like him.”

The footage looped again, but the same impossible truth remained.

The boy didn’t steal the Heartstone.

He didn’t take it from the captain’s pocket.

It was just there.

And now, he was different.

Dan watched the screen, a sinking feeling gnawing at his gut.

The crew thought they had captured something.

But Dan was starting to think they had let something in.

The Breaking of the Crew

The boy stood in his cell, calm and composed, his golden eyes unreadable.

Boy: (tilting his head) “Because you haven’t attempted to harm me, I promise your crew won’t suffer.”

(A pause. Then, his voice darkened—not with anger, but with certainty.)

Boy: “But because you turned down my offer… you will all die.”

Silence.

Then, laughter—forced, nervous, hollow.

It wasn’t like before.

The crew still laughed… but this time, they were disturbed.

They didn’t believe him. Not really.

But none of them could shake the feeling creeping into their bones.

The Plan to Offload Him

By the next day, the decision was unanimous.

Captain Therik Vos stood at the helm, hands clenched behind his back, his jaw tight.

Therik: (coldly) “We’re changing course. Double time to the nearest port.”

Jorun Kaas: (nodding) “Drop the boy, drop the gem, and be done with it.”

Garrik Rho: (grumbling) “Yeah. Don’t care how much we could’ve sold him for—he’s not worth whatever the hell this is.”

Even the most hardened crew members—Ironhide, Red, Lucky—all agreed.

They would offload the kid and the stone in one shot.

Then, it started.

The Rumbling

At first, it was subtle.

A low vibration that hummed through the ship late at night, deep and resonant, like the distant growl of something enormous.

The crew checked the brig.

But the boy was gone.

Just gone.

No signs of escape.

No sign of forced entry.

Nothing.

And now, everyone was panicking.

Each night, the resonance grew stronger—a low pulsing, like a heartbeat reverberating through the walls.

Then came the sounds.

High-pitched clicks.

Unnatural chirps.

Echoing from everywhere… and nowhere.

Still no sight of the boy.

The Crew Begins to Break

The crew started acting strange.

People muttered things that made no sense.

Ironhide was caught talking to himself, whispering in a language no one understood.

Skiff Jalen sat at his console for hours, staring blankly into space, mumbling about doors that weren’t there.

Lucky Dresk panicked in the mess hall, screaming about something in his food.

And Dan…

Dan was missing time.

He’d blink, and hours would pass.

He’d wake up in the wrong rooms, so tired he could barely stand.

And the noise—the rumbling, the clicking—became relentless.

Then, the crew started hearing voices.

The kid’s voice.

Whispering to them.

Calling their names.

The Breaking Point

The next night, Dan awoke to the sound of screaming.

Shouting. Fighting.

His heart pounded as he scrambled up from his bunk, reaching for his knife—

Then he froze.

The boy was standing over him.

Calm. Smiling.

The noise was deafening now—the clicking, the high-pitched sounds, the resonance shaking the ship itself.

Boy: (softly) “Sleep. It’s alright.”

Dan tried to fight it, but his vision swam, his limbs grew heavy.

The world faded.

The Aftermath

When Dan awoke, the ship was silent.

The noise was gone.

The crew was gone.

Not a single body.

Not a single trace of struggle.

Nothing.

Dan sat up slowly, his breath shallow, his pulse hammering in his ears.

And there, sitting in the co-pilot’s chair, the boy waited.

Boy: (cheerfully) “So… can you fly this tin can, or what?”

Dan swallowed hard, his throat dry.

Dan: (hoarse) “No.”

(He turned, staring at the viewport—at the frigate they had stolen, still docked in the bay.)

Dan: (nodding toward it) “But I can fly that one.”

The boy grinned.

Dan awoke in a cold sweat.

Everything about the Prince fascinated him—his stories, his past, his strange, regal presence. But one thing haunted him more than anything else.

The Whisper.

Dan: “Yeah… that’s what he called it.”

That unnatural frequency—the one that drove men insane, that made them throw themselves at the Landrid like free food—it gave Dan the willies just thinking about it.

And the more he learned, the worse it got.

It wasn’t mind control—not exactly. It didn’t command or compel.

It was worse.

A frequency that warped thought, that corrupted instincts, that made the strongest warriors doubt their own senses.

It caused confusion, paralysis—and over time?

Devastation.

Dan knew only two beings had ever developed it.

The Vesh’Dralis.

And the Prince.

The mysterious Laefrret did not.

And that had always bothered him.

If the Whisper was a Landrid ability, why did the Laefrret—the ones who once ruled over them—lack it?

Why did the Thool’Varen, warriors more ancient than the Landrid themselves, lack it?

Was it technology?

Was it evolution?

Or was it something else entirely?

And worse still…

Dan always wondered—

How much had those nights, listening to the sound, affected him?

Had it changed him?

Had it already sunk into his mind, waiting?

He didn’t know.

And that terrified him.

He had read tales of the warriors at the Siege of Tys—the same ones who had held the city against the legendary Vesh’Thera, who had stood unbroken against the finest warriors the galaxy had ever known.

For a century, they had endured.

Until the Thool’Varen arrived.

And with them came the Vesh’Dralis hordes.

Hundreds of thousands of them.

And when they began the Whisper—when their voices rose as one, a terrible, unnatural harmony—

The strongest warriors in human history began to throw themselves from the walls.

Tys, the most defensively advanced city humanity had ever built, was undone not by siege engines, not by force of arms, but by sound.

Dan could only imagine what that must have sounded like.

A chorus of madness, a song that unraveled the mind, that made even the bravest soldiers surrender to the void.

A terrible sound.

A sound that still echoed through history.

Dan had a few hours of flight time left before reaching Hecthalla Spaceport.

So, he decided to walk the ship.

It was instinct more than anything—a habit from years aboard the Astrea, a need to check, to make sure everything was where it should be.

But as he moved through the corridors, a strange feeling settled in his gut.

Something was off.

At first, it was small things.

A chair slightly out of place in the mess hall.

A tool left on a console that he was sure he hadn’t used.

The cockpit hatch just barely ajar when he knew he had sealed it.

As he moved deeper into the ship, the unease grew.

The air felt heavier. The silence felt deeper.

He wasn’t alone.

And yet, every time he turned a corner—

Nothing.

Still, something had changed.

And Dan had the sinking feeling that whatever it was… it was waiting for him to notice.

Dan: “Come on, Atta there!”

He yelled into the captain’s quarters, but before he could take another step—

Something moved.

A flicker in the air, a distortion of light, barely noticeable.

Dan’s instincts kicked in just in time—he sidestepped, feeling the rush of air as a fist cut through the space where his head had been a second before.

The cloaked figure uncloaked mid-motion, revealing a Laefrret warrior—lean, fast, and already launching another attack.

Ves: (grinning) “Sorry—was just gonna knock you out a little. I just needed a ride to Vesh’Veluun.”

Before Dan could respond, she sprang forward, twisting mid-air, a vicious flying knee aimed at his ribs.

Dan: (grinning) “I don’t think so.”

He clicked a button on his wrist.

The kinetic barrier dropped, snapping into place with a low hum, energy rippling outward.

Ves slammed into the invisible wall mid-strike.

She hit the ground hard, rolling into a crouch, eyes flicking around for a way out.

Dan: (crossing his arms) “Another stowaway—what do ya know?” (smirks) “I must be a lucky guy.”

The Hunt & the Escape

Lara wove through the crowded bazaar, her sharp eyes scanning the stalls for something special. The marketplace was alive with movement—merchants calling out their wares, the scent of roasted spices drifting from food carts, the metallic clink of coin exchanged in hurried hands. Travelers from distant cities bartered for weapons, fine cloth, and relics of forgotten craftsmanship, but Lara had only one person in mind.

Xelric.

He was starting a new life—one without her.

The thought was bittersweet, sitting heavy in her chest, but she wouldn’t let it weigh her down. New beginnings were sacred to her people. A belief she should have abandoned, like the people themselves. They were all gone anyway.

She wouldn’t think about them. They didn’t matter.

Too kind.

Too weak.

And they had given her Nuada’s Compass.

She hadn’t believed in it, not really—not until she met Xelric. The stupid thing was supposed to point you toward allies, toward those who would protect you. It had led her parents to sell her into slavery instead.

So much for fate.

The things she’d seen with the smugglers… the things she’d done to survive—if Xelric knew, truly knew, he’d never want to know her better. No stupid compass was going to change that.

So she was here for a lockpick.

Lara: Won’t be there to open doors for you, Xel. This is the best I can do.

For the only person this cursed thing had ever led her to—the only one worth a damn.

Lara stepped into the locksmith’s shop, the scent of oil and metal thick in the air.

A sinking feeling settled in her gut. She was being followed.

She didn’t look back. Didn’t let it show.

Lara: (casual, but direct) “That one—does it integrate with Volundr crafting tools?”

The shopkeeper barely glanced up, his fingers still working over a half-dismantled mechanism.

Shopkeeper: (gruff) “Depends. What kinda tool are you upgrading?”

Lara: (nonchalant) “A gauntlet.”

That got his attention.

Shopkeeper: (raising an eyebrow) “Ah. Older model?”

Lara: (shrugging) “Multi-tool upgrade.”

Shopkeeper: (nods, tapping a small case on the counter) “Then you’ll want this. Just came in—high-grade lockpick, decryption interface, plus a hardened barrier overload.” (pauses, then adds) “Forty-five-minute delay between uses, though. Can’t have people abusing it.”

Lara rolled the device between her fingers, feeling the weight of it.

Exactly what she needed.

Lara: (muttering) “Perfect. But I bet it’s gonna cost an arm and a leg.”

The shopkeeper smirked.

Shopkeeper: “Or just the right connections.”

Lara: I’ll take it.

Lara stepped out of the shop, tucking the lockpick into her coat. The city lights flickered against the rain-slick streets, but something in the air felt off. Too quiet.

Then—impact.

A wiry man in a black suit brushed into her hard, almost deliberate.

Lara: (sharply) “Hey—watch it, jerk.”

He didn’t even look at her. Didn’t need to.

Because two heavily armored mercs stepped around the corner, cutting off her exit.

She tensed.

The man in the suit smirked, finally turning to face her. He was too calm—the kind of man who already knew the outcome before the game even started.

Bounty Hunter: (mocking) “Lara, right? Or is it Seline? Because this holo—” (flashes a glowing display, her face glaring back at her) ”—looks an awful lot like you.”

Merc 1: (grinning, adjusting his grip on his weapon) “Yeah, and word is you and some kid roughed up a few gang boys. Even burned one alive.”

Lara’s jaw clenched. That had been self-defense.

Not that these bastards cared.

Bounty Hunter: (amused, tilting his head) “Sloppy work. Not like you to leave a trail.” (pauses, letting the weight of his words sink in) “The bounty on you is decent. Whatever the gangs pay us for your Volundr friend?” (smirks wider) “That’s just a bonus.”

Lara’s pulse spiked.

Lara: (low, dangerous) “Leave him out of this.”

The bounty hunter sighed, tapping a finger against his temple like he was thinking it over.

Bounty Hunter: (mock sympathy) “Wish I could, sweetheart. But you know how it is.” (his smile vanishes) “A job’s a job.”

She had to be fast.

Lara didn’t recognize the bounty hunter, but she didn’t need to—he wasn’t just some street thug. His stance was too measured, his eyes too calm.

That meant one thing: he knew what he was doing.

So she waited. Let them make the first move.

Bounty Hunter: (flat, impatient) “Take her.”

Merc 1 lunged, grabbing her from behind, locking down her arms.

Perfect.

Lara launched her lower body upward, twisting in his grip—and drove both heels into the second merc’s chin.

CRACK.

His helmet snapped back, body going limp before he even hit the ground.

One down.

Before the first merc could react, Lara wrenched herself sideways, throwing her weight into his knee—a sharp pop, a howl of pain.

His grip loosened.

And that was all she needed.

And that was all she needed.

Her hand shot to her belt—a flick of the wrist, a blur of steel—the dagger flew straight for the bounty hunter’s eye.

But he was fast. Too fast.

With a sharp clap of metal on metal, he caught it mid-air.

Bounty Hunter: (smirking) “Don’t think so.”

Lara: (grinning) “Yeah? Enjoy that.”

The smirk vanished.

A sharp, hissing crack erupted from the blade, and suddenly—darkness.

Bounty Hunter: (snarling, stumbling back) “What the hell?! I— I can’t see!”

Lara: (mocking, already moving) “See ya later. But it’s gonna be a bit before you do, thanks to that blackout dagger you’re holding.”

Bounty Hunter: (furious, voice snapping) “Get her! Now!”

She heard it immediately—footsteps.

Light armor. Four of them. Fast.

The chase was on.

Lara launched forward, sprinting into the alley, weaving through shadows.

Behind her? Chaos.

A furious bounty hunter, his men scrambling to react, barking orders, stumbling in the dark—but the smart ones were already after her.

She vaulted a crate, hit the rooftops, and ran.

Mercs: (shouting) “Shoot her!”

The night exploded in fire and metal.

A hail of bullets and streaking energy blasts ripped through the air as Lara sprinted across the rooftop.

She yanked a kinetic shield grenade from her belt, thumbed the trigger, and tossed it behind her.

BOOM—

A translucent barrier flashed to life, absorbing the first volley—bullets ricocheted, energy beams crackled against the field.

But it wouldn’t hold forever.

Lara didn’t have time to think—only move.

The mercs adjusted, flanking fast, cutting off her escape.

Then—a shot clipped her shoulder.

Pain flared, throwing off her balance.

Before she could react—

A second blast smashed into the rooftop beside her.

The ground vanished beneath her feet.

Lara plunged downward, twisting mid-air—a blur of shattered tiles and neon lights—

And crashed straight through a fabric awning.

The impact ripped the air from her lungs. She tumbled, hit the ground hard, and rolled—smashing straight into a market stall.

Crates splintered, vendors screamed, a holographic display fizzled out in sparks.

She was back in the bazaar.

Dazed, aching, but alive.

Above, she could hear the mercs already repositioning—they weren’t letting up.

Lara gritted her teeth, wiped the blood from her lip, and forced herself to move.

The mercs moved with lethal precision.

No hesitation. No wasted motion.

They dropped from the rooftops in perfect sync, kinetic dampeners absorbing the impact. Their advanced suits hissed as servos locked into place, closing the distance fast.

Too fast.

Lara gritted her teeth, her mind racing.

She reached into her belt—palmed two flash mines—thumbed the triggers.

A flick of the wrist—

The mines clattered against the stone floor.

BOOM—

A blinding white eruption of light and sound tore through the bazaar, sending vendors reeling, customers screaming, tables overturning.

Lara didn’t wait to see the damage.

She melted into the chaos.

A quick shift—shoulders low, hood up, blending into the frantic bodies now scattering in all directions.

The mercs weren’t so lucky.

Merc 1: (snarling, visor scrambling) “Damn it—lost visual!”

Merc 2: (gritted teeth) “Switch to thermal! Fan out!”

Lara ignored them. She was already moving.

I have to get to the caravan. It leaves tonight.

Her pulse hammered in her ears as she slipped between moving figures, ducked behind a supply cart, and cut through a row of fabric stalls.

She couldn’t fight them head-on.

Not like this.

But she didn’t have to.

She just had to outrun them.

Lara made it to the caravan depot.

She kept her pace steady, not running, not drawing attention. Every instinct screamed at her to keep moving, but she needed a moment.

It seemed she wasn’t followed.

Still, she didn’t trust it.

She slipped inside a public restroom, locked the door, and pressed her forehead against the cold metal.

Exhale. Focus.

She rolled her shoulder—white-hot pain tore through her.

Damn it.

Gritting her teeth, she pulled off her jacket, wincing as the fabric peeled away from the seared flesh. The wound wasn’t deep, but it was ugly—blackened edges, raw red center. A direct energy shot.

Could’ve been worse. Could’ve gone straight through.

She dug into her belt, pulling out a coag pack.

Tear it. Pour it. Clench your jaw.

The foam hissed as it spread over the wound, burning like molten glass for three agonizing seconds before the numbness set in.

Good enough.

She let her head fall back against the wall, trying to regain control of her breathing.

And that’s when it hit her—

The shop.

Bronx.

Xelric.

Lara’s breath hitched.

The bounty hunter knew her face—which meant someone had talked. Someone had given them that holo.

And if they were tracking her…

Her hands tightened into fists.

They might be tracking them too.