The lights in the suite adjusted automatically as the station's dome began its cycle into simulated night. Hues of violet and indigo washed through the panoramic windows, casting soft shadows along the curved walls and minimalist furniture.
Ethan sat at the edge of the bed, towel draped around his shoulders, skin still faintly steaming from a long, temperature-cycled shower. He'd let the water run for almost twenty minutes, letting the mix of rising steam and pulse-pressure jets work the tension out of his back and shoulders. It had helped. More than he'd expected.
Now, wrapped in silence and synthetic cotton, he finally let himself slow down.
The day had been dense. Politically, mentally, even spiritually. And it still sat heavy in his mind, like the gravity in a storm's eye.
He crossed the room, grabbed a cool mineral drink from the chilled recess beside the suite's bar, and walked barefoot toward the lounger by the window. Outside, Ashen Prime shimmered like a microcosm of the Federation itself: glowing arteries of infrastructure, strict, beautiful order layered in vertical elegance. A galaxy condensed into form and function.
It was impressive. Too impressive.
He took a sip, then leaned back in the chair, letting his head rest.
Governor Tallis Krell.
That man had played the long game. And he'd played it well.
But Ethan didn't doubt his sincerity. That was what made it complicated.
Krell hadn't tried to coerce him. He hadn't wrapped offers in sweet lies or cloaked bribes in empty flattery. He'd simply laid his cards out, named the factions, and pointed at the quiet war unfolding in the heart of the Federation.
And then he'd asked Ethan to help, on his own terms.
No chains.
No constricting contracts.
Just choice.
But choice was heavier than orders. And it lingered longer.
Ethan looked down at his datapad, now synced back to the Galactic Net after the security lockdown. Dozens of updates flashed along the periphery, newsfeeds, mission board pings and low-priority alerts from the Mercenary Guild Network. But he didn't touch any of it.
Not yet.
His thoughts drifted instead to his own goals. The quiet ones. The ones that had kept him moving since the day he woke up inside the Obsidian Wraith, disoriented, and staring into a sky that was not Earth's. A sky alien in its stars, unmarked by constellations he once knew from reading books and watching documentaries.
Everything familiar had been stripped away in an instant, leaving only the hum of foreign systems, the dry taste of recycled air, and the slow realization that he wasn't in Tokyo anymore.
Not even in the same universe.
He wanted strength.
Not for vengeance, not for power's sake, but for agency. To never again be at the mercy of things he didn't understand. To carve his own path in a galaxy that didn't care if he sank or soared.
He wanted freedom.
The kind that wasn't bound by sector laws or faction loyalties. Real freedom. The kind he never had on Earth, trapped between overtime hours and convenience store dinners, and certainly not in this Federation where even silence could be political.
And most of all…
He wanted answers.
Answers about this place.
About how this universe worked, not just politically or economically, but beneath the surface. The things that no one talked about but that whispered between the stars.
Answers about the Astral Slayer, the weapon that had chosen him, resonated with him, and transformed him. It wasn't just a relic of some ancient war; it felt like a message. Like a test.
And the blurry figure that haunted the edge of his meditation. Always there, half-seen, like a memory buried in fog. It hardly spoke clearly. It never attacked. But it waited. Always. Patiently.
Was it truly connected to the molecular blade?
Was it truly a traitor to that mysterious Astral race that forged it?
To him?
And then… there was the deeper question. The one that loomed behind all others:
Why was he here?
Why him, of all people?
He hadn't died in some heroic sacrifice or tragic accident. There was no bolt of lightning, no arcane ritual, no cosmic voice whispering about destiny.
He'd just… collapsed.
Food intoxication, most likely.
After a long, gray shift at the office, still wearing his rumpled white shirt and loose tie, he'd grabbed a convenience store bento on the way. Something cheap, cold, and probably well past its expiration date. It had tasted like rubber and regret, but he was too tired to care.
He boarded the last train of the night, found a quiet seat, and let himself sink into it as the doors slid shut with a soft chime.
That's when the nausea hit.
A slow churn at first. Then heat. Sweat on his brow. The floor tilted slightly, or maybe his brain did. His vision fuzzed at the edges, the world narrowing to a tunnel of flickering fluorescent lights and muffled train announcements.
And then, darkness.
And then, this.
So maybe there was a reason.
Or maybe it was all just cosmic chance. A system glitch, or the universe rolling dice.
He didn't know.
But he meant to find out.
And now, those answers might be harder to uncover than ever. Because the Federation, for all its polished steel and structured hierarchy, was a labyrinth of secrecy. Behind every bureaucratic smile and sanitized corridor lay layers of classified knowledge and buried history. The truth was there, but buried so deep it might as well be myth.
And a part of him was also starting to consider plans if the answers he sought couldn't be found in Federation space at all.
Maybe not even in the core worlds, or even on the fringe border sectors.
Maybe not in hidden colonies or the distant space stations.
Maybe he'd have to go farther, into the lawless belts, into forgotten sectors where civilizations had risen and fallen long before the Federation, Empire or other galactic nations ever existed. Maybe the truth was somewhere beyond the charts, beyond the comfort of patrol ships and safe contracts.
In some ancient ruin.
Or locked in the memory of an extinct race.
Or floating in a dying signal trapped in the void.
He truly didn't know where to look yet, but he wouldn't rule out anything.
Still…
Tomorrow would give him breathing room. Something normal.
He had plans.
First, a stop at the Mercenary Guild's Ashen Prime Branch. He wanted to feel the atmosphere there, see how it compared to the gritty, honor-bound structure of Kynara's guild halls. This one would be bigger. Sleeker. More layered in hierarchy and veiled agendas, no doubt. He'd browse the board, see what kind of contracts were available in this part of the Ashen sector. See what kind of mercenaries thrived here, and what kind of games they played.
Then, the weapons district.
Krell's team hadn't skimped on his ship's upgrades, but his personal gear could use a closer look. Armor mods, field kits, new sidearms or non-lethal options. Maybe even something more exotic, as he had the creds to stretch. You never knew when the next job would take you into vacuum zones or high-radiation shuttles with live power cores.
And finally, Raevis Kael.
He smiled at the thought.
The sharp-tongued, half-laughed engineer who'd pulled the Obsidian Wraith out of its poor state back on Kynara. She and her crew had gone back to Ashen Prime's industrial ring weeks ago, and they'd kept in touch ever since. She'd messaged him earlier that morning:
"If you don't show up before leaving the sector, I'm welding your name into the docking station's wall out of spite."
And it wouldn't just be for fun. Engineers talked, especially ones like Raevis. Over drinks, he might finally get the deeper scoop on the ship classes populating the Orion Federation. What the military flew, what smugglers and pirates used to skirt border sensors, what privateers were loading into long-range hulls. Information like that could save him weeks of intel crawling later.
And besides…
He needed that reminder.
The reminder that this universe wasn't all politics and ancient psychic relics.
It was ships, tools, hands stained with engine grease, people scraping lives together from salvage and fire.
The real side of the stars.
Ethan finished his drink, set the glass aside, and stood.
He walked into the sleeping chamber, triggered the soft-light presets, and watched as the climate slowly adjusted to his preferred baseline. The bed accepted his weight like memory, folding gently around his posture.
The suite hummed quietly around him, alive but peaceful.
Ashen Prime had shown him one face of the Federation.
Polished. Controlled. Efficient.
But the truth?
The deeper truths were still out there, scattered like data shards across galactic sectors and the systems within. Tucked into the silence between skirmishes. Hidden in the whispers of mercenaries who'd seen too much and officers who'd said too little.
He'd find them.
One system at a time.
For now, he let his eyes close.
Tomorrow would be busy.
Tomorrow, he'd walk again.
But tonight?
He let the quiet hold him.