The moon of Vorr-Epsilon 5B2, with its amber forests and floating farms, was serene. The golden light of the gas giant above bathed the city of Aurelia in an eternal, prosperous sunset that smelled sweet like honey.

  We sat in a rented hab-pod in the outer rim of the city, shielded by Leoric’s jamming pylons disguised as mana beacons. The walls were covered in digital projection screens, displaying the data Nyx had leeched from the local comms-relay during the past six hours of aggressive slicing.

  “House Vorr is old blood,” Arthur explained from the Spire, his voice filtered but sharp with historical context. “One of the Founding Houses under the First Emperor, Valkoris I. They were instrumental in the initial expansion into the Marxas Galaxy two thousand years ago. But empires age, lad. And old houses get stiff joints. They rely on momentum rather than agility.”

  “They’re bleeding,” I observed, tapping a series of red conflict zones on the map that pulsed like wounds. “Their expansion policy is aggressive — too aggressive. They’ve spent centuries pushing into the Rim Sectors, chasing prophecies and rumors of ‘Ascension Tech’. They’ve stretched their supply lines thin.”

  “Thin supply lines make for easy cutting,” Nyx noted, tracing a logistical route that ran dangerously close to uncharted space. “A single disruption in specific spots can cause cascade failure.”

  “More importantly,” Jeeves chimed in via the link, his tone analytical and cold, “The current Emperor, Solus VI, encourages internal friction. He grants territorial charters to multiple Houses for the same resource-rich sector, forcing them to compete. It’s Darwinian management. ‘Only the strongest blade defends the Throne.’ If two houses war, the Emperor wins, because the survivor is sharper.”

  “A culture of perpetual civil war disguised as competition,” I muttered. “Which means House Vorr has enemies closer than the rebels. Who hates them the most?”

  “House Lyras,” Nyx tapped a sigil — a blue eagle like creature gripping a lightning bolt. “Rivals for the mining rights in the Kyris system. They are militaristic, expansionist, and favor Kinetic bombardment over Vorr’s subtler political maneuvers. They’ve been skirmishing with Vorr fleets for a decade in proxy wars.”

  “Also House Arkin,” Arthur added, highlighting a gear sigil. “The Tech-Purists. They view the Vorr reliance on biological assets and gene-forged monsters as ‘unclean’. They worship the machine. They’d burn Vorr-Epsilon just to sterilize the gene-labs.”

  “There’s also House Xylos,” Jeeves projected a sigil of a crimson eye. “Masters of Illusion and psychic warfare. They envy Vorr’s connection to the Primordial Sites. They believe they are the true inheritors of the mystical legacy.”

  “House Lyras seems the loudest, based on our preliminary information.” I mused. “If we hit this expedition and make it look like Lyras was behind the interference… deploy some of their tech, lead some trails back…”

  “It could start another feud,” Arthur concluded with a grim chuckle. “Or at least a localized skirmish that draws attention away from the Rim. If House Vorr thinks House Lyras stole their Ancestor’s Compass… they won’t be looking at Earth. They’ll be looking at their neighbor’s throat.”

  The conversation shifted to the Emperor.

  “What about the big guy?” I asked. “Solus VI. We hear about the Houses, but he’s silent.”

  “The Emperor is… opaque,” Nyx said, pulling up a file that was almost entirely redacted. “He rarely leaves the Core Sanctum. He is rumored to be even past the Ascended, passing Stage 4 at the Twelfth Tier. People speculate his inner world is supposedly the entire Planetary Core. No one has seen his face in a century. His will is carried out by the Inquisitors. He treats the Houses like game pieces. Some say he feeds on the conflict itself.”

  “A vampire god-king,” I sighed. “Great. Add him to the list.”

  The plan was layered. Complexity was our shield.

  The first phase was going to be Infiltration. But not personally. The Blind Sector was a chaotic anomaly, and sending my main body deep into uncharted space where communication might be severed was tactically unsound given the proximity of the Coronation.

  “I trust my Veil to hold, even against Ascendants, but to be safe, I’m not going there in person,” I announced. “I’ll send the Echo instead.”

  I stood up and activated [Echo of the Ashen Sovereign].

  My clone stepped out of me. It looked perfectly identical, down to a strand of facial hair. But I dialed back its aura. I compressed its mana signature until it radiated a steady, unremarkable Tier 6 Kinetic profile.

  “Meet Valen,” I introduced the clone. “Mercenary. Kineticist. And the eyes and ears of this operation.”

  “A proxy,” Nyx nodded approvingly. “Smart. You stay here in the Spire range, ready to pull the plug or portal in if needed.”

  “Exactly. I can share his senses and control his actions. But if he gets disintegrated by a storm or an angry Ascendant… I would just lose a chunk of mana with a painful backlash instead of dying.”

  Phase two is where the real fun begins. Sabotage. Once Valen was in the Blind Sector, deep in the unknown, he would ensure the Vorr loyalists didn’t return with the prize. He’d be the accident waiting to happen.

  And phase three was the planned false flag. We would frame House Lyras. I needed to acquire Lyras-specific mana signatures or weaponry to give to the clone.

  “Nyx,” I turned to her. “I need you to find a black market dealer in Aurelia who trades in illicit House weaponry. Get me something that screams the signatures of those ‘Blue Eagles’. A plasma rifle with Lyras energy cells. A dagger with their crest etched into the hilt. Maybe a few signal jammers coded with their encryption keys. Anything that would subtly trace back to them.”

  This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

  “On it,” Nyx nodded, her form blurring into the corner shadow. “I saw a shady tech-broker near the spaceport earlier. He smelled of desperation and overheating coolant.”

  “And Nyx,” I added softly. “You stay here with me.”

  She paused, solidifying slightly. Her eyes narrowed. “You don't want me to infiltrate? I trust my cover will hold.”

  “There might be perception specialized Ascendants,” I reminded her. “Or artifacts like Millimos’ pendant. My Veil is layered with Syntheia’s direct training. It wraps causality, not just light. It can fool a god if I’m careful. And even then I don't believe I should be going there personally… I trust in your capabilities, but it's just not worth the risk. You maintain the comms link here with me and Arthur and continue infiltrating the locals.”

  She hesitated, her assassin pride bristling. Then she nodded slowly. “I understand.”

  I spent the next two days programming ‘Valen’.

  I practiced operating the clone remotely. The Spire network helped bridge the gap, but the Blind Sector would be tricky. I embedded a shard of my own consciousness deep in the clone’s matrix, allowing for autonomous reflexes if the connection wavered.

  I gave him the identity tokens Leoric forged. I gave him the House Lyras sabotage kit Nyx procured — plasma grenades with filed serial numbers, a signal jammer coded with Lyras frequencies.

  “Time to get hired,” I told the clone.

  Valen walked into the recruitment center at the Bastion of Silks. I watched through his eyes, sitting comfortably in the hab-pod while sipping glowing tea. The sensory link was flawless. I smelled the ozone; I felt the grit on the floor.

  “Name? Tier?” the bored Kyorian officer asked.

  “Valen. Tier 6. Kinetics. Heavy Ordinance.”

  “Alright, proceed to the demonstration area.”

  Valen slammed a telekinetic fist into the dummy, denting the plasteel with precise control.

  The officer raised an eyebrow. “Clean control. Usually, you Kinetic types just like to make noise and break furniture. You’re hired. Report to Hangar 7-B. Squad 23.”

  Squad 23 consisted of thirty mercenaries. A motley crew of hired guns from across the sector — those Kyorian Ronin with cybernetic limbs, lizard-men heavy shock troops from a place called the Swamps of Zarr, a pair of sniper twins with symbiotic eye-links.

  The leader was a Kyorian Captain named Joryn — a low Tier 8 with good Aura control, wearing standard issue officer armor, not the Divine Gold of Millimos’ retinue. He had a scar running down his cheek and the weary look of a man who had seen too many borders and buried too many friends.

  “Listen up, meat,” Joryn barked, pacing before us in the hangar bay. Behind him, a sleek, heavily armed transport shuttle — The Iron Vector — hummed, ready for launch.

  “This isn’t a vacation. We are heading into Sector 07B3. The Blind Sector. High entropy storms. Navigation is tricky. Communications are spotty. And there are… locals. The Veil is thin there, so expect a lot of threats. Void Beasts. Space Storms. Pirates. Fun things that don’t have names because anyone who names them dies.”

  He paused, scanning the group with hard eyes.

  “Your job is perimeter security. You protect the Tech-Priests while they scan for the Artifact signature. If we find it, you protect the case with your lives. If we don’t find it, you protect the ship. Payment is upon return. No return, no pay. Clear?”

  “Clear,” the mercenaries grumbled.

  “And one more thing,” Joryn’s voice dropped. “I know some of you might be tempted. That Artifact is worth a planet. But this is a direct mission commissioned by House Vorr. If you touch it… your entire lineage will cease to exist.”

  Typical. Threats and curses. The universal language of commanders.

  I — as Valen — boarded the ship, finding a seat near the back. I sat next to a nervous-looking Sylph scout — a species known for wind magic — who was checking her pulse rifle for the tenth time.

  “First time in the Blind Sector?” Valen asked, his voice rougher than mine, a persona I crafted for him.

  “Yeah,” she whispered, her wings twitching. “They say the storms eat your dreams. My uncle went in and came back… quiet. He just stares at the wall now.”

  “Only if you sleep,” Valen lied smoothly, checking his harness.

  The ship shuddered as the engines cycled up. We lifted off, the g-force pushing us into our seats.

  We broke the atmosphere of the moon quickly.

  I watched out the viewport as Vorr-Epsilon dwindled. The massive gas giant loomed, a sentinel guarding secrets I intended to steal.

  Through my internal link, I felt Nyx ping me one last time before we jumped to faster than light travel — the last secure packet burst.

  “The dealer guaranteed the goods are original,” her voice echoed in my mind, crystal clear. “Lyras-issue plasma grenades, serial numbers filed off but the Essence signature remains.”

  “Sounds good,” I replied through our mental connection. “This should be fun.”

  The stars streaked.

  We entered FTL. The hum of the warp drive insulated us from the universe.

  In the quiet of the jump, sitting safely in the hab-pod light-years away, I allowed myself a small smile.

  The Kyorian Empire was vast, yes. But it was brittle. It was a structure built on constant expansion. If they stopped eating, they starved.

  The “Swarm” on the Southern Front… The mysterious Artifact… The rivalry with House Lyras…

  These weren’t just details. They were fractures.

  If I drove a wedge into the right fracture, the whole structure could crack.

  And Millimos… the Prince with the Grey Eyes. He was afraid. Not of me, specifically, but of Death. Of endings. He needed this compass to find something vital. To survive.

  If this Compass was key to his survival, denying it to him wasn’t just a theft. It was an execution.

  I touched my bracelet — which somehow existed both on my clone and my original, a paradox of the Void. It was silent, the chaotic energy of warp space keeping it fed with background radiation. It vibrated contentedly against my wrist.

  “Almost feeding time,” I whispered.

  The trap was set. The pawn was on the board. And the King was watching from the shadows, finger hovering over the detonator.

  “Drop out in ten!” Joryn yelled over the intercom. “Brace for turbulence! The storm is heavy today!”

  We dropped out of warp.

  The view out the window wasn’t space.

  It was a kaleidoscope of violence.

  Sector 07B3 didn’t have black vacuum. It had a churning, bruising mix of grey and violet fog that roiled like a storm cloud the size of a solar system. Nebulae twisted like wounded snakes. Asteroids floated not in orbits, but in chaotic clusters, defying physics, some colliding in slow motion.

  Lightning — massive arcs of silent mana — jumped between gas clouds.

  The Blind Sector.

  A graveyard of ships and logic. A place where the rules of the System were merely suggestions.

  “Welcome to the hunting ground,” Valen whispered, his synthetic hunger responding to my remote will.