Jason didn’t register the words Veyrn spoke. His eyes stayed locked on Karn’s body—crumpled, motionless.

  His heartbeat thundered in his ears, drowning out everything else.

  “Put him in the ship,” Veyrn ordered, already turning away. He cast a passing glance at Karn’s corpse, but there was no emotion in his face—only calculation.

  Jason was yanked to his feet by the soldiers, their rough hands shoving him forward. He stumbled past Ashar’s body.

  Still no tears. It didn’t feel real. The world moved in slow motion, every sound distant, muffled. A thick bubble seemed to wrap around his head. He barely noticed the chaos—the screams, the fires crackling through scrapwood homes, the shouting soldiers, or the trail of blood smeared across the sand.

  His house was in flames. The place where he’d learned to sew. Where he’d eaten stolen fruit with Ashar. Gone.

  People were herded like livestock. Some dragged. Some beaten. Children screamed for their parents, only to be torn away and thrown into separate dropships. Hands reached for one another—grasping, straining—before being ripped apart.

  Jason’s foot hit metal. The ramp of the cargo hold.

  He looked back once.

  Just as the door began to close, he caught a final glimpse of Ironwood. Tents in ruin. Streets stained red. Fires flickering in the wind like dying stars.

  Then it was gone.

  Inside the dropship, silence reigned. People huddled together, faces hollow. Some cried softly. Others just stared, like Jason—still, stunned.

  The ship rumbled as it lifted off. Jason rocked with the motion, eyes unfocused. Through a small port window, he caught sight of something unexpected.

  The sky.

  Clear, open, and full of stars. No longer clouded by dust or haze. It stretched endlessly, scattered with brilliant colors—blues and violets and shimmering gold.

  It didn’t look like the same sky. It felt like a lie.

  The silence didn’t last. A voice crackled from the intercom:

  “Prepare for docking.”

  The soldiers stood, gripping handholds as the ship slowed. Jason felt the pull of gravity shift, his gut twisting as the vessel glided to a stop.

  HISSS.

  The door slid open.

  “Move!” a soldier barked.

  They obeyed, forming a shaky line as they stepped into the red-glowing interior. It was industrial—cleaner than the scrap towns, but still brutal. Smooth metal walls broken up by exposed piping and catwalks overhead. The air smelled of grease and sterilization.

  “Where are you taking us?!” someone shouted.

  A soldier answered with a hard slap. “Keep walking.”

  Rows of prisoners from other ships joined them. Together, they were funneled into a wide intake corridor where a stern woman stood flanked by two guards. She held a slate and called out directions with mechanical precision.

  A thin man stepped forward.

  “Right. Meatgrinder,” she announced.

  He was shoved toward a corridor.

  Next, a trembling woman.

  “Left. Merchandise.”

  One after another, they were sorted—human, alien, young, old. Jason watched as friends and families were separated in seconds, judged like cattle at auction.

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  Then it was his turn.

  The woman looked up, eyes scanning him.

  “Le—” she began, but the soldier beside Jason leaned in and whispered something.

  She blinked, then corrected herself.

  “Right… for the pits.”

  Jason was shoved forward. The corridor opened into a large chamber filled with metal cages. Inside, humans and aliens were crammed together. Some were huge, monstrous even—creatures Jason had never seen. Some had extra limbs, others barely looked humanoid at all.

  A cage door creaked open. He was thrown inside.

  Jason stumbled to a corner and sat. The floor was cold. Hard. Unforgiving.

  And for the first time since the raid, reality sank in.

  Ashar was dead.

  So were the girls. Dozens more. And Karn—Jason had killed him. He hadn’t meant to. He hadn’t even thought. But it had happened.

  He buried his face in his knees as the tears finally came, hot and silent. The images kept replaying—Ashar’s empty stare, the panic, the gunfire.

  Could he have stopped it? Could he have saved them?

  If Friederick hadn’t stopped me…

  Friederick.

  Jason’s head snapped up.

  Where was he?

  He hadn’t seen him after the fight. Hadn’t seen him get loaded into a ship. Was he alive? Or dead too?

  Jason looked around the cage. Everyone here was a stranger. Aliens and humans, young and old, all shoved together under a red glow.

  He felt completely, utterly alone.

  Eventually, he curled up and tried to sleep. His legs burned. His eyes ached. The adrenaline had drained away, leaving nothing but emptiness.

  He woke some time later, unsure how long he’d slept.

  A sudden jolt startled him—the cage was being lifted. Craning his neck, he saw the entire unit hoisted by crane, then lowered onto a rail system.

  They rolled quickly along the track, passing massive windows that revealed the void beyond. Space. Stars. Rotating structures that didn’t belong to any planet. He remembered Ashar’s stories—the spaceport.

  Eventually, the cart stopped.

  Soldiers opened the cages and shoved the prisoners into a corridor lined with heavy metal doors.

  A loud voice barked: “You’ll be assigned quarters. Follow instructions. Obey, and you won’t be harmed!”

  Jason was led to one of the middle doors.

  It opened with a hiss.

  Inside: a small cell, barely wide enough for two. A bunk bed. A single light emitting a dull amber glow.

  A boy sat on the lower bunk, maybe seventeen. Thin. Human. Quiet. He glanced up, gave Jason a dead-eyed smirk.

  “They put you in here?” he muttered. “Guess we’re scraping the barrel.”

  Jason said nothing. He stepped inside cautiously.

  “I’ll take the bottom. You get the top. Try to sleep. They’ll haul us in the morning. At least… I think it’s morning.”

  Jason climbed to the top bunk and sat down.

  Below, the boy pulled out a small ball and began tossing it against the wall in a slow rhythm.

  “My name’s Jas—” Jason started.

  “Don’t care,” the boy cut in. “Names don’t matter here. Not for long.”

  The thuds of the ball continued, soft and repetitive.

  “You can win rewards if you last long enough in the pits,” he added, holding the ball up. “This one’s mine.”

  “When food comes, we split it. Half each. Keep your strength.”

  Moments later, a tray slid through a gap beneath the door.

  Jason lunged for it, but the boy shoved him back.

  “I said half.”

  He divided the food with precision, took his share, and returned to his bunk.

  Jason ate what remained, quietly.

  Later, the lights dimmed further. The boy fell asleep. Jason followed.

  Hours passed. The sound of boots in the hall woke them.

  The tray arrived again. The boy divided it silently. After they ate, Jason stretched—sore, tired, but awake.

  “You’d better be ready,” the boy muttered. “They’re about to introduce the new batch. That includes you.”

  Moments later, the door hissed open.

  A soldier stepped in, pointing at Jason.

  “You. Let’s go.”

  He followed, joining a line of new arrivals herded down a corridor. The hall opened into a massive prep area. Dozens of prisoners stood around, some armed. Spiked batons. Electrical spears. Metal plating grafted onto limbs.

  They all looked like killers.

  Above them, a woman stood on a catwalk.

  “Today’s entertainment is duo combat!” she announced. “One veteran, one newcomer. You’ll face fighters from the Halldon Merchants. Make it fun.”

  Soldiers began forming lines.

  Jason was shoved into the crowd, lost among the bodies.

  Suddenly, he bumped into a broad back—twice his width.

  The figure turned.

  Not a man.

  A towering humanoid with dark blue skin, red glowing eyes, and red lines etched into his arms like scars or tattoos.

  He stared down at Jason, unimpressed.

  “Great,” the alien muttered. “I get paired with this.”