Firelight on stone.

  Smoke in his mouth.

  Across from him was a familiar face.

  A white-haired duskborn boy with red eyes—hand over one of them—trying not to break.

  They didn’t make it.

  The meaning comes later. The hurt comes first.

  …Kael.

  ———————————————————————————————————————

  A hand grips his wrist tightly as if he might disappear if they let go. Veyra’s grip—small fingers locked around Myth’s arm, yanking him forward.

  Boots slipping. Breath ripping. Cannon-fire raining overhead.

  A cannonball hits the wall beside them.

  Stone explodes. Debris showers them.

  Kael takes the brunt—Myth stumbles—ambushed by white-hot dust and shards, Veyra struggling to keep him upright—her face panicked.

  Kael pushed ahead, moving like a blade.

  ———————————————————————————————————————

  A hole in the wall. Too small. Just big enough for a child.

  Kael shoves him forward.

  Veyra’s eyes met his.

  Go.

  Myth scrapes through and drops outside the city—cold air, open ground, the noise suddenly far away.

  He turns.

  Raiders spill out of the smoke.

  Blades. Guns. Shadowed armor.

  Masks that did little to hide the hideous intent.

  Myth can still see them—Kael and Veyra.

  Then, suddenly he cannot.

  Big arms hoisted them out of sight like they weighed nothing.

  No one notices the kid in the dirt—just on the other side.

  Kael looks back once—eyes bright, wet, furious—telling him without words.

  Run!

  A voice rang out.

  "LET HER GO!!! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU!!!"

  Laughter from the raiders. Their voices swallowed by the noise.

  Then—nothing.

  ———————————————————————————————————————

  Mythren jolted awake like someone had ripped him out of deep water.

  His breath came hard and fast, the taste of smoke in his mouth even though the air around him was cold, semi-clean, civilized. His wrist twitched as if the hand that clutched it so tightly hadn't let go. He looked down.

  Nothing. Just fabric. Just the edge of his own blanket.

  He lay still for a second, staring at whatever passed for a ceiling here—metal, conduit, old patchwork panels humming softly with station life. Somewhere nearby, pipes ticked as they cooled.

  His heart wouldn’t slow.

  Kael crying.

  Veyra dragging him.

  Kael’s threat to the raiders—I’ll fucking kill you—before Myth even knew what killing was.

  Mythren swallowed, throat tight.

  Dreams like these always made his chest ache.

  He hated that the ache wasn’t disdain.

  That some part of him—small and stupid and deep—still remembered how safe he’d felt with them. Like nothing could touch him as long as they were there.

  Mythren shut his eyes, trying to crush the memory back into sleep.

  A chime buzzed through his comm.

  Kade.

  Mythren opened one eye.

  “About time,” Kade said. No greeting. Just that steady, work-first tone. “Wake it up, princess. We gotta talk business.”

  Mythren exhaled. “Now?”

  “Yes now,” Kade replied. “I let you sleep 'cause you were banged up. But we got work. Dojo... 10 minutes.”

  The line clicked dead.

  Mythren huffed through his nose, already dreading the act of sitting up. And then—like a reflex—his mind betrayed him.

  He couldn't shake that image of Kael—tears swelling in his eyes. He remembered how emotional Kael got about everything back then.

  Always burning with passion for something or someone else.

  He wondered where that person had gone...

  And what monster had replaced them.

  The Kael back then was a boy on fire…

  UPPER ATMOSPHERE // FAELOR PRIME // BLACK FLEET RAIDER — OUTER DECK

  The Kael now…would set fire to the world.

  High in the upper atmosphere—too thin for lungs, too thick to call space—the Black Fleet raider drifted like a blade on dark water.

  Kael stood on its outer deck, boots planted at the lip of the hull, arms folded as he stared down at the prize below.

  A lone ship cutting through the upper sky. Sleek. Guarded. Not an ordinary shipment transport. This had royal blood written all over it.

  The amulet on Kael’s chest pulsed—slow, patient—purple light breathing through the gem like a heart behind glass.

  A chime clicked in his ear.

  “Veyra,” he said without looking away.

  Her voice came through clean and sharp. “You’re in range. Scanners are blind. You’re clear to engage.”

  A beat. Then, colder:

  “Take no prisoners. Captain’s orders.”

  Kael’s mouth tugged into a smirk. He lifted one shoulder in a lazy shrug. “Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

  He leaned forward—arms still folded—like a statue being tipped over.

  And gravity did the rest.

  The wind took him.

  For a heartbeat he was just a falling silhouette—white hair snapping, coat flaring, the world turning to cloud and dark.

  Then purple fire flashed.

  Demon wings bloomed above his shoulders—not stitched to flesh, not part of him—two burning shapes hanging in the air like summoned weapons.

  They caught him.

  The moment they formed, something unseen slammed into him like a gale at his back.

  Kael didn’t flail.

  He didn’t fight for balance.

  He launched—a dark spear driven through the thin sky—carried hard and fast toward the prize.

  The transport saw him coming.

  A distant siren-burst. Lights strobing along its spine. Hardpoints yawning open like blinking eyes.

  His earpiece chimed again.

  “Window’s up,” Veyra said. “30 seconds. After that, they’ll paint us.”

  Kael’s smirk didn’t change. “Then don’t blink.”

  The amulet throbbed once against his chest.

  Purple gathered around him—not a shell, not armor—more like pressure made visible. Heat-haze and embers twisting the air the wrong way.

  A mask flared over his face in one violent breath of flame—oni-shaped, horned at the brow, its mouth a furnace glow.

  He hit the transport’s upper deck like a meteor.

  Metal screamed.

  Debris and violet fire rolled outward in a low, hungry wave.

  Drones lifted from hidden bays, stabilizers whining as they formed a ring. Armed guards in high-altitude suits poured through an access hatch, rifles up, visors flashing readouts.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  One of them froze just long enough to say what every alarm in the ship was already screaming.

  “He’s not in a suit—at this altitude?”

  Another guard’s visor tracked the burning mask. “Is that how he’s breathing?”

  They opened fire.

  Rounds stitched through the smoke.

  They hit the purple field and died there—flattening, slowing, dropping like they’d flown into thick oil. Sparks spilled. Casings clattered. Nothing reached him.

  Kael walked out of the flames with his arms still folded, unhurried, almost bored.

  He tapped his earpiece.

  “I’ve made contact with the prey,” he said calmly. “Reeling her in now.”

  A few guards took an involuntary step back. Not fear exactly. Pressure. The amulet pulsed harder. The deck beneath their boots creaked and complained. Knees buckled inside suits. Breath caught behind seals.

  He raised his hand toward the sky—toward the Black Fleet raider hanging above the cloud-line like a waiting blade.

  The purple around him surged.

  A dark tendril snapped out from his palm—thin as cable, black-violet and wet with ember-light.

  It vanished upward into the thin air.

  Somewhere above, it caught.

  The world tugged.

  Not the way engines pull. The way reality does when something finds a seam.

  A fold-anchor.

  The transport shuddered as if its mass had been hooked by an invisible chain. Warning lights flared. Deck plating groaned. The guards grabbed for rails as the ship’s orientation shifted a fraction—just enough to make their stomachs lurch.

  Kael planted his boots.

  And pulled.

  Not with muscle.

  With a deep, bellowed heave that made the purple field flare like a wound opening.

  The transport moved.

  Clouds tore beneath it. The sky itself seemed to strain. Drones wobbled, suddenly fighting forces they couldn’t name.

  The guards stared—wide-eyed behind glass—as the Black Fleet raider grew larger overhead, closing like a predator lowering its jaw.

  Boarding distance.

  Veyra’s voice snapped in his ear, tight now. “20 seconds.”

  Kael didn’t look back at them.

  Didn’t look at the rifles.

  Didn’t look at the men realizing—too late—that the ship wasn’t escaping.

  It was being taken.

  He tightened his grip on the unseen chain.

  And smiled behind the oni flame.

  But suddenly, the smile twitched.

  Something hot and wrong knifed through his ribs—an aftershock from the fold-anchor, finally catching up. It hit hard enough to buckle him.

  For half a second the purple field around him thinned, like it forgot its shape.

  Kael steadied. His chest heaved as he tried to breathe through the pain. He was used to it, but it always cost him to use the amulet’s power.

  Veyra’s voice cut in, low and sharp. “I tell you all the time—you over-rely on that cursed thing.”

  Kael didn't respond. He didn't care about the pain, or the cost. Only the mission mattered. He caught his breath—clutching the amulet like that would subdue it.

  Hooks fell from above.

  Not ropes—lines with barbed teeth, fired from the raider like harpoons and retracted on winches. They slapped the transport’s deck with heavy metal thuds, bit into plating, and went taut.

  Then the pirates came.

  Boots hit steel. Grapples clanged. Figures in patched void-gear and black scarves slid down the lines in quick, practiced drops, pistols and hatchets already out. Their helmets were half-masks, their eyes bright with the promise of violence.

  They spread into a loose ring without being told.

  Every one of them looked to him for the word.

  Kael let his gaze travel over the guards—faces behind glass, fear finally catching up to training.

  He didn’t raise his voice.

  He didn’t even turn around.

  “You heard the captain,” he said, calm as breath. “Let none live to tell.”

  A roar answered him.

  The Black Fleet surged.

  Gunfire and screaming became one sound. Drones were ripped from the air with grapples and thrown hard into bulkheads. Guards went down in the first seconds—some under blades, some under boots, some under the sheer panic of being rushed by people who wanted them dead.

  Kael watched none of it.

  He slowly held out his hands as purple light crawled down his forearms.

  Two blades formed there—summoned, not drawn—thin, cruel lengths of dark metal rimmed with violet ember. They hung low at his sides like he carried them out of habit.

  He started walking. Almost floating. Unhindered. As if the chaos around him was just bad weather. A guard broke from the slaughter line and charged him—rifle up, desperation loud in his posture. Kael didn’t stop.

  The first blade flicked.

  A clean diagonal cut across the suit’s chest plate. The guard folded before they understood they’d been opened.

  Another tried to flank him. Kael’s second blade whispered. The guard hit the deck and slid, leaving a dark smear that the wind immediately tried to steal.

  His earpiece clicked.

  “10 seconds,” Veyra warned.

  Kael reached the access hatch and dropped inside.

  The interior was warmer. Pressurized. Loud with alarms.

  He moved through the corridor like a shadow that refused to hurry but never stopped. A security team rounded a corner—three suits, stun-lances raised.

  Kael raised one hand. The purple pressure field flexed. Their boots skidded. Their knees hit metal—all of them forced to bow while Kael stepped through them. Two quick cuts. No flourish. No anger. Their bodies fell limp to the floor.

  He reached the bridge door that was sealed.

  Kael pressed his palm to the panel, and the amulet pulsed. A black-violet tendril slid into the circuitry like ink finding water. The lock clicked.

  “5 seconds,” Veyra snapped.

  Kael entered.

  The bridge crew stared at him from behind consoles and harnesses—wide eyes, trembling hands, someone trying to reach a distress switch. Kael crossed the room in three steps and buried a blade through the console instead.

  The screen died.

  So did the transmitter.

  He yanked the blade free and flicked it once. Purple sparks fell like ash. Outside, the alarm pitch changed—duller.

  “Scanners are dead,” Veyra breathed, relief threaded with adrenaline.

  Kael tapped his earpiece, but this time it wasn’t for her.

  “Prize is under our control,” he said. “Orders?”

  The reply took its time. Halix’s voice slid through at last—smooth, unhurried, like he’d never doubted the outcome.

  “Whatever riches are onboard can be split amongst the crew.”

  That earned Kael’s attention. He glanced at the dead console, then back at nothing.

  “No spoils for you, captain?”

  A pause.

  “I have no interest in jewels and trinkets,” Halix said. “There’s something else aboard this transport I want you to retrieve.”

  His brow furrowed, but he didn’t question it. He turned, now set on another goal.

  Kael left the bridge to the sound of slaughter echoing through the decks.

  He followed the ship’s bones downward—past trembling crew members hiding in alcoves, past the bodies of guards who’d tried to be brave—until he reached the cargo bay.

  The doors were already forced.

  Pirates poured through the opening with devilish excitement, laughing as they tore crates open, tossing fabrics and cases of glittering things to the deck like garbage.

  Jewels.

  Art.

  Relics.

  None of it held Kael’s eyes. He walked past it all like it didn’t exist. In the center of the bay sat a separate cradle—shock-mounted, sealed, surrounded by warning glyphs and locking clamps.

  Kael stopped. The amulet on his chest pulsed once. And something in the cradle answered.

  A sphere.

  Not smooth—built from interlocking facets, a mathematic quilt of metal plates and impossible angles that made the eye want to re-measure it. Etchings ran along its seams: precise, alien, almost elegant. The shapes didn’t repeat the same way twice.

  It looked like a relic. It felt like machinery.

  Kael reached out.

  The clamps released with a reluctant hiss. When his fingers closed around the sphere, the amulet’s purple glow synced to it—pulse for pulse—like two hearts recognizing the same rhythm.

  Kael lifted it.

  But something else was happening. The dark presence inside the amulet had become restless—like the sphere had stimulated it somehow. His arm tensed, and for a second, he couldn’t control it. The amulet pulsed, sending another jolt of pain through his chest.

  He winced, placing a hand over the other arm in an attempt to get it back under his control.

  “You forget,” he said through clenched, bleeding teeth. “I’m the one in control here, demon…not you.”

  He gripped his arm tighter, almost digging his fingers into his own skin, and pulled his away from the cradle with guttural growl.

  Everyone in the room went silent. They all turned to see Kael—holding the erratic sphere like he’d just ripped it from the jaws of a monster. His breathing was heavy, but the purple aura subsided finally, returning his control over his arm. That’s when he heard Veyra on comms again.

  “Kael…your vitals are off the charts. What’s happening?”

  He growled under his breath, annoyed. “I’m fine, dammit. Just prep the raider for evac. We got what we wanted.”

  He tapped his earpiece, switching the line over to Halix.

  “Captain,” he said. “What exactly…is this thing?”

  For a moment, there was only the hiss of comms.

  Then Halix spoke.

  Kael could almost hear the smile behind the words.

  “Our future.”

  THE ROOKERY // SERVICE GANTRY — ENGINE SPINE

  Mythren’s back slammed into the gantry floor. Air punched out of him. Above, Kade’s shadow filled the light. He flourished his blade, shaking his head at Myth’s pitiful form.

  "I'll keep plantin' that ass if you don't focus," he said, sounding almost disappointed. “I swear you’ve been spaced in the head ever since you bumped into those siblings of yours.”

  He was right. Myth looked away, not yet ready to acknowledge it, but Kade read him like their names were tattooed on his face.

  He jumped up—sword in hand—eyes darkened.

  Kade waited a beat, then tilted his head. “Well…am I right?”

  Myth stared at the floor, the muscles in his jaw tightening like he wasn’t allowed to answer. His eyes darted up at Kade.

  “Fuck the twins.” He spat as he readied for another go. Then, he charged again.

  Steel rang.

  Mythren’s blade met Kade’s and lost. Not snapped—worse. Redirected. Kade turned his wrist and Myth’s sword skated off, throwing sparks across the grated catwalk.

  “Again,” Kade said.

  Myth grunted and reset his feet on the narrow gantry. Below them, the engine spine of The Rookery ran the length of the carrier like a sleeping beast—pipes and conduits bundled in armor plating, vents breathing hot air in slow, rhythmic pulses. The whole ship thrummed around them, a low vibration through bone.

  Myth swung.

  Kade stepped inside the arc and tapped him in the ribs with a wooden practice blade. Hard enough to sting.

  Myth hissed. “You couldn’t wait until after breakfast?”

  Kade’s mouth twitched. “Your enemies don’t give a shit about if you’ve had your breakfast.”

  Myth slashed again.

  Kade parried with two fingers on the flat of the blade—lazy—and shoved. Myth staggered back a half-step, boot catching a cable housing.

  “Careful,” Kade said, like he was commenting on the weather.

  Myth caught the rail before he could eat deck.

  Kade kept talking as if none of it mattered.

  “Same client as before,” he said.

  Myth blinked, attention snagging. “The StarCutter guy?”

  Kade nodded and came forward. “The StarCutter guy.”

  Myth’s grip tightened. He swung harder.

  Kade turned his shoulder and Myth’s blade passed through empty air.

  Kade’s practice sword touched Myth’s throat.

  Tap.

  Myth froze.

  Kade leaned in a fraction. “Pay attention.”

  Myth swallowed and backed off. “Okay—so what does he want now?”

  Kade lowered the blade and circled him, boots quiet on the grating.

  “Not a ship,” he said. “Simple cargo theft. Clean. Quiet. In and out.”

  Myth scoffed. “That’s what you said last time.”

  Kade’s eyes flicked up—flat. “Cause that’s what he said last time. But if you ask me, It’s almost like he wanted to piss off the upper crust. And judging by your last scrape with death...It might've worked.”

  Myth’s jaw clenched. “Vire—”

  “Nearly fuckin' killed you,” Kade cut in. There was no heat in it. Just fact. “You got lucky. Lucky doesn't cut it in our line of work. You know that.”

  Myth shifted his stance. “I disappeared.”

  Kade’s practice blade snapped out and rapped his knuckles.

  Myth winced.

  “Yeah… after you let her get close,” Kade said. “We’re thieves, Myth. We don’t win fights.”

  He stepped in, drove Myth backward with two quick taps to shoulder and hip.

  “We end them before they start,” Kade continued. “We take valuables, not challengers.”

  Myth tried to counter.

  Kade hooked his wrist, twisted, and Myth’s blade clattered against the grating.

  It spun once, slid, and stopped at the edge of the catwalk.

  Myth stared at it.

  Kade didn’t.

  He kept walking, practice sword hanging low like a promise.

  “The client pays well,” Kade said. “Too well. Which means it’s either impossible… or it’s going to make somebody very important very angry.”

  Myth flexed his fingers, swallowing pride with blood-taste. “And you’re okay with that?”

  Kade shrugged. “We’re already wanted. Such is the life of a criminal. So we might as well get paid for it.”

  A vent behind them exhaled heat. The air tasted like oil and old metal.

  Myth retrieved his blade and reset.

  “So what’s the target?” he asked.

  Kade’s expression didn’t change.

  But his eyes sharpened.

  “A courier,” he said. “High altitude route. Private escort. The kind of transport that doesn’t show up on public schedules.”

  Myth lifted his blade. “Sounds familiar.”

  Kade gave him a thin look. “It should. Same guy. Same taste, I suppose.”

  Myth’s throat tightened. “You ever see his face?”

  Kade stepped forward and tapped Myth’s blade aside. “Nope. And if we’re smart, we never will.”

  Myth tried a feint, but Kade didn’t bite.

  “Do you at least know what we’re stealing?” Myth asked.

  Kade’s blade kissed Myth’s collarbone—another point.

  Myth exhaled, frustrated.

  Kade finally answered.

  “No,” he said. “And that’s the part we should be worried about.”

  Myth’s eyes narrowed. “Then why take it?”

  Kade’s voice stayed casual.

  “ ‘Cause he ain’t the kind of client you wanna lose. Two or three jobs like this and we'll be set for good. No more riskin' our lives just to hold on to 'em.”

  He stepped back and lowered his blade.

  Myth stared at him, chest rising and falling.

  Kade tilted his head toward the far end of the gantry, where a ladder dropped into the guts of the ship.

  “Get yourself together,” he said. “We nail this one… and things change for us.”

  He walked over to the far wall. "Oh and you're gonna need this.”

  Kade reached into a grated closet compartment and tossed out a suit.

  A yellow hazmat suit—fitted with all necessary components. Common amongst shipyard and hazardous transport workers.

  Myth picked up his blade, staring at the suit.

  Kade turned back to him, lighting a cigar. He inhaled the smoke slowly, as if savoring the moment. Then he grinned, and exhaled the smoke confidently. "We get in...we take what we want..."

  "Then we disappear like we were never there." Myth responded, like repeating an oath.

  "Like a what?" Kade said louder with a smile on his face.

  Myth hesitated, hating this part. It was something Kade did to keep his spirits up when he was younger. Now he did it just to troll him when he was being a downer. Myth exhaled, eyes rolling.

  "Like a myth.”

  Chapter End—