The Serpent’s Coil Nebula was a silent, breathtaking storm—swirling clouds of turquoise and violet gas drifting past the main viewscreen, veiling newborn stars in a cosmic haze. Aurania couldn't appreciate its beauty, not now. She only saw the faces of her team as they scattered about The Cradle of Gravity, preparing for the coming mission.

  The weight of command was a familiar pressure in her chest. There was nothing wrong with the strategy—the plan was simple, brutal, and clear. It was the weight of the people who would execute it.

  Her mind flicked across the faces of her team, remembering where she'd last laid eyes on each one.

  Inelius, a steady, grounding presence in the ops center, his four arms moving with diligent purpose as he planned. Veolo, restless and sharp, rolling her shoulders as she reviewed the pirate base’s defenses. Amalia, surprisingly still for once, her usual bubbly energy coiled tight beneath a mask of professional focus. Soren, meditating down in the large, vacant room on Deck 4.

  And Violet.

  Aurania’s concern had been growing for the gunslinger lately.

  Ahead, a splinter of obsidian cut through the cosmic haze—Pulse’s ship, The Ghost Step. It moved like a predator, its sleek, matte-black hull absorbing the nebula’s light. The Cradle of Gravity being the faster ship, they let Pulse take the lead so they didn’t run away from him.

  Aurania turned and started down the steps from the cockpit, the ship's hum vibrating through her hooves. The mission prep was done, the team was ready. But there was one more variable she had to account for, one more frayed edge that needed to be addressed before they went into the fire.

  Her steps seemed to echo more on the grated decking as she descended to the cargo hold. The air was cooler here, smelling of gun oil, recycled air, and the faint, metallic tang of the ship's hull. The hold was well lit, a cavern of stacked crates and secured equipment, the silence broken only by a single, sharp sound.

  Click.

  Violet was there, seated at a workbench facing the port side of the ship. Her focus was like a meditative ceremony she had fallen into. Morgan's Mercy lay disassembled on a cleaning mat before her, its heavy, nickel-finished components arranged in a precise, almost ritualistic pattern. She slid a freshly polished heat-sink magazine back into place, testing the fit.

  Aurania stopped a few paces away, body already half-turned to head back upstairs. "Violet, I need to borrow you for a minute."

  She didn't look up. Her fingers moved to the next component, a small calibration tool in hand. "Hold on, I'll be there in a bit."

  The words hung in the cold air, devoid of intentional disrespect but heavy with misplaced priority. Aurania's jaw tightened. She didn’t move, but her tone darkened.

  "It wasn't a request."

  Violet’s hands stilled. For a long moment, she didn't move. Then, extremely slowly, she set the tool down, her gaze still fixed on the weapon. She rose without a word and followed Aurania out of the hold.

  The walk to the common room was wordless. When they arrived, the space felt too large and empty. Brolgar was at the galley counter, a thick stew simmering on the heatplate. He looked up as they entered, his expression drawing tense as he picked up on the mood.

  "Brolgar," Aurania's tone left no room for argument. "Give us the room. Do me a favor and make sure no one interrupts us."

  She moved over to the giant window looking over the stars and sank into a large chair facing it. Violet settled delicately in a chair next to her, posture tense.

  Brolgar came over with two cups of warm, spiced cider and set them on the small table between their chairs. He lumbered toward the door without a word. When it hissed shut behind him, they were left in a charged silence.

  Aurania picked up her mug but didn't drink, the warmth seeping into her palms. Outside the viewport, the nebula's colors bled into one another, a slow, cosmic dance that felt a million miles away. She kept her gaze fixed on it, not yet ready to look at the woman beside her.

  "You've been... sharper since Mol'eyne," Aurania began, her voice quiet. "Focused. I've never seen you this locked in."

  Violet's reflection shimmered on the glass. "The mission requires focus. That's what you need from me. That's what I'm giving."

  "Focus is one thing," Aurania finally turned to face her. "Blindness is another."

  Violet’s jaw tightened, but she didn't look away.

  Aurania's tone softened. "Have you ever wondered why I've chosen to train Veolo for leadership but never tapped you or Amalia? You're both more than capable."

  That seemed to catch her off guard. Her posture shifted, a flicker of something—pride, maybe, or resentment—in her eyes.

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  "It's the same reason Riza doesn't like to give orders," Aurania leaned forward. "You're all brilliant at what you do. You have a fire that drives you. It's what makes you incredible warriors. But fire doesn't just warm, it consumes. And I just don't want to see you burn so hot you destroy yourself."

  Violet was quiet for a long moment, her gaze dropping to the mug in her hands. "I know my limits," she finally said, though the words lacked their usual certainty.

  "I'm not telling you to give up that passion," Aurania gently pressed. "That drive to protect the people who can't protect themselves—that's the best part of you. But you have to temper it. There's always a price, Violet."

  Her head snapped up, eyes blazing with cold conviction. "I'm willing to pay it."

  Aurania's expression hardened, the warmth draining away. Her tone grew deadly.

  "Even if it's Amalia's life?"

  Violet flinched as if struck.

  Aurania didn't let up. "Even if it's everyone on Nox?"

  A tense, suffocating silence stretched between them. The nebula outside seemed to watch, its colors swirling with an indifference that felt almost cruel. The mug in Violet’s hand began to shake, the only outward sign of the turmoil the words had unleashed.

  When Aurania spoke again, the sharp edge was gone from her voice, replaced by a weary honesty. “Before Amaryn… before Mol’eyne… I used to be able to rely on you to keep my own temper in check. To be the one who kept the rest of us in line when I was seeing red. Now…” She let out a slow breath. “Now it feels like it’s the other way around.”

  She set her mug down. “That shit on Radiant Horizon? I’m glad we did it. I’m glad those people are free. But you rushed in without a word to any of us. No plan, no recon—just pure, righteous fire.” She leaned forward, her gaze intense. “That’s not how a team works, Violet. That’s how a team gets killed.”

  Violet remained quiet, her eyes fixed on the table. She didn't argue. She didn't defend herself. She just sat there, absorbing the weight of the truth.

  “I’m not trying to lecture you,” Aurania's voice softened further. “And I know you resonate with that whole ‘goddess of vengeance’ story. I don’t even think that’s a bad thing.”

  Violet finally lifted her head, meeting Aurania’s gaze. Her eyes were still guarded, but the hard, icy edge had started to thaw.

  "Can I… tell you a fear of mine?" Aurania asked.

  Violet’s expression broke, the last of her defensiveness giving way to genuine surprise. "It's hard for me to imagine you being afraid of anything."

  Aurania’s gaze dropped to her own hands, still warm from the mug. "More than you know."

  Violet’s expression softened completely. She reached out, grabbing Aurania's fingers. "Tell me."

  Aurania took a slow, shaky breath. "When I saw you start down this path... after Amaryn... I told myself you just needed time to process. To grieve. But the more I watch, the more I fear you're losing yourself completely to the anger."

  Her voice cracked on the last word. "I don't want to lose you, Violet." Aurania leaned forward and pulled her into a hug. She held onto Violet like she was afraid the girl might turn to ash and blow away. "Please... just make sure you're not causing more suffering while you're trying to help."

  Violet was still for a long moment, then her own arms came up, returning the embrace with a fierce, trembling grip. She buried her face in Aurania's shoulder, letting out a few muffled sobs. "Thank you. I'm sorry I made you worry.”

  When they finally pulled apart, Violet's eyes glistened like starlight. "You're not going to lose me."

  The fierceness returned, and she added, "No power in the ‘verse is going to keep me from watching out for my family."

  Later, as the mission clock ticked closer to their arrival, Aurania donned her armor and made her way back up to the cockpit. The bridge was dim, lit only by the soft glow of the consoles and the swirling cosmic light from outside. Tamiyo was at the helm, her antennae twitching as she navigated the dense nebular currents. Inelius was in the co-pilot's chair, his gaze fixed on the tactical display.

  He glanced up as she entered. "All good?"

  "Getting there.” She came to a stop between the two chairs, her arms crossed, and stared out at the approaching asteroid field.

  After a long silence, Inelius asked, "So, do you believe it?" His voice was casual, but the question wasn’t.

  Aurania kept her gaze fixed on the swirling clouds of violet and turquoise ahead. "Believe what?"

  "The myth."

  Aurania was quiet for a long moment. She let out a deep sigh. “There are lots of reasons people start believing things. A lot of times, it’s because they just don’t understand what they're looking at.”

  She finally looked at him. “A rival pirate faction could send a thermobaric rocket into a compound, purge a place someone deems ‘wicked,’ and others call it divine judgment—who knows. I was reading about Earth’s history once and saw there were primitive tribes that worshipped airplanes because they would accidentally drop supply crates on them during war.”

  Her voice grew colder, laced with bitter irony. “Hell, look at lacravida spirituality. The Mothers of Life—by design.”

  A tense beat of silence followed. Inelius held her gaze, his expression tense.

  “So, do you believe it?”

  Aurania's lips parted, an answer attempting to form in her mind.

  But before she could speak, Tamiyo’s head snapped up. Her antennae twitched erratically as she stared at her console. She urgently keyed the external comms. “Uh, Pulse? I think we have a problem.”

  Aurania’s head whipped over. “What problem?”

  Pulse’s filtered voice crackled over the open channel. “Sensors are reading a massive, unstable energy from the asteroid’s core. And… multiple hull breaches. It’s venting atmosphere.”

  “Look,” Tamiyo whispered, pointing out the main viewport.

  Aurania leaned forward, her eyes following Tamiyo’s gesture as The Cradle of Gravity cleared the last veil of nebular gas. Ahead, the Red Consortium's asteroid base hung waiting in the void.

  And it was dying.

  Her chest grew tight, and before she could even process the sight, Soren's voice came over the internal comms from the common room. “Are you guys seeing this?”

  Outside the viewport, a horrifying scene unfolded. The jagged, fortified rock was bleeding light and heat into space. The gaping maws in the asteroid's side that served as hangar bays looked like roaring furnaces. Slagged rivers of molten metal ran in streams, pulled down by the artificial gravity. The skeletal wrecks of docked pirate ships were twisted into grotesque sculptures of melted steel, their hulls peeled back like burned parchment.

  There weren’t any patrols like Pulse had warned about, no active shielding.

  The whole damn place was on fire.