The Dominion outpost crouched on a barren asteroid in the neutral zone, a jagged scar between the Erythra System’s coalition territory and the unclaimed void. Its obsidian spires gleamed under the nebula’s violet and amber haze, their gold-circuited panels pulsing with encrypted signals, a fortress of secrecy far from the coalition platform’s neon glow. The air inside was sterile, laced with the hum of particle shields and the faint tang of ionized steel, a stark contrast to the molten chaos of Pyrothan hives. Shadows clung to the outpost’s corridors, where Dominion sentries—clad in sleek, reflective armor—patrolled with plasma lances, their visors concealing calculating eyes. The Architect’s distant pull, its Thalys core a cosmic storm, seemed to whisper through the outpost’s circuits, a lure the Dominion could not resist.

  Ryn moved like a ghost through a maintenance duct, their crimson Krythar skin blending with the shadows, their cybernetic implants humming softly along their jaw and temple. Their stealth rig shimmered, bending light to cloak their form —a scavenged Krythar relic honed by years of refinement. At thirty, Ryn was a survivor, their blue human eyes sharp with focus, their rasp a silent vow to uncover the Dominion’s motives. The coalition’s discovery of Dominion ties to the Krythar plague labs had sparked this mission—a covert infiltration to confirm their betrayal, their offer of aid a serpent’s promise cloaked in gold. Ryn’s plasma knife rested at their hip, its blade dormant but ready, their holo-pad glowing faintly with decrypted outpost schematics.

  The duct opened into a server chamber, its walls lined with data cores pulsing with gold circuits, their hum a faint echo of Pyrothan chants. Ryn’s implants flared, interfacing with a core, their fingers dancing across the holo-pad as they bypassed Dominion encryption. Their defector’s guilt, a scar from their Krythar past, drove them, their bond with Mara a spark of redemption. The coalition’s fire, forged in the hive’s crucible and tempered by Mara’s heroism, depended on this truth: the Architect’s Thalys core, a distant crucible, demanded clarity. A holo-log flickered, a Dominion officer’s voice crackling through static: “The Architect’s core is power incarnate—control it, and we rule the cycle, not the Pyrothans. The coalition is a tool, expendable.” The log showed schematics: Thalys’s cloaked sector, a radiant anomaly, Dominion dreadnoughts poised to seize it.

  Ryn’s rasp was a whisper, their blue eyes narrowing. “Not peace… power.” The Dominion’s betrayal was apparent, their aid a ruse to exploit the coalition and claim the Architect’s might. Their implants hummed, downloading the log, but a security node flared, its gold circuits pulsing red, a silent alarm triggered by their Krythar tech’s faint signature. Footsteps echoed—sentries closing in, their lances humming. Ryn’s stealth rig flickered, compromised by the outpost’s sensors, their heart racing but their training steady. They slipped into a ventilation shaft, the holo-pad secured, their knife ready as they crawled toward an extraction point, the outpost’s sterile air turning oppressive.

  In the coalition platform’s medical bay, Mara Vorne sat on a cot, her emerald bioluminescent veins pulsing erratically, her dark hair cropped short, her leathers replaced with a medical gown. Her psychic echoes, a Krythar-forged gift, reached across the void, linking to Ryn’s mind—a new, unstable extension of her abilities, honed in the hive but strained by the antigen mutation’s plague-like side effects. Her haunted eyes were half-closed, sweat beading on her brow, her raspy voice a murmur. “Ryn, I see it… the log, their plan. Get out.” The link was a lifeline, her echoes sensing the outpost’s corridors, the sentries’ intent, but each pulse drained her, green-black markers flaring in her veins, a shadow of the plague’s return.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Kael Vorne stood beside her, his weathered leathers patched, the Crysalith burn on his left arm a dull ache. His dark eyes were tense, his gruff voice low, his protectiveness surging as Mara trembled. “Mara, stop—you’re killing yourself.” At thirty-two, Kael was a Wastelander leader; his trust in Mara had been rebuilt through her heroism, but her instability was a wound, and the mutation’s risks were a betrayal of his faith in Elyra’s science. Elyra Kade monitored a bio-scanner, her auburn hair tied back, her green eyes haunted, her holo-pad glowing with Mara’s erratic vitals. “Her echoes are spiking, Kael—she’s pushing too far. The mutation’s amplifying her power, but it’s destabilizing her.” Her Wastelander idealism wavered, guilt over the mutation’s side effects a constant shadow.

  Mara’s raspy voice was defiant, her veins flaring as she gripped Kael’s hand. “Ryn needs me, Kael. I’m in their eyes.” A psychic echo surged—a vision of Ryn’s shaft, sentries converging, a lance’s hum. She guided Ryn, her voice a whisper across the link. “Left vent, now—two guards ahead.” Ryn moved, their stealth rig stabilizing, their knife flashing to turn off a sensor, their rasp a silent thanks. The outpost’s corridors tightened, sentries closing, their visors glinting under gold-circuited lights. Ryn reached an airlock, their implants overriding its lock, but a Dominion agent—a lithe figure in obsidian armor—blocked the path, their lance blazing.

  Ryn dodged, their reflexes Krythar-honed, their knife clashing with the lance, sparks flying in the sterile air. Mara’s echo pulsed, sensing the agent’s intent—a feint, then a strike. “Duck, Ryn!” she rasped, her voice breaking, her body slumping on the cot, veins dimming. Ryn rolled, the lance grazing their shoulder, their stealth rig failing. They countered, their knife slicing the agent’s gauntlet, turning off the lance, and dove through the airlock, sealing it as sentries stormed in. The coalition skiff waited outside, its cloaking field shimmering, Taryn at the helm, her rough voice crackling. “Move, Ryn!” The skiff roared, evading Dominion drones, the nebula swallowing their trail.

  Back in the medical bay, Mara collapsed, her psychic link severing, her breath shallow, green-black markers pulsing in her veins. Kael caught her, his gruff voice a growl. “Mara, stay with me!” Elyra injected a stabilizer, her holo-pad beeping, her voice urgent. “She’s stable, but the mutation’s accelerating—she can’t use her echoes like that again.” Kael’s dark eyes blazed, his protectiveness clashing with pride, Mara’s defiance a spark he couldn’t quell. “She saved Ryn, Kade. Fix this.” Elyra nodded, her green eyes resolute, her guilt a vow to refine the antigen, to save Mara from her fire.

  The skiff docked, Ryn stumbling into the medical bay, their crimson skin scorched, their holo-pad glowing with the Dominion’s log. Their rasp was steady, their blue eyes meeting Kael’s. “They want the Architect’s core for control, not peace. They’ll use us, then discard us.” Taryn followed, her scarred leathers gleaming, her rough voice a nod. “Hell of a run, Ryn. We’ve got proof now.” Lirax entered, her bioluminescent skin pulsing, her poetic voice a star’s warning. “Shadows weave deception, Wastelander. Their ambition stirs the Architect’s tide.” Her clouded eyes met Mara’s, their bond a quiet strength, her ritual’s light still steadying Mara’s veins.

  Vira Solen arrived, her silver skin scarred, her cybernetic arm whirring, her circuitry-laced eyes sharp. Her analytical voice was firm, softened by her recent vulnerability. “We take this to the council, plan a counterstrike. The Dominion won’t outmaneuver us.” Kael’s gruff voice was a vow, his dark eyes on Mara, her emerald veins faint but defiant. “We fight our way, together. For Mara, for the coalition.” The medical bay’s neon conduits flared, the holo-displays mapping Thalys, the Architect’s core a distant crucible. Ryn’s holo-pad glowed, the Dominion’s betrayal a spark in the coalition’s fire, Mara’s unstable echoes a warning, their defiance a beacon against the void’s relentless shadow.