First thing you need to know about Ortol? He’s got the hair of a man who lost a bet. A jumbled mess of blonde and black like two warring factions never agreed on a truce. Second thing? He just declared himself the World Mayor of Alvecore.

  I sit back, legs kicked up on the counter of my workshop, staring at the glowing interface of the View. For those of you still using rocks as paperweights, it’s a device that does everything—data, calls, and making you regret enabling notifications.

  The meeting’s projected mid-air, a neat little conference of galactic higher-ups who probably smell like expensive soap and bureaucracy. Ortol is front and center, looking annoyingly composed despite the fact that he’s winging it.

  "Alvecore is ungoverned, unclaimed, and unstable," Ortol says, fingers tapping together like he’s explaining basic math. "This is a problem. I am the solution."

  I raise an eyebrow. Bold. I admire it.

  The View splits, showing the various participants—diplomats, governors, corporate suits, yadda yadda. All human, except one. A particularly hairy alien sitting in the corner, saying nothing. He’s a big guy, all shaggy fur and shadowed eyes, like someone shoved a bear into a business suit. He's just listening. Watching.

  A governor from Vexari Prime leans in. “And what gives you the authority to claim rulership over an entire planet?"

  Ortol smiles. Dangerous. Confident. "I studied law at Mecanet."

  Yep, there it is. His golden ticket. Mecanet scholars are basically treated like gods in legal circles. The kind of people who can argue a rock into changing its molecular structure.

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  The governor frowns. "That makes you a scholar, not a leader."

  Ortol spreads his hands. "Leadership is just law in motion. And motion is exactly what Alvecore needs. The alternative? Let it continue as a lawless backwater until someone less qualified decides to step in. Someone like—" He gestures vaguely toward one of the corporate representatives.

  A woman in a sleek gray suit scoffs. "You're suggesting we hand control to an independent actor with no oversight? Alvecore is volatile. It has no established infrastructure, no economy, no governance. You're asking for disaster."

  Ortol tilts his head. "I’m offering avoidance of disaster."

  The talk shifts, concerns about military enforcement, trade risks, legal precedents. But there’s an undertone here, something unspoken. The elephant in the room, or rather, the suspicious ape in the room. He hasn’t moved an inch.

  Maybe he's just wondering if his hotel has complimentary fur conditioners. Or maybe he's thinking about his salad tonight.

  Then there’s the fact that this guy—whatever his official classification is—represents a planet where Navorians are packed in like fish in a can. Overpopulation, dwindling resources. And if a species built for war starts looking for a new home? They’ll take one.

  Ortol knows it. The suits know it. And I think the hairy guy is really thinking about it.

  And then Ortol exhales, a thoughtful little hmm, like he just found an extra fry at the bottom of the bag. "You do understand I'm offering stability before someone else offers something worse. And trust me—" his gaze flickers toward the silent, furry alien, "—'worse' is already watching."

  That’s when the alien stands. Disconnects.

  Gone.

  The View flickers, adjusting to remove him from the session, but the silence he leaves behind lingers like the last note of a funeral march. One governor clears his throat, too loud. A corporate rep shifts in her seat, eyes flicking toward where the alien sat, then away, like she doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Ortol doesn’t react, but I know my step brother. I know what he's thinking.

  Because if Navorians are looking for a new home, and Ortol just staked a claim on Alvecore… then he’s not just trying to be mayor.

  He’s trying to stop a war.

  Or win one.

  I rub my temples. He’s gonna drag me into this, isn’t he?

  Looks like it's time to build something that punches through Navorian armor like it’s made of wet paper.

  What should Jrake build first to deal with the Navorians?