Arrival
The Red Radiant drifted silently through the ruins of a forgotten starfield.
Ahead, the shattered remains of Station Hallowspire loomed —
half-devoured by the gravity wakes of the collapsed star known as Verdan's Grave.
What had once been a proud research hub, a place where great minds shaped the frontiers of multiversal theory,
was now just a husk —
broken spires floating in twisted orbits, skeletal docking arms stretched out like dead fingers.
Inside the bridge, a heavy silence filled the air.
Even Zaraya Starheart wasn't smiling.
"This place gives me the creeps," Jaxen muttered, hands dancing nervously over the pilot console.
Kaelen Veylor stood by the viewport, eyes narrowed, wings pulled tight against his back.
"The fractures are real here," he said quietly. "I can feel them."
Zaraya nodded grimly.
"Stay sharp, Dawnbreakers.
Plo and Drex are somewhere in that mess.
We get in.
We get them out.*"
Jaxen snorted.
"And try not to get ghost-zapped by creepy science echoes. Got it."
The Red Radiant locked onto a semi-intact docking bay.
Landing struts deployed with a metallic screech.
The hatch opened with a hiss —
and the Dawnbreakers stepped into the darkness.
⸻
Inside Hallowspire
The station was dead.
Mostly.
Lights flickered sporadically down cracked corridors.
Gravity fields buzzed in and out — sometimes pulling, sometimes letting go.
The walls were scorched with plasma burns.
Doors were half-melted, half-frozen.
Worse still…
Time itself seemed fractured here.
• Footsteps echoed seconds after being made.
• Words spoken felt like they repeated themselves in whispers two steps later.
• A strange, faint blue frost laced some corridors — not cold, but… wrong. Like memory turned to ice.
Kaelen led the way, sword low, shadows flickering around his boots.
Zaraya moved beside him, her cosmic pulse faint but ready.
Jaxen covered the rear, blasters primed.
None of them spoke much.
Something old was watching.
And waiting.
⸻
Signs of Life
Near the station's research core, they found it:
• Scattered rations.
• Makeshift energy fields rigged from scrap.
• Claw marks across the walls — not human, but not entirely alien either.
"Plo's alive," Zaraya said, voice tight with hope.
"And she's fighting."
Kaelen crouched, running a finger over the claw marks.
"She's not alone," he murmured.
"Good," Jaxen said, trying to sound casual but swallowing nervously. "Because this place feels like the universe itself wants us dead."
⸻
Elsewhere: A Silent Chase
Deep in the broken habitat rings,
Plo — small, wiry, fiercely intelligent — sprinted through shattered labs with Drex at her side, the alien creature's fur bristling with energy.
Behind them, dark shapes moved:
Cult retrieval squads — clad in black pulse-armor, wielding soul-net cannons designed to capture, not kill.
Plo's breath came in ragged gasps.
She clutched a cracked data drive tight to her chest —
the last traces of her research.
"Not good, Drex!" she hissed. "Not good not good not good!"
Drex growled, teleporting them forward in short, chaotic jumps —
but the cult agents were closing in.
Net cannons flared, slicing through the dark.
Plo stumbled, falling hard against a frost-covered wall.
Drex snarled, standing over her.
The cult hunters raised their weapons.
⸻
The Frost Awakens
And then —
the air froze.
Not in temperature.
In presence.
Time itself seemed to shudder.
And from the broken shadows…
a figure stepped forward.
Clad in ragged traveler's armor, hood drawn low,
an ice-forged axe gleaming faintly in one hand.
When she spoke, her voice was low — calm, but carrying a weight that made even the Cult hunters hesitate:
"You will not touch them."
The cult soldiers snarled and opened fire.
The woman moved.
• Frostbrand spun in a perfect arc —
carving through pulse rounds, turning them to glittering snow.
• She threw the axe — it roared through the air like a comet,
struck the lead soldier dead center, froze him in a block of blue crystal —
and returned to her hand with a thunderous thoom.
The cult hesitated — just for a breath.
It was enough.
The woman raised her free hand —
and the hallway erupted in a blizzard of pure, crystalline entropy.
Plo gawked.
"Okay," she whispered. "Definitely not a giant. Definitely not normal either."
Drex barked in agreement.
⸻
The Dawnbreakers Close In
Back near the core, Zaraya's cosmic senses flared.
"Battle up ahead!"
Kaelen drew his sword without a word.
Jaxen cursed but grinned.
"Finally."
They raced forward —
toward the storm,
toward the unknown,
toward the moment where fate would forge them anew
Arrival
The Red Radiant drifted silently through the ruins of a forgotten starfield.
Ahead, the shattered remains of Station Hallowspire loomed —
half-devoured by the gravity wakes of the collapsed star known as Verdan's Grave.
What had once been a proud research hub, a place where great minds shaped the frontiers of multiversal theory,
was now just a husk —
broken spires floating in twisted orbits, skeletal docking arms stretched out like dead fingers.
Inside the bridge, a heavy silence filled the air.
Even Zaraya Starheart wasn't smiling.
"This place gives me the creeps," Jaxen muttered, hands dancing nervously over the pilot console.
Kaelen Veylor stood by the viewport, eyes narrowed, wings pulled tight against his back.
"The fractures are real here," he said quietly. "I can feel them."
Zaraya nodded grimly.
"Stay sharp, Dawnbreakers.
Plo and Drex are somewhere in that mess.
We get in.
We get them out.*"
Jaxen snorted.
"And try not to get ghost-zapped by creepy science echoes. Got it."
The Red Radiant locked onto a semi-intact docking bay.
Landing struts deployed with a metallic screech.
The hatch opened with a hiss —
and the Dawnbreakers stepped into the darkness.
⸻
Inside Hallowspire
The station was dead.
Mostly.
Lights flickered sporadically down cracked corridors.
Gravity fields buzzed in and out — sometimes pulling, sometimes letting go.
The walls were scorched with plasma burns.
Doors were half-melted, half-frozen.
Worse still…
Time itself seemed fractured here.
• Footsteps echoed seconds after being made.
• Words spoken felt like they repeated themselves in whispers two steps later.
• A strange, faint blue frost laced some corridors — not cold, but… wrong. Like memory turned to ice.
Kaelen led the way, sword low, shadows flickering around his boots.
Zaraya moved beside him, her cosmic pulse faint but ready.
Jaxen covered the rear, blasters primed.
None of them spoke much.
Something old was watching.
And waiting.
⸻
Signs of Life
Near the station's research core, they found it:
• Scattered rations.
• Makeshift energy fields rigged from scrap.
• Claw marks across the walls — not human, but not entirely alien either.
"Plo's alive," Zaraya said, voice tight with hope.
"And she's fighting."
Kaelen crouched, running a finger over the claw marks.
"She's not alone," he murmured.
"Good," Jaxen said, trying to sound casual but swallowing nervously. "Because this place feels like the universe itself wants us dead."
⸻
Elsewhere: A Silent Chase
Deep in the broken habitat rings,
Plo — small, wiry, fiercely intelligent — sprinted through shattered labs with Drex at her side, the alien creature's fur bristling with energy.
Behind them, dark shapes moved:
Cult retrieval squads — clad in black pulse-armor, wielding soul-net cannons designed to capture, not kill.
Plo's breath came in ragged gasps.
She clutched a cracked data drive tight to her chest —
the last traces of her research.
"Not good, Drex!" she hissed. "Not good not good not good!"
Drex growled, teleporting them forward in short, chaotic jumps —
but the cult agents were closing in.
Net cannons flared, slicing through the dark.
Plo stumbled, falling hard against a frost-covered wall.
Drex snarled, standing over her.
The cult hunters raised their weapons.
⸻
The Frost Awakens
And then —
the air froze.
Not in temperature.
In presence.
Time itself seemed to shudder.
And from the broken shadows…
a figure stepped forward.
Clad in ragged traveler's armor, hood drawn low,
an ice-forged axe gleaming faintly in one hand.
When she spoke, her voice was low — calm, but carrying a weight that made even the Cult hunters hesitate:
"You will not touch them."
The cult soldiers snarled and opened fire.
The woman moved.
• Frostbrand spun in a perfect arc —
carving through pulse rounds, turning them to glittering snow.
• She threw the axe — it roared through the air like a comet,
struck the lead soldier dead center, froze him in a block of blue crystal —
and returned to her hand with a thunderous thoom.
The cult hesitated — just for a breath.
It was enough.
The woman raised her free hand —
and the hallway erupted in a blizzard of pure, crystalline entropy.
Plo gawked.
"Okay," she whispered. "Definitely not a giant. Definitely not normal either."
Drex barked in agreement.
⸻
The Dawnbreakers Close In
Back near the core, Zaraya's cosmic senses flared.
"Battle up ahead!"
Kaelen drew his sword without a word.
Jaxen cursed but grinned.
"Finally."
They raced forward —
toward the storm,
toward the unknown,
toward the moment where fate would forge them anew