The Wraith drifted in silence no longer hunted, no longer haunted.
The stars stretched across the viewport in peaceful stillness, unmarred by Architect signals or recursive bleed. But the quiet wasn't comforting. Not yet.
In the aftermath of their final mission, the crew moved like shadows through the ship free, but unsure of what to do with their freedom.
Elara stood in the war room, fingers tracing the dark lines etched into the console table. There were no new coordinates to enter. No war maps to review. No enemies looming in the dark.
And yet her heart raced.
"What happens," she whispered aloud, "when the purpose is gone?"
A voice answered softly from behind.
"You build a new one."
Aeron.
He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, wearing the closest thing to casual she'd ever seen him in jacket unzipped, armor plates discarded, his hair tousled in a way that made him look human again. Not a weapon. Not a commander. Just Aeron.
She smiled faintly, not turning around.
