The Council fleet moved at dawn.
Not with weapons, not with fire—but with silence.
Every trading lane into Havenreach went dark. Cargo haulers vanished. Supply freighters stopped answering hails. Ships fleeing the warlord remnants were turned back at the edge of the belt by sleek Council patrol craft.
Within a day, Havenreach felt the choke. Markets stood half-empty. Families queued for ration packs. Miners grumbled about dwindling fuel cells. The whispers grew sharper: Kael defied the Council. Now the Council starves us.
Kael paced the command deck, eyes locked on the empty lanes stretching across the holo-map. "They won't fire a shot. They'll let fear do their work for them."
Lyra stood at his side, voice clipped. "A blockade. Quiet enough to call it legal, cruel enough to break us."
From the shadows near the tactical display, Taren spoke. His tone was almost admiring. "Classic Council strategy. They don't need to crush you. They just need to remind everyone who holds the leash."
Kael turned sharply. "And your solution?"
Taren's lips curved into the faintest smirk. "Break the leash."
Later that night, Kael met with the militia leaders and refugee council in the war room. The atmosphere was thick with unease, voices overlapping until Kael slammed his hand down on the table.
"Enough. They want us divided. We won't give them what they want."
A merchant spoke bitterly. "And what happens when my ships can't feed this station? What then, Commander?"
Another voice joined. "My children don't eat your speeches. They need food."
Kael's jaw clenched, but he forced his voice calm. "Then we find another way. There are systems the Council doesn't control. Smugglers, free colonies, outposts they'd rather pretend don't exist."
Lyra leaned forward. "We'll need to reach them. Quietly. Build new lines before the Council tightens the noose."
"And if they catch us?" a miner asked.
Kael looked around the table, his gaze hard but steady. "Then they'll learn Havenreach doesn't kneel."
In the hangar, Kael inspected the Ark, its hull scarred but steady. Lyra adjusted a panel beside him, her hands quick but tense.
"You're really going to do this," she said quietly.
Kael nodded. "If we wait, Havenreach dies. If we move, we might live."
Lyra's eyes softened, but her voice carried steel. "Then I'm coming with you."
Kael smiled faintly. "Wouldn't dream of going without you."
From the far side of the bay, Taren approached. His movements were slower than before, still recovering, but his eyes burned with restless purpose.
"You'll need me too," he said simply.
Kael studied him. For a long moment, he saw not the Ghost Admiral, not the enemy he had fought, but his brother—the boy who once chased starlight at his side.
Finally, Kael nodded. "Then we go together."
The Ark lifted from Havenreach, engines humming low. As the station dwindled behind them, Kael felt the weight of a thousand eyes watching—trusting, doubting, fearing.
Lyra sat at the helm, fingers steady on the controls. Taren stood beside Kael, gaze fixed on the stars ahead.
The Council's shadow stretched long. But beyond it, beyond the blockade and the silence, lay the unclaimed reaches of the galaxy.
Places where sparks could grow into fire.
And Kael knew: if Havenreach was to survive, if freedom was to mean more than a word, they would have to find allies strong enough to stand against the Council itself.
The Ark's engines flared.
The hunt for hope had begun.