Somewhere deep in space, beyond the quiet boundary where Terria's patrol routes faded into dark, unclaimed void, a warship drifted like a predator resting between hunts.
Its engines were silent.
Only the faint crimson veins across its hull pulsed slowly.
Inside, the control room was alive with low mechanical murmurs and the dim glow of instrumentation. The vast viewport dominated the chamber, stretching from floor to ceiling and revealing the endless black of space dotted with cold stars. Consoles formed a semicircle along the forward deck, each one manned by an operator working in hushed focus. Holographic navigation grids floated above their stations, projecting shifting lines of starlanes, sensor echoes, and tactical readouts.
At the center of the room stood a raised platform.
And upon it sat the captain.
Dellor Pickollten
The man leaned slightly forward in the command chair, one elbow resting against the armrest while his fingers brushed thoughtfully against his chin. He looked to be somewhere in his early forties, though the calm authority in his posture made him seem older. His hair was dark and swept back neatly, a faint streak of gray cutting through one side above the temple. His uniform was simple compared to the ornate attire of Terrian admirals—black, practical, almost militaristic, with a single insignia etched in silver across the collar.
But what truly commanded attention were his eyes.
They were sharp, calculating, and patient.
Like a man who had already planned ten moves ahead of every enemy he might encounter.
Behind him, the wide doors to the control chamber opened with a soft hydraulic hiss.
Two crew members stepped aside as a third figure entered between them.
A woman.
Her stride was confident despite the slight limp in her step, and her uniform bore the marks of heavy engineering work—burnt edges along the sleeves, oil smudges across the fabric. Long black hair had been tied into a loose braid behind her head, and a pair of thin metal-framed glasses rested on the bridge of her nose.
Serin Valis.
The captain did not turn immediately. His gaze remained fixed on the distant starfield beyond the glass.
"Well?" he asked calmly.
Serin approached the central platform and stopped a few steps behind him.
"The Hound unit sustained structural damage during the engagement," she reported. "Left leg actuator stress fractures, outer armor breaches across the dorsal frame, and partial overheating within the fusion core containment ring."
One of the nearby operators glanced nervously toward the captain.
The man finally leaned back in his chair.
"But?" he asked.
Serin smirked faintly.
"But the Valis particle fusion core performed exactly as predicted."
Now the captain turned.
His expression shifted slightly—not surprise, not excitement, but something deeper.
Validation.
"The synchronization output exceeded one hundred and sixty percent," she continued. "And the containment layer held."
He studied her silently.
"And the Terrians?" he asked.
Serin exhaled softly, folding her arms.
"They responded faster than anticipated."
She reached toward a nearby console and activated a holographic projection. The image of the recent battle appeared in the air above the platform—Millia, the royal knight orbitons, and the Hound unit clashing violently across open space.
The captain watched the footage without speaking.
The moment the NOIR unit appeared in the projection, his eyes narrowed slightly.
Serin noticed.
"Yes," she said quietly. "That one."
The captain leaned forward again.
"Duke Youri Kronos."
Serin nodded.
"The Vanisher pilot."
The footage froze at the moment where NOIR struck the Hound unit mid-attack.
For a few seconds the only sound in the command chamber was the quiet hum of the ship's systems.
Then the captain chuckled.
Low.
Amused.
"So the Empire's monster still breathes," he said.
Serin stepped beside the platform now, studying the frozen hologram as well.
"He's dangerous," she admitted. "Much more than the others."
The captain tilted his head slightly.
"Good."
Serin looked at him.
"You wanted the Hound tested," she said. "Now it has been."
"Yes," the captain replied calmly. "And the results were enlightening."
He stood from his chair slowly and walked toward the viewport, clasping his hands behind his back as he stared into the endless black beyond.
"The Terrian Empire still believes itself untouchable," he continued. "A perfect machine of order and control."
Serin followed him with her eyes.
"And you intend to prove otherwise."
He smiled faintly.
"No."
He turned slightly toward her.
"I intend to show them the truth."
His gaze drifted back to the hologram, specifically to the image of the NOIR unit.
"Machines evolve," he said quietly. "Weapons evolve."
Then he tapped the control console beside the viewport.
The projection shifted.
A new schematic appeared in the air—something larger than the Hound unit.
Much larger.
Its frame was incomplete, sections of the design still unfinished, but the silhouette alone carried terrifying presence.
Serin adjusted her glasses as she studied it.
"You're serious," she said.
The captain's voice remained calm.
"The Hound was only the beginning."
He stepped back toward the command platform.
"And now the Empire has noticed us."
Serin looked again at the frozen image of NOIR and the royal knight units.
"And what about Kronos?" she asked.
The captain considered the question carefully.
Then he smiled.
"We will meet again."
His eyes hardened slightly.
"And next time… I want to see just how far the Empire's reaper is willing to go."
Across the bridge, one of the operators suddenly spoke.
"Captain… the Hound unit has finished primary repairs. Fusion core stabilization at ninety-three percent."
The captain nodded.
"Good."
He returned to his chair, settling into it with quiet authority.
"Set course deeper into the outer sectors," he ordered.
"Let the Empire search."
The dark warship slowly turned in the void, its engines beginning to glow once more.