Green Ox Spaceport was hardly a city—merely an overgrown frontier outpost, though the unworldly settlers from the nearby radiation canyons insisted on calling it "Green Ox City." That's what Zhang Er, a gatekeeper with over a decade of service at the port's checkpoint, thought to himself with a scoff.
The outpost was tiny, with only one main thoroughfare: Oxbow Trade Lane, stretching east to west. Even its sole lodging—a ramshackle interstellar tavern named Green Ox Tavern—sat at the western edge of the long, narrow settlement. For weary traders avoiding the lethal night radiation of the arid planet, it was the only option.
Just after midday, an interstellar skimmer, its hull scarred by meteorite dust and its anti-grav engines humming faintly, roared into Green Ox Spaceport from the western wastelands. It raced past the tavern without slowing, continuing to the eastern end of the outpost before settling gently outside Spring Aroma Bistro—a modest, weathered establishment with a nostalgic charm, its synthetic alloy walls faded but polished to a warm sheen.
It was peak mealtime, and the bistro was packed with patrons—traders in rugged void suits, miners covered in ore dust, and locals in threadbare synthetic garments. The air hummed with the clink of nutrient ration containers and the buzz of ion lamps.
From the skimmer stepped two figures: a portly man with a round face and a neatly trimmed beard, and a dark-skinned boy of around ten, his frame scrawny but his eyes sharp. The man led the boy straight into the bistro, ignoring the curious glances. Several regulars recognized the man immediately—Hank "Fat Hank" Voss, the bistro's owner. The boy, however, was a stranger.
"Hey Hank! This dark-haired kid looks just like you—didn't you sneak a son with some woman behind your wife's back?" someone called out, prompting raucous laughter from the crowd.
"Pah!" Hank chuckled, not the least bit offended, even looking somewhat pleased. "This is my late brother's son—my own nephew, of course we share a resemblance!"
The pair were none other than Kael Voss and his Uncle Hank, who had traveled for three days straight across the desert to reach the outpost.
After greeting a few regulars with a wave, Hank led Kael through the bistro's back door to a secluded courtyard surrounded by storage sheds and solar panels.
"Kael, rest up in this cabin—save your energy," Hank said, pointing to a small room with a reinforced door. His tone was warm but firm. "As soon as the Core Enforcer from the Conglomerate arrives, I'll come get you. I've got to get back to the patrons—don't wander off."
He turned to leave, but paused at the courtyard gate, glancing back with a frown. "Really, don't stray. The port's full of drifters and scavengers—you could get lost. Stay in the yard if you can."
"Got it," Kael replied quietly, nodding obediently.
Once Hank was gone, Kael's exhaustion hit him like a wave. He collapsed onto the narrow cot, falling into a deep sleep—no trace of shyness or fear in the young boy who'd never left his village before.
That evening, a server brought him a tray of nutrient rations—plain, but far more flavorful than the dried bars he was used to at home. After eating, the server cleared the tray, and only then did Hank return, unhurried.
"How was the food? Homesick yet?" he asked, sitting down beside the cot.
"A little," Kael admitted, acting the part of the obedient nephew.
Hank looked pleased with the answer. They chatted about trivial family matters—his older brother Elias's work at Nova City Spaceport, Lila's love for gene-enhanced berries—and Hank regaled Kael with exaggerated tales of dealing with rowdy traders and outrunning radiation storms. Gradually, Kael relaxed, laughing along at his uncle's antics.
Two days passed in this routine.
On the third evening, Kael finished his meal and waited for Hank to tell more stories of interstellar life—when the low hum of a high-end skimmer echoed outside the bistro.
Unlike Hank's battered craft, this one was sleek and black, its hull polished to a mirror finish. It was pulled by two rare, genetically modified steeds—muscular creatures with bioluminescent manes, bred for speed and endurance on harsh terrain. Most striking of all was the small triangular black flag mounted on the skimmer's side: a glowing silver "Luminara" crest outlined in crimson, exuding an air of authority and mystery.
Any seasoned traveler within a hundred light-years would recognize that symbol—it belonged to the Seven Luminaries Tech Conglomerate, one of the two dominant powers in this sector.
The Seven Luminaries, once known as the Seven Apex Consortium, had been founded two centuries earlier by the legendary "Apex Archon." At its peak, it had dominated dozens of colonized planets in the Mirror Sector, even expanding into neighboring star systems, its name feared and respected across the entire Yue Interstellar Alliance. But after the Archon's death, the Conglomerate's power had waned. It was driven out of Mirror Prime—the sector's capital—by rival corporations, and a century ago, the leadership had been forced to relocate to Immortal Mist Mountain, a remote asteroid field on the sector's edge. Yet even in decline, it remained a force to be reckoned with: controlling over a dozen frontier outposts, including Green Ox Spaceport, and boasting three to four thousand operatives. It was, without a doubt, one of the region's two overlords.
The only power that could challenge the Seven Luminaries was the Wolfpack Raiders.
Once a band of ruthless space pirates terrorizing the Mirror Sector, the Wolfpack had split after a series of brutal crackdowns by the Alliance Navy. One faction accepted amnesty, while the rest rebranded themselves as raiders—retaining their bloodthirsty, fearless nature. In recent clashes, the Seven Luminaries had often been on the back foot.
While the Wolfpack controlled more territory, they lacked the Conglomerate's resources and expertise in trade and resource management. Their outposts were impoverished, and they'd grown greedy for the Seven Luminaries' wealthier settlements—frequently provoking conflicts. This had left the Conglomerate's current leader frustrated, and was the primary reason for the recent push to recruit new operatives.
A lean man in his forties jumped down from the skimmer. His movements were quick and precise, a clear sign of enhanced physical conditioning. He seemed familiar with the bistro, striding directly toward the back courtyard where Kael was staying.
When Hank saw the man, he immediately stepped forward, bowing respectfully. "Enforcer Wang! I didn't expect you to personally come to collect the candidate."
"Hmph," Enforcer Wang snorted, his expression arrogant. "The trade routes have been dangerous lately—security must be tightened. The Elders ordered me to oversee the recruitment personally. Cut the pleasantries, Fat Hank—is this the boy you recommended?"
"Yes, yes! This is my nephew, Kael," Hank replied hastily, noticing the enforcer's growing impatience. He slipped a heavy pouch of credit chips into Wang's hand, his movements discreet but obvious.
Enforcer Wang weighed the pouch, his scowl softening slightly. "You're a smart man, Fat Hank. I'll keep an eye on your nephew during the journey. It's getting late—we leave immediately."
Kael stood silently beside his uncle, his heart racing. He glanced at the glowing Luminara flag on the skimmer, then at the stern-faced enforcer. This was it—his journey to Nova City, to the Gene Awakening Selection, was finally beginning. As he climbed into the skimmer's plush cabin, he stole one last look at Green Ox Spaceport, the distant outline of the desert stretching beyond. Whatever lay ahead, he was ready.