"I will ensure the plan's full execution. Your entertainment venues and city renovations will be addressed accordingly," Talbein declared from his throne within the headquarters of the Cosmic Wardens. The agreement with the inhabitants of Exodar was nearing completion.
"We are immensely grateful, Talbein. How many units do we owe you?" asked the organizer of the meeting.
"There is no need for payment," Talbein replied with a satisfied nod. "This initiative will be managed on behalf of the Paragon Galaxy. We insist."
With the agreement finalized, he rose from his chair—only to be met by a figure he hadn't expected.
She stood in the doorway with unsettling grace.
Arms folded. Head tilted. A glint in her eye.
Her posture was nearly theatrical, like a portrait come to life.
Princess Cal'Rae, now operating under the alias Kyknos, a term translating to "Elegance of war" in the Paragonian language. Fitting for an heir of royalty so full of themselves.
Slender and sharp-featured, her form bore subtle avian traits—feathers at the collar, talon-like heels, and an outfit that danced the line between regal and ominous.
Talbein froze for just a moment.
He tried not to show it, but her presence stirred something in him—distrust wrapped in familiarity.
Her methods were gruesome. Her politics were unorthodox. She was not like her sisters in how she viewed the empire's rule.
"Well, hello there… darling," she said with syrupy sarcasm.
Talbein narrowed his eyes.
"Kyknos—what are you doing here? You've never come to rescue me from the monotony of diplomacy. What do you want?"
But she only smiled.
The wolf strode past her, unwilling to indulge her games. He stepped outside the Cosmic Tower, onto the landing platform. Stars glimmered above. His ship waited.
"I have a surprise for you, Talbein," she said, following behind.
Her voice dropped into something slick and cutting. "Consider it a personal thank-you for your loyal service as a Cosmic Warden."
He turned slightly, sensing danger—but it was too late.
A sudden movement. A flash of metal.
She drew a blaster and fired.
The bolt struck him in the back.
Talbein staggered forward with a snarl and hit the platform hard, rolling onto his back to face her.
She stood over him, eyes cold, weapon aimed.
"Regrettable, I know," she whispered. "But necessary. You didn't see this coming, did you?"
He tried to reach for his communicator, desperate to warn Empress La'sylix—but the signal never left his fingertips.
Her troops descended—an army of her own soldiers surrounding the landing pad.
And then came the others.
A fleet of Zen-barian warriors emerged from docked StarCrafts, their boots pounding against the deck as they approached.
One of them stepped forward, sneering.
"Cal'Rae, you scoundrel! The Paragon Empire thrives on unity, strengthened by its alliances. What do you think you're doing?!"
Talbein tried to rise but was forced to his knees by the Zen-barian guards.
Cal'Rae stepped beside him.
"I made a deal with Thraq," she said simply. "It's straightforward. We're exploiting the very thing you consider a strength—your blind trust. Weakness shall perish!"
She leaned in closer.
"They'll never see it coming. And there's nothing you can do to stop it, Talbein. You won't be returning to the Paragon Empire… because we've already chosen your replacement."
She smiled coldly.
"We need a new Cosmic Warden—and a new emperor."
"And it sure as hell won't be you."
Meanwhile | Stardust Galaxy
Aboard the Ascender Model Two, the Starship Crusaders hovered above Exodar.
Word of their deeds was spreading. Their legend—once chaos and misfires—was now gaining traction. The rebellious pirates had found their rhythm.
"Randall!" Monette barked from the pilot's seat. "Did you take that bottle of Eros Passion from Exodar?"
Randall smirked mid-card game, sipping from a sleek glass. "Pfft—so what? They didn't need it. Talbein or one of those other Wardens can fix up their little planet."
Monette raised an eyebrow. "So… we're just criminals now?"
"Hm. No," Randall said, swirling his drink with flair. "We're pirates. You know—taking from the rich, giving to the less fortunate. That kind of thing."
Monette chuckled. "That's Robin Hood, you idiot."
"Isn't he a pirate?" she asked, sauntering over and stealing a sip from Randall's glass. She ruffled his hair and perched on the edge of the table.
"Robin Hood is not a damn pirate!" Gunz barked, slamming his cards down.
Randall leaned back, full sarcasm mode. "Hat. Sword. Forest. Sounds like a pirate to me, my furry friend."
"Pirates don't steal for charity and give to the poor!" Gunz snapped. "They just steal!"
"But… we are the poor," Monette offered innocently. Still as naive as usual.
Gunz blinked. "That's—exactly my point—wait, no, that's not—Ugh!"
Randall shrugged. "Not all pirates are bad, Gunz. You just have trust issues." He slid the glass away from Monette to refill it.
"What the hell, Randall? When's the last time you read a book?" Gunz folded his fuzzy arms with a glare.
"I'm reading one now," Randall replied smoothly. He held up his hand, miming a book, then pantomimed flipping a page.
Monette burst out laughing mid-sip, spraying the table with Eros Passion. She gasped, wiping her face and leaping to her feet.
"Randall—that's your hand!"
Gunz tossed her a towel. "He's got the brain of a jellyfruit."
"No, no, it's a book," Randall insisted. "Would you like to know the difference between Robin Hood and—"
WHOOSH.
A red starship screamed past their viewport, trailing fire and shrapnel. Its proximity rattled the hull.
For a split second, they saw it clearly—before it exploded into a fiery bloom.
The laughter died.
Monette gripped the console.
"…That wasn't random," she muttered.
The Crusaders sprang to their feet and rushed to the command deck.
"What in the seven sisters is that?" Monette gasped, her wide eyes fixed on the incoming vessel.
"Better question—who the hell is that?" Gunz narrowed his gaze, his eye gadget scanning the ship's vitals. Sure enough, someone was aboard.
Through the viewport, they spotted a lone figure slumped in the cockpit—a pilot clad in green and black tactical gear. A sleek, metallic helmet obscured his face, and a star saber was strapped across his back.
"He's unconscious," Gunz muttered, baffled. "But he got here on his own."
One Month Ago | Aether Night Club
Gunz crouched low on the rooftop, eyeing the scene below through his scope. The white tiger—Jax—was deep in discussion with Orion, the smug bastard acting like he owned the place.
"I dare you, Orion. Give me a reason," Gunz muttered, finger hovering over the trigger. "Spare me the trouble."
But before he could squeeze it, something unexpected happened.
A figure dropped from above—silent, swift, and lethal. Clad in black and green tactical gear, the newcomer moved like liquid steel. A metallic helmet obscured his face, and a star saber gleamed on his back.
In one fluid motion, the masked bounty hunter unsheathed his blade and delivered a punishing roundhouse kick to Jax, sending the tiger sprawling.
Orion barely had time to react. He fumbled for his weapon, but the bounty hunter was faster. A sharp twist, a flash of motion—and Orion was flat on the ground, disarmed and subdued.
Gunz lowered his weapon slowly, blinking in disbelief.
"Well... that's new."