Neon Spindle Station hung in space like a broken crown.
Its outer rings glowed with fractured light, vast docking arms extending outward like skeletal fingers, pulling ships in from the void. Traffic moved in layered currents—cargo haulers, mercenary frigates, sleek alien vessels that shimmered with living hulls. Weapons were hot everywhere. Peace was a rumor.
The shuttle lurched as it entered controlled space.
Ember's fingers tightened around the harness strap. The vibration thrummed through his bones, low and constant, like the station itself was watching him arrive.
Ash stirred in his arms.
The creature was warmer than before. Not feverish—contained. Heat rolled off its body in soft waves, barely visible distortion in the air. Its eyes opened slowly, pupils narrowing to thin vertical slits as it stared through the viewport.
It growled.
Not loud.
Not aggressive.
Territorial.
"Don't," Ember whispered, stroking the fur between Ash's ears. "Not yet."
The mercenary pilot glanced back from her seat.
"You feel that too?" she asked.
"Feel what?"
She didn't answer immediately. Her eyes lingered on Ash, sharp and assessing.
"Pressure," she said finally. "Like something important just walked in."
The shuttle docked with a heavy metallic clang.
The hatch hissed open.
Noise flooded in.
Voices overlapped in a dozen languages. Engines roared. Music pulsed through steel walls, distorted and aggressive. The air smelled like ozone, fuel, sweat, and something sharp—burnt circuitry mixed with blood.
Ember stepped onto the platform.
Neon Spindle Station did not welcome newcomers.
It measured them.
The docks were massive, stacked vertically and horizontally in dizzying layers. Walkways crisscrossed overhead while freight platforms slid past on magnetic rails. Holographic signs flickered constantly—bounties, advertisements, warnings, obituaries.
Creatures moved everywhere.
Humans with cybernetic limbs and glowing eyes.
Elves with arcane circuits etched into their skin.
Beastkin wrapped in armored coats, tails flicking with restrained aggression.
Machines that walked like people—and people who barely looked organic anymore.
Ash shifted again.
Ember felt it this time.
A low pulse in his chest.
> [Draconic Core Activity: Elevated]
[Warning: Environmental Stimulation High]
He swallowed.
"Stay calm," he murmured—not sure if he was talking to Ash or himself.
They had taken maybe ten steps when it happened.
Eyes turned.
Not all at once.
Slowly.
One by one.
Too many gazes lingered just a second too long on the bundle in Ember's arms. Retinal scanners flickered. Psionic dampeners hummed. A few individuals subtly adjusted their stance, hands drifting toward concealed weapons.
Predators recognizing something rare.
The mercenary's posture changed instantly.
"Don't stop walking," she said quietly. "And don't look scared."
"I'm not," Ember said.
She snorted. "Good. Because if you were, we'd already be dead."
They passed a customs checkpoint where security drones hovered, their optics glowing a sterile blue. Ash let out a faint hiss, heat spiking.
One drone twitched.
Then another.
Ember felt sweat bead along his spine.
"Easy," he whispered.
Ash obeyed—barely.
They cleared the gate.
The moment they did, a sharp laugh cut through the noise.
"Well I'll be damned."
Three figures stepped out from the crowd.
Mercenaries.
Their gear was mismatched but expensive, weapons worn in a way that screamed experience rather than carelessness. The one in front—a tall man with chrome running up his neck—tilted his head, eyes locked on Ash.
"That pet of yours," he said. "It's humming."
The mercenary beside Ember swore under her breath.
"Walk," she snapped.
They didn't get far.
A hand grabbed Ember's shoulder.
He reacted on instinct—twisting, almost losing his grip on Ash.
The man smiled.
"Relax. Just curious."
Ash snarled.
The sound was wrong.
Too deep.
Too heavy.
The Draconic Core pulsed.
> [Warning: Instinctual Response Detected]
"Let go," Ember said, voice steady.
The man didn't.
That was his mistake.
Ash opened its mouth.
No flame came out.
Instead, the air collapsed.
A violent compression of heat and force detonated point-blank, slamming the mercenary backward into a cargo container hard enough to dent reinforced alloy. His armor warped. His scream cut off abruptly.
The dock froze.
Security drones swiveled.
Weapons came up.
The other two mercenaries backed away slowly, fear replacing greed.
"What the hell was that?" someone whispered.
Ember stood frozen, heart hammering.
Ash trembled violently in his arms, embers flickering beneath its fur before fading.
> [Draconic Core Output: 6%]
[Status: Unstable — Cooldown Required]
The mercenary beside him started laughing.
Low.
Unbelieving.
"Yeah," she said. "You're definitely coming with me."
Sirens wailed.
Bounty notifications flickered to life across nearby screens.
Ember looked down at Ash.
Then up at the station swallowing them whole.
He understood now.
This place didn't care where he came from.
It only cared about what he carried.
And he was holding something the galaxy had forgotten how to deal with.
Something that bit back.