Chapter One: Strangers in the Dust
The twin suns of Nytharis hung low in the sky, turning the canyon into a furnace of shadow and gold. Heat shimmered off the cracked earth. Dust swirled in restless spirals, carrying the scent of rust, scorched stone, and the faint tang of ozone. To most, this world was dead; a forgotten backwater with nothing but ghosts and sand. But to Calen Rourke, it was something else.
It was calling to him.
Kneeling beside a jagged outcrop, Calen adjusted the cracked filter mask over his face and swept the stone surface with his handheld scanner. The readings were erratic again—sharp magnetic flares, microbursts of unknown energy, and faint radiation spikes that defied explanation. The same pattern he’d been chasing across Nytharis for over two weeks.
"Another anomaly," he muttered. "Third one today."
He tapped his wristband, tagging the coordinates. As he brushed aside a layer of sand, he uncovered smooth, unnatural metal—curved, etched faintly, buried under centuries of dust. Not debris. Not Concord tech. Something older. Forgotten.
Not for the first time, Calen wondered what he was really doing here.
He’d told the syndicate he was on survey duty, scanning for rare-earth mineral veins and salvage-worthy wreckage. But that was the cover. The truth was more complicated—and more personal.
He had come to Nytharis because of a dream.
Not once, but over and over, for the last year. Always the same. A canyon bathed in twin light. A woman with silver eyes standing in the wind. And a single word, echoing through the dark: Zephyra.
He had no reason to know that name. No memory of its meaning. But it had haunted him, stitched itself into his mind like a song he couldn’t stop humming. He’d chased fragments—star maps, corrupted transmissions, Concord black files. All led him here.
Something was buried beneath this planet. He could feel it.
And it was waking.
A low hum shivered through the ground, vibrating through his boots.
Calen froze.
Not tectonic activity. Not wind.
Then came the sharp slap of footsteps.
He turned just as a figure darted into view from the ridge—fast, agile, silhouetted against the glaring suns. A woman. Her pale blue skin glistened with sweat, and her white hair streamed behind her like a comet’s tail. Her gear was torn, dusty, clinging to a frame built for survival. In one hand, she gripped a glowing blade.
Behind her, something screamed.
A combat drone shot into view—sleek, black, deadly. Its red optics locked on the fleeing woman, targeting beams slicing through the air.
Calen moved on instinct.
He dropped to one knee, flipped his rifle off his back, and fired. The pulse round hit the drone dead Centre. It sparked, spun, and crashed into the rocks with a screeching metallic howl.
The woman staggered to a stop, blade raised—but not toward the drone. Toward him.
Her eyes fixed on him—silver and brilliant, wary as a cornered cat. "Who are you?"
He lowered his rifle slowly. "That drone was about to vaporize you. You're welcome."
She didn't blink. Her voice was melodic but sharp. "They found me."
"They?"
"The Iron Rebellion."
His brow furrowed. "You make a habit of angering planetary-scale death cults, or is today special?"
She nearly collapsed then, knees buckling. She caught herself on a jagged rock, clutching her side.
Calen stepped forward, cautiously. "You're hurt."
"I can manage."
"Sure doesn't look like it."
He reached into his satchel, pulling out a water vial and a field patch. She didn’t move.
"Name’s Calen," he offered. "Calen Rourke. I’m not with your enemies. Just a scavenger. Here mapping anomalies."
Her silver eyes scanned him, reading his stance, his worn gear, the lack of insignia.
Finally, she straightened. "Aelira. Princess Aelira Vaelori. Of Zephyra."
Calen blinked. The name hit him like a blow to the chest.
Zephyra.
The word from his dreams. The place that haunted him.
He kept his face neutral. "Royalty? On this dump of a planet? Either you’re very lost or very unlucky."
"Both. And they’ll be back. That drone was just a scout."
He looked up toward the distant ridge, where dust was already beginning to stir again.
"There’s a ravine nearby," he said. "Two klicks north. Shielded on three sides. I use it for shelter."
"You'd risk it? For a stranger?"
He met her gaze. "You’re not a stranger anymore. And something tells me... you're the reason I’m here."
She hesitated—not long, but enough to measure the weight of his words.
Then she nodded. "Lead the way, Rourke."
They turned together and ran into the falling light, shadows stretching long behind them as the triple moons began to rise.
And high above, veiled behind storm-swept clouds, a rebel vessel adjusted course.
The hunt had begun.