The soft glow of the simulated stars overhead cast pale reflections on the polished floor. Ethan lay still, one arm folded beneath his head, the other resting limply across his chest. His eyes remained open, unfocused, drifting between the suite's vaulted ceiling and the wide pane of transparent crystal that framed the Ashen Prime skyline. Beyond the glass, the station's artificial night shimmered with ship traffic and neon signage, slivers of movement, fragments of distant purpose. Peaceful, almost.
He hadn't moved in an hour, but sleep wouldn't come. Not tonight.
His body was physically at rest, sore from exertion but no longer in tension, and yet his thoughts churned. Not frantically, but steadily, rhythmically. Like gears grinding inside a sealed engine. Controlled, focused.
The suite was quiet. The kind of quiet that didn't happen by accident, not in a place like Ashen Prime. It was silence with a price tag. The soundproof walls, the climate-controlled air, even the hum of circuitry had been softened into nonexistence. No buzz, no tick, no murmur of distant footsteps. The silence was meant for important people, or at least for those who wanted to feel important. A vacuum designed to let you hear your own thoughts.
So he listened.
He ran the plan again in his head, not the grand questions that lingered like half-faded stars at the edge of perception, but the immediate course in front of him. The short-term, the executable. Not the Astral Slayer, not the mystery of the Obsidian Wraith's origin, and not the unanswered paradox of his arrival in this world. Those were too distant, too slippery.
Tonight, it was about clarity.
The Mercenary Guild.
He needed to reach a core sector branch. Not one of the small branches in outer sectors, but a true, established office. The kind with huge administration staff, oversight boards, and interview rights. The kind that could issue a proper test and log the result to the central register.
His eyes narrowed slightly.
C-rank.
That was the target. The next rung on the ladder.
On paper, C-rank was just a classification, a bureaucratic label in a database of thousands. But in practice, it meant legitimacy. It meant you were known. Respected. More importantly, it meant protection. With C-rank came access to higher-tier contracts, better payouts, and a higher barrier before someone could mess with you without consequences.
It was the dividing line between being just another transient with a gun and being someone the system had to consider.
He exhaled slowly, then brought a hand to his forehead, rubbing gently at the space between his eyebrows.
It wasn't about vanity. It wasn't about prestige. He didn't need recognition for its own sake, didn't care about his name being posted on some Guild leaderboard. But power? Influence? Safety? Those mattered. Because without them, the galaxy would eat you alive.
He had the Obsidian Wraith. He had his own name. His own path. But he wasn't immune. Not yet. One mistake, one misstep, and the universe wouldn't care where he came from or what he'd been through. It would chew him up just like anyone else.
And so, C-rank wasn't just a career milestone. It was a shield. A mark of legitimacy that told those higher up: he mattered and wasnt a pawn easy to use and discard.
He sat up slowly, reaching for the datapad on the bedside console. The glass surface lit up at his touch, casting soft blue light across his face and chest. He blinked against the glow, then tapped into his link with the Obsidian Wraith.
"Iris," he said.
The AI's voice came back instantly, smooth and clinical, but not cold. "Ethan."
"Status report."
"Obsidian Wraith is fully operational. Weaponry and gear obtained from Ashen Prime's Weapon District are secured in hold compartment C2. Fuel cells are at ninety-seven percent. External diagnostics return green across all nodes. Navigation core aligned for departure. Life-support systems are nominal. Food cartridges and water reserves are well above operational threshold."
He nodded to himself.
"Anything else outstanding?"
"Nothing pending. The ship is ready for departure. Status: awaiting command."
He let the datapad rest against his thigh, thumb lingering over the screen.
Tomorrow. The word felt tangible. It wasn't abstract anymore. It was a point of transition.
"I'll be aboard first thing," he said. "Prep for final systems check at zero-six-hundred."
"Confirmed."
The screen dimmed as he placed the pad back on the obsidian nightstand.
The room remained unchanged, dim, quiet, sterile. But the shift had already happened. Internally. The haze of reflection had begun to clear. His thoughts were tighter now, locked into trajectory.
Still seated on the edge of the bed, he stared out once more through the wide panel of glass. Ashen Prime looked… different now. Not because the station had changed, but because he had. The infiltration, the rescue, Krell's warnings, the talk with Raevis... all of it had left a mark. Subtle, but permanent.
He'd seen power used with precision and cruelty. He'd witnessed desperation, corruption, courage, and all of it had reinforced the same truth he learned in Kynara: strength matters. Not just physical strength. Not just firepower. But standing. Presence. The kind of weight that made others recalculate before moving against you.
He took a breath, deep and slow, then spoke the command aloud. "Lights off."
The suite obeyed.
The overhead glows faded into black. The ambient edge-lights along the floor dimmed out one by one. Even the starlight from the simulated sky seemed to dim, as if the room itself were sealing him inside a cocoon of darkness.
He lay back, folding his arms behind his head, and let the silence return.
There was nothing left to plan tonight. No tactics, no logistics. Everything that needed doing had been done. His ship was ready. His next destination was clear. The only variable now… was him.
Could he make it through the test? Could he carry the weight of rising ranks, bigger enemies, longer shadows?
He didn't know.
But he'd find out.
His eyes remained open for a while longer, staring into the void above. A hundred images flitted through his mind. Raevis's calm eyes across the table, the stench of grease and heat in the ring, Krell's voice warning him about the Federation's political fractures. They weren't answers, not yet. But they were pieces.
Pieces of something bigger.
Eventually, the stillness settled over him fully. His muscles relaxed. His breathing evened out. The room was silent. Not a hollow silence now, but one filled with readiness.
And just before sleep finally pulled him under, a single thought rose to the surface of his mind, clear and immovable:
Tomorrow, I move forward and my adventure through the Federation begins.