Lukas trudged along the winding path toward the edge of Veridell, his worn boots sinking into the damp earth, leaving faint tracks under the silvery moonlight. The cave where the Halcón was hidden lay concealed behind a dense curtain of trees and tangled vines, as if Zytherya's wilderness itself guarded its secret. Pausing at the entrance, Lukas took a deep breath. The air was thick with the scent of soil, rotting leaves, and a faint hint of Sylgrain sap—the crop Veridell's villagers toiled over to pay their tribute. His fingers brushed against a large stone, tracing its cold surface until they found the hidden trigger. A soft click echoed, and the stone slid aside, revealing the cave's dark maw.
Inside, the Halcón rested, still and silent like a slumbering beast. It wasn't a large ship—just big enough for a small crew—its silver-gray hull marred with scorch marks from long-ago space battles. Lukas had snatched it from a band of pirates on the fringes of the Thaloryn system, in a job that nearly cost him his life. That day, his plasma pistol had burned so hot it seared through his gloves, but the prize was worth it: the Halcón, a swift ship fitted with upgraded anti-gravity engines and a basic cloaking system—crude but enough to dodge Valeria's patrol ships. He'd named it Halcón, after a predatory bird native to Zytherya, for its speed and knack for striking unseen.
Lukas climbed aboard, his footsteps ringing against the metal floor. The cockpit was tight, with a weathered leather pilot's seat and a cluttered control panel flickering with pale blue lights. He settled in and pulled the startup lever. The Halcón's engines growled to life, a deep, rumbling roar like a beast stirring from sleep. Lights blinked on across the dashboard, and the main screen lit up with a map of western Zytherya, pinpointing Ormuth—the last known location of the "Nightingale."
He tapped the screen, zooming in. Ormuth was a three-hour flight from Veridell in the Halcón, cutting through dense forest valleys and jagged red-stone mountains. It was a small town, little more than a pit stop for traders and wanderers drifting between planets, but lately, it had become a hub of whispers about the resistance. Lukas had heard old Gulnar talk of shadowy figures meeting in Ormuth's back alleys, swapping weapons and secrets under flickering lanterns. What gnawed at him, though, wasn't where the Nightingale was hiding—it was why Valeria wanted her alive. The Republic wasn't known for mercy, especially not for fugitives. A "Priority Level 1" bounty with a 75,000-Valer-unit reward and a rare audience with the Strategic Council wasn't something they tossed around lightly. Whoever this woman was, she either held a secret Valeria desperately wanted—or posed a danger they couldn't let slip away.
Lukas leaned back, arms crossed, eyes locked on the screen. The map's glow faded, giving way to old memories. Three years ago, at the Astralis Academy, he'd studied pursuit tactics: "A fugitive never moves randomly. They always leave a trace, however small—a transaction, a whisper, a misplaced glance." He wondered if the Nightingale had left any such clues in Ormuth, or if she was cunning enough to erase every hint of her presence. More importantly, he questioned whether he truly wanted to hand her over to Valeria, or if the lure of the bounty and his own curiosity were pulling him along.
The Halcón's engines had settled into a steady, low hum. Lukas stood, checking the ship's small weapons compartment. A lightweight plasma pistol, an alloy dagger, and a bio-signature scanner—enough to handle a "highly dangerous" target, as the bounty notice described. He strapped the pistol to his hip, double-checked the holster, and returned to the pilot's seat. His fingers danced across the control panel, inputting Ormuth's coordinates. The screen confirmed the route, and the Halcón gave a gentle shudder as its systems kicked in.
The ship glided out of the cave, slipping through towering trees and blending into Zytherya's night. Above, the deep purple sky stretched wide, speckled with twinkling constellations. Lukas kept the Halcón low, skimming the ground to avoid Valeria's radar outposts. Below, Sylgrain fields rushed by, their leaves catching the moonlight like a shimmering silver sea. A pang of regret hit him—leaving Veridell, even briefly, felt like leaving a piece of himself behind, the one place he'd found a sliver of peace after years of chaos.
But peace, as old Gulnar once said, "is just the quiet between storms." And Lukas knew the storm ahead might be far more than a simple bounty hunt.
Three hours later, the Halcón touched down softly in a small valley a few kilometers from Ormuth. Lukas had chosen a discreet landing spot, nestled among large boulders and dense trees, to avoid prying eyes. He powered down the engines, letting the ship melt into the darkness. The hum of insects mingled with the whisper of the wind, weaving a natural symphony of Zytherya. Lukas stepped out, slinging a small backpack over his shoulder with the bio-scanner and some dried rations. He pulled on an old cloak, drawing the hood low to conceal his sharp features and piercing blue eyes—traits that could make him stand out in Ormuth's crowd.
The path to town was a rough dirt track, faintly lit by aging solar-powered lanterns. Lukas moved slowly, ears tuned to every sound—the rustle of leaves, distant footsteps, or any hint of night patrols. He knew Ormuth wasn't safe. The town was a crossroads for all sorts: traders, mercenaries, exiles, and the worst kind of scum. If the Nightingale was here, she wouldn't be easy to find.
As the first flickering lights of Ormuth appeared—lanterns from taverns and the night market—Lukas paused, pulling the bounty notice from his cloak. He scanned the description again: "Long black hair, tied neatly or hidden under a hood. Small crescent scar at the left eye's corner. Soft voice, tinged with a Zytheran accent." He folded the paper, tucked it away, and pressed on down the path. Somewhere in this town, a woman was hiding, and Lukas knew finding her was only the first step—or perhaps she'd already slipped away. What he did next—turn her in or protect her—would shape not just her fate, but the path he'd chosen three years ago.
The sky above Ormuth blazed with neon lights, red and green blending into the haze of smoke rising from the metal forges on the town's edge. Lukas drew a deep breath, the sharp tang of metal and cheap tobacco stinging his nose. He stepped into the night market, where the crowd buzzed with deals, laughter tangled with arguments. His eyes scanned every face, every silhouette, searching for the faintest hint of the Nightingale.
Lukas wove through the throng, his hood pulled low, shadowing half his face. His piercing blue eyes darted from person to person, hunting for any sign of her—long black hair tied neatly, a crescent scar by the left eye, a soft voice laced with a Zytheran accent. But in this sea of people, everything blurred like the morning fog back in Veridell. He let out a quiet sigh, his hand brushing the crumpled bounty notice in his coat pocket. It was still there, worn but heavy, like a challenge he couldn't ignore.
He wasn't planning to find her tonight. Ormuth was a place that demanded patience, a town where secrets pulsed beneath the flickering lights. Before diving into the hunt, Lukas needed a place to rest, a drink to steady his nerves, and a confrontation he'd been dreading—one that would surely reopen old wounds. That confrontation was with Kael Torrent, his younger brother, who'd once stood by his side through the grueling days at the Astralis Academy. Now, Kael carried a grudge, weighed down by the shadow Lukas had cast over his life. Kael was an officer in Ormuth's security force, serving the puppet regime propped up by the Valerian Republic—a thankless job, but one that let him escape the whispers of shame from their past: "the weak brother of the traitor."
Lukas turned into a narrow alley where the market's glow barely reached. The brick walls were scarred with graffiti—defiant images of Valeria's phoenix torn in half, or broken plasma rifles. At the alley's end, a crooked wooden sign glowed with the words "Broken Wing Tavern" in fluorescent ink, shimmering like a trap disguised as an invitation. This was where Kael went after his shifts, a shadowy corner of Ormuth where he could forget the tarnished phoenix badge on his chest.
Lukas pushed the door open, the wood creaking loudly. Inside, the Broken Wing was cloaked in a haze of tobacco smoke. The tavern was cramped, with chipped wooden tables and a bar cobbled together from recycled fuel drums. Dim orange light from lanterns hanging overhead cast long shadows across the stone floor. In one corner sat a mercenary with a mechanical arm; a purple-haired girl quietly shuffled cards at another table; an old drunk muttered about days long gone. A scratchy tune drifted from an ancient jukebox, its mournful melody like Zytherya's sigh under the Republic's iron grip.
Torrent sat in the tavern's darkest corner, where the light barely reached. He was shorter than Lukas, his brown hair a tangled mess, a long scar slicing across his chin—a memento from a patrol brawl. He wore the drab gray uniform of Ormuth's security force, the Valerian phoenix badge on his chest faded, as if he himself had lost faith in it. One hand clutched a glass of liquor, the other toyed with a small comm device, its screen flashing with messages from headquarters. When Lukas approached, Kael looked up, his brown eyes sparking with a flicker of familiarity, quickly doused by cold anger.
"Well, look at you, big brother," Kael said, his voice low but sharp as a blade. "Still skulking around like some bounty hunter. Thought you'd died in some backwater village, or are you still playing the hero?"
Lukas pulled out a chair and sat, a faint smirk tugging at his lips, though his eyes betrayed a hint of tension. "Still bitter, huh? I figured you'd be used to that phoenix badge by now. Being a cop in Ormuth's gotta be better than hearing 'traitor's little brother,' right?"
Kael slammed his glass down, the sharp clink drawing a glance from the purple-haired girl at the next table. "You think playing cop in this dump is salvation? You think I enjoy breaking up market brawls or arresting kids for graffiti, just to prove I'm not you? You ruined everything, Lukas! You and your damn fool ideals!"
Lukas went quiet, his hand tightening slightly around the glass of dark red wine the server had just brought, its sharp, fermented berry scent stinging his nose. He took a sip, the burn sliding down his throat, but it did little to ease the weight settling in his chest. He knew Kael was talking about the final exam at the Astralis Academy, that fateful day when they'd faced Valeria's brutal test: lead a squad to attack an unarmed village to prove loyalty. Kael, as the younger brother and a squad member, had excelled, commanding his team with precision, no hesitation, believing it would prove his worth and step out from Lukas's shadow—the brother hailed as a tactical genius. But Lukas, driven by his principles, refused to order the slaughter of innocents, causing the entire squad to fail the test. The fallout wasn't just Lukas's expulsion and imprisonment. Though Kael faced no direct punishment, he endured the scorn of peers and the review board, branded "the traitor's weak brother." Those whispers, those contemptuous glances, had pushed him out of the Academy. Unable to bear the weight of silent judgment, he'd chosen the lowly role of an Ormuth cop—a job without glory, but a way to escape Lukas's shadow and claw back some shred of honor.
The space between the brothers seemed to shrink, filled only with taut silence and unspoken words. "Ruined everything, huh?" Lukas echoed Kael's words, his voice low, tinged with bitterness. "You think I wanted it to turn out like this? You think I wanted to be thrown into C-12, stripped of everything, drifting to this planet like some nobody?"
Kael slammed his hand on the table, the glass trembling, a few drops of dark red liquor splashing onto the chipped wooden surface. "Don't play the victim, Lukas! You chose that path! You chose to defy orders, to betray the Republic! I don't care how noble your reasons were—you knew the consequences didn't just fall on you, didn't you?" Kael's voice shook, not just with anger but with a deeper, long-buried pain. "I had to carry your shadow. Everyone at the Academy looked at me like the failure's little brother, untrustworthy just because we share blood. Did you ever think about me when you decided to play hero, Lukas?"
Lukas gripped his glass tighter, knuckles whitening. He wanted to argue, to say he had no choice, that slaughtering innocent villagers for a gold badge wasn't something he could live with. But looking into Kael's eyes—brown, burning with resentment, scarred by invisible wounds—he knew explanations would only pour fuel on the fire.
"I wasn't trying to be a hero, Kael," Lukas finally said, his voice dropping to a near whisper. "I just… couldn't order our squad to fire on unarmed people. You were there, Kael. You saw them—women, children, holding shovels instead of guns, toys instead of the cold rifles we grew up with. Could you really have wanted me to order their massacre just to pass a test?"
Kael let out a bitter laugh, devoid of any warmth. "You think I didn't see them? I saw. But I also saw the only way to step out of your shadow, to prove I wasn't you. I did what I had to, Lukas. I led our squad through that test, and I did it well. But because of you, we were all marked as failures. You didn't just drag me down—you dragged everyone who believed in me. Do you know that back then, if I hadn't been held back, I could've blown your head off?"
Lukas bowed his head, his gaze falling to the glass of wine. Kael's words cut deep, not because they were wrong, but because they held a shard of truth. He'd followed his conscience, but the cost hadn't been his alone. Memories of the Astralis Academy flooded back—Kael as the wide-eyed younger brother who idolized him, always striving to match the "tactical genius." That fateful day had shattered it all—not just Lukas's future, but Kael's trust.
The space between them drowned in silence, broken only by the mournful tune from the old jukebox and the drunken mutterings of the old man in the corner. Lukas took a final sip of wine, its sharp burn sliding down his throat, as if to pull him from the tide of memories. Kael stayed quiet, idly turning the comm device in his hand, his eyes fixed on its flickering screen, searching for an anchor to quell the storm of emotions.
Finally, Kael sighed, setting the device down. "Enough. The past is done. Arguing won't change it." He looked up at Lukas, his eyes still smoldering with resentment but softer now. "Why are you in Ormuth? I doubt you're here for a heartwarming brotherly reunion."
Lukas's lips curved into a tired, half-smile. He pulled the bounty notice from his coat, unfolding it and placing it on the table, carefully covering the detailed description, leaving only the bold text: "WANTED TARGET – PRIORITY LEVEL 1" and "75,000 Valer." He slid it toward Kael, his voice calm, like a civilian casually asking a cop about a case. "Heard about a theft at the western forge district. A woman, black hair, Zytheran accent, tied to the resistance. As a concerned citizen, I'm asking you, Officer, know anything about her?"
Kael's brow furrowed. He glanced at the paper, then back at Lukas, suspicion flickering in his eyes. "What's with the act, Lukas? Concerned citizen? Don't play games. You're hunting her, aren't you? The Nightingale?"
Lukas shrugged, keeping his expression neutral. "Just curious. Word is she's linked to the Xylara theft, got some Ormuth traders losing sleep. If you know anything, spill. Not for Valeria—just so I know if she's worth… keeping an eye on."
Kael let out a soft grunt, his earlier hostility fading. He took a sip of his drink, paused, then spoke in a hushed tone, as if wary of eavesdroppers. "I'm no high-ranking cop, Lukas. I handle petty thieves, break up night market brawls. But last week, I heard about some trouble at the forge district. A shipment of Xylara went missing—not huge, but enough to make the traders squawk. Rumor is a woman was seen beforehand, wearing a black cloak, hood pulled tight. No one got a clear look at her face, but her voice… definitely Zytheran. The guys in Wind Alley know her, but they're tight-lipped. I don't have the clout to pry anything out of them."
Lukas nodded slightly, his fingers brushing the edge of the bounty notice, his eyes lingering on the line about the "crescent scar by the left eye." "Wind Alley, huh? Anything special about it? You been there?"
Kael smirked, but it was the knowing grin of someone familiar with Ormuth's traps. "Special? It's a den of smugglers, resistance types, and every kind of lowlife. I've been there a few times on duty, never welcomed. If you're planning to poke around, watch your back. They don't take kindly to strangers, especially not a guy who's been—and still is—a Valerian errand boy like you. Word about you's already spread, Lucius Varrus."
Kael's gaze flickered between mockery and a rare glint of concern. "But listen, if you're chasing the Nightingale, don't think it's like hunting some small-time crook. She's not simple. Word is she's tied to the Zytheran resistance, and Valeria wants her alive to squeeze out some secret or another."
Lukas stayed silent, his fingers tapping lightly on the table, weighing Kael's words. His brother was right—the Nightingale wasn't an ordinary mark. The real cost might be his life, or worse, his conscience. "I'll be careful," he said at last, his voice low but firm. "Thanks, Kael. I don't expect your help, but… I appreciate you telling me what you know."
Kael shrugged, taking another sip. "Don't thank me. I just don't want to hear you got yourself killed stupidly in some alley. But if you're headed to Wind Alley, bring your gun. And don't expect me to come running if you stir up trouble. I'd enjoy watching them make you squirm, Lucius."
Lukas gave a faint smile, standing and pulling his hood low to shadow his face. "Never counted on you bailing me out, little brother. But if you ever get tired of that faded phoenix badge, you know where to find me."
Kael didn't reply, just watched as Lukas's silhouette slipped out of the Broken Wing. The wooden door creaked shut, leaving him with his drink and a tangle of thoughts. Outside, Zytherya's night winds swept through, carrying a biting chill and the metallic tang of the forge district. Lukas walked toward Wind Alley, the bounty notice heavy in his pocket—a reminder that the Nightingale wasn't just a target, but a potential turning point, for him, for Veridell, and for what little remained of his bond with his brother.