The transport lifted from Virellion just after dawn.

  The violet sky above Forge Valley was still dim when the engines ignited, pushing a column of blue fire against the canyon floor as the ship climbed through the thin atmosphere. Dust spiraled across the landing field while the mining crews paused their morning routines to watch the vessel disappear into the upper sky. For them it was just another departing ship, one more traveler moving through the endless traffic of frontier routes.

  For Odnar Zephyr it marked the end of the quiet life he had built on that world.

  He stood behind Zerena inside the cockpit as the planet shrank beneath them. The canyon lines of Forge Valley faded into the wider landscape of volcanic ridges and molten rivers until the entire surface became a distant sphere floating beneath the ship’s hull.

  “You’ve flown before?” Zerena asked without turning.

  “Not recently.”

  “Good enough.”

  The vessel’s navigation console projected a faint holographic map across the front display. A thin route line extended outward through a string of frontier systems toward a small station orbiting an asteroid belt several sectors away.

  “Dock Nine,” Zerena said. “Neutral port. Traders, smugglers, independent crews. If anyone in the frontier is willing to talk about Rhaegon, it will be there.”

  Odnar studied the star map.

  “And if no one talks?”

  “Then we find another place.”

  The transport accelerated into hyperspace minutes later. The stars outside the cockpit stretched into pale streaks before collapsing into the endless tunnel of warped light that marked the transition between systems. Zerena adjusted the autopilot controls and finally leaned back in her seat.

  For the first time since leaving Virellion she allowed her shoulders to relax.

  “You should rest,” Odnar said.

  “I will.”

  But she didn’t.

  Instead she kept watching the star tunnel ahead, as if expecting something to appear within it.

  Hours later the ship dropped out of hyperspace near the asteroid belt that housed Dock Nine. The station emerged slowly from behind one of the larger rock formations orbiting the local star. It was an old structure, built decades earlier during the height of the frontier mining boom and later abandoned by the corporations that originally owned it. Independent traders had eventually occupied the facility, converting it into a rough but reliable port where ships could refuel, repair damage, and exchange information without the attention of official authorities.

  From a distance Dock Nine resembled a massive mechanical ring wrapped around a cluster of industrial modules. Cargo bays extended outward like spokes from the central structure, each equipped with landing clamps and access tunnels connecting to the interior corridors of the station.

  “Still operational,” Odnar observed.

  “Barely,” Zerena said.

  Traffic moved slowly around the station. A handful of transport ships waited in orbit for docking clearance while smaller courier vessels maneuvered through the open corridors between cargo arms.

  Zerena guided their transport toward one of the external docking points.

  “Bay Nine,” she said. “Least crowded section of the station.”

  The landing clamps engaged with a dull metallic impact as the ship settled into position. Warning lights flashed briefly across the console while the station systems synchronized with the vessel’s airlocks.

  Zerena powered down the engines.

  “We’ll start with the traders’ concourse,” she said.

  Odnar nodded.

  Dock Nine’s interior corridors were dimly lit and smelled faintly of recycled air and engine lubricant. The station had clearly been modified many times over the years by different groups using whatever materials they could acquire. Sections of the walls were reinforced with mismatched metal panels, and exposed conduits ran along the ceilings in tangled bundles that hummed quietly with electrical current.

  The traders’ concourse sat near the center of the station. It was a wide circular chamber filled with market stalls, cargo crates, and makeshift tables where pilots exchanged goods and information. Voices echoed through the space in multiple languages while music from an old speaker system drifted faintly across the room.

  Odnar scanned the crowd automatically.

  Years of moving through frontier ports had taught him how to read a room quickly. Most of the people gathered in the concourse were ordinary traders or transport crews looking for supplies before their next departure. A few carried visible weapons, but nothing unusual for a place like this.

  “Relax,” Zerena said quietly beside him.

  “I am relaxed.”

  “You’re watching the exits.”

  “That’s habit.”

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  She allowed a faint smile.

  “Good habit.”

  They moved slowly through the market area, stopping occasionally to listen to conversations or examine the cargo lists posted near the central trade board. Information in the frontier rarely came through official channels. It traveled through rumor, overheard conversations, and the quiet exchanges between people who knew how to ask the right questions.

  After nearly thirty minutes Zerena finally spoke again.

  “There,” she said softly.

  Odnar followed her gaze toward a table near the far edge of the concourse where two cargo pilots were arguing quietly over a set of navigation charts.

  “What about them?”

  “They came through Kamelot space three days ago.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I heard them mention the system code earlier.”

  Odnar nodded.

  They approached the table without drawing attention. The two pilots paused their discussion long enough to look up as the newcomers stopped nearby.

  “Looking for a route?” one of them asked.

  “Information,” Zerena replied.

  “That usually costs more.”

  Odnar placed a small credit chip on the table.

  The pilot glanced at it, then at Zerena.

  “What do you want to know?”

  “Rhaegon’s fleet movements.”

  The reaction was immediate.

  The second pilot leaned back in his chair and shook his head.

  “Not interested.”

  “We’re not asking you to fight him,” Odnar said calmly. “Just talk.”

  The first pilot pushed the credit chip back across the table.

  “You shouldn’t be asking questions like that here.”

  “Why?”

  The pilot lowered his voice.

  “Because people who ask about Rhaegon don’t stay alive very long.”

  Zerena opened her mouth to respond.

  The station lights flickered.

  For half a second the entire concourse fell into darkness.

  Then the emergency lights activated.

  Odnar felt it before he saw it.

  Movement.

  Figures entering through the main corridor behind them.

  He turned slowly.

  Six soldiers stood at the entrance to the concourse.

  Their armor was black.

  Not ordinary combat armor used by mercenaries or station security forces. This equipment carried a distinctive design—sleek plating, narrow visor slits, and insignias etched into the chest plates that resembled a fractured crown.

  Black Judges’ soldiers.

  The room fell silent.

  Every person in the concourse understood immediately what those uniforms meant.

  The lead soldier stepped forward.

  His voice echoed through the chamber.

  “Princess Zerena.”

  The crowd instinctively moved away from her.

  Odnar glanced sideways.

  “They tracked you,” he said quietly.

  Zerena’s expression hardened.

  “Apparently.”

  The soldiers raised their weapons.

  “Stand down,” the leader said.

  Odnar moved first.

  The table between him and the soldiers flipped upward with a violent motion, scattering charts and cargo tools across the floor. In the same instant he grabbed Zerena’s arm and pulled her toward the side corridor leading out of the concourse.

  Energy fire erupted behind them.

  Bright blue bolts slammed into the overturned table, tearing through the metal surface with explosive flashes.

  “Move,” Odnar said.

  They sprinted down the corridor while the alarm system of Dock Nine finally activated. Red emergency lights pulsed along the walls as station security attempted to understand what was happening.

  More soldiers appeared ahead.

  Odnar cursed under his breath.

  The ambush had been planned carefully.

  He pushed Zerena into a narrow maintenance passage branching off from the main corridor. The cramped space forced them to move single file between the exposed pipes running along the walls.

  Weapons fire echoed behind them as the soldiers advanced.

  “Your ship?” Odnar asked.

  “Dock Bay Nine.”

  “Too far.”

  Another group of black armored soldiers appeared at the far end of the maintenance passage.

  They had anticipated the escape route.

  Odnar shoved Zerena back toward the previous corridor.

  “We go through them.”

  He grabbed the metal tool case attached to the wall beside him and hurled it down the passage. The impact knocked the lead soldier off balance for a split second.

  Odnar charged forward.

  The first strike landed before the soldier could raise his weapon. Odnar’s shoulder slammed into the armored chest plate with enough force to send the man crashing against the wall. The second soldier fired, but the shot struck the pipe system above them instead, releasing a violent burst of steam that filled the passage with blinding white vapor.

  Odnar pulled Zerena through the cloud.

  More shots rang out behind them.

  They burst into another corridor just as station security forces finally arrived from the opposite direction.

  For a moment both sides froze.

  Then the black soldiers opened fire.

  The security officers fell instantly.

  Odnar grabbed one of the fallen rifles and handed it to Zerena.

  “You know how to use this?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good.”

  They retreated deeper into the station while the firefight intensified behind them. Dock Nine’s alarms screamed through every corridor as traders and crews scrambled toward their ships.

  The ambush had turned the entire port into chaos.

  “Your equipment?” Zerena asked between breaths as they ran.

  Odnar realized what she meant.

  His gear.

  The tools, supplies, and weapons he had packed before leaving Virellion were still aboard their transport.

  In Dock Bay Nine.

  Which was now surrounded.

  “We lost it,” he said.

  “That was everything.”

  “Yes.”

  Another explosion shook the corridor ahead as the black soldiers forced their way through the security barricade behind them.

  Odnar glanced toward a maintenance ladder leading upward into the station’s upper access tunnels.

  “Up,” he said.

  They climbed quickly.

  Below them the sound of boots echoed through the corridor as the soldiers continued the pursuit.

  By the time Odnar pulled himself into the narrow service tunnel above the station’s main structure, he understood the full reality of what had just happened.

  Their first attempt to gather information had ended in an ambush.

  Their ship was trapped.

  Their equipment was gone.

  And somewhere within Dock Nine, Rhaegon’s forces were still hunting them.

  Zerena crawled beside him through the narrow tunnel.

  “You said wars start with fractures,” she said quietly.

  Odnar nodded.

  “They do.”

  “Then I suppose we just created the first one.”

  He glanced back toward the distant gunfire echoing through the station below.

  “Yes,” he said.

  “But fractures cut both ways.”

  Behind them, the black soldiers continued searching the corridors of Dock Nine.

  And the war had finally begun.