This was a journey into pain and terror.
As the fleet made its long trek toward the galactic frontier, the constant wails of energy conduits and the creaking hull tormented every crew member's nerves. This was a lawless void, an administrative dead zone beyond the reach of most galactic and even extragalactic civilizations.
Here, the only rule was survival.
The stars had long since vanished behind the abyssal blackness of deep space. This was a realm ruled by bandits, con artists, smugglers, and the worst breed of scum the galaxy had to offer. The endless cycle of competition meant the crew had to remain on high alert at all times, ready to fend off sudden attacks.
It was a journey of eat or be eaten.
And yet, despite its battered condition and exhausted crew, the ragtag fleet, under Solomon's command, continued to win battle after battle.
Whenever a fight reached a stalemate, Solomon would order the first mate to fire the engines at full throttle, ramming their ship directly into the enemy vessel before launching a vicious boarding assault.
With every victory, the original group of pirates became more emboldened.
They had complete faith in Solomon's invincibility.
The fleet expanded.
Solomon's flagship changed repeatedly as they captured new vessels.
Every attempted mutiny was crushed with extreme bloodshed.
But the closer they drew to their destination, the more frequent the rebellions became.
Solomon was forced to tighten his grip, appointing his most loyal subordinates as captains of each ship to ensure he would be immediately alerted when insubordination arose.
"Captain, the crew is having nightmares."
First Mate Alex stood stiffly in the dimly lit captain's quarters.
"Some of them… I don't think they meant to rebel. Something is wrong with their minds. It's as if someone has forced something into their brains."
Out here, there was no starlight—only darkness as deep as the ocean's abyss.
Alex recalled the deep-sea creatures he had once seen in the Hala Aquarium—translucent bones, grotesque deformities, some pulsing with eerie, colorful lights.
As he interrogated the mutineers, he had a terrible thought—what if there was something swimming inside their skulls? Something transparent, slithering, glowing with mind-breaking colors as it peered out through their eyes, whispering eldritch names from twisted tongues.
He suppressed a shudder.
The first mate kept his gaze fixed downward, staring at the engraved steel floor of the captain's quarters. The bloodstains from the last executed traitor had only recently been scrubbed away. Some areas still bore the residue of recycled water.
That unfortunate bastard had learned firsthand what happened when someone tried to outmaneuver the captain.
Since the fleet's expansion, Alex had witnessed Solomon's strategic brilliance firsthand.
With frightening precision, the captain wove elaborate maneuvers—deep penetrations, feigned retreats, and sudden counterattacks—before launching brutal boarding actions to seize enemy flagships.
Each time, he turned the enemy's most powerful vessel into a weapon against their own forces.
And then there was his magic.
Those unfathomable spells that allowed their ships to perform impossible flanking maneuvers.
When the captain cast his magic, the crew always cheered.
Because he had shot the last person who failed to cheer.
No one batted an eye—there were plenty of new recruits to replace the lost.
Thousands of commands flickered across the holographic display at Solomon's fingertips.
Every detail—engine power, precise trajectory, even the angle of approach—was dictated with inhuman efficiency.
To him, war was nothing more than a turn-based strategy game.
He carved up the battlefield like slicing meat, wielding absolute control.
Alex was certain—by the time they seized an enemy ship, the ink on the battle plan Solomon had written hadn't even dried.
He was here now because Solomon had summoned him to retrieve the latest logistical orders.
Included in the documents was the new name of the black flagship.
A faint golden light radiated from the captain's body, making Alex's eyes sting with tears.
The closer he got, the harder it became to lift his head.
He knew he was unworthy of looking upon his captain directly.
And yet, when Solomon spoke, his voice was impossibly gentle.
The warmth of it drove away Alex's fears.
Solomon was great.
So great that at times, when he appeared at the site of a rebellion, the mutineers would drop their weapons and fall to their knees in tears, confessing their sins.
Most insurrections came from new recruits—veterans rarely turned against him.
But in the end, it didn't matter.
Under the captain's gaze, all of them broke.
Alex took pride in serving under such a leader.
He considered this voyage the greatest of his life.
Even if the destination was Hell itself, he had no regrets.
"It's fine."
Alex kept his eyes locked on his boots—high-grade Shi'ar military surplus—but his attention was fully on the captain's voice.
He hesitated, debating whether to reveal more of what he had observed.
But in the end, he realized it was unnecessary.
The captain already knew.
"Keep them occupied. Carve these symbols onto every surface of the ship. Make sure every line is perfect."
Solomon handed him a sheet of parchment.
It was covered in intricate patterns, swirling glyphs, and grotesquely twisted symbols Alex could not decipher.
"When they're done, have them carve it all over again. Keep them working until we reach our destination. If anyone goes mad or mutates, dispose of them immediately.
Burn the bodies in the thermal exhaust vents."
The obsidian-black eyes bore into Alex.
"You may choose a few trusted men to assist you.
But if they also succumb… don't hesitate."
Alex took a deep breath and cast a glance at the frozen remains still drifting outside the viewport.
"Yes, Captain!"
Solomon turned away, gazing into the infinite void beyond.
The carving patterns had been provided by Merlin.
The half-blooded Nightmare seemed eager to press forward to the Dream Veil.
Though Alex suspected the real reason was that Merlin had grown impatient with the fleet's inability to receive Xandarian adult channels.
Either way, Solomon had humored him.
The fleet's sublight engines roared back to life, propelling them toward the pitch-black nightmare at the galaxy's edge.
"I know he'll come back."
Stephanie's voice was firm as she spoke to Agent Romanoff.
"I don't know where he is.
But I know he'll return.
This place means too much to him.
He would never leave forever."
She exhaled deeply and ended the call.
Solomon had been gone for a long time.
And now, the weight of the Eternal City's burdens had shifted entirely onto her shoulders and her team's.
As she gradually took control of the secretive operations, she finally began to glimpse the depth of Solomon's hidden world.
And yet, she knew—this was only the tip of the iceberg.
She hadn't even accessed the highest levels of clearance.
Until the designated time arrived, the artificial intelligence governing the city wouldn't reveal the full extent of the classified information.
Even when she assumed full control over Solomon's network, the deeper mysteries of magic would forever remain beyond her grasp.
She knew a few names.
But not their meaning.
She had spent her life circling the edges of the arcane world—never stepping inside.
But that was fine.
Stephanie had no interest in those things.
She only wanted to do her job.
She hadn't even informed her father of the Eternal City's current state.
She knew her father was an ambitious man.
For the sake of the Malick family's interests—and out of respect for Solomon's absolute trust in her—Stephanie made a decision.
She would return to the Malick estate.
And she would negotiate on his behalf.
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