The Grand Hall of Stars was a spectacle born of ancient ambition. Crafted from obsidian mined from the collapsed moon of Felor and laced with crystals harvested from the drifting ruins of Nymira, the chamber gave the illusion of floating in open space. Beneath its transparent dome, the entire galaxy unfolded in a silent dance, while beneath the floor, the intricate sigils of twelve ruling systems glowed softly.
This was where empires signed peace—or declared war.
Kade Mercer stood at the edge of the central platform, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders tense beneath the weight of a thousand diplomatic expectations. His dark Terran uniform fit like armor, but it did little to protect the storm in his heart.
She was here.
He could feel Lyra's presence before he saw her—like gravity shifting, like light bending. But he dared not search the room for her. Not now. Not with every eye in the chamber watching his every move.
Behind him, Admiral Tench whispered, "Don't screw this up, Mercer. One wrong phrase, and we'll be evacuating before dinner."
Kade didn't respond. He couldn't.
He waited for the chime to signal his turn to speak. Delegates from the Zorian Syndicate, the Arken Confederacy, and the Velatrix Empire had each presented their intentions, skirting the truth with practiced elegance. Now, it was Earth's turn—young, under-resourced, and desperate for alliances.
The sound came—a soft, harmonic pulse—and Kade stepped forward onto the projection disc. A shimmering podium of starlight rose before him.
"Honored delegates," he began, his voice echoing slightly, "I come before you as a representative of Earth's Terran Union—not to speak of conquest, or to posture with threats, but to offer something far more difficult: sincerity."
He heard a few amused scoffs. He didn't care.
"For centuries, Earth remained isolated—by distance, by ignorance, by fear. But we have changed. We understand now that to survive in this galaxy, unity is not a luxury. It is a necessity."
He continued, presenting Earth's proposed contribution to the shared peace initiative: raw materials, medical advancements, and quantum agriculture technologies developed under duress. His words were crisp, measured, respectful. It was everything his advisors had coached him to say.
But all the while, he searched the room—slowly, subtly—until he saw her.
Lyra stood across the chamber, encircled by members of her court and dressed in ceremonial violet. Her silver hair was pulled into an intricate braid coiled with starsteel thread. Her expression was unreadable.
But her eyes found his.
And held them.
Kade faltered, just for a second.
It was enough.
From behind Lyra, Prince Thalos of the Obsidian Realm narrowed his eyes.
Thalos was every inch the predator: tall, broad-shouldered, with obsidian skin that shimmered faintly under the chamber's lights. He stood too close to Lyra. Possessive. Controlling.
Kade returned his gaze evenly, then forced himself to look away.
"…And so," Kade concluded, "we hope to not only be granted observer status in this accord but to contribute meaningfully—if not as equals, then as students willing to learn, and allies willing to bleed for peace."
Silence followed.
Then polite applause—nothing too enthusiastic. Earth was still new. Still foreign.
The chancellor, a towering being of blue crystal from the Hydrassi Cluster, offered a diplomatic nod. "We shall enter the Terran proposal into formal review. You are dismissed."
Kade stepped down from the podium, heart pounding. Every word had been rehearsed, but none of it felt real. Not compared to the memory of Lyra's kiss. Her vow. The stolen moment beneath a false sky.
He exited the central ring, walking through the crowd of delegates, until he felt a subtle tug at his sleeve. He turned.
A servant drone hovered beside him, offering a silver tray with refreshments. But on the napkin beneath the glasses was a folded piece of parchment—a rarity in a world dominated by holograms.
Kade waited until he was alone in the corridor to unfold it.
One sentence, written in Lyra's delicate script:
"The stars will cover us again. Midnight. Garden of Moons."
His chest tightened.
They had sworn to be careful. To put distance between them. But Lyra had risked everything to reach him.
Midnight.
That left only six hours.
The Garden of Moons was a sanctuary carved into the station's underbelly—an artificial biosphere that mimicked the forests of Velatrix Prime. Luminescent vines curled around white stone columns, and trees with silver leaves arched over glowing pools. Above, a simulated night sky showed a slow orbit of moons, casting layered shadows across the pathways.
It was quiet. Sacred.
Kade entered through the western archway, footsteps muffled on the moss-lined floor. His pulse thrummed with each step.
She was waiting by the water.
Lyra stood barefoot on the edge of the reflecting pool, her ceremonial gown replaced by something softer—simpler. Her silver braid was undone, her arms bare. Moonlight played across her skin.
He said nothing at first, only watched her.
When she finally turned, the quiet broke.
"You spoke well," she said. "Though I think the Hydrassi would have preferred more flattery."
"I was a little distracted," Kade replied.
She smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "You shouldn't have looked at me."
"I couldn't help it."
Lyra stepped closer. "Thalos noticed."
"I know."
Another step. "He's going to watch you now."
"I'm used to being watched."
"You don't understand," she said, and her voice cracked. "Thalos is not just a prince. He's a spy master. If he suspects—if he even dreams we've betrayed the treaty—he'll bury you in an unmarked grave before morning."
Kade reached for her hand. "Then we should leave. Tonight. I can get us to the Terran cruiser. There are ships that run silent. Hidden—"
"No," Lyra interrupted. "If I run, he'll destroy my family. He'll take the Velatrix throne in my absence and plunge my people into another war. That's what he wants. Chaos."
Kade's jaw clenched. "Then what are we supposed to do? Pretend we're strangers? Act like none of this ever happened?"
"I don't know."
The silence between them grew heavier, unbearable.
Then she whispered, "But I do know I love you."
He pulled her into his arms. "Then we fight. We find a way."
Lyra pressed her forehead to his. "There is a way. But it's dangerous."
"I'm listening."
"I have access to the inner archives. There are old codes—diplomatic override sequences that predate the current council. My mother hid them after the last rebellion."
Kade stared at her. "You want to blackmail the council?"
"I want to survive. I want us to survive."
He nodded. "Then tell me what to do."
She took his hand and pressed the bonding crystal into his palm. "Tomorrow night. Meet me in the archives. Bring nothing but this."
"And after that?"
"We rewrite the treaty."