Five years passed. Five years of peace, of growth, of hope. The Bastion of Choice, the small bubble of lawless space that had once been their prison, was now a thriving, vibrant nation. It was a beacon of freedom, a place where the forgotten and the rebellious had come to build a new future, guided by the wise and steady hands of the Matriarch Council. Worlds that had once been ignored by the old powers now looked to the Bastion for protection and partnership. They were writing a new, better story for the galaxy.
But in a universe without a set fate, a universe where every choice was now a real, branching path, a new and subtle sickness began to spread.
It did not come with warships or armies. It did not have a leader or a name. At first, it was just a series of strange reports, whispers from distant worlds. They called it "The Rot."
