Far from Korrath, beyond the scarred belt where Havenreach clung to survival, the Council chamber burned with light.
White marble arches stretched above an assembly of Envoys, their silver cloaks gleaming under the crystalline dome. Holo-screens shimmered with endless streams of data—fleet reports, intercepted transmissions, the silent web of power that spanned the galaxy.
At the center stood Envoy Serin, her expression calm but edged with steel. She raised a hand and the chamber stilled.
"Kael Ardyn has left Havenreach," she announced. "He moves beyond our blockade. He seeks allies in the outer systems."
Murmurs rippled through the chamber. Some scoffed. Others frowned, troubled.
An older Envoy leaned forward, his eyes sharp. "An exile gathers outlaws and thieves. Hardly a threat to the Council."
Serin's gaze did not waver. "Hardly? He has already done what no warlord or syndicate dared. He united Havenreach. He survived the Ghost Admiral. He refuses us openly. That is more dangerous than fleets."
Silence pressed down. The Envoys knew she was right.
Another voice broke the quiet. "Then what do you propose?"
Serin's eyes glimmered with cold purpose. "We will not crush Havenreach yet. Let it choke on its own defiance. But Kael Ardyn must not return with allies. The sparks he scatters must be stamped out before they catch flame."
The chamber dimmed as a holo-map of the outer systems bloomed in the air—dozens of stars glittering against black, each with markers denoting pirate havens, outlaw worlds, forgotten colonies.
Serin extended a hand, fingers trailing across the map until they landed on a red sphere scarred with craters.
"Korrath," she said. "Lawless. Brutal. And now Kael's destination."
The other Envoys frowned. "You would waste our strength on a den of scavengers?"
"Not strength," Serin replied. "Subtlety."
From the shadows of the chamber, figures emerged—Council operatives clad in dark armor, their faces hidden behind mirrored masks. Silent, efficient, lethal.
Serin's voice carried across the hall, calm as water, sharp as glass.
"Send the Shadowhands. Let Kael believe he builds alliances. Let him think he wins. And then—cut him from the inside."
Hours later, in the cold hangars of a Council dreadnought, the Shadowhands prepared. Blades gleamed under pale lights. Silencers checked rifles. Ships were fueled without a whisper.
Their leader, a woman known only as Ashen, secured her mask and raised her hand in salute. No words were spoken. None were needed.
The orders were simple.
Follow Kael. Infiltrate Korrath. Break him before his rebellion can begin.
Back on Korrath, Kael felt none of this as he sat in the Ark's quarters, studying star charts spread across the holo-table. Lyra leaned against the wall, arms crossed, watching him with a faint crease of worry in her brow.
"You really think Veyra will side with us?" she asked.
Kael didn't look up. "I think she'll do whatever gives her the most power. Our job is to convince her that standing with us is the winning side."
Taren entered then, his shadow long against the light. "Power draws enemies as much as allies. The Council won't sit idle."
Kael finally raised his eyes, meeting his brother's steady, haunted gaze. "Then let them come. We'll be ready."
But deep in the pit of his chest, Kael felt it—that uneasy tension, like a storm waiting beyond the horizon.
The Council's shadow was already moving.
And soon, it would fall on Korrath.