Rhyus City

  The Rhyus System, Karbay Nolan Sector

  Date: Zeran 29, Year 4731

  Garen drifted between wakefulness and shallow sleep. By morning, he abandoned the effort altogether, preparing for a long day of pre-mission briefings with Admiral Amar Lavont.

  Amar had confirmed the briefing would be held at Garen’s suite but hadn’t specified a time, only advising that he would contact Garen well before his arrival.

  Garen rose early, showered, and cleaned up. As he sipped his coffee, the quiet brought little comfort. The longer he waited, the more questions ran through his mind. Worse, he kept replaying everything, reliving choices that had led him here, things he had felt were long behind him.

  He had sworn never to return to the RDF—never to set foot on this planet again. Not out of spite, but principle. And yet, here he was. For years, he had clung to that vow, though deep down, he had always known it was fragile.

  While he had not reclaimed his former rank as General, he would serve as an acting commander—granted its authority, but without any long-term commitment. The fact that he had accepted the temporary role with the RSIA—not the RDF, where he had built his career—made the decision a little easier to accept.

  The RSIA and RDF were distinct, but whether their differences truly mattered remained to be seen.

  It was obvious that Amar’s position of power within the RSIA had earned him significant influence. Yet, for this mission to be approved, Garen couldn’t help but wonder what role the Council of Seven played in it.

  Were they influencing things behind the scenes?

  To Garen, it seemed obvious that, at least in some capacity, they had a hand in the mission. His instincts warned caution, yet an urge to move ahead nagged at him—one he could barely explain.

  With everything that had happened, he wouldn’t call it coincidence.

  He approached the window, looking out over the sprawling metropolis. It was still early morning, the sun now fully risen. The city stretched endlessly—a vast urban expanse that felt both familiar and foreign after so much time away.

  Garen watched the steady flow of traffic—wheeled and hovering vehicles moving in and out of shifting lanes, some built to transition between both.

  Traffic wove through layered thoroughfares, threading between towering structures. Trains carved through the city, linking districts, while buses crawled the lower streets and shuttles soared above. Above it all, ships lined the sky, threading through designated lanes of the multi-level city of Rhyus.

  Garen wasn’t sure if he longed for the solitude of his cabin—the distant sounds of the stream, the rustling of the trees, the cries of untamed nature—or if he had simply grown too accustomed to isolation. He exhaled, but the city breathed louder, filling every space it could find—its noise a constant pressure, forcing him to adjust.

  Within the suite, a display screen covered one wall, its panels shifting between news and entertainment feeds, customizable to expand or rearrange as needed. One broadcast from Rhyus caught Garen’s attention. He turned up the volume, tuning into a report on a recent diplomatic initiative between the Seven Worlds and a faction from the nearby Olastis System.

  From what he could gather, a task force was being sent under the banner of peacekeeping. The broadcast depicted peaceful demonstrations unfolding across the Seven Worlds, led by those who preferred the Seven Worlds stay out of the conflict.

  Garen, drawn into the report, stood before the screen, his thoughts shifting to the deeper complexities behind the unrest. While the protests were loud, they came from a small but outspoken fraction of the population.

  The newscasters detailed the growing wave of demonstrations—many citizens had no desire to get involved in the conflict, not even in a so-called peacekeeping capacity.

  Public figures and analysts debated the treaty’s risks. The Olastis System—resource-rich and war-torn—had long been a battlefield, plagued by raids and territorial disputes. Critics warned that aligning with the Rytann Accord—one of the system’s dominant factions—could entangle the Seven Worlds in ongoing disputes, potentially making them a direct target.

  Some pointed to the RDF’s intervention in the Kasnirn Conflict—a mission meant to stabilize the region but which instead fractured governance, emboldened warlords, and deepened distrust toward the Seven Worlds. Would this alliance lead to another such miscalculation, involving itself in matters some believed it had no business in?

  A correspondent took center stage, her tone urgent as she reported.

  "This treaty is a disaster waiting to happen," she warned, her voice cutting through the chants of "No more war! No more war!" rising from the crowd behind her. There was widespread concern about various rebel groups in the region—factions skilled in guerrilla warfare—raising fears that the Seven Worlds could be drawn into something far more dangerous than they anticipated.

  The screen shifted to a panel of analysts debating the treaty’s implications.

  Yarin Velix, a seasoned political analyst, spoke first. "The Rytann Accord has a long history of resource-driven conflicts with neighboring factions, including the Mendaran Collective and the Tazkhan Confederation. This treaty could pull the Seven Worlds into a series of smaller wars, each with the potential to spiral out of control."

  Halos Lrek, a military strategist, countered, “The RDF needs to maintain a strong presence in the Karbay Nolan sector. We can't allow instability to fester. If we don’t act decisively, we’ll be dealing with a much bigger problem later. It’s the RDF’s job and duty to maintain security in this sector.”

  Alara Quinith, a political commentator, added, “We have to consider the broader consequences. The Tazkhan Confederation has already issued warnings about RDF involvement. This treaty could be seen as a provocation, leading to conflicts that could have been avoided.”

  “While there are concerns regarding these groups, to suggest they pose any real threat to the Rhyus Defense Fleet is exaggerated,” Halos Lrek responded.

  The debate continued, each argument layered with both logic and uncertainty. Some feared the treaty would only inflame tensions in an already volatile region, while others believed RDF intervention could stabilize the sector before the situation worsened.

  Garen watched as the discussion unfolded, the footage shifting between cities across the Seven Worlds where small peaceful demonstrations were being held by those opposed to the conflict.

  The people of The Rhyus System, still scarred by the war with the Vorcon Empire, had little appetite for another conflict, regardless of scale. Yet, it seemed to be a pattern—the Seven Worlds continually involving themselves in surrounding conflicts, viewing themselves as peacekeepers. Their presence in the Mottmor System was just another example of their extended reach.

  I wonder what’s really going on out in that system, Garen thought.

  The news moved on. The Vorcon threat lingered, but what had happened on Chiex was already fading—vague, insignificant. Buried beneath the steady churn of new events, it was barely acknowledged, forgotten before most had even noticed.

  Aboard the Seeker, they had caught a brief mention of it on their way to Rhyus—an audio broadcast that surfaced for a moment, then vanished, lost in the endless stream of news updates. By the time they arrived, it was as if it had never happened.

  In a corner of the expansive living area, a pair of antique steel swords hung on the wall—relics of another era, long before energy melee weapons, long before the humans of the Rhyus System took to space. Garen’s eyes lingered on them. They reminded him of the last time he had held his Scalar Falcata, a weapon that, in its own way, had also been lost to time.

  He could still feel its weight, the balance in his grip as he had faced down enemies who believed in their cause as much as he had once believed in his own.

  Once, these weapons had shaped wars. Now, like the ideals he had fought for, they were relics of the past.

  Artwork of the Seven Worlds lined the walls, and a bookshelf sat beside a table stacked with books and a tablet.

  At the center of the space, a dining table and kitchen occupied a well-organized area, while beyond the kitchen, a lounge presented itself—a cozy arrangement of soft chairs and comfortable seating.

  The upcoming mission stood at the forefront of everything, its outcome potentially shaping the fate of the Seven Worlds. Heading into Vorcon territory—how could it not? While Garen understood the mission’s broad objectives, he awaited the full briefing, hoping it would finally illuminate the finer details.

  Brief doubts surfaced, but experience had taught him—leadership was never about acting alone. His command of the capital battlecruiser Riftkin had proven that his strength lay not just in trusting his team but in knowing how to use them. Strategy had always been his greatest weapon—seeing the larger picture, anticipating moves before they happened, and adapting in real-time. He wasn’t just a leader; he was a tactician, a strategist who had turned the tide of battle more than once with decisions made in seconds. And now, he would need to do it again.

  Garen approached the wall-mounted communication panel and summoned Conus and Klamarez to his quarters. Given their proximity on the same floor, it wasn’t long before they arrived.

  As the door silently slid open, Conus stepped in first, followed closely by Klamarez, who immediately took in the unfamiliar surroundings with wide-eyed curiosity. Each room in the complex was different.

  "General Rivers," Conus greeted with a nod.

  Garen nodded in return, with a warm but tired smile. “Colonel Taylen.” Then, turning to Klamarez, he asked, “And Klamarez, how are you finding Rhyus? Does it meet your expectations?”

  Klamarez’s ears twitched, his posture straightening as he launched into an animated response.

  “It’s been an endless adventure. They really live in excess here. Are all the Seven Worlds like this? Some people live on the streets, yet even they look comfortable!”

  His thoughts trailed to Calio for a moment—the state of his homeworld the last time he had seen it—before he pulled himself back to the conversation.

  “Nearly got lost. Twice. Wandered into a market packed with old tech—and way too many scented candles. Why so many? My senses couldn’t take it.”

  Klamarez looked up, wrinkling his nose as if he could still smell them. He took a deep breath, trying to clear his nose with a loud snort.

  “And then they got mad when I started blowing them out." He shrugged. "And—well, they didn’t appreciate that.”

  Garen nodded along, suppressing a smile at the thought, then added looking to Conus, “Camerians dislike strong scents.”

  “Reminds me of the time I visited Tenkey Station.” Klamarez paused, then continued, “Met some… interesting people today.” One guy on the pathway was ranting about the origins through a loudspeaker—until two very large men politely ‘escorted’ him elsewhere. Quite the show.”

  A grin spread across his face. “But most importantly—I found some fantastic things I can’t wait to take apart.”

  This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.

  Garen ran the side of his neck for a moment. “Sounds like not much has changed.”

  “I can’t believe people are still preaching about the origins. We’re beyond that,” Conus said, tilting his head slightly. The stories were interesting, but he never understood why so many still preached them as if they were fact. They were just that—stories, nothing more.

  “Some take it too far, turning it into something it was never meant to be,” Garen replied. “But if you actually read the texts, there are some intriguing insights. They raise questions, but offer no real answers.”

  Conus’s augmented eye shifted slightly. “You believe that, sir?”

  Garen smiled. “No, not really. But, like many things in the galaxy, interpretation is key. And besides, I enjoy a good story.”

  He smiled briefly, looking as if he was about to say more—then stopped.

  Conus nodded, understanding his meaning.

  There were many texts about the origins—Garen had read plenty over the years, collecting them whenever he could. He had his own theories on the matter. That thought made him realize some of his collected texts were still in storage, left behind along with other remnants of his past on Rhyus—things he could look into once the mission was complete.

  Klamarez glanced around again, his eyes landing on a fish tank nestled in one corner of the room. He narrowed them slightly as he watched the fish move.

  “So what happened at Tenkey Station?” Conus asked.

  “What?” Klamarez replied, still distracted by the fish.

  “You said it reminded you of Tenkey Station,” Conus repeated.

  Garen was about to interrupt and address why he had called them to his suite, but Klamarez spoke first.

  “I was stopping at the station for some supplies. I was working on the Primor at the time, doing trade runs. There was this merchant selling these strong fragrances—ones to spray on yourself. It was overpoweringly strong. I mean, if you need to cover yourself in that much fragrance, maybe it’s something else you need.”

  He shook his head. “Well, I started sneezing and…” Klamarez glanced up at the light in the room, let out a loud sneeze, and shook his head. “I sneezed for half a day.”

  Conus inhaled slowly, grateful his sense of smell wasn’t augmented. In fact, it was rather dull in comparison. Catching himself, he subtly tested his own scent perception.

  “I’ve got something to run by you both,” Garen said, finally getting their attention.

  “So, what’s going on?” Klamarez asked.

  Garen motioned toward the stately table at the center of the room, signaling for Conus and Klamarez to take their seats. As they complied, a sense of seriousness settled over them as they noticed the shift in Garen’s demeanor.

  The words felt heavier than he expected, as if speaking them would make this mission—and everything it meant—more real.

  Garen’s expression hardened. He revealed what little he knew about their upcoming mission.

  “I’ve been given command of a stealth ship,” Garen stated.

  “A stealth ship?” Klamarez’s ears twitched with interest, his smile widening as his fangs appeared.

  The Preyon? Conus wondered to himself

  "This mission requires us to navigate into Vorcon territory,” Garen added.

  Conus and Klamarez exchanged glances.

  “Us?” Conus asked. He knew the RSIA had been planning a major operation, but us—did that mean he was part of it?

  “You’re part of the mission, Colonel,” Garen confirmed.

  Klamarez listened, feeling a little lost in it all. He had assumed us meant Garen and Conus. Still, he found it odd that he was there for the reveal. It sounded like a top-secret mission—what business did he have being included?

  Conus took in the revelation. It didn’t entirely catch him off guard—he had sensed something significant brewing, a major operation in the works. Maybe he had even mistakenly overheard something about it. Still, this was not quite what he had anticipated.

  Garen shifted his focus to Conus. “Colonel Taylen, I need an Executive Officer. I’m offering you the position. The choice is yours.”

  Conus paused for a moment before the words truly registered. He replayed them in his mind, his augmented memory ensuring he had heard correctly. What felt like a long pause to him was only a few seconds.

  Finally, he spoke. “General Rivers, it would be an honor to serve as your Executive Officer.”

  No one in the RDF would have given him this chance. He had learned that the hard way. Augments were tolerated, used, but rarely trusted with command. He had joined the RSIA because he knew the RDF would never let him rise beyond a certain point—he had already peaked in the RDF before transferring.

  And now, one of the most recognized RDF generals had just offered him the position of executive officer—an opportunity he had never believed possible.

  "Whatever aid I can provide, you have it General Rivers."

  "Congratulations, Conus," Klamarez said, baring his fangs in a grin and giving a quick wink.

  Garen turned to Klamarez. "Klamarez, I need someone in engineering with your skill set. Conus locks in my command structure, but I need that same confidence in our ship. This mission isn’t straightforward—it’s going to take more than standard procedures. Would you consider joining us?"

  Excitement flashed across Klamarez’s face before hesitation settled in. “I’ve always been more of an improviser than a formal engineer, Garen—a tinkerer. My methods aren’t exactly what you’d find in the RDF’s engineering manual… or, uh—wait, no, the RSIA’s.”

  He paused, his ears twitching slightly as he caught himself mixing up the military organizations. “Even keeping them straight is a job on its own.”

  Waving it off, he got back on point. “Sounds like a lot of rules and guidelines to follow. Not sure I’m cut out for it. I have my own way of doing things—you know that.”

  “And that’s exactly why I need you,” Garen said. “We’re heading into situations where conventional methods won’t work. You think differently, solve problems on the fly—that’s exactly the kind of advantage we need. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have full confidence in you.”

  Klamarez hesitated as he weighed the offer. The prospect of working on cutting-edge technology, of tearing into systems unlike anything he had encountered, was undeniably tempting. Yet, it came with risks.

  The Vorcons weren’t just another faction—they were relentless, and stepping into their space felt like willingly walking into the jaws of a beast. He had lived through the damage they could inflict, seen it firsthand, and bore everlasting scars from it.

  Garen was about to press further when Klamarez exhaled sharply, shaking his head. “I thought my days of reckless decisions were behind me,” he said. His eyes moved between Garen and Conus. “But if I can make a difference, I’m in.”

  "Chief Tinkerer," Conus said.

  Klamarez let out a laugh.

  “I’ll see if I can make that official,” Garen said with a quick smile.

  Garen felt a sense of relief—he had Conus and Klamarez with him. Realizing it was selfish, he still couldn’t help but feel reassured that he wasn’t heading into this alone. Their presence brought him some comfort.

  A grin spread across Klamarez’s face, his fangs just visible. “So, when do we get to see this ship?”

  "I have to admit, I haven’t reviewed its specifications myself. You both have as much information as I do," Garen replied.

  “Oh, that only adds to the anticipation,” Klamarez remarked.

  “The fleet has been commissioning several specialized covert ships for the RSIA,” Conus added. “Considering the significance of our mission, I would speculate it will be one of the new craft yet to be officially commissioned—leading me to believe it will be one of the prototype stealth vessels. The specifications have been highly guarded. I may have mistakenly overheard something about the ship. I’m looking forward to seeing what they’ve built."

  “I’m looking forward to seeing it as well,” Garen admitted. “What have you heard, Colonel?”

  “General, I don’t mean to overhear things not intended for me, but sometimes my augmented hearing picks up conversations,” Conus said, making a face as he realized how it sounded. “It’s best I say nothing.”

  “I see. I’ll keep that in mind, Colonel,” Garen replied with a not-too-serious smile.

  “Our schedule for tomorrow is unclear, so it’s probably best to get as much rest as we can today. Plus, the Admiral is coming here later to further discuss the mission.”

  “He is?” Conus asked, surprised. That’s unlike him.

  “That’s what he said,” Garen confirmed.

  “I could use some rest,” Conus said, barely stifling a yawn. He had spent the night trying to focus on anything that kept his mind from wandering. Now that the mission was set, he had already decided—when this was over, he’d request time off to look deeper into his past. It would be well-earned.

  "I plan to explore the Rhyus Intrak Network further," Klamarez declared. “The wealth of information it holds is simply fascinating—just waiting to be explored.”

  “You don’t want to explore Rhyus itself any further?” Conus asked.

  “I think I’ve had all the exploring I can handle for today. This city gets confusing fast,” Klamarez admitted.

  “That's for the best. You don’t want to end up in the wrong part of the city,” Garen warned. “Crime is still very much a thing here.”

  “Crime? Here?” Klamarez asked, his ears tilting slightly. “I thought the Seven Worlds were supposed to be a paradise.”

  “It’s a big city,” Conus replied, offering it as the only explanation needed.

  "I’ll keep you both informed," Garen said, watching as Conus and Klamarez turned for the door. As they stepped out, Conus began explaining the Rhyus Intrak Network, his voice fading into the hallway.

  "Be cautious— not everything you find is legitimate," Conus advised as the door slid shut. Their muffled conversation lingered briefly before fading completely.

  With the apartment silent once more, Garen picked up the tablet provided and settled into the lounge area, casually sifting through its contents. He browsed through titles related to the history of the Seven Worlds, tracing their evolution from the United Seven Worlds, as they had once been called before the seven planets unified under a single government.

  His attention was drawn to a book titled A New Era of Peace. Speaking the title aloud, he realized it detailed the events surrounding his public opposition to the Council of Seven—not as its central focus, but as a recurring thread woven throughout its text. The book primarily chronicled the Council’s dedication to peace and its ongoing efforts to maintain stability across the Seven Worlds.

  To his surprise, the author was Eldara Harrow, a Vontar High Council member—one of the very individuals present when he had spoken out against the treaty. As he read, Garen noted that the book did not cast him in an overtly negative light. Instead, it acknowledged his concerns as legitimate, even if considered short-sighted. More importantly, it did not frame him as a warmonger but as someone who had spoken out of genuine concern for the security of the Seven Worlds.

  He recalled that Eldara Harrow had not been as openly critical of him as others had. Her priority had always been peace above all else. This perspective piqued Garen’s interest, offering insight into her worldview and aspirations for the future of the Seven Worlds. What had begun as a historical account gradually unfolded into something more personal—a reflection on the Seven Worlds' place in the galaxy, their responsibilities, and the challenges they faced moving forward.

  As he read, a chime interrupted his thoughts, signaling someone at the door. Setting the tablet aside, Garen stood, half-expecting Klamarez to have returned with some new discovery to share.

  However, when the door slid open, it was not Klamarez standing before him.

  For a moment, recognition clashed with disbelief. He had expected their paths to cross eventually—her role in the RSIA made that inevitable—but not this soon. He wasn’t ready.

  Before him stood a woman in an RSIA uniform. Her brunette hair, neatly tied back, framed a face etched into his past. As her lips curved into a small smile, the years collapsed between them, and something long buried stirred within him.

  She clutched a bag, standing at his threshold as if she had never been gone.

  The years had been kind to her—too kind. Time had not dulled the radiance he remembered.

  In that instant, Garen knew—his return to Rhyus had always been inevitable. This moment, this reunion, made it all worth it.

  “Garen.” Her voice pierced the silence, carrying the weight of familiarity and time. A pause, just long enough to take in his face—older, wearier.

  “Terra.” His response came quietly, yet his voice carried the multitude of emotions her presence stirred. She caught it—the slight shift in his stance. Not hesitation, but restraint.

  For a brief moment, he felt the ground shift beneath his feet.