The End Of the Beginning

Crystal lay on her bunk, the dim lighting of the Ravenblade's crew quarters casting soft shadows across the small space. The ship's engines thrummed faintly in the background, a steady reminder of the slip-space journey that would eventually bring them to the Harwen Fringe. But even with the rhythmic hum of the ship as white noise, her mind refused to settle.

The massive hand cannon Asus had handed her rested in her lap, its dark metal frame a stark contrast against the pale fabric of her undershirt. She ran her fingers over the intricate etchings on the barrel, tracing the engraved words "Trust in the Last Shot." There was a weight to the weapon beyond its physical heft—something almost final, as if it carried the unspoken expectation that, when the time came, she would have no choice but to fire.

She swallowed hard, flipping the gun over to inspect the cylinder. It was larger than any sidearm she'd handled before, built for power, not subtlety. The rounds inside weren't standard munitions either—Asus had called them custom, high-caliber, armor-piercing. She had no doubt that whatever this thing hit would feel it, Primordial or not.

Her chest tightened. Why do I even have this?

Asus had told her it was just a precaution—"better to have it and not need it"—but that did little to ease the gnawing unease in her gut. Weapons like this weren't handed out for peace of mind. They were handed out because someone expected trouble.

And that trouble was waiting for them at the Harwen Fringe.

She turned onto her side, still gripping the hand cannon loosely, her thumb idly brushing against the textured grip. The Fringe. A lawless expanse filled with wreckage, old battlefields, and scavengers who wouldn't hesitate to kill for spare parts. That alone was bad enough. But Asus wasn't looking for just another derelict ship. He was taking them to an old Primordial archive.

She closed her eyes briefly, frustration bubbling up. He hadn't told her everything—she could feel it. There was something else about that place, something more than just gathering intel. He never made a move without purpose, and the fact that he was already preparing for a fight meant he expected one.

Her grip tightened on the weapon. And I'm just supposed to be okay with that? Just go along with it like it's any other stop?

Crystal sighed, rolling onto her back again, staring at the ceiling. The cold weight of the gun in her hands felt like a promise—a silent admission that, whether she liked it or not, she might need it.

Her fingers brushed over the spade engravings once more.

Trust in the Last Shot.

She let out a slow breath, setting the weapon down on her bunk beside her. She didn't know if she trusted herself enough to take that shot if it ever came to it. But Asus did.

And that scared her more than anything.

The Ravenblade glided through slip-space, the streaks of light outside the viewport shifting like cascading waterfalls of blue and white. Inside the cockpit, Asus sat in the pilot's seat, hands resting lightly on the controls, though his attention wasn't on the instruments in front of him. His gaze lingered on the plotted course to the Harwen Fringe, the luminous route glowing faintly on the navigation display.

Savyac's words echoed in his mind, her voice crisp yet measured, like a seasoned soldier who had seen more than her fair share of war. She had been calm, collected—far too composed for someone who had been left stranded among twenty-three other Primordials, unsure if their fleets still existed. He had met many like her in his time, those who adapted to chaos rather than crumbling beneath it.

"The quickest way to get off of them is to completely go rogue from the Empire's beliefs. It will probably be the most painful thing, but if you genuinely want to arrive back on Primia with the package, you need to get rid of it."

The obedience chip. The mission headaches. His left eye.

Asus exhaled slowly, his fingers tightening against the console. He had known there was something artificial about the sharp, stabbing pain that clawed at his skull whenever he veered away from his mission. He had suspected it for years, but hearing it confirmed from Savyac had only solidified his unease. It wasn't just conditioning—it was biological enforcement.

How many times had he felt that pain spike the moment doubt crept into his mind? How many times had it forced him to push forward even when logic dictated otherwise?

Savyac had called it one of the Emperor's greatest tools.

"Have you been introduced to the pills yet?"

Her voice still carried that slight knowing edge, the kind that only another Primordial could understand. The moment she had asked the question, she knew the answer—his silence had been enough.

They had never told him what was in those pills, only that they kept his focus intact. He had taken them as ordered, never questioning, because questioning meant pain.

And then she had told him about the archive.

"I know of a place," she had said, lowering her voice. "A Primordial Archive, deep in the Fringe, beyond the mapped territories. There, you'll find the truth you're looking for. If you can reach it."

He had asked her what she meant by truth, but Savyac had only given him a look—the kind of look that meant she had already said more than she should have.

"It's the only way you can free yourself, Asus. That's all I can tell you."

He hadn't responded at the time, hadn't let on how much her words rattled something deep inside him. But now, as he sat in the cockpit, his fingers idly tapping against the console, the weight of those words pressed against his chest like a slow-building gravity well.

The Ravenblade's systems chimed softly, drawing his attention back to the present. He checked the flight path again, ensuring they were still locked onto their destination. Harwen Fringe was vast, filled with derelicts, rogue mercenary outposts, and forgotten battlefields. It was a place where things were lost, where fleets vanished without a trace.

And somewhere in that void was a place that held the answers he needed.

Asus leaned back in his seat, exhaling quietly. His gaze drifted to the stars outside, his thoughts tangled between duty and doubt.

He had always completed the mission. It was what he was made to do.

But for the first time, he wasn't sure whose mission he was truly following.

Asus shook his head, exhaling slowly as he pushed the thoughts away. Dwelling on them wouldn't help—not now. Not when they were already deep in slip-space, locked onto a course that would take them into the most unpredictable region of the galaxy.

His fingers tapped against the console rhythmically, his body still, but his mind anything but. The idea of abandoning the mission, of breaking free from the Emperor's design, was borderline mutinous. Even thinking it made his left eye pulse faintly, as if the chip embedded in his brain was warning him not to stray too far from his purpose.

But he wasn't abandoning the mission.

Not yet.

His jaw tightened as his thoughts shifted away from the grand scheme of things and back to the one truth he couldn't ignore—the woman sleeping a few decks below.

Crystal.

She hadn't asked to be here. She hadn't chosen this life. And yet, she was tangled in it, following him across the stars, through slip-space corridors and war-torn stations, her presence becoming an unexpected constant in his life. He had seen her adapt, seen her fight, seen her learn to carry the weight of survival on her shoulders. But she wasn't like him.

She wasn't made for this.

That fact alone was what anchored him, what pushed aside the creeping doubts and reinforced the one goal that truly mattered. She will return home safely. No matter what.

His pulse slowed slightly, the ache in his eye dulling as he focused on that singular thought. The Emperor's programming, the pills, the chip—they were secondary. The whispers of orders long given, the shadows of Primordial doctrine, they all faded into the background.

All that remained was his own resolve.

I will get her home. I will complete the mission. My mission.

His left eye pulsed again, sharper this time, as if rebelling against his shifting mindset. He clenched his jaw, gripping the edge of the console, willing the pain to subside. You're not in control of me. Not anymore.

The thought settled like a cold weight in his mind. He had spent his entire existence operating within the unshakable framework of duty and expectation. Now, for the first time, he was carving out something different—still mission-driven, but his own.

His fingers relaxed slightly, the pulsing headache dulling into a faint throb. He didn't know what the Harwen Fringe would bring, what truths the archive would hold, or what battles lay ahead. But none of it mattered if he failed at the one task that he had truly chosen for himself.

Asus let out a low yawn, rolling his shoulders as he stood from the pilot's seat. His body was disciplined enough to push through exhaustion, to ignore it when necessary, but rest was a weapon of its own—one he couldn't afford to neglect. Especially with where they were going.

He stretched lightly, rolling the tension out of his neck before stepping out of the cockpit, the ship's quiet hum filling the corridors as he made his way toward the crew quarters. The lights had already dimmed, the ship's automated systems adjusting to simulated night hours, though time meant little in the endless drift of space.

When he reached the bunk room, his movements slowed, his gaze landing on the sleeping form of Crystal.

She was curled onto her side, her breathing steady, her chest rising and falling in the soft rhythm of deep sleep. The hand cannon he'd given her rested in its holster, secured on the small shelf next to her bunk, within easy reach. Even unconscious, some part of her had taken his words to heart—better to have it and not need it.

He frowned slightly, his hands resting on the ladder leading up to his bunk, but he didn't climb up just yet. Instead, he stood there for a moment, looking down at her, his thoughts turning darker.

I'm dragging her into a potential gunfight.

He had told himself she would be safe. That he would return her home. That this was his mission to see through. But the truth was, there was no guarantee of anything—not out here. Not in the Harwen Fringe.

The Primordial Archive wasn't some neutral, untouched relic. If it held anything of value, it would be guarded. Or worse—forgotten and left to decay in a place only scavengers and raiders dared to roam. The moment they set foot there, she would be exposed to things she wasn't meant for.

She's already seen too much.

Crystal wasn't a soldier. She wasn't bred for war. She had been learning, adapting, surviving—but this wasn't supposed to be her fight. She was supposed to be sitting at some command station, sending orders, watching from a distance, not standing in the middle of a firefight, her finger on the trigger of a gun meant to kill things far beyond human comprehension.

And yet… that was exactly where he was about to take her.

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head slightly. There was no other way. No safer route, no alternative that wouldn't delay them indefinitely.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

But she was.

And so, she would endure.

Finally, he climbed the ladder, settling onto the top bunk with a quiet sigh. The mattress was firm, utilitarian, nothing close to comfortable, but it was familiar. He lay there for a moment, staring at the ceiling, letting the dull hum of the ship lull him into the quiet edges of sleep.

Below him, Crystal shifted slightly, murmuring something unintelligible before settling back into stillness.

Asus closed his eyes.

The thought lingered as he let himself slip into unconsciousness, the ship continuing its silent journey through the void.