Close to the Sun, heading toward the crippled station Song of Fire, the rescue ship Scythian cuts through the silence of space.
"Outer hull temperature is dropping. Rebooting the shielding system," Emma reports. Her voice remains calm, but there's a faint tension beneath the surface. "Nominal. Minor structural damage. Repairs underway. How are you feeling?"
"Like I've been marinated in a solar oven," Maria snorts, leaning back in her seat and rubbing her shoulders. "Nine out of ten on the sunstroke scale. One more second and I would've blacked out."
"I take back everything I said about 'unnecessary insulation expenses,'" Pietro wheezes with a crooked smile, shooting a look at the captain. "We whined about the budget being blown on thermal shielding. Right now, I'd pay extra. Twice."
"Experience is the best accountant," Manuel replies coolly. A shadow of satisfaction flickers in his eyes. "Next time we talk finances, I expect a little less debate."
"Captain, after this? Nothing but reverence," Maria sighs, rubbing her temples. "At the very least, let me buy you a drink… or something stronger."
"Later," Manuel cuts her off, eyes fixed on the holographic screen. "We're here. Station is within scan range."
The 3D display flickers, revealing the silhouette of Song of Fire — drifting in the void like a dead leviathan sunk into the black.
No lights. No signs of life. Just silence.
"She's gone dark," Manuel says grimly. "Everyone to stations. Prepare for docking."
Scythian eases into the docking bay. A gentle jolt.
"Docking complete," Manuel says, rising. "Pietro, you stay on the ship. Maria and I go in."
"Acknowledged," Pietro nods, already immersed in the ship's control interface.
"Deploy drones," Manuel orders.
Sleek machines, glowing like dragonflies, launch through the airlock and disappear into the station's gloom. Their beams sweep down the corridors, scanning every crevice.
"Empty," Manuel mutters. The hologram shows only darkness and wreckage. "One compartment in the east wing is sealed. That's suspicious."
"What could it be?" Maria's voice trembles slightly. She steels herself, but the unease lingers.
"It means we're going in," Manuel says, cold and precise. There's tension in his voice, a flicker of foreboding in his eyes. He taps his mic.
"Activate combat protocols."
The drones cluster like a swarm, casting a luminous net around Manuel and Maria — a shimmering shield, as if the air itself has turned predatory.
"What the hell happened here?" he murmurs, advancing with the caution of a hunter through an unfamiliar forest.
They halt at the sealed hatch. Manuel runs his finger over the sensor panel.
"Locked. We'll need to breach it."
Maria pulls out a narrow device. The slicer hums to life, merging with her palm like a second skin. Her fingers dance — fast, precise.
A minute later, a metallic snap. The doors slide open.
Inside — chaos.
Scorched walls. Blast marks. Piles of ash where bodies used to be.
Shadows of a crew, now reduced to dust.
"They're all dead…" Maria's voice cracks. She staggers back, struggling against the tremor in her limbs. "This wasn't a fight. This was an execution."
Manuel freezes. Then steps forward, eyes burning.
"Inquisitors," he rasps, fists clenched. "Only they leave this kind of ash behind. I warned that idiot he had to make a deal with the Corporation. Now it's too late. Move out."
Under the drones' protection, they continue sweeping the station. Manuel activates comms:
"Pietro. Power up the external turrets. We might need everything we've got."
"Who the hell would attack us here?" Pietro's voice carries a note of ironic dread.
"Inquisitors," Manuel repeats. The word lands like a curse.
Without another word, Pietro complies. The drones shift into combat formation. The ship surrounds itself with a pulsing energy shield — taut like a beast coiled to strike.
Maria shivers. Something crawls under her skin.
She glances back — the darkness feels like it's watching.
"Maria, the hangar is yours," Manuel says. "Be careful. They like to hide in shadows. I'm heading to the station owner's quarters."
She nods and heads off.
Halfway there, she notices a strange mound of ash.
She crouches, brushes it aside — and something glints beneath.
"What the…" she whispers, sliding the object into her holster. "I'll check it later."
**
Manuel enters the quarters.
Books remain on the shelves — scorched but intact.
The air smells like dust and defiance.
He lets out a quiet, bitter smile.
The Inquisitors didn't take everything.
Which means they didn't understand everything.
On a shelf, a peculiar box — shaped like a book.
Inside: two amulets, etched with unknown symbols.
He lifts one into his palm.
"Material… unknown," he murmurs. "Non-radioactive. Harmless.
And yet… odd."
The comm unit buzzes.
"I'm in the hangar. It's empty," Maria reports.
"We're done here. This station's dead," Manuel replies, clutching the amulets.
"Nothing left to save. Only aftermath."
He returns to the airlock. Maria joins him.
Neither of them looks back.
"Undock. Now," he orders Pietro.
Scythian detaches — as if tearing itself from a frozen grave.
Inside — silence.
Maria breaks it first.
"Look what I found." She places a small box on the console.
"Thermal container. Survived the firestorm."
"What's inside?" Pietro's eyes narrow.
His fingers twitch toward the object — like he senses luck.
Maria opens it.
A memory core hums to life.
The scanner flickers.
"Coordinates. Access codes," Manuel says quietly.
His eyes flare with purpose.
"Bingo."
Maria grins, pulling them into a quick embrace.
"We've got a lead. We're not out yet."
"Then onward," Manuel says.
"Set course for the coordinates."
Scythian pulls away — leaving behind the grave of Song of Fire,
heading straight toward the next collision course with fate.