Kael never believed silence could be loud, but aboard the Astral Warden, it was deafening.
The crew avoided looking at him. Not out of fear that would've been easier but disappointment. Betrayal hung in the recycled air, metallic and stale, like blood left too long on steel. And Kael couldn't blame them. Not after what he had done.
He stood alone in the observation deck, staring at the ghost-light of collapsing stars. The nebula outside stretched like torn fabric across space, bruised purple and burning red. A graveyard of suns. A place where even light came to die.
It suited him.
Footsteps echoed behind him not hesitant, but heavy and irritated. Only one person walked like that.
Commander Rhea Imani. His second-in-command. Once his closest ally. Now the only person onboard with enough authority to challenge him.
"You're avoiding the crew meeting," she said, voice clipped.
"I'm not avoiding anything," Kael replied, arms still locked behind his back. "I can hear them fine from here." He could the walls weren't soundproof. The whispers cut like blades.
He led us into a trap.
Does he want us dead just like Titan-6?
A captain who kills planets shouldn't command a ship.
Rhea moved closer, stopping beside him. "Listening to people doubt you isn't the same as answering them."
He finally turned. Her dark eyes held no softness, no sympathy, only responsibility. She was born for leadership, even if she never asked for it.
"We're still alive," Kael said flatly. "That should be enough."
"It's not," she shot back. "Not after losing seventeen crew members. Not after that station blew apart."
A muscle in Kael's jaw twitched. The explosion replayed in his mind oxygen igniting, screaming, fire curling like monstrous hands. He saw their faces. Felt the heat. Heard the bones crack under pressure.
He didn't flinch. He never did. That was the problem.
"They were dying anyway," Kael said. "The infection had already spread. If it reached us, all of humanity could have been lost."
Rhea exhaled sharply. "You don't get to decide who lives and dies."
"I didn't decide," Kael said quietly. "The universe did."
She looked away not because she disagreed, but because she hated agreeing with him.
"You should sleep," she muttered. "Your eyes look hollow."
He almost laughed. Sleep required peace. He hadn't known that since the massacre at Titan-6… the day humanity placed a crown of guilt on his head.
Rhea didn't wait for a response. She turned and walked out, leaving Kael alone with the cold stars.
He stayed there for hours, until the automated lights dimmed to simulate night. The Astral Warden drifted silently through cosmic debris, engines humming low and steady. The ship was loyal more loyal than its crew.
"Captain Mercer," the ship's AI voice said softly. "Incoming encrypted transmission. Origin unknown."
Kael stiffened. "Route it to the bridge."
He strode down the corridor, boots echoing. The doors slid open, revealing the glowing holographic console. Data flickered, then stabilized into a symbol a circle of fractured light.
His heartbeat kicked.
No. It couldn't be.
"Is that…" Rhea whispered from behind him. She must have followed him or she hadn't gone far.
"Yes," Kael said. "The Seraphim Division."
The very organization that vanished five years ago. The one the government denied existed. The one Kael once belonged to.
The message came through a distorted voice, mechanical and layered.
"Captain Kael Mercer. You left something behind."
Kael's blood turned cold. "Identify yourself."
Silence. Then,
"We found her."
Rhea froze. "Her? Who—"
Kael ended the transmission, jaw tightening. His heart pounded. His lungs forgot how to work.
He couldn't breathe.
Rhea stared at him, realization dawning slowly, painfully. "Kael… you never told us anyone survived Titan-6."
Because he didn't know. Because hope was cruel.
Kael stepped back, running a hand through his hair. His voice came out raw. "It's a trap."
"Or it's true," Rhea countered. "You owe it to her."
"No," he snapped, louder than he meant to. "I owe this crew safety. I owe humanity a chance. I can't chase ghosts."
Rhea studied him really studied him and for the first time in weeks, she didn't see a ruthless captain.
She saw a broken man drowning quietly.
"You still care," she said.
Kael closed his eyes. "Caring gets people killed."
A tremor moved through the ship not violent, but undeniable. The monitors flickered. Warning alarms chimed.
"Unidentified vessel approaching," the AI announced. "Speed: impossible to track. Technology: unknown."
Kael's heartbeat steadied. The world sharpened. The numbness faded.
He was a captain again.
"Rhea, get tactical online. Lock down the lower decks. Prepare for interception.
She nodded and sprinted to the controls.
Kael stared into the void beyond the glass the endless, merciless dark. Something moved between the stars, fast and silent.
A predator.
Maybe human. Maybe not.
Whatever it was, it came for him.
He inhaled once, slow and steady, reminding himself he was still alive.
The darkness didn't answer, but it didn't need to.
It had already chosen him.
And Kael Mercer was done running.