Chapter 1: Erynn

The message alert from my personal comm pulled me from inventory calculations. Three quick pulses, then two long—a pattern I hadn’t heard in nearly two years. My stomach clenched before I even checked the display, the familiar sequence sending a jolt of adrenaline through me.

Only one person used that signal.

The temptation to ignore it was strong, but family ties were harder to sever than business contracts. Taking a deep breath that filled my lungs with the comforting scent of jasmine and mora leaf tea, I tapped the display.

The text was brief: “Need safe harbor. Got some valuable art. Old contacts unhappy. Dock 7.”

Kelric. This couldn’t be good.

I set down my inventory pad with shaking hands, torn between ignoring the message and rushing to the dock. The last time my brother had appeared with “valuable art” and “unhappy contacts,” I’d nearly lost my ship and my trading license. The memory of station security impounding the Eppersip’s Dream for a week of inspections still made my chest tight.

But he was still my brother. The same brother who’d taught me to navigate my first ship when I was twelve, who’d smuggled me exotic teas when our father insisted I focus on “practical” business training.

“Damn it all,” I muttered, grabbing my jacket. The worn leather was comforting against my skin, its pockets containing several useful items I’d learned to keep close when dealing with Kelric’s “situations.”

“Pix! Watch the shop. I’ll be back shortly.”

The Quarvik looked up from the disassembled tea infuser they were tinkering with, antennae twitching nervously. “Customer emergency? Secret tea mission? Classified Leyline business?” Each suggestion was more dramatic than the last, their wide eyes blinking rapidly in excitement.

“Family business,” I replied tersely, already heading for the door. The word ‘family’ felt strange on my tongue, like a garment I’d outgrown.

“The mysterious brother?” Pix called after me. “The one who sent that—”

The door sealed shut behind me, cutting off Pix’s question. Just as well. I didn’t want to discuss Kelric’s last gift—a supposedly “rare” Yoryn meditation crystal that turned out to be stolen from a minor diplomat. That had cost me three months’ profit in legal fees and a formal apology.

I nearly collided with Jani as she was leaving, her warm brown skin flushed and curly hair escaping from its usual bun. The scent of fresh herbs clung to her clothing, mingling with the distinctive earthy aroma I’d come to associate with her Devaali mate, Ronhar.

“You’re in a hurry,” she said, catching my arm to steady herself. Her dark eyes narrowed as she caught my expression. “Everything okay?”

“Just a minor situation I need to handle,” I said, trying to sound casual. “How’s married life treating you? The garden thriving under your bond?”

She smiled, though her eyes remained concerned. “Ronhar’s trying a new hybrid that’s making everything grow at twice the normal rate. The jhyra are practically glowing in the dark now.” She studied my face. “But you’re changing the subject. What’s wrong?”

I hesitated, torn between hurrying to the dock and confiding in one of the few people I considered a friend on the station.

“My brother’s arriving,” I finally admitted. “Unexpected and probably with trouble attached.”

Understanding dawned in her eyes. “The one you mentioned before? The trader with flexible ethics?”

“That’s putting it kindly,” I said with a humorless laugh. “I should go. He’s waiting at Dock 7.”

Jani squeezed my arm gently. “If you need help, you know where to find us. Ronhar may look intimidating, but he’s good in a crisis. And Soryn knows everyone on this station worth knowing.”

“Thanks,” I said, genuinely touched. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

As I hurried away, her words stayed with me. I’d spent years avoiding attachments, keeping relationships as transient as my docking permits. Yet somehow, in just two months, I’d formed connections here that felt almost like… roots. The thought was both comforting and terrifying.

I pushed the feeling aside. First, I needed to see what trouble Kelric had brought to my doorstep.

The journey to Dock 7 felt both too long and too short. My mind raced through possibilities, none of them comforting. Kelric was charming, clever, and absolutely incapable of staying out of trouble. Whatever “art” he was transporting, I doubted it had been acquired through legitimate channels.

The corridors of Havenstone Commons buzzed with activity, forcing me to weave between traders and residents. The scent of cooking food wafted from a small Cormathi eatery, mingling with the metallic tang of recycled station air. Overhead, the soft blue glow of Leyline conduits pulsed with energy, providing light and power to this section of the station.

A group of Krythari merchants passed, their four arms laden with fabric samples for the upcoming Light Festival. Any other day, I would have stopped to discuss their tea preferences—Krythari metabolism responded uniquely to certain blends—but today, anxiety propelled me forward.

The Eppersip’s Dream might be small compared to the grand vessels that frequently docked at the Ardent Veil, but what she lacked in size, she made up for in character. The small tearoom that formed the heart of my ship had been my home and livelihood for the past eight years, serving rare blends to travelers throughout the Veythar Reach. The thought of Kelric endangering it—again—made my heart race.

The docking ring’s portal shimmered with the distinctive blue-gold energy field that separated the pressurized station environment from the vacuum of space. Each portal was keyed to a specific ship’s energy signature, allowing goods and people to transfer while maintaining environmental integrity. The faint hum of the portal systems vibrated in my chest as I approached.

I arrived just as the field rippled, indicating an incoming transfer. My hand instinctively touched the small stunner concealed in my jacket pocket—a precaution I’d learned was necessary when dealing with Kelric’s “business associates.” The weight of it was reassuring, though I hoped I wouldn’t need it.

He stepped through alone, and for a brief moment, relief washed over me. At least he hadn’t brought questionable companions this time. Then I noticed the ornate crate clutched tightly against his chest.

Kelric looked much as he always did—artfully disheveled, his natural charm projecting even through obvious exhaustion. His dark hair was longer than when I’d last seen him, tied back in a hasty tail, and a new scar crossed his left eyebrow. But his eyes darted nervously, scanning the docking area with the wariness of someone expecting pursuit.

“Ery!” His smile was genuine, even if everything else about him screamed stress. The childhood nickname brought a complicated twinge of affection and wariness. “Thanks for coming. Knew I could count on you.”

“What have you done this time?” I kept my voice low but couldn’t hide the edge. The docking area had several other travelers moving through, and station security always monitored the portals. “And don’t give me the usual runaround. I have a business to run and a reputation to maintain.”

He glanced over his shoulder before stepping closer. The crate he carried was smaller than I’d expected, perhaps thirty centimeters on each side. Its surface was etched with intricate patterns I didn’t recognize, the material neither metal nor wood but something that shimmered faintly under the docking bay lights. Up close, I felt rather than heard a subtle vibration emanating from it, like standing near a powerful engine running at low power.

“Just some high-end salvage, Ery. Collector wants it.” His voice held the too-casual tone that always signaled trouble. “Nothing illegal. Well, not very illegal.” He adjusted his grip on the crate, fingertips tracing one of the etched patterns almost reverently.

“Define ‘not very illegal’ and ‘old contacts unhappy,’“ I pressed, eyeing the crate with growing suspicion. The vibration increased slightly when I focused on it, as though responding to attention. A faint scent like ozone and old metal emanated from it, distinctive enough to stand out from the usual docking bay smells.

Kelric sighed, his facade cracking slightly. The shadows under his eyes were deeper than I’d initially noticed, and tension in his shoulders suggested he hadn’t properly relaxed in days. “Look, I acquired this piece legitimately. Mostly. But my partner got greedy, tried to sell it to another buyer. Higher bid. I… disagreed with that business decision.”

“You stole it from your partner,” I translated flatly, crossing my arms. Two months at one dock was approaching my record. The Eppersip’s Dream had been designed for movement, for the freedom of the open reaches. And I had designed my life the same way. Perhaps the universe was giving me a push—this trouble might force me to leave sooner than I’d planned. The thought brought both relief and an unexpected pang of regret.

“I reclaimed it from a thief,” he corrected, smiling weakly. “Semantics.”

A faint hum emanated from the crate, so subtle I almost missed it. When I focused, I could feel rather than hear it—a vibration that seemed oddly disconnected from the normal station sounds, a frequency that made the tiny hairs on my arms stand up. It wasn’t unpleasant, exactly, but it felt… old, somehow. Ancient even.

“What is it, exactly?” I asked, resisting the urge to step away from whatever was making that unsettling vibration. My curiosity warred with caution, the merchant in me wondering about its value while the survivor questioned its safety.

“Ancient artifact. Pre-Expansion era. Very valuable to the right buyer.” Kelric shifted uncomfortably, his fingers tightening on the crate. “I just need a place to lay low for a few days until my contact can arrange transfer. Promise.”

I nearly laughed. “You never keep your promises.” The words came out harsher than intended, weighed by years of disappointment.

His expression fell, genuine hurt flickering across his features. For a moment, I saw the brother I’d grown up with, before salvage operations became smuggling runs and legitimate trade became con jobs. Before he disappeared for months at a time, returning only when he needed something.

“Just a few days,” he repeated softly. “Please, Ery. I wouldn’t ask if there were anywhere else.”

The smart decision would be to walk away. To tell him to take his mysterious artifact and his trouble elsewhere. To protect the life I’d built for myself, the reputation I’d earned through years of honest trading.

But blood was blood, and somewhere beneath the smuggler was the brother I’d loved.

“Three days,” I said finally, the words tasting like surrender. “And I want the full story once we’re on my ship. No more ‘salvage’ or ‘art’ euphemisms. I need to know exactly what you’ve brought to my door.”

Relief washed over his face, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly. “You’re the best, Ery. I swear, this time will be different.” He adjusted his grip on the crate, revealing a small identifier plate on its base with unfamiliar symbols that shimmered subtly, like oil on water.

“It better be,” I replied, gesturing for him to follow me. The weight of the decision settled in my stomach, heavy as a stone. “Because if you get my ship impounded, I’ll space you myself.”

“Such warmth! I’ve missed your loving threats.” His attempt at levity fell flat, the strain in his voice betraying his exhaustion.

As we walked away from the dock, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I’d just invited disaster aboard the Eppersip’s Dream. The crate’s strange vibration seemed to pulse in time with my steps, a discordant rhythm that set my teeth on edge. Whatever Kelric had brought to my door, I had a feeling three days wouldn’t be nearly enough to resolve it. And I might need more than a small stunner to handle the fallout.