Chapter 166: A New Beginning 2

The media hall had completely emptied, but the weight of the announcement lingered like an echo. Kynara's future was sealed in ink and digital code, and the planet's leadership had scattered to their respective corners of the city to prepare for the fallout. Public addresses, damage control, and rallying their people for the long road ahead.

But Governor Krell lingered, for his business here wasn't finished.

He stood near one of the towering windows overlooking the capital, the city lights reflecting faintly in his eyes. His posture, as always, was impeccably composed, hands clasped behind his back, shoulders squared. The Federation insignia on his lapel glimmered faintly under the ambient glow of the overhead lights.

The Mercenary Guild Branch Master Darrik Voss watched him with the cautious scrutiny of a man who'd spent a lifetime navigating dangerous people. He finished pouring himself a glass of amber-colored Kynaran whiskey from his personal flask and downed it in a single sharp gulp before setting the glass aside.

"Is there a reason why i was asked to stay behind," Darrik said, voice gravelly. "Thought you'd be halfway to orbit by now, Governor."

Krell turned, a faint curve of a smile tugging at his mouth.

"There's one last matter I'd like to address before I depart," he said, stepping toward Darrik with deliberate, measured steps. "Something... very important."

Darrik narrowed his eyes but didn't move from his spot.

"More important than what transpired today?"

Krell stopped a few feet away, clasping his hands in front of him. His voice lowered, but it lost none of its polished control.

"I'd like an official meeting," he said. "With the mercenary who eliminated Drakor Krenna."

Darrik's jaw tightened at the mention of the name. Drakor Krenna wasn't just a traitor, he was a scourge on Kynara. The leader of the Black Sun Syndicate, Krenna had plunged entire regions into chaos, allying with the most ruthless bandit warlords on the planet. His forces had razed settlements, kidnapped civilians for ransom or worse, and destroyed outposts critical to Kynara's survival.

But the worst of his crimes lay beneath the surface, literally.

Krenna's syndicate illegally mined psychic ore, an unstable and highly dangerous material that could amplify neural activity to unnatural levels. He weaponized it, manufacturing volatile devices capable of shredding through mental defenses or outright liquefying the brains of anyone caught in their radius. Worse, he conducted inhumane experiments on prisoners, warping their minds in attempts to create an army of soldiers capable of psychic resonance. Living conduits of destructive energy.

He wasn't just a criminal. He was a monster.

And he'd once worn Federation armor.

Krenna had been an Orion Federation soldier, but he'd betrayed his nation, stealing classified files on experimental psychic projects and disappearing into the galactic shadows. With stolen knowledge and a crazed ambition, he sought to transcend human limitations, obsessively working to complete the Resonance Device. A machine designed to forcefully unlock latent psychic abilities in any subject, absorb huge amounts of psychic energy in their surroundings and transcend .

Toward the end of the war, Krenna had come terrifyingly close to success.... No, he had succeed and transformed into an unstoppable force beyond mortal comprehension. If not for the intervention of Ethan Walker....

A new C-rank mercenary, still anonymous to most outside Kynara, had handled the job cleanly.

"And what exactly does your excellency want with him?" Darrik asked, leaning against the table and crossing his arms.

Krell's smile didn't falter.

"Let me put it this way," Krell said, his tone measured. "The elimination of Krenna disrupted a dangerous criminal network that could have metastasized into a threat to the entire Orion Federation if left unchecked. That mercenary did us a significant favor, intentionally or not."

Darrik exhaled through his nose, rubbing a hand down his face.

"You want to thank them with a fruit basket, or...?"

Krell chuckled, a quiet sound devoid of real warmth.

"I want to understand their motivations," he said, voice dropping a register. "And perhaps offer them an... opportunity."

Darrik didn't like the sound of that. He pushed off the table, pacing slowly.

"This merc works through the Guild," Darrik said carefully. "They take contracts, they get paid, they disappear. That's how it works."

Krell tilted his head, eyes gleaming with calculation.

"And yet, they accepted to wage war and kill a traitor who was, at the time, operating under the previous Governor's protection," Krell dropped a bomb out of nowhere. "A dangerous choice. One that suggests they're more than just a hired gun."

He leaned back in his chair, steepling his fingers.

"We've already conducted a thorough background check on Ethan Walker. He arrived on Kynara just a few months ago, an unremarkable civilian with no prior record in any known military or mercenary database. Yet in that short span, he climbed to C-rank, dismantled the Black Sun Syndicate, led a planetary-scale conflict against their warlords, and killed Drakor Krenna. A man, who according to our investigation, transcended human limitations with stolen and banned Federation technology."

Krell's gaze sharpened, his voice lowering like a blade sliding from its sheath.

"People don't just become that capable overnight. There's more to Walker than what your Guild Branch's files suggest. And whether he realizes it or not, he's become a symbol to Kynara's people... a hero who fought for a planet he had no personal stake in, simply because it was the right thing to do."

He stood, straightening his uniform.

"Forging a relationship with someone like that? Someone who holds that kind of influence?" Krell smiled, thin and deliberate. "It could strengthen the bond between Kynara and Ashen Prime far more than any treaty ever could."

Darrik stopped pacing, staring at Krell.

"Or it could blow up in your face," he muttered coldly.

Krell's eyes gleamed.

"Every alliance is a gamble, Mr. Voss. I'm willing to place my bet.

Darrik stopped pacing.

"And if I say no?"

Krell's expression remained neutral, but the subtle weight behind his words pressed against the room like a vice.

"You won't," Krell said, softly. "Because you know what Kynara stands to gain by cultivating a working relationship with someone like me."

Darrik clenched his jaw, fingers twitching at his side. For a moment, the room fell into tense silence. Then, finally, Darrik let out a slow, tired sigh.

"I'll arrange the meeting," he muttered.

Krell inclined his head, satisfied.

"Tomorrow," he said. "Before I depart for Ashen Prime."

Without another word, Krell turned on his heel and strode out of the room, the door sliding shut behind him with a soft hiss.

Darrik lingered, rubbing his temple as the remnants of his headache pounded behind his eyes.

"Politicians," he muttered bitterly. "Why the hell do I even bother?"

Outside, two Federation gunships hovered like predatory birds in the night sky. Their angular hulls bristled with pulse cannons, shield emitters humming with quiet menace. Even at rest, the ships were a reminder, Kynara's skies were no longer wholly its own.

The night stretched on, still and fragile, as the coalition leadership returned to their respective quarters.

Darrik Voss sat alone in his office, a dim lamp casting harsh shadows against the metal walls. His armor vest hung over his chair, and his hands, calloused from years of mercenary work, cradled a glass of synth-whiskey. The amber liquid barely rippled, yet Darrik's mind churned like a storm.

He replayed Krell's words over and over. The governor's interest in Ethan Walker wasn't casual curiosity, it was predatory intent. Krell saw Ethan as a piece on a galactic chessboard, a wildcard that could either strengthen the fragile alliance or shatter it entirely.

Darrik took a slow sip, the burn of alcohol grounding him. He didn't trust the Federation, but he also couldn't ignore the reality: without their support, Kynara would collapse.

Lirien Vossel sat on her balcony, overlooking the broken expanse of Valeris City. The glow of repair drones flitted through the sky like fireflies, welding shattered infrastructure back together one spark at a time. Below, streets buzzed with cautious life, vendors reopening shops, citizens venturing out, the distant hum of generators powering communal hubs.

She wrapped herself in a thin shawl, fingers trembling against a cup of stim-tea. She should have felt relief, they'd secured water purification systems, food shipments, medical aid. The refugee camps would stabilize, and the population would finally taste a semblance of safety.

Yet all she felt was exhaustion.

The Federation's grip was a velvet-gloved vice. The environmental monitoring, the profit-sharing caps, the resource oversight. It was protection, yes, but at the cost of sovereignty. Every provision was a chain, delicately placed around Kynara's throat.

But what choice did they have?

Lirien sipped her tea, watching the city slowly piece itself back together. Maybe the chains would loosen with time. Maybe, if they played their cards right, Kynara could evolve beyond its dependency.

Or maybe this was just the beginning of a new, quieter war.

Marik Vos paced his temporary quarters in Valeris, restless energy vibrating through every muscle. The room was spartan, a cot, a desk littered with datapads, and a holo-terminal cycling through Federation projections of Kynara's future growth. The numbers were promising, but all Marik saw were debts.

He slammed a fist against the wall, the impact echoing dully.

They'd fought too hard, bled too much, to end up as a glorified resource colony. The Federation dressed it up as stewardship, but he knew better...this was control. Soft control, sure, but control nonetheless.

Still... people would live. Children would grow up without the constant threat of starvation or disease. The mines would be safer, the settlements more stable.

Was that worth the price of pride?

Marik sank onto the cot, running a hand through his hair. Maybe it was. Maybe survival always came with compromise. But as he stared at the ceiling, heart pounding with residual adrenaline, he wondered if they'd just traded one form of captivity for another.

And whether his mentor Joran Kren and all the others who died for Kynara, as well the next generation would forgive them for it.

Outside, the night stretched on, unbothered by the turmoil of mortal minds. The gunships lingered in the sky like silent sentinels, their hulls reflecting the faint light of distant stars.

Kynara slept uneasily, caught between hope and subjugation.

But it slept.

And for now, that was enough.