The Offer of Power

Within the shielded space station, a former military installation now serving as the core of the black market district, the slums sprawl beneath the artificial lights of the station's dome. At the edge of the asteroid face, a massive facility is embedded within the rock, its structure pulsing with energy, standing in stark contrast to the crumbling cityscape beyond.

From a street-level perspective, neon-lit alleyways weave between rundown buildings, their facades battered by time and corruption. Among the dimly lit streets, Velora and her brother, Varek, stand before the facility's heavily fortified entrance. The double-layered, blast-shielded doors slide open, revealing an interior far more polished than the decrepit city outside.

Inside, the stark difference is immediate. The air smells of expensive cologne and fine liquor, and the soft hum of classical music plays over the station's speakers. Well-dressed attendants—waiters and waitresses in pristine uniforms—move with an air of professionalism, offering polite bows as they escort Velora and Varek toward an elevator. The quiet murmur of distant conversations fills the atmosphere, each voice belonging to influential figures who control the black market's many operations.

Once inside the elevator, Velora and Varek exchange a few words, their voices barely above whispers.

Velora: "What do you think Sable wants this time? Another job that puts us deeper in his pocket?"

Varek: "Possibly. Or he's found something that will shift the balance. Either way, we need to tread carefully."

Varek's tone carries an uncharacteristic sharpness, and Velora senses his unease. It is rare for her brother to show such hesitation—something about this meeting feels off. Before she can question him further, the elevator doors slide open, revealing a long, well-lit hallway leading to a set of massive reinforced doors. Two attendants step forward, bowing before them, then push open the doors, revealing a lavish office.

Inside, Sable stands by the panoramic window, his gaze fixed on the sprawling favela below, his posture relaxed yet commanding. The office is a stark contrast to the chaotic world outside—immaculate bookshelves, polished floors, and meticulously arranged artifacts adorn the room. The neon reflections from the city shimmer against the glass, making his silhouette appear almost ghostly.

With a cigar in one hand and a glass of aged wine in the other, Sable turns, the corners of his lips curling into a faint smirk as he walks towards them.

Sable: "Please, take a seat. I'm expecting some important news shortly."

Velora takes her seat cautiously while Varek chooses to stand, positioning himself slightly behind her. Sable, ever the calculated figure, sits on the couch across from them, exhaling a slow ring of smoke into the air before speaking.

Sable: "What is power anymore? We have been at war for centuries, locked in an endless stalemate. No matter how advanced our weapons, no matter how refined our Aetherbind techniques, we still lack the strength to end it."

He takes another drag of his cigar before continuing, his voice unwavering.

Sable: "Power, as I see it, is control—the control of the underworld, of the flow of information, of the very people who dictate the tides of war. With that control, I can reshape our fate against the Eltec Empire."

With a snap of his fingers, one of the waiting attendants steps forward, carrying a data prism.

Sable: "To obtain this power, I need the right tools, powerful allies, and above all—trust. Trust is a rare commodity in the underworld, don't you agree?"

He slides the data prism into a slot on the table. Instantly, a holographic projection flares to life, displaying a planet labeled Vam'phyr.

Sable leans forward, his voice dropping to a near whisper.

Sable: "This world belonged to an ancient species—one that the founding members of the Galactic Alliance sought to erase from history. They possessed the ability to drain the very essence of their enemies, evolving into perfected beings of immense power. But their hunger was insatiable, and their rise threatened countless civilizations."

He leans back, exhaling another cloud of smoke as he watches their reactions. Velora's fingers tighten against her knee, her instincts warning her of the underlying tension in Sable's words. Varek, standing beside her, shifts ever so slightly, his expression unreadable, but she knows him well enough to sense his discomfort.

Sable: "Normally, I wouldn't care about the remnants of a dead species. But then I discovered that an archaeological expedition recently unearthed a relic tied to their power. A relic that, in the wrong hands, could change everything."

His piercing gaze locks onto Velora.

Sable: "I need you to find the archaeologist who escaped with the relic. Recover it. Bring him back to me alive."

Sable stands up, gesturing for them to follow him. The attendants open the door, and he leads them to the end of the hallway where the elevator awaits. As they descend to a subfloor, the air becomes colder, and the surroundings darker. Once the doors open, they step into a dimly lit hallway, the scent of damp metal and hissing steam thick in the air. The corridor twists and turns, seeming to stretch endlessly before them.

At last, Sable halts in front of a reinforced door. One of the attendants steps forward, inputting a code. The door slides open, revealing a dark room where the low hum of mechanical air systems, the occasional creaking of the old space station, and the slow drip of condensation echo through the silence.

Three figures are tied to individual chairs, their heads covered with dark fabric, concealing their faces. Cybernetic restraints pulse faintly along their bindings, ensuring no sudden movements. Two of them are Rho'kans, their heavy breathing ragged in the quiet room.

Sable, Velora, and Varek step inside, followed closely by three figures wearing head-to-toe lab coats, their features obscured by the fabric. The restrained individuals flinch at the sound of their entrance, their covered faces turning toward the door in instinctive fear.

Sable: "I trust my colleagues have been accommodating?"

His voice is smooth, but the underlying amusement is unmistakable. He steps forward, lowering himself into a chair set for him by his attendant, positioning himself directly in front of the captives. Velora feels a chill crawl up her spine—she's seen this type of setup before. This isn't an interrogation. It's a warning.