Vaeliyan and the Complaints Department decided it wasn't worth staying any longer. The sun hadn't even cleared the horizon when they left. The air was thin and cold, painted in pale blue light, and the world still felt half-asleep. The house lifted from Kyrrabad with a low hum that vibrated through the floor, the hover rings spinning up beneath them until the whole structure floated like a drifting island. As the skyline began to fade into the crimson haze behind them, the tension in their chests finally started to loosen. No one said much. They just stood there, quiet, breathing the scent of the city one last time before turning their backs on it.

Vaeliyan checked his balance one last time. He had enough to afford a tow if he wanted it, but it would wipe him clean. Not worth it. He would rather drift for three days on his own power than waste every credit on a single day's convenience. Besides, the Complaints Department wasn't helpless. If something came for them, it would break itself on the walls before even scratching the paint. The hover rings thrummed beneath their feet, steady and rhythmic, the soft vibration sinking into their bones. It was a song they all knew: the quiet hum of escape.

They gathered at the edge of the estate, looking down at the shrinking sprawl of Kyrrabad. The city burned with light, smoke trails, beacon towers, and streaks of transit craft weaving through the air like veins of molten gold. The Red Citadel loomed in the distance, catching the first light of the sun. Chime had already taken the Boltfire skyward, flying high above the clouds. The Skycraft glided like a wraith, invisible to the naked eye but watching everything. She pinged them every few minutes, voice calm and clipped through comms, reporting wind shifts and air pressure like a machine. When her sensors caught the signature of a storm ahead, she called it early and redirected the house two minutes off course. A small shift, but it saved them potential repairs and gave her another excuse to run diagnostics. Chime had learned the Boltfire's moods, its quirks and tremors. She'd tuned it until it responded like a living thing, obedient and temperamental in equal measure. And because Chime was at the control, no one else could touch it. It was hers, her creation, her baby and she would absolutely, without question, murder anyone who laid a hand on her baby.

By the time the house breached the upper cloud layer, the light of Kyrrabad was nothing but a faint smear on the horizon. They had entered the blue-black quiet of the high atmosphere. Drinks appeared from nowhere. Xera poured something amber and burning, and even Fenn allowed himself a glass. Laughter came easy after that. They sprawled across the deck like exhausted animals, their armor half-unbuttoned, boots kicked off, heads leaned back. For the first time since the Citadel, the Complaints Department could actually breathe. They hadn't gotten their first mission yet, and there was no death trial awaiting them, so they were free to do whatever the fuck they wanted. Nothing but the long hum of the hover rings beneath their feet and the gentle tilt of the world moving past.

Mara awaited them somewhere beyond the horizon.

Vaeliyan leaned against the railing, drink in hand, watching the red glow vanish behind them. He let himself think of smaller things, of rebuilding his pharmacy forge, of redesigning it into something elegant and experimental. He imagined shelves of glass, rows of polished tools, a place not for war but for craft. The estate itself was too refined to abandon anyway. Its walls healed scratches, its lights adjusted to mood, and its automated gardener was smug enough to lecture him about plant ethics. He'd even grown to love the ghost bed. The nanite cloud that used to creep him out now felt like floating in a gentle current, perfectly balanced between weightlessness and rest. He laughed softly, wondering if it might even help with Wren's thunderous snoring.

His mind wandered further. He thought about the platinum rings, how they linked soul to soul, and how he wanted to extend that bond. Grix. Wren. Maybe Calra. Maybe Cassian. He knew the ritual, but not how the rings themselves were made. He'd make sure to ask Imujin as soon as possible.

He wasn't the only one planning. Isol had sent them a full curriculum and training structure for the Legion of Mara. Car and Batu would be the architects, building it from the bones upward. Lisa had stocked them with training gear, and a manual thicker than Vaeliyan's patience. Bastard had been assigned the role of motivator, replacing Lisa's tigers in spirit if not in species, and Momo would join him in breaking the recruits who thought punishment laps were a joke.

The journey carried on in quiet rhythm. Vaeliyan found himself lost in thought, sketching plans in his head: training fields, pits, workshops, and a garden like Imujin had built for his own peace of mind. He toyed with the idea of installing synthesizers with Deck's programs, as a joke, until he realized the recruits from the Yellow Zone wouldn't try to fix them as they had no idea how synthesizers were meant to work.

The night crept in slow, calm, and absolute. Above them, stars burned through the thin atmosphere, shimmering like frost on glass. Vaeliyan lingered at the railing, his reflection ghosting in the curved glass panes. The hover rings pulsed in steady intervals, soft and hypnotic, while the wind whispered faintly against the hull. The longer he stood there, the easier it was to believe that peace might last a little longer.

Then Chime's voice cut through the comms, sharp and precise. "Ship, thirty clicks out. Looks Neuman. Intercept course. Doesn't see me yet, but that could change."

Vaeliyan straightened instantly. The peace broke like glass underfoot. "Stay hidden," he said. "We can deal with this." His voice carried no hesitation.

He turned toward the others, the grin already forming before the words left his mouth. "Sylen," he called, "want to set off some fireworks to welcome our guests?"

Sylen's eyes lit up, and she gave a wicked little smile. "Finally," she said, vanishing inside to prep the barrage.

The deck lights dimmed as the house shifted into silent readiness. The hover rings deepened their hum, the air growing taut around them. The Complaints Department leaned forward, every trace of rest gone. The quiet moment was over. Whatever came next, they were ready.

Sylen came out carrying what looked like a slingshot, though instead of a normal sling it had two backward‑curved yo‑yo arms, each ending in a spinning disc the size of her palm. The weapon hummed faintly, a low metallic purr that vibrated up her wrist as she held it. It looked like a child's toy someone had reverse‑engineered into a war crime. She looked far too pleased with herself for anyone's comfort, which, for Sylen, meant something was definitely about to happen. Vaeliyan, who had seen her curiosity end in brilliance and near‑death equally often, folded his arms and stared at her.

"Are you sure you want to use that one first?" he asked. "That'll make it boring, won't it?"

Sylen tilted her head, squinting toward the Neuman ship that hovered in the distance like a floating carcass stitched with steel. "I kinda just want to see what happens."

Vaeliyan exhaled through his nose, resigned. "Fine," he said, already regretting every decision that led to this moment. "Try not to kill us."

She grinned and began to swing the strange weapon in a wide arc. The discs whirled faster with each pass, their hum deepening until it sounded like a turbine buried inside her hands. A faint halo shimmered around her as dust, static, and stray fibers lifted from the deck and followed the weapon's path. "You know," she said, voice almost lost in the vibration, "I realize I don't actually know how this thing works."

"Please don't blow up the house," Vaeliyan muttered, stepping back. "When it hits the apex of its arc, let it go. It'll do the rest."

Sylen's eyes darted toward him. "Apex of the arc? Which apex? There's like, four..."

"Just throw the fucking thing," he shouted.

"Okay, here we go!" she said, and with one last spin she let it fly.

She swung harder, faster. The air warped around her, the discs glowing gold at the edges from friction and energy compression. Every rotation left a brief, ghostly afterimage. Vaeliyan could feel the pressure shift in his jaw, a subtle thrum inside his teeth. Then, with a sharp twist of her wrist, Sylen snapped forward. The cord released with a metallic crack.

The projectile screamed through the sky, trailing a bright, spiral streak behind it. It struck the Neuman nest dead center. Rows of skulls clattered loose as the disc buried itself cleanly in the hull. The sound that followed wasn't an explosion, it was a single deep thunk, like a giant heartbeat. The ship froze mid‑air, suspended in stillness.

Then it fell.

Not shattered, not torn, just… dropped. Its weight slammed to one side, the hover rings collapsing under a sudden impossible burden. The nest tilted, groaned, and began to plummet through the clouds. Plates of bone and steel sheared away under their own strain. The sound that followed was sickening, a mix of thunder, creaking wood, and something like moaned.

Sylen's jaw fell open. "How did you get it to not rip through the hull?"

Vaeliyan's grin spread slow and sharp. "That's part of the stabilizing method wedges use. You ever wonder how they make something that impossibly heavy without it tearing itself apart?"

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She blinked, shaking her head. "No. I just never wanted to pull one of those things behind me ever again."

"Fair enough," he said, leaning against the railing. "Basically, I turned the entire ship into a wedge. Your throw triggered the counterweight protocol on the field matrix. When the disc connected, it multiplied the mass along one axis instead of dispersing it.."

Sylen blinked again, eyes wide. "So… how heavy is that now?"

He grimaced. "Let's not put a number to it. I could reset it, but as soon as I do that section of the ship would collapse like wet paper. I don't feel like crawling through twisted Neuman scrap."

They both watched as the nest vanished below the clouds. The air rippled from the shift in mass, a faint pulse rolling through the sky before fading. Smoke drifted upward from the unseen wreck, thick and gray, curling like ink in water.

"So that's it?" Sylen asked quietly.

"Yeah," Vaeliyan said, still watching. "They don't hunt in packs."

"Good," she said. "One's enough."

They stood there for a while longer, the hover rings humming softly beneath their feet. The city lights glittered faintly on the horizon behind them, distant and uncaring. Above, the clouds glowed from the morning sun, painting the sky in layers of pink and gold. The silence between them wasn't awkward, it was earned.

Sylen looked away from the soon to be wreck and turned to him. "Makes a damn good bola, doesn't it?" she said, half‑laughing.

Vaeliyan's smirk deepened. "Yeah. Guess it does."

"Guess so," she said, rubbing the back of her neck. "You think Lisa knows you can do that with a wedge?"

"Oh, absolutely not," Vaeliyan said without hesitation. "Those things are sacred artifacts to her. No way I'm telling her I pulled like twelve of them apart trying to get the first one to work."

They watched the clouds drift for another minute, the silence stretching until it felt almost sacred. "Well," she said, breaking the calm. "Guess we go clean up."

Vaeliyan nodded. "Yeah. House, prepare to land. Chime scan for survivors. Let's see what's left."

The hover rings pulsed beneath their feet as the house began its descent. From above, the fog broke apart around them, revealing the wreckage sprawled across the lower cloud layer. The shattered nest lay embedded in the mist, listing on its side, still faintly glowing from the residual charge of the wedge field. Bits of skull and twisted alloy floated in the air like pale snowflakes. It was grotesque, almost beautiful.

Sylen leaned over the railing, grinning with an edge of pride. "Worth it," she said.

Vaeliyan chuckled, shaking his head. "Completely worth it."

Rokhan joined them first, leaning over the railing with a grin that said he'd already decided this day was going to be fun. "This is super cool. We can get our hands on some of those Neuman fragments," he said, his eyes bright as he stared at the drifting wreck below. The early light caught his hair and armor, painting him in faint gold. He was practically vibrating with excitement.

Vaeliyan smiled and nodded, his gaze locked on the smoking ruin far beneath the clouds. "When we're done with cleanup, we'll call in an engineering squad to salvage this hunk of junk. They've got a standing bounty on the ships themselves." His tone was calm, but his eyes gleamed with something sharper, curiosity, satisfaction, maybe both. The reflection of the Neuman ship's dying glow shimmered in his pupils like a small, controlled fire.

Jurpat joined them next, chewing on a sandwich like a man immune to tension. He leaned against the railing, one hand still holding his meal, the other adjusting the safety strap of his gauntlet. "We going to kill some Neuman scum?" he asked through a mouthful, crumbs flying. The casualness of his tone made everyone laugh.

Xera appeared a second later. She folded her arms and looked toward the wreck with that quiet, sharp-edged confidence that made people instinctively step out of her way. "Pretty good way to blow off some of the steam from this morning," she said, smirking faintly. Her voice carried that careful balance between threat and amusement that defined her moods.

As the house descended through the clouds, the rest of the squad began to gather. The hover rings hummed beneath them, steady and sure, and the low light of morning turned the mist a pale orange. The smell of burnt metal filled the air, the scent of war and aftermath. Beneath them, the broken Neuman ship waited, half-buried in its own debris field, smoking and bent at strange angles. The wreck was a patchwork of bone plating and warped alloys, and even at a distance, it still radiated menace.

A flash of light streaked past the hull as Chime arrived in the Boltfire. The ship glided in utter silence, sleek and graceful, like a blade drawn through air. No sound betrayed its motion, only the faint distortion of atmosphere and a brief shimmer of energy as it touched down beside the wreck.

The twins emerged next. Moving in perfect sync, they carried two sealed cases, one in each hand. They opened them with mirrored precision, revealing Vaeliyan's and Sylen's armors. The plating caught the morning light and reflected it in thin, sharp lines. the twins said nothing as they handed the suits over, simply sharing a small, smile that said they were enjoying this.

One by one, the rest of the squad armed up. Jurpat finished his sandwich, licked the crumbs off his gloves. Xera rolled her shoulders limbering up for the action they might encounter. Rokhan cracked his neck, checked his lance, and grinned wider.

Vaeliyan stood at the edge of the deck, helmet under his arm, looking down at the wreck as smoke curled through the air. The Complaints Department had seen plenty of fights, but there was something exciting in the atmosphere of the moment. The first operation outside the Citadel. The first real taste of freedom.

"Alright," Vaeliyan said, his voice carrying clearly across the deck. "We go in clean. Take what's usable. Burn what's not. Anything still alive in there, you put them down." He slid his helmet into place, and the armor sealed. "Extreme prejudice," he added. "And enjoy yourselves."

A low ripple of laughter passed through the team. Then silence. They all turned toward the smoke below as the hover rings shifted tone and the house angled its descent. The wreck loomed closer, jagged and alien against the glowing horizon. The air around it shimmered faintly with residual heat, the ghosts of the ship's weight field still unraveling.

The Complaints Department stood ready, every muscle, every sensor, every mind locked in place, as they prepared to descend into the carcass of the fallen Neuman vessel and finish what Vaeliyan's experiment had started.

The Complaints Department met resistance, but far less than they had hoped for. Most of it was automated—defense turrets tracking sluggishly, drones flickering between damaged protocols, and security systems firing sporadic bursts before dying mid-cycle. The Neuman themselves were nowhere to be found. Whatever hierarchy or command structure had existed inside the ship was gone silent.

Vaeliyan walked at the head of the formation, lance in hand, boots crunching through scattered fragments of bone plating and melted alloy. The air inside the hull was thick and metallic, full of heat and static. Every step echoed too loudly. Even the usual squad banter had gone quiet.

"What I don't get," Elian muttered, scanning a corridor lined with flickering red lights, "is why they didn't bail. They could have glided out, right?"

"They could have," Vaeliyan said, voice low. "But they didn't. Maybe they thought they could save it. Maybe they had something worth dying for in here."

Xera glanced up at the jagged ceiling where massive ribs of hull metal jutted like fangs. "Or maybe they're just like that. They go down with the ship and all. Neuman don't surrender."

"Yeah," Wesley muttered, kicking aside a shattered drone. "Still, it's super creepy in here."

They moved deeper into the wreck, clearing room after room. The automated defenses thinned out the further they went. Burnt consoles. Crushed corridors. Doors jammed open by twisted bulkheads. The sound of their own movements filled the silence, metal scraping under boots, quiet breathing through comms, the occasional clink of shifting debris.

Chime walked with them, her steps measured. "There are survivors," she said quietly. "The Boltfire's sensors picked up life signs when I scanned the ship, but the system's still new to me. I couldn't figure out how to make it show me where they are."

Vaeliyan nodded. "Then we do it the old-fashioned way. Section by section."

Even Styll, perched on Vaeliyan's shoulder, was tense, fur bristled, eyes darting to every shadow. Bastard prowled silently behind them. Momo lumbered at the rear of the formation, her breathing slow and steady like a moving furnace. The trio's unease spread through the entire squad. They felt it too, something off about the silence.

No ambushes. No sound of movement. No voices. Only the low hum of dying systems and the faint crackle of electricity crawling through the shattered walls.

It was too quiet. Far too quiet.

And that quiet was starting to feel alive.

They walked into a section of the ship that was mostly untouched. The walls were intact, the floors smooth, and the consoles still hummed faintly with residual power. It was eerie after everything they had seen outside, like stepping into a memory of the ship before it died. Dust hung in the air, illuminated by pale blue emergency lights that flickered on and off in slow, uneven intervals. That was where they first encountered the Neuman.

The first few were broken things, scattered and bleeding, their glassy eyes unfocused. The crash had mangled them. A few still twitched, driven by reflex or faulty nerves rather than intent. They were injured and disoriented, some dragging themselves across the deck, leaving streaks of dark fluid behind. The squad moved through them with quiet efficiency. Each strike was measured, clean. It wasn't a fight. It was a mercy killing.

Jurpat broke the silence first. "This can't be all of them," he muttered, kicking aside a half-crushed Neuman limb. "A ship this size would have had at least fifty members."

"No way," Xera said, scanning the dark corridor ahead. "They didn't all die like this."

Vaeliyan crouched beside one of the fallen and traced his fingers along the black smear of blood across the floor. It was thick and sticky, already drying into a tar-like crust. The trails all led in the same direction, vanishing into the deeper parts of the ship. He adjusted the insect-like antenna on his helmet, letting them twitch faintly as he focused.

The scent of Neuman blood reached him. It was intoxicating, rich, sweet, almost floral. The scent filled his senses and lingered like perfume. The smell wasn't something most humans could even register, but Vaeliyan followed it easily, his focus narrowing until the rest of the ship's noise fell away. Every trace led further in, guiding him through the halls like invisible lines.

He rose, gesturing for the others to follow. The corridors curved inward, the architecture alien and asymmetric, every wall layered with organic design and strange growths that shimmered faintly in the dim light. The floor felt soft in some places, like compressed tissue, firm but alive.

The deeper they went, the more intact everything became. There were no signs of explosions or fires, no collapse, no visible reason the ship should have fallen. It was as if it had simply chosen to die.

The smell grew stronger, thicker, more present. But beneath it, Vaeliyan caught something else. A note buried under the Neuman compound, faint but familiar. He stopped in his tracks, letting the air roll through the filters of his helmet. He focused, and the scent sharpened.

It smelled human.

And at the same time… not.

The two layers of scent fought each other, the sweetness of Neuman blood and the iron bite of something disturbingly close to human flesh. It made his stomach twist.

He looked up into the corridor where the trails disappeared. The lights flickered again, washing the walls in a cold shimmer that made every edge look alive.

"Eyes up," he said quietly, his voice steady but low. "Something's off."

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