Omega Three was a boring star system. One planet, orbiting one star, the odd station and a light splattering of asteroids. the only bit of colour in the whole place was the blue emissions from the star and the pale blue ice nebula the opposite side of the system. Though, quiet was good for the crew of the Fafnir. The Hessians had been an unwelcome omen for some, especially with the escort losses they had suffered. As things were, the crew wasn't in the worst possible position. The vessel was fully intact and there was nothing in range of the carrier. It was almost peaceful.

Heimirich had grown bored of staring out into space, what with the recent orders coming through two days prior. The Roc had been repaired to full working order and its pilot had received their clean bill of health, her injuries having mostly been tended to since the moment she touched down. What did him little good was the concern that they were excessively vulnerable now. Imperial Shipping Security vessels were normally either wings or escorted improvised warships. This carrier was one of such improvisations. Its armament was highly defence orientated, yet packed enough punch to just about take the fight to an enemy. There was, of course, only so much one warship could do though. Heavy assets normally struggled with bomber and fighter wings, including sometimes several fielded gunboat class vessels. Mandatory that anti heavy capital bombers were a part of the fleet. The Jaeger elites were exactly that. Were.


What affected him the most was that there was no comms chatter, on any line they had. not even the wide band had anything. it was as though the entire system had gone sleep. He checked the time, before standing up and walking out to the front of the ship turning to face the crew and address every hand on board. It was time to pay respects to the fallen, address the current situation and to bid all non-essential overnight crew a good night.

He paused for a few moments, in silence remembering each of their faces, shaking their hands, debriefing them on the situation and their purpose. Each of their faces burned into his memory, each life lost a painful reminder of how life could be ripped away at a moments notice. He continued on:

He bowed his head, before shutting off the internal broadcasting systems and sitting himself back down. They had a long night ahead of them, and a few days before they could move forwards but they were in a spot where there was hardly any traffic. No one had chanced upon them thus far. There was no reason to suspect anyone would bump into them.

Blaring alarms woke Heimirich from his sleep. It was four in the morning. Reaching for his datapad, he glanced at the alert: contacts inbound. He took a couple minutes to put on his clothes, while they were far enough away for him to return to the bridge.

It took a moment to sink in. These ships were aimed directly at the carrier, and their cloaking device was at optimal levels of performance. It was almost like they could sense the ship’s presence. He shuddered. Maybe they were just passing along this point and happen to have their patrol angled towards their location.

And then, they waited. Both the bustard and the unknowns staring at each other, waiting for the other to make their move. It didn't take long. The contacts spread out their formation into an arc, every vessel still aiming at their location.

It seemed to be true. they had spread out to four and a half klicks out each, aiming towards the ship equally spaced in an arc.

The vessel turned and moved away, making distance on the vessels. They followed its movement, keeping the separation. Then they closed. Rapidly.

He was cut off by the launch of a torpedo, watching it cross the distance between them.

No word in answer, there was no time for it. Action was all that was needed.

The ship lurched as weapons fire grazed the reinforced plating of the vessel. The shield hadn't time to rebuild, it had faltered from overload. The hull would hold out for a time, but without support there was no way they could fight them off in time.

He swore. Not at her, but at the situation. These smaller craft weren't all that threatening as a single ship, or a pair. Six, on the other hand, was a problem.

A reprieve from the weapons fire, it would buy time but not all too much. That minute passed, shielding had been reduced to fifty percent.

Even in motion, she made it seem easy to launch from the carrier. Having the training for similar situations helped her in this moment, making it out without issue.

One of the hostiles fell rather quickly, her weapons fire punching through to its reactor and spiking a critical overload. One down, Five to go.

As his ship opened up, he saw it. The armed warhead, targeted at his vessel, and the escort ships trajectory intersecting. The shielding of the bomber was close to faltering, but held. And then it happened. A single burst from the railgun of the gunboat scored a direct hit, moments before the torpedo impacted.

His plea was ignored. The bomber disintegrated, vaporising both the vessel itself and the escape pod. not that it mattered, there was little debris escaping that explosion. The torpedo had been beneath her, in the blind spot of the Roc. She had no idea it was there, no time to react and eject. She had joined the rest of her wing...

There was little time to mourn now, though. there were still five very much hostile vessels now focusing on their carrier, and now there was no escort to save them. He knew what this meant, even before the torpedoes were fired.

As was his duty, he sat in his chair monitoring the escape pods as they launched. He would be the last to leave, as honour dictated that he would not ever leave a crewman behind. Twenty-three, forty-eight, fifty-six, eighty-five, ninety-one. Torpedoes rocked the hull of the rearward quarter of the vessel, both engines in critical condition. Still, he waited. Ninety -four, ninety-six, ninety-seven. Two more to go.

He remained calm, sitting there waiting for the last two pods to launch. Ninety-eight. He stood up, transferring the escape pod data to his handheld pad as he did.

It was true. He saw the final crewman's pod had ejected, and made his way over to his own. The Fafnir imploded, the hull unable to sustain the latest impacts. shortly after, it's reactor detonated. He got into his pod, hitting the emergency launch before he saw the fireball erupt around the pod. Excruciating pain for a brief moment, before...

He woke up, sweating and panting heavily, in bed. He checked the time. Three forty-two in the morning. He sighed. Just a bad dream. Nothing more.

Eighteen minutes passed with him sat in the captain’s seat. Eighteen minutes of nothing. Then, it happened. Contacts inbound, slightly different to his dream, but they were there.

The lights aboard the carrier dimmed, and the alert was issued, all non-essential crew returning to their assigned quarters. He wasn’t about to make the same mistakes as he did in his dream, not having endured one too many losses through the night, no matter how fabricated by imagination.

A nod of acknowledgment. He kept watching the vessels, seeing how they reacted to the revealing of the ship. They didn’t seem fazed, or even remotely interested in altering their course.

Hangar bay three opened, ejecting the vessel flawlessly into space. This time, they were ready for the attack.

Heimirich held for a moment, watching the vessels with a glare. This time he wouldn’t let them proceed on their own terms. This time, he was to be the one to engage first.

He just needed them to close range. Then, he would open fire.

Fafnir had come under fire, the stalemate escalating quite quickly into the heat of battle. Jaegerin Two had been beaten up a fair bit too, but she was holding together well enough. Minor damage to the starboard engine had caused some temporary malfunctions in the afterburners but nothing the carrier couldn't handle. For now at least.

A static-infested acknowledgement came through, and the bomber swapped targets. Now they could begin to unleash pain on their enemy.

A short burst of the heavy arrays broadside battered the target vessel, stripping its shielding. It returned fire, but peeled away, adapting its strategy of engagement.

The order given was short-lived though, as the Gunboat moved in to distract the gunners. The torpedoes connected, the impact rocking the ship heavily. Heimirich glanced at the damage console, it blaring that starboard engine integrity was at seventy-two percent. Enough for the time being, but something to be weary of.

Something else had happened too, Jaegerin Two had stopped firing altogether. Concern for the pilot was high, especially when both the bombers had mirrored this. Nothing but static was coming from her comms either. He feared she had been killed, though a more pressing matter surfaced. More torpedoes. Engines forty percent. Hull integrity sixty-two percent. The situation was beginning to turn dire, what with the persistent weapons fire finding their marks.

The turrets locked onto one of the bombers, causing enough damage for it to break away and retreat far enough to no longer be a threat. The victory was short-lived, though. Jaegerin Two began to move again, an uncertainty in their flight path. It seemed they were struggling to control the vessel. Relief that she was alive brought him encouragement to keep trying.

The shields surged up, a bright green dome of remarkable strength absorbing everything thrown at it, allowing the carrier to focus on dealing heavy damage to the gunboat vessel and ward away the fighter. The boost couldn't last forever, though, and it faltered several minutes later. No sooner had that happened, the Jaegerin Two commenced an erratic bombing run on the starboard engine. They were stunned for long enough that they launched their torpedoes without being fired upon, the betrayal through forced action harming the crew’s resolve for the fight.

Another wave of torpedoes remained persistent enough to find their mark upon the hull of the carrier. Many more and there would be no choice but to abandon ship. These forces of evil were far too aware of the threat the weaponry posed to their ships that they moved enough out of weapons range to utilise their torpedoes for anti-capital warfare. There was just too much left to engage. The gunboat retreated out of range granting a small reprieve, only for a new threat to appear.

Fafnir lost engine power, the critical loss of the engine causing an overload through the vessels power grid and entering a reboot phase of several minutes. To make matters worse, The new contact closed in. It was a 'Grouse'-class transport and scans revealed far too much. It was a boarding vessel; They intended to take the ship by force.

The ship was on lockdown, only life support was functional as the entire ship rebooted. All they could do was wait. Security details had taken defensive positions along key access points towards the bridge, knowing that whatever had boarded was to be considered highly dangerous and very much shoot to kill. Their survival depended on their resolve, but more than a few were panicked. Their lives were in danger, their ship was being boarded and there was no telling what would happen to those who survived, if any of them even would.

Something shutdown the system’s alerts, almost its entire functionality besides internal comms and life support systems. Dead in the water. Heimirich opened the weapons locker on the bridge and distributed rifles throughout the personnel with him. They'd fight, no matter the cost. No matter the sacrifice.


Moments passed, and the first hull breach was rocked with an explosion. several hostiles breached the opening with explosives and a focused array of weapons fire. Then the first screams. Several of the crew were caught out trying to take better positions, cut down by a volley of some kind of hybrid weaponry that tore through each target. Those unfortunate to survive the hit were put in insurmountable pain and yelled out, clutching their wounds. Some were silenced, others were left to scream until they either passed out or bled out, whichever came first. The aggressors pressed on, quickly taking key control over the hangar bay.

Several more breaches opened up, letting more boarders breach the vessel, their numbers holding strong against the ill-prepared crew. Less than half of them had any experience, and the few that did, in almost every defensive location, didn't have enough experience to handle the threats.

Some twelve defenders within the midsection of the vessel had the fortune of shelter and decent covering fire positions, holding back and even managing to weaken their attackers from the front. The success remained for several minutes, managing to down a total of six attackers between them, almost sensing a victory. It was short lived though, as their commanding officer in the detail took a hit from behind, the boarders having breached further up the vessel in order to squash the resistance. It worked and the twelve dwindled down, the remainder becoming incapacitated.

Explosions and discharges rocked the ship, the crew slowly but surely falling. Most of the vessel had been captured by the enemy forces, only the bridge and two small sections of the vessel were holding out. Heimirich knew their time was nearing the end, and he glanced out the bridge. There, hovering with intent, was Jaegerin Two, the pilot struggling away seemingly at nothing. Her guns were trained on them, almost waiting for the command to breach and space the lot of them.

He strengthened his resolve, and stood up to address his bridge crew.

A cheer burst out through them, before silence followed. The foreboding clanging of their enemy approaching the Bridge grew louder with each step, before something began to pound in the doors.

A loud detonation and the doors blew inwards in a shower of molten metal and heavy plating. One of them took the full force of it, being launched and subsequently decapitated. several others became incapacitated by the blast, it deafening and disorientating them. The captain and some of the security detail were ready though, and unleashed a barrage through the opening. A couple of thuds followed, alongside returned fire. One of their attackers strode in, and stood in front of their forces, some unknown force preventing any of them from shooting at him. He uttered one forceful command:

Heimirich gave several attempts at putting a gaping hole right between his eyes, each time his aim repelled into the advancing soldiers. Three times he tried, three times, a soldier fell. Each moment brought a new wave of frustration and despair, until he caved in.

As the surrender was issued, Jaegerin Two went adrift. Their opponent covered the distance between himself and the Heimirich in seconds, lifting him up enough to stare harshly into each other's eyes.

He put the captain down and spread his arms to address the entire ship.

With that, he departed, striding out of the bridge. The crew were instructed to take their positions and be escorted. Having surrendered, Heimirich felt he had no choice. They could quite easily have killed their entire crew and left the ship adrift. At least some of them had been given a chance to live. Not like that was much consolation for their future, there was little idea for whatever their captors intents were. All Heimirich could wish was that his sister wouldn't get tangled up, and that Imperial Shipping would have the sense to declare the ship killed in action and move on.

They were guided towards deeper Omegas, following their new 'escort' through Five and Forty-one. Little was given in regards to details of their destination, nor was there any need. They took point and the light carrier was led past the glow of the Neutron star. Not towards Omicrons, but towards a jumphole they had no idea even existed. The Wild forces knew, of course, but they refrained from sharing the knowledge, instead letting the horror and awe set in as they completed the jump.

Was all the captain could muster, glancing throughout the space exposed in front of the ship. A pulsar, and dark matter surrounding it, in a strange array of darkness and red hues coupled with the contrast of the pale blue emissions from its parent star. If it wasn't such a dire situation, he would have been able to appreciate far more the elegance of this sector.

Major. Heimirich thought he was in some kind of surreal scape. He could barely see anything, but what he could, it filled him with a mix of dread and awe. Nomads of all shapes and sizes, plenty being far larger than the carrier. The psychic power of them too was far stronger than anything he could comprehend. And yet, they did not show them any attention, merely moved around in the deep blue fog surrounding them. Not all of them could be seen, but they could be felt. Their influence was insurmountable.

Was all the captain could muster. The Hypergate loomed in front of them, though he was not sure what lay on the other side. It was less of a concern though than the battleship-sized Nomad in front of them.

It eased him somewhat but at the same time, their presence was far more overwhelming than mere words could steady. He pressed onwards, as indicated by their escort, into another system unheard of nor seen ever before by human eyes. A collective gasp could be heard from the entire crew as they breached into Iota, the Nomad's home. Of course, they didn't know that yet, but it was clear this place was a well-guarded region. Defences watching and forms darting around, yet none of them showed any interest in the newcomer. Words failed him, and the crew. Though, their silent, reserved admiration was interrupted by their escort's voice once more:

They pressed onwards to their final destination: Altair. The nebula swirled around them, enshrouding their view of their new home. Eventually, they breached the opening and it caught each of their breaths. A monstrosity far beyond their comprehension. Multitudes of strange voices echoed in their minds, not all of them ignoring the freshly caught souls aboard, some taking an interest in the new hull to reshape.

His words trailed off, but were greeted with a response.

There was an available open drydock almost waiting for their arrival, as though Altair command had been forewarned of their arrival. Heimirich did not speak, did not move, his crew directing the vessel to the dock. As soon as the mooring terminal connected and the vessel connected to the bridge between the them and the structure, they were ordered to line up and leave the vessel under armed supervision. None of them tried to run, each and every one of them loyal to their captain and his instruction. Something that might have impressed their escorts had they been remotely human or interested.

The words of their Captor resonated in his mind. Altair hospitality, for somewhere vastly alien, was indeed polite. Ignoring the fact that they were human and very much just forced to be there, the care was exceptional. Heimirich felt this wasn't right. Something was lurking behind every door, in every dark corner.

And yet, he accepted it.

Fafnir had been taken, the dead would not be sent back home and buried by their families. At the mercy of the Wild that, he realised, they had been bested by. Nothing changed in his mind. As he marched along the corridors, security behind and in front of him, he realised that one other was still in danger. Tessa. His heart sank, hoping that she would not be sent there, that Imperial Shipping would do the smart thing and just declare the asset lost to pirates. Part of him knew his sister would disregard any orders to do so, and he also knew she would find whatever remained behind.

Footsteps interrupted his thoughts. He turned back to see Jaegerin Two's pilot, walking freely and without escort. Still wearing her full flight suit. Heimirich glanced through the visor to see her face screwed up in silent pain, but as her eyes met his, the pain seemed to vanish and she smiled a cold, knowing smile. In one motion, she turned around to the hangar bay. Each echoing step setting an unease into him that he couldn't quite explain. He pressed onwards, a stern look from the soldier that had boarded the vessel reminding him that he was still a prisoner here, no matter how well he was treated. Moments later, the door to his left opened. Their party stopped and he turned to look inwards.

There was a relatively small room, a chair, a table and a tray of food. A large reinforced window looking out to the shipyard and the odd soft hum of music somewhere in the distance, though he couldn't quite locate it. It felt more like a waiting room than a prison cell, but he hardly even opened his mouth to speak before they responded:

His next question went unanswered, but he could guess. The Gardener was the one who had forced the yield. The one he couldn't kill. The one who determined them all to have earnt their lives. It didn't make any sense, but he didn't question it. For now, he gazed out the window, the sleek hull of Fafnir visible from where he sat. Heimirich couldn't see what they were doing to his ship, but he could at least see the vessel he had served on, until his last day under Imperial Shipping.

His attention shifted to the music he could hear. It wasn't loud, but it seemed to be coming from somewhere inside the room. He got up, walking to each corner, listening intently each step he took. The music never budged, neither in volume nor in song. The same song, repeated, like an echo in his mind. Nowhere seemed to produce it, yet he could hear it. His eyes narrowed and took a second or two to think. Then, he covered his ears, supressing all the sound he could hear.

The echo of song didn't change.

It was in his head. The song was coming from within, not without. The thought unsettled him, but not as much as he thought it would. Instead, he sat down. The food drew him away from the song, though he found himself inspecting it. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary with it, just a simple ration pack, really. Yet he could not shake the feeling that there was something inherently wrong with it.

With a sigh, he ate from the plate of food, as he knew it was unlikely that he would get out anyway, nor be rescued before anything had happened to him. The stories as a child had been enough. Horror stories, tortured and pained screams within the nightmares that ensued, seeing familiar faces bound by the suffering of these enemies. So far he had seen little of this aside from the boarding, but that was almost human in execution and action. Hardly something new to contend with in Sirius.

The song dissipated enough with his focus on the food, but he paid it no mind. Picking up the last of his meal, he stood and watched the Fafnir, wondering what would happen to the dead and the ship itself. There were multiple hull breaches, damaged internal structure, a blasted open hangar bay and of course a completely destroyed engine. Closing his eyes, he counted the twenty three souls that walked off the vessel. Seventy seven lost, out of a full compliment of a hundred. A heavy burden to bear while each name slipped into the darkness. He couldn't focus on it much longer, finishing the meal and sitting down, awaiting his fate with weary determination.

Memory loss was a bitch. Heimirich had only encountered it twice before, but each time left him confused, frustrated and less able to cope. This time though, he had picked up a dull ache inside and a probing mind that wasn't there before. The mind didn't give him any clues, either. Rather, it relished in his struggle, seemingly fuelled by the anger that welled up inside. He felt it shape these emotions into something. At first it was indistinguishable, appearing to be a goopy mess. Then it became a dagger as his anger built up, lengthening into a sword when it combined with his distress. One solitary word rung in the mind: Purpose. For a moment, he imagined himself picking up the blade and attacking the thoughts in his head, though he knew that was pointless. Instead he found himself grasping and directing it towards the void in his memories.

To his surprise, the blade seemed to illuminate the darkness. He lifted it up above his head and bellowed a cry into his own thoughts, attempting to cut through the shroud that kept the past seventy-two hours a blank with jagged swipes. All that happened was a fragmented flash. Cold, hard steel locked round each limb, the feeling of blood pulsing hard in his head, the darkened room being barely lit enough to see the shadow of a man below him, or rather, above while being suspended upside down. As swiftly as he sliced through the block, it enveloped the fragment again, swallowing it back into the shadows. He did remember that fragment though, and he wondered about it.

As the blade faded, so too did his anger. It wasn't completely an answer, but it was enough to know that something wrong had happened, something his mind had blocked itself through reflex to the likely torture he had endured. He was grateful of it now, something the other mind found displeasing. Whatever it was, it mocked him for weakness. He accepted it without question, much to the thought's disapproval.

For a time he sat in his cell, staring out the window once more, the Bustard-class carrier still looming in the docks. His ship, the one he had been entrusted with in Weiss, then Imperial Shipping. His vessel, now in the hands of an unknown enemy, one that he himself didn't feel an enemy of now, instead felt more a part of what was here, a part of something bigger than himself. He got up even before the knock on the door, almost as though he knew someone was coming for him. Surprise took hold inside, wondering how he knew to be stood waiting. He shrugged it off, the other mind being quiet for the moment, having grown bored of tormenting Heimirich.

He didn't understand the meaning of the term, but the three words afterwards forced him to swallow awkwardly. There was some kind of task ahead, and judgment would be on him to complete it to a respectable standard, one he had no knowledge of. The figure turned and left the room at a measured pace, being more than enough of an indication to follow. No guards, not even chains. This puzzled the Captain more than he liked to admit, making him simply stand in confusion.

Before he could arrive at any conclusions, the presence in his mind took over, its thoughts forcefully directing his motions. Heimirich was powerless against the presence, a passenger in his own body. He couldn't understand how or why, but it was clear that whatever had transpired during the void in his memories left him with something able to barge in and direct him as it desired. If he had the control of his body, he knew he would have broke into a sweat by now. As things were, all he could do was try and remain calm. It wouldn't hold him forever, just long enough to get him where he needed to be. At least, that's what he hoped...

The Drydock. Fafnir sat proud, despite her hull ruptures and decimated starboard engine structure. Damage dealt by Jaegerin Two. Her own escort ship marking her hull, bringing the Bustard-class and ultimately its crew to their knees. Nothing could shake the feeling of her poised at the cockpit from outside, the pain in her whimpers, fingers on the trigger as she stared them down. It didn't matter anymore. They were on the same side again. Something he didn't need to see to know.

Heimirich had been following his 'guide', as he had come to call him. There were no features he could really discern except for the lack of hair on his head and the mask he seemed to permanently wear. There was not a name he had ever been given but the fellow had taken him around as and when needed, without so much as a single word being shared in distress. He never got an answer to a question he had asked aside from the day he arrived, simply had every one of his needs taken care of. Though now he wasn't really following, his body still being in the control of whatever it was that had decided to take command of him. He felt a puppet, made to move at another's leisure, until both he and 'The Guide' stopped.

His arms and legs finally returned to him, and he rubbed his temples. A sharp, searing pain bloomed and waned almost as quickly as it had come. He looked up at the vessel, around at the fallen, at the rest of his crew who he hadn't noticed until now. Each of them were stood next to a figure he didn't know, a guide almost identical to his own. Every face he could see had the same expression of brief pain, as if each of them had awoken from a dream. As though each of them had arrived in the same way as before. Every face he could discern in the dim purple glow that seemed to have no origin, every name a whisper on his tongue. No words were shared, but each of them were as in good health as he was. The Prophet's words had rung true. They had been spared.

In silence they stood there, glancing around but not moving until a voice in his mind called out, instructing him to take up position towards the far side of the area. Heimirich noticed that everyone began to move apart and spread themselves almost equally outward, almost as if they'd all heard the same and had carried it out without question. The heavy shuffle of boots on hard flooring filled the room with an echo that deafened, each footstep overlapping into the next, before they stopped in unison. Everyone turned towards the opposite end, waiting.

First one moment, then another. Each one bled into the next, only eyes darting around. Silence. Until there wasn't. Slowly, each of them opened their mouths to speak, letting out words of some unknown language shatter the quiet. Words that none of them understood before, simply spoke them out. A shift in tone and the words began to be chanted, echoing off the walls, building in volume, overlapping with a peculiar harmony unlike anything they had heard before. Heimirich could not understand how he knew what to say and when, nor how he knew what to project. The very language was foreign to his tongue, and yet the meaning seemed to cause a shimmer of resonance within. He couldn't explain it.

Each word rolled out to accompany his crews' voices, the dull creaking of heavy plating joining into the chant. He looked up, to see the underplate above his head bend before his eyes. In the middle of the open space. barely visible in the light, something reached up and outward towards the hull. It formed what looked to be like an umbilical cord, spiralling into one of the many openings in the belly of the beast. The plates above seemed to become even more malleable, almost to the point where Heimirich thought he would be able to press his fingers into the metal and feel it mould to his fingers. He refrained from it though, more out of uncertainty than anything.

Moments stretched into minutes, into an hour, into several. Tiredness began to grip him, head sinking slowly as each word became a chore. His voice was hoarse, the echo slowed down to almost nothing while everyone stopped chanting, the walls seemingly carrying on what they had started together. Still Fafnir moved, incomplete it seemed, but there was little knowing in what was missing. From his position, Heimirich could see next to no difference to the outer hull, the dim purple glow seemed to only slightly be reflected more by her curved sides. He shook his head, blaming the change on tiredness.

With a sigh, he began to make his way back towards his cell, craving the solitary comfort he thought he had. Everyone else did the same, departing unguided to their rooms.