One month later, in a star system 700 light-years from the Bloodbearer's drifting shell.

Inside a castle of stone and steel, built upon the edges of a vast and beautiful ocean world, a female Kraktol, ancient and wizened beyond her years, stands next to a giant glass window and gazes outside at the beautiful world before her. Thousands of boats float upon the placid surface of the moonless world, the planet's tides minimal; all but nonexistent.

Inside the castle chamber, dozens of maids and servants travel from here to there, keeping a respectful distance from the obsidian-scaled female as she gazes upon the world of Dragua; her home, and the foundation of her empire.

The Kraktol leader, the Thülvik, folds her claws behind her back. Her eyes droop slightly, a sign of all the millennia she's lived and the burdens she's carried without complaint. She wears a luxurious red, gold, and black dress, one made not from fabric, but interlinked precious metals, such as gold and silver. The effect gives her the appearance of wearing tightly-woven interlocked chainmail, though the links between her jingling clothes do little to augment her defense.

The female Kraktol reminisces on a great many things, all while two other Kraktol, both males, kneel at her feet and bow their heads respectfully, allowing their long crocodilian jaws to hover half an inch off the floor.

The first male, a crocodile with faintly colored pink scales, pounds his chest fiercely. "Yes, great Thülvik. Our workers at the Rylon Shipyard have toiled night and day for your glory. Already, this year, we have increased our production speed and efficiency by more than seven percent."

The Thülvik's eyes flash with pleasure, but she continues to stare out the window. "Seven percent, you say? That is excellent news, Lord Drogoth. I hoped for five percent, this year, but you've exceeded my expectations. A reward is in order."

Fel Drogoth, the newly instated commander of the Rylon Shipyards, beats his chest without raising his gaze. He fixes his eyes on the floor, not daring to gaze upon the sinister beauty of his Thülvik. "My lady, there is no need to compensate me for such a trifle. Everything I do is for your glory; for the expansion and conquest of our species."

"Oh? That won't do," Says the Thülvik. "My rewards are not always intended for you, but to show my support of those who dedicate themselves fully to our inevitable triumph. By offering you a few benefits, I can motivate those beneath you to work harder. Therefore, please do not make me beg you to accept a small gift, Lord Drogoth."

Lord Fel sighs heavily, as if accepting a heavy burden. "Yes... of course, my lady. I would never wish to inconvenience you. I will accept, then, with the request that you instead reward my spawnlings, who also serve your glory to their fullest."

"Your children? Very well. I shall make it so. Dismissed."

Lord Drogoth pounds his chest again. "My lady."

Without another word, he rises to his feet, turns around, and walks away, all without looking at the Thülvik even once. Likewise, she continues to gaze out the window at the beautiful, placid world beyond her castle's borders.

"Hm. Lord Brighteye, sometimes I feel as if Dragua is a bit too confined for my tastes. What do you think?"

The Thülvik aims her words at the second Kraktol left behind after Lord Drogoth's departure. The aged male, a Kraktol with bright red scales and a tinge of black mixed throughout, appears much taller and more dominating than Lord Drogoth. Nevertheless, he keeps his nose pointed at the ground, not daring to meet the Thülvik's gaze.

"I agree, of course," Lord Brighteye replies. "That is why I have planned out a five-year cycle of conquests once we reach ten thousand warships. Lady Kindris, I have prepared a list of planets conquerable with our available resources. I contacted my daughters before their departure and ensured the list would include projections of our possible gains and losses."

Unlike her previous attitude toward Lord Drogoth, the Thülvik turns to face Lord Brighteye. She unclasps her claws from behind her back and lightly caresses the top of his head. "Your daughters. Yes, I have heard of their accomplishments. Rise, Lord Brighteye. We've no need to be so formal now that Lord Drogoth has left."

The red-scaled male hesitates for a moment. He flicks his eyes to the side, where a steady trickle of servants head in and out of the hallway in the distance, preparing yet another feast for the Thülvik. Not only Kraktol walk among their ranks, but several other species, all enslaved with electrical collars capable of stunning or killing those with deviant thoughts. The slaves and servants dare not look in their direction, lest their collars activate and punish them severely.

Lord Brighteye only hesitates for another second or two, before slowly lifting himself to his full height. Nevertheless, despite his incredible size and muscle mass, he still comes up short by a full head compared to the Thülvik. Her body, having grown slowly over thousands of years, and her muscles, having been improved and bolstered by the best in Precursor technology, give her the strength to strike down any other Kraktol with a single blow. Indeed, before his leader, Lord Brighteye comes up short in all respects.

"My lady..." He mutters, feeling conscious of their situation. "Perhaps we should find a more private location-"

"Oh, how bold of you," The Thülvik says, a smirk on her face. "Kyargh! To think you would attempt a mating ritual so soon after your return! Your lasciviousness is as fierce as ever, I see."

Lord Brighteye quickly raises his head. "N-no, Lady Kindris! Graugh! I only wished, ah, to speak away from the prying eyes of-"

"Calm down," The Thülvik says with a chuckle. "If your subordinates saw you now, what might they think of the fearsome Roaring Dragon, I wonder? You might be a monster on the battlefield, but you always become as meek as a Kessu around me. It's so adorable."

The red-scaled Kraktol shifts uncomfortably on his feet. "Th-that is only due to our difference in status, Lady Kindris. I cannot help but feel awed when in your presence."

Several seconds pass.

The Thülvik sighs.

"...Lord Brighteye. No, Drall. Must you always be so stiff when we speak?"

Her expression softens, as she looks at him with a gaze far different from those of her other subordinates.

"Won't you call me by my first name? In my eyes, you are not inferior to myself in status. I lean upon you. I always seek your counsel. You even beget me an heir. Can't you treat me with warmth when we're alone like this?"

Lord Drall Brighteye raises his eyes, having stared at the Thülvik's feet for most of the interaction. Only now does he notice the distant look of pain in her eyes.

"Lady Kindris-"

"My name, Drall," The Thülvik echoes. "I permit- no, I order you to use it."

The male Kraktol's expression shifts further into unease, but eventually, he relents.

"Yes... Loreen."

"There, see?" Loreen Kindris says, as a playful smile appears on her face. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

"No, I suppose it... wasn't..." Drall answers. "Uhm. It's just, even with the time we've spent together..."

Lord Drall trails off, leaving Loreen Kindris to sigh.

"I understand," Loreen says, as she slowly turns her head to look out the window. "I forced you into a relationship, and so, you must resent me. Ah, how unfortunate. You must have despised our time together. You wished to embrace a different female, perhaps one not as old and withered as me..."

Drall's eyes widen. "No! That isn't true, Loreen! Toward you, I felt the deepest love of my life! I still do! I even- ulp!"

The male's heart skips a beat as he suddenly realizes how loudly he was yelling. He quickly glances around, but none of the servants spare so much as a glance at him.

"Hehehe," Loreen chuckles, a look of great amusement on her face. "Finally, your true feelings! You are quite the egg to crack, Drall. So obstinate. Come now, share a meal with me. We've much catching up to do."

Sensing the Thülvik's playful tone, Lord Drall smiles ruefully. "Yes... yes, of course, Lady Kindris."

They turn to walk toward the dining hall, but the Thülvik lightly whacks the back of his head. "My name, Drall!"

"Sorry, Loreen! My apologies!"

.......................................

Inside the dining chamber, the obsidian-scaled Thülvik sits beside her crimson-scaled former lover, a male Kraktol who finds himself slowly becoming more comfortable with her light prodding and teasing. The dining room's stone walls give it a feudal appearance, but layers of futuristic technology line its walls. Several monitors at the opposite end of the wall, each one several feet wide and tall, offer detailed updates on the current galactic status. Under other circumstances, the Thülvik might examine them in great detail during her meals, but this time, she all but ignores them to focus her attention on the male seated at her right.

The banquet table stands long enough for a hundred Kraktol to sit at comfortably, but with only the two lovers eating beside one another, the room appears far larger and emptier than under ideal circumstances. Still, neither of the Kraktol present notice or care.

After the servants clear out, Lord Drall relaxes noticeably. With only himself and Loreen in the room, he loses some of his inhibitions, making him a much more pleasant dinnertime partner.

"They're doing quite well," Drall says, answering one of Loreen's many questions. "Megla, of course, she's always been a cunning strategist, capable of turning any commander she supports into a powerhouse. You remember her work for the Borkön? She and Soren used to work among his mechanics."

Loreen tosses a deceased, well-cooked eel-like creature into her mouth. She swallows it whole and pauses to answer Drall's question. "The Borkön, Atrox Firefist. Yes, I remember him. As I recall, he perished a century ago during that damned Mallali invasion."

Lord Drall shakes his head regretfully. "Aye. We lost a great commander, that day. His ship-building skills were second to none. Not even Lord Drogoth could measure up to him."

"Perhaps not," Loreen admits. "But you have to admit that Fel Drogoth has performed admirably as the newest leader of the Rylon Shipyards. You heard him yourself: A seven percent increase in speed and efficiency."

"Perhaps, but unlike Lord Dragoth, Atrox never cut corners," Drall says, shaking his head. "I've heard rumors that some of the newest ship models have lots of minor issues cropping up, sometimes within mere months of their deployment. I am always willing to give someone a fair shake, but I fear Fel might be a bit too eager to please."

The Thülvik continues to wear a pleasant smile, but inwardly, her thoughts darken.

Hm. Wherever Drall smells trouble, it usually appears. I had better send an inspection team to the shipyards, just in case. His instincts have yet to fail me.

A flash of cold light appears in the Thülvik's eyes.

Now that Drall mentions it, Fel always has been just a little too obedient. I must ensure he isn't quietly setting aside profits for himself. The last time someone fooled me was three thousand years ago, and I'm not keen to repeat that embarrassment. Damned lying Buzor...

Loreen quickly tosses another eel into her mouth and swallows before continuing her conversation. "You said you had your daughters examine the list of planets. What conclusions did they reach?"

Drall's smile disappears, replaced by a much more professional and serious expression. Without hesitation, he reaches into the folds of his black and red robes to pull out a datapad.

"Yes, I did. While Megla makes for a fine first officer, I must confess that it was Soren's insights this time that really opened my eyes. She told me to focus on the planets that were nearest to Dragua, those with the highest habitability index."

The Thülvik cocks her head. "Oh? I thought you were going to aim for planets where the fleet defense was the lowest. We will suffer significant losses if we go against more heavily populated worlds. Most of them possess significant Precursor installations."

"Indeed," Drall agrees. He tosses the remains of a small bird into his mouth and swallows before continuing. "However, Soren made an important point. Since we've not yet engaged in large-scale warfare to date, the Mallali are sure to underestimate us. From their perspective, the Kraktol are not much of a threat. We can catch them by surprise once, possibly even twice, but only if we strike when they least expect it."

Drall continues. "Further, you must look not only at our war resources, but also the effect a larger-scale victory will have on our reputation throughout the galaxy. Aren't you always saying that the Kraktol can only win by uniting the Rodaks against the Mallali? If we can seize a tremendous victory, the Mallali will become fearful and uncertain. Our leverage in the galactic market will increase, and they will begin to question where our massive fleet came from. The existence of the Rylon Shipyard is still a secret, after all."

"Hmm..."

The Thülvik falls silent for a few moments.

"Your words have merit, but we must always assume the Mallali know of our secret weapon. The Rylon Shipyards might be at the distant reaches of the Outer Rim, but should a spy walk amongst our ranks, t'would not be difficult for that information to leak. Most of our military personnel already know of its existence."

Drall's expression turns grave. "Yes, but Loreen, surely you understand that every year we continue to amass our power is another year the wretched Mallali could stumble upon the shipyard by random happenstance? Even without a spy in our midst, there are Mallali scavengers searching every nook and cranny of the galaxy for Precursor artifacts. We may not have the element of surprise today, but we definitely will not in the future."

Loreen slides another eel into her mouth and swallows, before adding a glass of wine to cleanse her palate. "Hmm. Excellent point. Your daughter is insightful, as always. What of her other observations?"

"Well," Drall says after a moment of hesitation, "if we assume the Mallali don't presently know about our fleet of 3rd Era warships, then we can also assume they won't know our full combat potential. By attacking a heavily fortified world, like Xoth or Enchillon, we can make it seem as if our combat potential is almost limitless. They won't know if the fleet which approaches is the entirety of our forces, or if we have ten times as many tucked away for the future."

Continuing, Drall adds, "Further, think of the message we would send to our enemies if we attacked a lightly defended world, such as Rhalnova. Indeed, we might take it over quickly and with few losses, but would we not appear weak and pensive? The Mallali might assume we only had a meager amount of firepower at our disposal, or that we were fearful of them. This could embolden them, thus harming our long-term interests."

The more Drall talks, the more Loreen's expression turns grim. "Hm. Your daughter, Soren. Didn't you tell me once that you adopted her?"

Drall nods. "Aye. Megla is of my blood, but Soren was merely her nest-mate."

"She's frighteningly intelligent," Loreen murmurs. "Keeping her as a tactical officer aboard Orgon's ship... that seems a waste of talent. When she returns, I want her assigned to the homeworld."

Lord Drall's eyes light up. "Ah? Yes, of course, Lady Kindris! It would be my honor! And hers, no doubt."

"There you go again with the formality," Loreen laughs, rolling her eyes. "You're such a prude. How strange, for a male who has sired tens of spawnlings."

"Ahaha..." Lord Drall chuckles wryly. "I cannot help it. Plenty of females request my visits to their chambers. I am powerless to resist!"

"Oh, you poor thing," Loreen teases, nudging his shoulder with hers. "Alright, continue. What are our projected losses if we target the worlds your daughter recommended?"

"Ahem," Drall clears his throat. "Soren estimated that if we attacked Xoth, we would gain another water-world with vast amounts of sea-space. While this would be ideal for our species to thrive, it would not provide the Rylon Shipyard with the resources it needs. She recommended Enchillon as our primary target, given its rocky surface and abundant rare minerals. It is also the most heavily fortified of our targets, so she believes a victory there would ensure the biggest increase in our prestige and reputation. Perhaps even the Buzor might be enticed by our battle strength!"

Loreen pushes her plate of food away. She leans back in the luxurious wooden chair and closes her eyes.

"That might be the case. However, Enchillon possesses a 21st Era battlestation in its orbit, one protected by a planet-mounted force-field generator. Additionally, there are two other low-tech battlestations orbiting its nearest moon. For 3rd Era ships to try and fight them head-on is..."

Drall's expression darkens. "We will suffer many losses. Indeed, I, too, wonder if this maneuver wouldn't be a huge gamble. Seizing Enchillon for ourselves could potentially triple Rylon's output. Soren also mentioned searching for 4th and 5th Era blueprints so that Rylon could upgrade its manufacturing capabilities. Of all the worlds on the list, Enchillon has the highest probability of storing those blueprints within its data vaults."

"Tripled output... blueprints..." Loreen mutters. "Those are good and well, but the problem lies within the losses we'll suffer. What good is capturing a resource-rich world like Enchillon if we haven't the might to defend it afterward?"

"I understand your concerns, my lady," Drall sighs. "I have my qualms with Soren's plan, as well. However, I believe she has your best interests at heart. She and Megla are devout believers in the might of Rodak-kind. She would never suggest something that could harm our interests."

"Not deliberately," Loreen quips. "Even if her ideas and reasoning are sound and logical, attacking Enchillon is not a decision I can make lightly. We will lose many fine pilots during such an invasion, to say nothing of the Precursor ships. Replacing both will cost us time and resources. I'll have to consult with the other generals first."

"Heh," Drall chuckles. "In that case, I doubt you'll like Soren's second suggestion. She recommended attacking Enchillon and Xoth simultaneously, thus capturing both in one sweep."

"Both?!" Loreen cries. "Kyargh! Your daughter is quite the hot-blood! We have no guarantee of defeating just Enchillon, but if she honestly believes capturing both at once is possible, I daresay your adopted spawnling is thinking well beyond the scope of our capabilities!"

The red-scaled male shakes his head. "Yes... she is a strange child, but that is why I cherish her. When we begin our attack against the Mallali, we will need out of the box thinkers like Soren. Given time, I believe you'll come to appreciate the way her mind works."

"Any child you would willingly adopt when you've already sired so many is sure to be incredible," Loreen praises. "I have no doubts in Soren's capabilities. However, even the shiniest gem must first be polished before it can reveal its true brilliance. Once she returns from exterminating those filthy Kessu, I'll sit down with her and have a nice, long chat about her future in the empire."

Drall guffaws. "Graugh! Don't scare the poor dear! I know how you love to make your inferiors squirm!"

"It's the only fun I can have around here," Loreen grumbles. "Everyone is always on edge around me. It's almost as if they think of me as a violent psychopath."

An awkward silence follows. Lord Brighteye swallows heavily as he shakes his head. "N-no. That would obviously be a gross misclassification of your, ah, temperament."

Loreen narrows her eyes. "Your words lack sincerity."

"Graugh! I'm too honest for my own good!" Drall laughs.

The Thülvik laughs, too. Both of them continue speaking for another couple of hours, reminiscing about their time together, strategizing for the future, and pondering a great many other topics.

Eventually, the door to the dining room slides open. Loreen snaps her head to the left. "Hm? Who dares enter without knocking?!"

The sudden uprising of anger within her chest vanishes as, a moment later, a slender young female Kraktol rushes into the room. "Mother!"

"Kisa? Oh, it's just you! Haha!" Loreen laughs. She rises from her chair to greet her beloved daughter, only to pause when she notices a look of deep concern etched into Kisa's face.

"Mother, it's terrible!" The red-and-black-scaled Kraktol girl cries. "The Kessu extermination force has returned! They're two weeks early!"

Drall rises from his chair. He walks over to Loreen's side and forces a smile. "Two weeks early? Did they encounter Mallali resistance? Our scouts assured us the Kessu world was still unprotected!"

Kisa glances at Lord Drall and shakes her head. "No, father, it's much worse than that. The extermination force... they encountered a terrifying enemy, something beyond their comprehension. It forced them to flee from Tarus II at maximum warp! Commander Orgon was killed, while Officers Soren and Megla went missing!"

Loreen sucks in a sharp breath. She shoots Drall a questioning look, then returns her gaze to Kisa.

"Is that so, daughter? Tell me more."

Kisa Kindris breathlessly explains to her mother and father the circumstances regarding the Kessu extermination team's return. As she speaks, the light in her mother's eyes grows colder and colder, while the alarm in her father's becomes ever more apparent.

"A monster capable of erasing memories?" Drall mutters. "I've never heard of such a thing. This creature sounds immensely frightening. Could it be? The lost..."

He trails off, causing Loreen and Kisa to look at him.

"The lost what?" Loreen snaps. "Don't leave me in suspense at a time like this. I've no patience when lives are on the line."

Drall shudders. "I pray to the elder gods that I'm wrong. Don't you remember the rumors regarding the existence of beings from other galaxies? The ones that might have been responsible for the Precursors' disappearance?"

Loreen chuffs. "Bah. We've never confirmed a trace of such beings. Those rumors aren't even worth spitting on. There must be some other machinations afoot."

The Thülvik and her top general argue with one another for a moment, all while their daughter, Kisa, squeezes the straps of her metal-and-leather armor tightly. Stitched together from the skins of multiple conquered alien species, including the Kessu and Dakkit, her expensive armor holds up well under her powerful grip, allowing the young female Kraktol to vent her anxiety on its hard, boiled surface.

"Mother," Kisa says, glancing behind herself toward the doorway. "We shouldn't dally here. The Dragon's Breath officers have already begun descending to the surface in a transport vessel, along with Orgon's remains. Let's head over there and question them!"

Loreen, still in the middle of arguing with Drall, pauses for a moment to eyeball her daughter. "Calm your nerves, my little precious. Mommy's talking with daddy. You don't tell mommy what to do or when to do it, remember?"

The Thülvik's patronizing tone sends a chill down Kisa's spine. She quickly ducks her head and nods. "Oh! Yes, o-of course, mother. Forgive me."

The hard edge in Loreen's eyes fades upon seeing her daughter's subservience. "Hm. Well, your emotions are running high. I'll forgive it. This time."

After squeezing her daughter's shoulder gently, Loreen turns to Drall. "Let's take a stroll, dear. It's been a while since you and little Kisa got to talk. We'll meet up with the Dragon Breath's crew and see what they have to say."

Without waiting for a reply, Loreen turns to the doorway and brushes past Kisa, causing her daughter and lover to fall into stride behind her. As they hurry to keep up, Drall clears his throat.

"Given what Kisa has said, it seems the crew aboard every vessel have lost their memories, and the data files have gone missing. We might not obtain any gains if we question them."

"I am aware," Loreen replies. She falls silent for half a beat before continuing. "Aliens from another galaxy, hm? Unlikely. I've never believed those silly rumors regarding the death of the Precursors."

"Ah, neither have I," Drall says, his voice low. "But given today's events..."

"Unless we have any evidence of existence for unknown extraterrestrials, I would prefer to assume the Mallali have obtained some sort of bio-weapon," Loreen says. "However, even then, these circumstances are extremely strange. Nothing I can think of quite matches how the events have played out."

The three Kraktol fall into step beside one another, with Drall on the left, Loreen on the right, and Kisa in the middle. Wherever they walk, the servants step aside and quickly bow their heads, terror barely concealed on their faces.

Down corridors, across stone bridges hovering hundreds of feet over rivers, and into buildings outside of the castle, the royal family of the Kraktol stride with purpose toward a distant hanger located a mile from their starting point. Their destination lies at the northern edge of the territory, where the land meets the sea.

Dragua, the Kraktol homeworld, consists of 85% oceans, with a singular large super-continent on one of its sides. Given that fact, storms and hurricanes frequently buffet the main landmass, but it causes the aquatic-born Kraktol little to no trouble. They merely activate environmental shields and ignore the planet's rumblings.

As Loreen and her family members walk, they continue talking, all while their scales soak up the midday sunlight. The further they get from the castle, the more Loreen begins to lose the charm and compassion she displayed toward Drall earlier that day, and the more her body language becomes stiff, formal, and brims with power.

As well, Drall's words toward her become much more polite and reserved. Even Kisa holds herself with elegance and grace, making sure to conceal her worries before the slaves.

"Mother, I am curious," Kisa says, turning her head slightly to the right. "Why are you so certain it wasn't an alien from a different galaxy that erased the invasion team's memories?"

The Thülvik snorts derisively. "You're still young and naive, daughter. Supposing an alien with such incredible powers did exist, why would they let our people go? If this alien intended to protect the Kessu, eliminating our forces would make the utmost sense. If they were peaceful and did not wish to cause any harm, then why would the aliens kill Orgon and capture the two first officers? Why not use their supreme power to capture or kill our entire fleet? Their motivations and actions don't line up, no matter how you examine the evidence."

Drall nods. "Aye, my Thülvik. Think too of the Mallali. If the Mallali were to come into possession of a mind-wiping weapon, why wouldn't they take the opportunity to destroy the fleet? They'd love nothing more than to damage our military might and humiliate us."

"They would be justified in their actions, too," Loreen says, acknowledging Drall's addition. "After all, we planned to genocide the Kessu and wipe out their species. I thought such a matter would be a trifle, but, perhaps the Kessu weren't as defenseless as we first thought..."

Rather than continue with her train of thought, the Thülvik reaches over and wraps her arm around her daughter's back, squeezing her far shoulder compassionately.

"Dear child, you will someday take over my position when I pass. I want you to think this situation through. As the Malvik, what do you suppose could have happened that would cause today's events?"

Kisa falters slightly, but finds herself reassured by her mother's touch. "Um. Well, I suppose... given the Kessu were once scientists and explorers... but they gave up that knowledge to live a primitive life on Tarus II..."

"Yes. Go on." Loreen says, prodding her daughter further.

"Well, perhaps the Kessu placed an ancient Precursor weapon somewhere on or near their planet?"

Loreen retracts her arm, but not before lovingly stroking the back of Kisa's head. "Oh, look at how smart you are! That sounds about right, little one. Considering the Kessu were once the foremost experts on Precursor technology, it isn't far-fetched to think they guarded their most precious secrets to such an extent."

The three Kraktol stride across an open, grassy yard. Not far away, the hangar installation looms, its two-hundred-meter walls and exterior making the approaching royals feel somewhat small in comparison. Its design appears contrary to the walls of the castle, given its much sleeker concrete and steel design, along with the vivid yellow lines painted around its edges. The patterns almost seem like 'warning' signs, informing people to be cautious in their approach.

"Mother," Kisa says, a look of confusion on her face. "There's something I've always wondered about the Kessu. Given they were once such incredible scientists and leaders in the galactic community, and since they once lead the Mallali for dozens of generations, what caused their fall? Why would they voluntarily exile their species to a defenseless world like Tarus II? They even gave up their knowledge for seemingly no reason!"

Loreen's expression turns solemn. She glances at Drall for a moment before nodding.

Understanding her intent, Drall interjects. "Politics, young one. The Mallali are as cruel to one another as they are to the Rodaks, Buzor, and all the other sentients. We don't fully know the reasons, but we do know foul play was involved, along with corruption, a cover-up, and a tremendous scandal."

Kisa looks at her father. "Politics? Did one of the other Mallali sub-species turn against the Kessu?"

The male Kraktol snorts. "One? Hmph. The Kessu were too mighty. Not only did they suppress our people, but many other species as well. They made too many enemies. That is why the Dakkit eventually took over. It was all executed as a grand plan, one that shook the Core's foundation for several hundred years. Our people only managed to free ourselves from bondage thanks to their skulduggery."

"Those were dark times," Loreen says, a look of sadness in her eyes. "My mother, the former Thülvik, died during that era. I immediately seized power, stabilized our people, and moved our headquarters to Dragua. We were fortunate to survive. Several other species did not."

"Like our cousins, the Algaru," Drall adds. "Such is war. No matter how hard we try, losses are always inevitable."

The Thülvik nods. "Such is war."

All three Kraktol fall silent. They continue forward and arrive at the hangar after half a minute, striding through its automated metal doors as they slide open.

An advanced ship docking facility appears, one with multiple Dilithium refueling depots; huge glass pipes of glowing blue liquid that emerge from the ceiling and walls to connect to ships via 3-meter-in-diameter output valves. The Dilithium pipes, despite looking fragile and easily breakable, contain the toxic and radioactive fuel within thanks to their highly advanced nano-glass windows.

Catwalks stretch out in all directions, while more than fifty light exocraft and twenty medium ships park at the port, waiting for minor repairs and refueling. Despite the current galactic inability to build and repair advanced Precursor ships once damaged past a certain point, it would only take an outside observer minutes to realize the same is not true for the Kraktol. Indeed, thanks to the Rylon Shipyard, their ability to repair First, Second, and 3rd Era craft surpasses the rest of the galaxy by several orders of magnitude.

As the three Kraktol enter, an Avaru slave worker, one outfitted with an electric collar, runs out in front of them without paying attention and yelps in fright before crashing into Kisa. "Eep!"

The bird-like alien, known as a Reva, sports pure black feathers and a long, thick black beak. His feathers tremble when he immediately realizes the crime he's committed.

"S-squaw! Please forgive me, Malvik! Squaw! Wasn't looking! Did not mean to hurt!"

The Reva reaches out its clawed wing to help Kisa up, but she swats it aside and jumps to her feet. "Tch. I'll forgive you this time. Next time, watch where you're-"

"Kisa!" Loreen snaps, staring at her daughter with cold eyes. "What are you thinking? Punish this insolent, wretched slave properly!"

The familial atmosphere from only a minute prior dissipates in an instant. Kisa, suddenly realizing her error, jerks her eyes upward to meet her mother's. Now, Loreen looks at her daughter with the gaze of a predator; a creature teaching its spawn to kill.

"A-ah! Yes, of course, mother..." Kisa says, swallowing heavily. Her heart trembles as she realizes the grave error she just made. Not wanting to suffer another of her mother's "lectures," Kisa immediately whips her eyes back to the Reva.

"Tch. Bastard! Kyargh! And here I almost let you off with a warning! You Avaru are all so... so worthless! Where is your sincerity? Where is your genuine apology?!"

The Avaru's pupils dilate as the Malvik, 'princess' of the Kraktol, grabs him by the throat and hoists him into the air. Unable to fight back thanks to his slave collar, the bird can only summon tears to its eyes. "P-please! Forgive... forgive me... Malvik! Squaw!"

Kisa falters.

Unlike her mother, a cold-blooded killer with millennia of experience, Kisa is only a few hundred years old. As a young adult, compared to the others of her species, she's yet to fully develop her murdering instincts, especially to the extent of her mother.

"What are you waiting for?" Loreen hisses. "Kyargh! Do it! End this worthless creature's life! We've thousands more able to do his job!"

Kisa flicks her eyes to Drall. However, her father merely stands with his arms folded across his chest. His answer comes back without hesitation: Pure silence.

Realizing there's no way out, Kisa's hands begin to tremble. Eventually, she gives in to the pressure and squeezes with all her strength.

Crrrunch.

The Avaru's neck-bones pop and splatter inside his throat. It takes several seconds before the life leaves his eyes and he falls limp in Kisa's grasp.

Loreen snarls. "You hesitated! Kyargh! By the time I was your age, I'd already slain hundreds of Kessu, to say nothing of our other enemies. After we resolve today's dilemma, I'm going to take you into the Frigid Mountain to hunt Poldans."

Kisa gently lowers the dead Avaru to the ground and releases her grip on his neck. She bows her head contritely afterward and sighs. "Yes, mother."

Without hesitation, Loreen stomps toward a different Avaru slave and snaps at him. "You there! CLEAN UP THAT MESS!"

The slave appears mortified at the death of someone who may have been his close friend, but he doesn't offer a word of protest. "Y-yes, great Thülvik! At once! Caw!"

With her mother's attention momentarily diverted, Kisa glances at the dead Avaru and sighs.

"I hate this," She whispers.

"Your mother is right," Drall says in a low voice, his words just as cold as Loreen's. "You're too soft. If you want to become the Thülvik someday, you'll need to rule with an iron fist. No compromises. Tragedy always befalls those who rule their species half-heartedly."

Loreen hangs her head with shame.

I never wanted to become the Thülvik anyway, the young girl thinks to herself.

She doesn't voice her thoughts. Instead, Kisa and Drall rejoin Loreen after leaving the Avaru's corpse behind. No longer do they chat amicably, but instead, they fall into an uncomfortable silence.

Minutes pass.

The three Kraktol travel to a landing platform where roughly one hundred officers from the Dragon's Breath line up, their heads bowed. They stand in a half-circle around a long, rectangular container, icy air escaping from the rubberized seals encapsulating its top and bottom half.

Loreen strides with purpose toward the assembled officers. "Gorlax! Where are you? Come out!"

Gorlax Stormfang, the former Chief Navigator aboard the Dragon's Breath, now its temporary Captain, strides away from the front of the crowd and prostrates himself before the Thülvik.

"Thülvik Kindris, third of her name! Please forgive me! Nobody in my crew remembers the monster that attacked us! We can only recall hazy images of a creature wrapped in darkness, an evil being capable of devouring us whole! I couldn't even control the fleet; our ships autopiloted us all home!"

Loreen snorts. "Never mind that. I'm not here to pick your brain. Orgon's body, did you preserve it according to the emergency specifications?"

Gorlax doesn't raise his snout. He keeps his eyes aimed at the ground. "Yes, great Thülvik! Graugh! We preserved Orgon's body within a cryogenic pod as soon as we realized what had happened!"

"Finally, some good news," Loreen snorts. She gestures to a pair of Dakkit slaves nearby, both creatures resembling dogs, specifically Dobermans. Their tall and muscular forms prove to be exactly the muscle she needs. "You two! Grab that coffin! Bring it along!"

Gorlax, confused by her words, clenches his teeth. "G-great Thülvik? We have not yet completed the rite of passage! Once Orgon's family returns-"

"Shut your mouth, if you know what's good for you."

Loreen snaps at Gorlax, making him squeeze his eyes shut.

"You and your crew may take a one-week leave of absence to reflect on your failure," Loreen says, her words containing a bone-chilling air. "I need Orgon's body for my own purposes. You are not to speak of this to anyone."

Gorlax presses his snout even harder against the ground, trying to make himself as small as possible. "Y-yes! Graugh! Of course, Thülvik! I won't say a word!"

With a single nod, Loreen spins on her heel and indicates for the two Dakkit to follow her, along with Kisa and Drall.

As Loreen starts to walk, Kisa looks at Drall in confusion. "Father? Why isn't mother questioning the crew?"

Drall clicks his tongue. "No need for that. They won't tell us anything we don't already know. Follow along and see what happens. It will be another eye-opening experience for you."

Unable to refuse, Kisa merely nods and falls into stride alongside her father. The small party begins heading out of the hangar from the way they just came, making Kisa frown.

Why would mother come all the way here to pick up Orgon's body? Is there a secret on his person that only she knows about?

When they arrive at the entrance to the hangar, Kisa's gaze falls on the spot where she left the dead Avaru. No longer does he rest there. Only a small puddle of blood remains.

She walks past it without uttering a word.

.......................................

Twenty minutes later, the three Kraktol and their Dakkit slaves arrive at a small structure to the south, one that Kisa realizes she's never entered before. A small, house-sized 'bubble' of metal sticks out of the ground, its circular top giving it the appearance of a mushroom. Loreen strides up to the only door on its face, keys in a command code on its access panel, and enters. The rest follow.

They arrive inside a large elevator, one which begins lowering underground via a series of pulleys and chains. The sense of distance grows indistinct after several minutes, making Kisa wonder just how far they'll go. Eventually, a massive underground facility reveals itself, the scale of which dwarfs even the hangar!

Three hundred meters separate the rocky, concrete-and-metal-plated ceiling from the floor below. Huge stone pillars provide support for the underground installation's roof. Catwalks line the walls in multiple levels, leading to rooms built into the underground structure's sides. Artificially grown trees planted in the corners of the room, as well as placed here and there sporadically, give the Colosseum-sized room a hint of color outside of silver and grey.

As the elevator continues to lower, Kisa sucks in a gasp. Below, dozens of liquid tubes feed into multiple nutrient tanks, many of which reveal the bodies of Kraktol warriors injured and fallen in battle over the years. Most surprisingly, in addition to the Kraktol warriors, members of other species also rest within the upright glass containers, their bodies spread out across the several-mile-wide facility. Hundreds of Kraktol in white scientist vests walk back and forth, inspecting different nutrient tanks for leaks, to check the condition of their occupants, and other such things.

Kisa looks at Drall. "Father. What is this place?"

"A secret facility," Drall replies. "Not even the Mallali have something similar. Let's just say we've had our fortunate encounters over the past few millennia."

The young Kraktol female wrings her hands together, partially due to anxiety, but also because of apprehension. Never in all her years did she know such a vast structure was sitting beneath her feet.

I wonder what other secrets my mother is holding back from me? The Malvik thinks.

The elevator drops to the bottom and opens up, allowing the Kraktol royals and their two Dakkit slaves, both heaving Orgon's cryogenic coffin on their shoulders, to depart.

Loreen beelines toward the nearest Kraktol officer, a brown-scaled female wearing a red lab-coat with yellow stripes. Upon seeing the Thülvik's approach, the female drops what she's doing, steps forward, and nods politely. Unlike most other Kraktol, she doesn't prostrate and bow, making Kisa wonder why her mother would allow such disrespect.

"Julani Riverwalker," Loreen says, speaking the scientist's name for Kisa's benefit. "Good to see you again, cousin."

The scientist nods. "And you as well, Loreen. How can I help you?"

Her tone, almost casual, stands apart from almost all other Kraktol who Kisa has ever seen interact with her mother. Not even Drall would dare refer to the Thülvik by her first name when others were watching, yet Julani does so without hesitation.

If the lack of proper courtesy bothers the Thülvik, she doesn't show it on her face. "I need you to perform a cerebral scan. Level 2. There's been an incident on the surface. Remember the Kessu extermination mission?"

Julani's eyes narrow. "How could I forget? After what those filthy furballs did to my mother and father..."

"Yes, well, the mission failed," Loreen says. "It seems the Kessu had a secret weapon on their side. It wiped the bridge crew's memories. I need you to gather intelligence for me regarding its capabilities."

The Thülvik explains what happened, and after a few minutes, Julani nods. "Kyargh! A simple matter. You brought me a subject?"

"Yes. Commander Orgon. He's dead, but the crew followed proper protocol and placed him in stasis."

"Haha. Then there's no problem," Julani replies, a nasty grin on her face. "I don't know what tricks those Kessu pulled, but as long as I can help finish them off once and for all, I'll give my best efforts. Bring the body over to Scanning Platform G-7."

Loreen nods. "Let's go."

The group resumes walking. Loreen and Julani chat about all sorts of things, while Kisa hangs back with Lord Brighteye.

"Father, what is this place? I didn't even know it existed."

Drall pats his daughter's head. "This is our Central Intelligence Facility, the cornerstone of our success. If it weren't for our discovery of this ancient underground Precursor structure, we would never have located the Rylon Shipyards, nor would we have become as powerful as we are today."

Kisa nods, her jaw dropping at the revelation. "Is that why we chose Dragua as our homeworld? Because we located this place?"

"Not quite. The Kraktol lived on Dragua for several thousand years before your mother became the Thülvik. However, thanks to a chance discovery of this laboratory, we were able to bide our time and slowly amass enough political power to worm our way out of the Kessu's grasp. When the revolution occurred and the Kessu left the Galactic Core, we constructed our defensive battlements here and established this world as our capital planet. Now, none dare approach without considerable firepower."

The group strolls past a tall glass cylinder, one with a Kessu female inside, suspended within the lightly bubbling liquid. Her closed eyes betray no hints of life within her body, yet the countless observers around continuously check readings and measurements as part of their daily routines.

"Why are there different beings inside the glass containers?" Kisa asks. "Are they alive? Dead?"

"It's a mixture," Drall answers. "Most of the Kraktol specimens are still alive, and some of our non-citizen prisoners are as well. However, plenty of others have long since perished."

"Then, why preserve their bodies?" Kisa asks, bewildered. "Why not bury them? Aren't these regeneration tanks?"

Drall smiles.

"No. This facility has nothing to do with healing injured warriors. However, it does have everything to do with extraction and preservation."

Moments later, the Thülvik slows to a stop, as does her cousin, Julani. The group arrives before an empty cylinder filled with clear liquid, and Loreen beckons to the two Dakkit slaves.

"Place the cryo-coffin here."

The slaves nod. They set the coffin down a few feet in front of the glass tank and take a few steps back.

"W-what else, great Thülvik?" Asks one of the Dakkit.

Loreen ponders the question for a moment.

"Hmm. Well, now that you've seen this facility, I can't let you leave here alive. Kisa, be a good little girl and kill these slaves for mother."

With only a few words, the Thülvik casts a horrifying shadow across the two Dakkit. They glance at Kisa in alarm, but the young girl merely sighs.

I'm already in mother's bad graces. I... I have no choice. She'll kill them even if I don't.

A wave of resignation washes through Kisa's heart. She hardens her stomach and turns to face the Dakkit. Unable to resist due to their slave collars, the duo merely stand at attention, looks of horror on their faces.

Ten seconds later, both of them slump to the ground, huge holes in their chests from where Kisa impaled their hearts. She stares at her blood-drenched right hand listlessly, unable to feel any emotions whatsoever.

It never gets easier, no matter how many times mother makes me do it.

Loreen smiles. "You were a bit faster on the uptake this time, daughter dearest. Now, take this towel and clean that filth off your claws."

The Thülvik tosses a black-colored towel at Kisa. She begrudgingly does as her mother orders and cleans the blood from her hands, only to watch silently as a cleanup crew arrives to cart away her two newest victims.

While Kisa's mood sinks to rock-bottom, her mother and Julani get to work extracting Orgon's frozen corpse from his cryo-container. They use an anti-gravity crane to lift him up and drop him inside the circular glass tank before sealing its top. Orgon's dimly colored yellow scales immediately brighten somewhat as Julani fiddles with a series of controls at the bottom of the tank.

"Alright. I'm beginning the scan. Let's see. Body integrity, stable. He's suffered dozens of bone fractures, torn ligaments, and even his skull took a beating. Hm. It seems Orgon engaged in melee combat with an unknown attacker and got the tar knocked out of him. He died when the enemy assailant snapped his neck."

Drall frowns. "Who could possibly outmatch Orgon to such a degree? The Kraktol are the fiercest warriors in the galaxy. Not even the most accomplished Dakkit brawler could overpower him so one-sidedly."

"You and I could," Loreen mutters, "but not any of the Mallali I know. Naturally, the galaxy is expansive and countless trillions of sentients live within it. There are sure to be a few aberrants capable of defeating Orgon in combat."

The Thülvik pauses.

"...However. This goes contrary to my original assumption. I didn't realize Orgon took such a beating. Why would such a battle-maniac kill Orgon but spare the crew?"

"Perhaps they were a more principled combatant," Drall suggests. "Someone who only wished to combat the fleet's mightiest warrior. Possibly a Bulin?"

"The Bulin are capable of matching us, and they're certainly honorable warriors," Loreen mutters. "However, I can't see them leaving our fleet to limp away, let alone somehow wiping our memories. The Kessu must have gotten involved."

"Perhaps, with the Kessu's technological knowledge and the Bulin's strength," Drall says, "this situation could have played out the way it did."

"We'll find out soon enough," Loreen says, casting aside further extrapolations from her mind. "A level 2 extraction won't take long."

Julani turns to look at Loreen. "Any requests?"

"Yes. Ensure the 'honesty' setting is at 100%. I don't want any lies or half-truths to come out of Orgon's mouth."

Kisa's ears prick up. "His mouth? Huh? Are you going to make Orgon speak, mother?"

"Something like that," Loreen says with a cruel smile. "You see, dearest, this facility is an ancient Precursor synthmind creation laboratory. We can scan the brains of dead and living organisms to create synthminds."

"And then we can interrogate them," Drall says, his smile just as cold as Loreen's. He crosses his arm and nods. "That was how we located the Rylon Shipyards. We captured an Avaru informant returning from a top-secret mission and forced her to give us the location."

Julani speaks. "Orgon has suffered severe brain trauma as a result of his fight, but his memory receptors are still 94% intact. I shouldn't have any issues extracting his personality."

Everyone falls silent.

Fifteen minutes pass as the Kraktol royals watch Julani's claws move like the wind. Eventually, she finishes her work and nods.

"Synthmind creation complete. Initializing now."

After a few moments, a holographic projection of Orgon's head materializes in the air beside his extraction container. His closed eyes and drooping head give off the impression of a dead man, but not long after, he slowly blinks his eyes open.

"Graugh... ah... my head hurts... where am I?"

After staring forward blankly, Orgon picks out the Thülvik's face and immediately turns pale.

"Ah! Graugh! Great Thülvik! I apologize, for I did not see you there!"

The Kraktol officer performs an odd tilting motion with his holographic head, but his expression becomes even more dazed than before.

"I... I can't feel my arms... my legs... what happened? Where am I?"

Loreen scratches the underside of her chin. "You're dead."

"Huh? How can that be? I can see you! I can talk! How am I dead??"

"Tell me what happened aboard the Dragon's Breath," Loreen says, ignoring Orgon's barrage of questions. "Choose your words carefully. Your fleet went out to attack the Kessu, yet they returned via autopilot two weeks earlier than planned, with all of their memories wiped, yourself dead, and two of your top bridge officers having gone missing."

"My daughters," Drall adds. "Megla and Soren. We can't find them. Where did they go? What happened to your fleet?"

Orgon's confusion only deepens. "I... I don't know! I was... I was leading the mission... everything was going as planned..."

He mutters to himself for a few seconds, as if digging up his memories.

"...Ah! Then we saw the vessel!"

"The vessel?" Loreen asks. "What do you mean? Explain."

"The 14th Era stealth craft! Yes, now I remember!" Orgon yells. "It came from the Kessu surface! It outmaneuvered our fighters with ease!"

"Ah," Loreen says, her eyes flashing with insight. "I knew it. The Kessu must have sprung a trap. Did that vessel somehow attack your fleet?"

Orgon shakes his head. "No! Not at all, great Thülvik! Graugh! It merely tried to escape! I gave chase with the entire fleet, as I wished to capture and return it to you. I knew you would want such an advanced craft at all costs, even if it meant temporarily halting the mission."

Loreen frowns. "You... don't tell me you brought the entire damned fleet along! Surely you left a portion of the fleet behind to continue the mission!"

She and Orgon spend the next several minutes playing tug of war with one another. Orgon makes several excuses regarding his choices, but those words only end up making the Thülvik's face morph into a specter of pure rage.

"Insolent little SHIT! The moment you saw that Juggernaut vessel, you should have sent ships home to inform me! What were you thinking?!"

Orgon hesitates. His face becomes a facsimile of terror.

"I... I wanted... to please you... to... argh!"

Julani glances at the console. "Hmph. Orgon is trying to lie."

Drall steps forward. "You bastard. You planned to take that Juggernaut vessel for yourself! You actually thought of betraying your Thülvik for the sake of empowering yourself!"

"Filthy traitor," Loreen hisses. Her eyes glow with anger, but she keeps her emotions under control. "You have yet to pay the price. I'll make sure to torture your synth-brain for an eternity over this. Now, continue. Tell me what happened next."

Unable to resist the synthmind manipulation matrix, Orgon continues with his story, all while knowing that his deepest secrets will be laid bare.

He details the appearance of the Precursor, their verbal battles, the bargaining over the Kessu stealth vessel, and even his fight with the Terran Admiral.

"...After that, I don't know what happened," Orgon says, hanging his head. He attacked me, and my vision went black. The next thing I knew, I woke up here."

...

Loreen's rage disappears. In its place, her complexion turns ashen, along with Drall and Kisa's.

"That's an impossible tale..." Loreen mutters. "A living Precursor. A ghost from the past. His motivations appear bizarre... but everything adds up. This 'Terran' tore through the hull of an Empire-Class carrier with his bare hands. He shrugged off blaster fire and trounced Orgon like it was nothing."

"We don't know what happened after Orgon died," Drall murmurs, "but at least I can guess how the memory erasure worked. His synthmind was highly advanced; a 50th Era design well beyond even those the Mallali covet. It must have manipulated the biochemicals within every crewman's brain without using any specialized equipment."

"Why... why would your daughters leave the ship, then?" Loreen asks. "Gah! Don't tell me! Perhaps he captured them and took them to his ship to use as hostages!"

"Hostages?" Julani asks. "Why would he need that? Our mightiest warships pose him no threat. We can't offer him anything he needs. More likely, he wanted them for research subjects. Perhaps he intends to experiment on them to find our weaknesses."

Kisa raises her hand. "Ah- um... but mother, father... what if he didn't capture them? What if Megla and Soren went willingly?"

"Willingly? Not a chance," Drall scoffs. "My little girls would never do such a thing. Megla is fiercely loyal to the Thülvik. And as for Soren..."

Drall hesitates.

"...No, if it's Soren, she might just join him. Megla is highly emotional, but Soren is logical to a fault. What if..."

Loreen looks at Drall questioningly, and he follows up with a hypothesis.

"...What if Soren realized the value of joining this Terran? Think about it. She's more shrewd and cunning than either Orgon or Megla. Soren may have joined the Terran to slowly turn him into an ally of the Kraktol. She might have realized that by supporting him, she can do what Orgon couldn't."

"Indeed, that is a possibility," Loreen says, nodding along to Drall's hypothesis. "But what if, instead, she defected to his side for selfish reasons? We don't have enough information."

"Are you implying my daughters would turn against the Kraktol empire?" Drall asks, clearly appalled. "Soren isn't a muscle-head like Orgon. Don't lump her in with the likes of him."

"Greed can change a person into something unrecognizable," Loreen says. She turns to Julani and nods. "Speaking of which, start punishing Orgon for his treachery. I want him on a continual Level 3 punishment loop until further notice. Make sure his synthmind knows the pain of turning against me."

"You know that won't accomplish anything, cousin," Julani says. "He's only a synthmind. The real Orgon won't suffer at all."

Loreen's expression sours. "Perhaps! But it will certainly make me feel a great deal better!"

"Very well. You are the oh-so-great Thülvik, after all," Julani says with rolled eyes. Clearly, she doesn't respect her cousin's lauded title, but at the same time, Loreen doesn't say anything about her insolence. Whatever relations the two have, they go deeper than blood.

A few button presses later, and Orgon's holographic head begins shrieking in pain, his face contorting into all manner of agonized expressions. His cries of anguish ring out through the facility, making many scientists turn to look at what's happening. Upon realizing the Thülvik walks among their ranks, they promptly turn back around and keep their noses buried in their work.

Loreen pulls Drall aside for a private chat.

"Alright. I've made up my mind. This 'Terran' is highly dangerous. A fleet of our best warships couldn't scratch his vessel, and Orgon turned against me due to his greed. I need someone I trust to handle this."

Thanks to his long, storied relationship with the Thülvik, Drall immediately understands Loreen's intent. "You want me to travel to the Juggernaut vessel and contact the Terran, I presume?"

"That's right. Given how he spared the lives of our crew, it's possible he doesn't have any hostile intentions. You need to find out what happened to Megla and Soren, see if you can convert that Terran to our cause, and try to figure out why he would protect the Kessu. If everything Orgon said was true, then we're dealing with an oddly principled being who may turn his vessel against us to protect our blood-enemies."

Drall's expression hardens. "What if he does? How should we react?"

"We'll cross that road when it comes," Loreen murmurs. "Right now, aside from the Kessu, we are the only beings in this galaxy who know of the Terran's existence. His synthmind alone is powerful enough to take out an entire fleet. If we can convert him to our cause, then abandoning our revenge against the Kessu is worth it."

"What?" Drall asks, incredulous. "You would go that far?"

"I would. The mere fact a 50th Era vessel exists means there may be more. What if his ship's datastores contain the locations of other top-secret facilities? This might be our shot at completely taking over the Core. The Mallali won't stand a chance!"

Finally, Drall nods.

"I see. Very well. I shall do as you command."

"Good."

Loreen turns to walk away from Drall. "Kisa! Pack your things. You and your father are going on a mission together."

"I am?" She asks.

"She is?!" Drall asks, even more stunned.

Loreen smirks.

"Think of it as a family bonding opportunity. The Malvik needs to expand her horizons and learn what a treacherous place the galaxy really is."

"It's going to be dangerous," Drall says.

"Such is life," Loreen counters.

"...Great rewards require taking even greater risks."