For twelve days, the scavenger satellites roamed.
From orbit, Darknova slowly went still.
The brief surge of activity that had once spread across its surface—construction, movement, energy signatures—faded into silence. What had looked like the birth of a new civilization now resembled something abandoned. The black plains stretched endlessly, broken only by massive structures and cities formed from unfolded starships, standing quiet like monuments to a failed ambition.
From space, it looked as if a flame had ignited…
…and died just as quickly.
The satellites continued circling.
At first, one or two.
Then five.
They adjusted their paths gradually, cylindrical bodies drifting closer until they aligned above the central settlement—the heart of the city, where the tallest structure stood.
The palace.
Darion's palace.
Without warning, the satellites began to transform.
Metal segments shifted and unfolded. Rings rotated, panels slid apart, mechanical arms extended and locked into place. One by one, the cylindrical units opened outward like metallic petals.
Slowly, precisely, they connected.
In orbit above Darknova, a strange mechanical flower formed in the black sky.
A flower of scavengers.
The structure stabilized, then slowly compressed inward, folding into a unified vessel—a compact, flower-shaped carrier. Its engines flared softly, blue light flickering as it began its descent through the atmosphere.
Far below, the city remained still.
Silent.
Watching.
Waiting.
The palace stood at the center of the city, towering above everything else—a structure born from the flagship Erevox Prime, its massive body unfolded into halls, spires, terraces, and layered architecture that blended imperial elegance with advanced engineering. Around it, the city stretched outward in expanding rings—streets carved between ship-structures, towers formed from vertical hulls, bridges linking platforms like veins in a growing organism.
All of it quiet.
Not dead.
Just quiet.
The carrier halted above the palace and released dozens of scanning drones. The small machines drifted through the city like glowing insects, green beams sweeping across buildings, streets, towers, windows, rooftops—searching for life, energy, movement.
Hours passed.
Nothing obvious responded.
Satisfied—or perhaps intrigued—the carrier deployed a smaller shuttle. It detached and descended slowly, landing near the palace grounds with a controlled hiss of air pressure.
The ramp lowered.
Red light spilled onto the black ground.
Five figures stepped out.
Their silhouettes stretched long across the stone.
The first was an old bald man, his bluish skin dull under the dim light. A metal mask covered his nose and mouth, and circular mechanical devices were fixed around his ears. He carried a staff with a glowing tip, tapping it lightly against the ground as he walked.
Beside him stood a tall chameleon-like creature, upright like a human, its long tail dragging behind it—longer than its body. It wore a fitted space suit, though part of its tail still hung loosely behind.
On the other side walked a short, furry creature with heavy steps. Its face resembled a monstrous mix of ape and predator, teeth jagged, claws thick and sharp enough to tear metal.
Behind them came two more.
A thin, one-eyed being with skin like an octopus, wearing a helmet and holding a screen device in a tentacle that split into smaller appendages.
And a woman.
Tall. Purple-skinned. A single horn rising from her forehead. Red eyes gleaming under the dim light. She carried a spherical weapon with a curved blue blade attached, her movements confident—almost predatory.
They stopped and looked around.
The city did not move.
"Looks like the Spirians are dead," the old man said, voice muffled through his mask. "No living signs."
The one-eyed creature tilted his device, scanning. "But where are the bodies? I don't track them."
The horned woman shrugged slightly. "The Humans of Lightspire burn themselves after death. Maybe they helped themselves to fire."
The chameleon suddenly howled, tail whipping behind him. "My food! My food! No!"
The short creature snarled. "I wanted dead human meat. What will you feed us now?"
The old man slammed his staff into the ground.
A shockwave rippled outward, dust lifting from the stone.
"Silence," he snapped, red eyes scanning the surroundings. "You fools worry about humans when you are standing on treasure."
He pointed around them.
"Look at this place. The tech. The structures. These ships turned into cities—this is wealth. This is fortune."
His gaze lifted slowly toward the palace towering above them.
"And that," he said with a grin beneath the mask, "is our crown."
They moved toward the palace.
The entrance stood massive and silent, doors several meters high, carved with metallic patterns and Lightspire symbols.