The journey to Black Shore had been quiet, the hum of Kira’s ship a constant companion as it glided through the void.

“There, up ahead,” said Kira as they finally drew closer to the massive swirl of the gas and dust; flat, dense, immense like a celestial pancake.

“Black Shore,” whispered Tyren, his awe apparent. He hadn’t seen it before.

The accretion disk rotated slowly as it spewed intense magnetic fields. With the singularity at its centre, the very fabric of space itself was being pulled and twisted. The ship’s inertial dampers kicked in automatically, stabilising the vessel against the forces threatening to pull them off course.

Tyren’s eyes widened as he took in the sight. Thousands of gleaming energy harvesters dotted the expanse, like pearls strung around the neck of the void. Some were massive, built to handle the largest freighters, others small and skeletal, but equally vital. He shifted in his seat to follow the spiralling array of structures, scattered like shells across a beach, glittering in the black sea.

“Is this the one?” Kira asked, her voice steady despite the weight of what lay ahead.

Ralos, standing beside her, glanced out the viewport. “Yeah, 842-B.”

The energy harvester loomed ahead; a compact, utilitarian node nestled against the immense pull of the black hole. It was nothing like the massive refuellers for the megaton ion freighters. This was a modular station, built for civilian vessels like theirs—gritty, practical, and almost swallowed up by the dark forces of the region.

Kira set the ship down, the dampers whining softly as they adjusted to the shifting gravitational tides.

“Vex, how are you holding up?” Kira asked.

“I can function, Kira, but my response times are degraded by a factor of 80. Is this what it feels like to be human?”

“Welcome to the tribe,” Kira said with a half-laugh, leading them toward the cargo bay.

“Nesta, Elias—this won’t take long. You’d better stay put.”

“Be careful,” Nesta urged. Elias just raised his fists in silence—a gesture somewhere between courage and prayer.

They disembarked into the station’s dingy terminal, the stale air thick with the smell of recycled oxygen. A few ships were docked, but there was little activity, barely enough to break the station’s eerie silence. The Black Shore was never a place for tourism.

Kira led them to the lounge area as Vex hovered behind, struggling to keep up. It was a squat grimy room with posters of long forgotten adverts for coolant and ion-drive parts peeling off the walls. A decrepit gas-station in space. To the back was a small bar where the keep welcomed them in with a nod. A man in a faded janitor suit was mopping the floor, stewarding the same greasy swirls around from left to right.

Kira, Ralos and Tyren settled into a corner booth, the fuel terminal pumps vibrating beneath them.

Kira glanced at Tyren, who was already watching the door, his hands resting on his weapon inside his coat. The plan was in motion, but the air felt thick with something unspoken.

After a moment, the barkeep wandered over to the booth, wiping his hands on a rag as he approached. He looked them over with a casual glance, his eyes flicking from Kira to Ralos, then to Tyren. His gaze lingered a moment longer on the slight bulge of the weapon under Tyren's coat, but he said nothing, his face unreadable.

“What’ll it be?” he asked gruffly, his voice low, almost too low.

Ralos said nothing, still watching the door.

“We’ll order when our friend arrives,” Kira replied, calm and cordial.

She shifted slightly—enough to signal the conversation was over.

The barkeep hesitated, eyes flicking once more to Tyren’s coat before he nodded and stepped back. “Sure. I’ll be here,” he muttered, then walked away, leaving the group to their silence.

As they waited, the trap set, Kira looked out the small window and watched the Black Shore spinning lazily, its magnetic fields bending light, distorting the view of the universe. The whole station felt like it was living on borrowed time, held in place only by the immense forces at play.