Chapter 71 : Kryptoa-6

He grunted softly, more out of habit than true objection.

“He calls it the Kael’seth pack.”

She smiled against his skin.

“It’s not such a bad name.”

“It’s pretentious.”

“It’s you.”

A pause.

“…And you’re not opposing it.”

She lifted her head slightly to meet his gaze. He stared back, unblinking, that golden glint in his eyes still burning despite the darkness. For a moment, she thought he’d deny it. Disagree. Dismiss it.

But no.

“Because you like it,” he said at last, his voice low and steady. “And what you like matters to me.”

Evelyn smiled—softly, tenderly, a smile she reserved only for him. She placed her hand on his cheek and closed her eyes.

“Then I guess I’m doomed too.”

He raised a brow. “You were the moment you stepped on my ship.”

She let out a quiet laugh, muffled against his chest. Blue, curled up on the floor, grumbled in his sleep as if to punctuate the exchange.

Vykhor tightened his arms around her.

And in the Narak’Tharr’s muted stillness, lulled by the steady hum of ventilation and the slow breathing of their ever-growing feline, they drifted into sleep.

A warrior who had found his home.

A scientist who had found her family.

And a future predator softly snoring, already ready for the next adventure.

**Planet Kryptoa-6 — Secondary Transit Station — Makeshift Playground**

The ground of Kryptoa-6 shimmered beneath the glow of the three suns hanging overhead. A calm world, with soft air, silver-gray soil… and a mischievous touch of gravity. The kind of place where people lived at their own pace, far from galactic politics and conflict.

In a small open plaza lined with crystalline palm trees, a local game was in full swing.

Zeynn trailed behind the group, slowing his steps. He stopped, tilted his head, and watched, fascinated by the scene ahead.

Two men stood on a sandy playing field. The first was a bearded giant, arms crossed over a well-fed belly. The second, leaner, wore an expression of intense concentration that clashed with the fluorescent orbs in his hands.

The game was called Krëptenkh, and it mixed strategy, dexterity, and loosely interpreted quantum physics. The goal: throw a “krep”—a slightly unstable gravitational sphere—as close as possible to the “core,” a floating orb suspended about twenty centimeters above the ground. All while a magnetic field randomly changed polarity every thirty seconds.

Basically, pétanque on acid.

“Come on, Fredrikos! Show him how we do it on Rhélia!” shouted a woman from a shaded lounge chair.

Lounging like a galactic empress, a woman with iridescent skin sipped a violently colored cocktail through a neon straw. Her wide-brimmed hat gave her the air of a solar referee, and her musical laugh echoed every time a shot went awry.

Vykhor had stopped as well, raising an eyebrow at the chaos.

“Did he just kick that ball?” Evelyn asked, amused.

“Arnaak never plays by the rules,” Fredrikos growled, never taking his eyes off his opponent. “And yet he always loses.”

“Screw you, you muscle-bound oaf,” Arnaak retorted with flair, just before throwing his krep... which ricocheted off a stone, veered wildly, and slammed into a security beacon.

BEEP-BEEP-BEEP.

“Uh-oh,” Zeynn muttered.

The beacon exploded in a burst of blue light... and a reverse propulsion beam launched Arnaak into the sky like a misfired rocket. He crashed into a tentacled tree, dangled for a second… and then the branch bent and flung him into a fountain.

SPLAAASH.

Silence. Then—

“...I’m not dead!” Arnaak shouted, coughing, standing in the fountain, soaked and covered in foam.

“Not yet!” Fredrikos bellowed with laughter.

The woman in the hat raised her glass high, still laughing: “To your botched regen, Arnaak! That’ll teach you to cheat!”

Zeynn blinked… then burst out laughing.

Vykhor shook his head. “I hate this planet.”

Evelyn grinned. “I already love it.”

**Kryptoa-6 — Galactic Trade Pavilion**

The echoes of Krëptenkh and splashes from Arnaak’s impromptu bath faded as the group moved on, heading toward a dome-shaped white building marked with a constantly rotating holographic sign:

“Trade Pavilion — Certified Interstellar Deposits & Deliveries.”

Inside, the air was crisp—too crisp—and the serene atmosphere stood in stark contrast to the chaos outside.

A smooth-faced, overly mechanical android greeted them with a minimalist nod.

“Order 774-Delta-Phi. Scheduled retrieval. Validation code required.”

Vykhor raised his right arm, the glowing circuitry of his prosthesis activating with a soft hiss. A scanner flashed, and the android stepped aside in silence.
A panel slid open in the wall, revealing a reinforced transport case etched with security symbols.

Evelyn stepped forward immediately, eyes sparkling. She pulled out her data scanner and examined the container with keen interest.

“Thalos 9 model. Biometric lock, triple seal. No energy or psionic trace detected.”

“In plain terms?” Zeynn asked, tapping the case lightly like it might respond.

“In plain terms, if someone wanted to stash a priceless artifact in a near-indestructible box, they nailed it.”

Blue padded closer, sniffed… then sneezed forcefully.

“It’s not alive, is it?” Zeynn asked, slightly concerned.

“No,” Vykhor replied, watching the box warily. “But it’s emitting something. Faint… like an old religious field.”

Evelyn frowned, fingertips brushing the edges as if trying to sense what lay inside.

“We’ll study it back on the Narak’Tharr. For now, let’s move.”

They exited the pavilion in calm efficiency.

From the fountain, Fredrikos bellowed, “Leaving already? You’re missing the final match—Arnaak versus gravity!”

Arnaak, his head covered in alien seaweed, raised a defiant fist. “I WILL RETURN TO CONQUER!”

“Maybe in a coffin,” Vykhor muttered.

Zeynn snorted. Evelyn chuckled. Blue sneezed again, as if in agreement.

And so the Kael’seth pack walked away, artifact in tow, toward their next mission—
—and probably another bout of interstellar chaos.

**Aboard the Narak’Tharr — Return to Calm**

The airlock sealed with a soft hiss.

The Narak’Tharr’s familiar ambiance wrapped around them like a blanket—pulsing energy veins along the walls, the low hum of the ship’s core echoing like a heartbeat.

Evelyn still held the secured case tightly, eyes fixed on it as though sheer focus might reveal its secrets. Vykhor walked beside her, jaw tight since leaving the pavilion.

Blue strutted proudly ahead, as if personally responsible for the mission’s success.

Zeynn trailed behind, eyeing the hangar’s storage area with a gleam in his eye. Ideas were already forming. Ideas that would almost certainly turn that space into an interstellar jungle gym.

**Author's Note:** This chapter features a cameo from my three favorite colleagues. One I promised repeated deaths to, another a pétanque competitor, and a third a fan of cocktails and the art of enjoying life. I hope they recognize themselves.