Chapter 89: The Wolves Gather

**Kaldris-Sigma – Diplomatic Landing Bay, a few minutes after Marn’s death**

Marn’s body was covered with an improvised white sheet.
Evelyn sat silently beside him, her face closed off, eyes red from grief.
Zeynn and Blue guarded the perimeter.
Vykhor paced slowly in a circle around the corpse of the vanished envoy, like a frustrated war beast.

And then…

Subtle alarms activated. An incoming clearance signal.
This time, it was authentic.

"Too late," Zeynn muttered.

Vykhor looked up.

An official shuttle glided into the adjacent landing strip.
As soon as it touched down, the doors opened. Two figures stepped out.

One wore the true colors of the Haelven Collective: a sober ceremonial coat, a raised crest on the shoulder, and a gait that was brisk yet composed. A middle-aged man, his features drawn, clearly upset.

And beside him…

Skye. Perfectly groomed, impulse rifle folded over her shoulder, copper-red hair tucked behind her tactical glasses.
She spotted Vykhor and Zeynn immediately.

And didn’t smile.

“What the fuck is going on here?”

Vykhor stepped forward, the energy veins on his skin still pulsing. He addressed the man first.

“You’re the envoy from the Collective?”

“Soren Malvek, yes. We were locked in the quarantine corridor by a false alert. I tried to contact your ship… No answer.”

He glanced at the body on the floor.

“Who died here?”

Skye crossed her arms.

“Who are we taking down, Vykhor?”

The Kael’tarien answered bluntly:

“The Master.”

The envoy went pale.

“Excuse me?”

Evelyn had stood up.

She walked over slowly, her face still marked by grief, but her voice was steady.

“You were manipulated. An agent of the Master impersonated you. He assassinated Marn Sevil… to silence him.”

She pointed to the suitcase.

“He was carrying illegal military tech. But more importantly, he held crucial information about a man you may have already met—without knowing who he truly is.”

Vykhor added, his voice low, almost a growl:

“He’s infiltrating diplomatic networks. He plays with galactic borders like they’re pieces on a chessboard. And today, he killed on Haelven territory. In front of witnesses.”

Soren Malvek froze.

Then, slowly, he turned to Skye.

She simply nodded.

“What I’ve seen in their reports… confirms the theory. The Master is real. And he’s been using you, Envoy.”

“So what do we do now?” Zeynn murmured.

Soren straightened his shoulders.

“We change the rules.”

He stepped toward Evelyn. His tone softened.

“Miss Ashcroft. Please accept my official—and unofficial—apologies.”

She looked at him, wary but silent.

“You now have a direct contact within the Haelven Collective. Quiet. But committed. And believe me… you’re not the only ones who want to bring this ‘Master’ down.”

A brief silence followed.

Vykhor exchanged a glance with Evelyn. Then another with Skye.

She shrugged.

“I needed a vacation. Might as well spend it with people who shoot in the right direction.”

And so, the Kael’seth pack grew stronger.
Vykhor. Evelyn. Zeynn. Blue. And now… Skye.

And in the shadows, a new enemy had been named.
But this time… he wasn’t the only one pulling the strings.

**Aboard the Narak’Tharr – Secondary Launch Bay, a few hours later**

The airlock was sealed, the lighting dimmed to a soft bluish glow.
Through the large bay window, stars drifted by slowly.
Kaldris Station was now just a faint light in their wake.
Silence reigned—deep and reverent.

At the center of the room rested a small, black sarcophagus with a sleek design, floating on a gravimagnetic pedestal.
No symbols.
Just a thin metal plate affixed to the top, engraved by hand:

MARN SEVIL
Free, at last.

There was no priest.
No official speech.

Just them.

Vykhor. Evelyn. Zeynn. Skye. Blue.

The Kael’seth pack.

Evelyn stepped forward first.
She wore a simple dark jumpsuit. No gloves. No ceremony.
She placed her hand on the sarcophagus—one final confirmation that he was truly there. That he was leaving. That it was real.

She didn’t say a word.

Because everything had already been said in that final look, that final thank you, that final smile in her arms.

Then it was Zeynn’s turn.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, fiddling with the strap of his weapon.

“Didn’t know him long. But he never betrayed us. Not once. And in the end, he was one of us. Maybe not a soldier… but someone who fought ‘til the end.”

He placed a small medallion on the sarcophagus. A worn trinket he used to wear around his neck.
He didn’t explain what it meant.

He didn’t need to.

Blue followed. Silent.
He lay briefly beside the sarcophagus, a gesture of wordless loyalty—almost animalistic, yet deeply symbolic.
A farewell between equals.

Skye kept her distance, but raised two fingers to her temple.

“Rest easy, old man. You made us lose a bet with life. Lasted longer than expected.”

Finally, Vykhor approached.

He didn’t touch the sarcophagus.

He stood before it, arms crossed, gaze unwavering.

“He wasn’t one of us. Yet he acted like one of mine. He saw. He understood. And he chose to stay.”

A pause.

“And for that… he deserves our respect.”

Silence.

Then he activated the control panel on the side console.
A deep hum rose. The magnetic field began to pulse.

The pedestal tilted slowly.

A discreet airlock opened.

The sarcophagus slid forward… and was released into open space.

Through the bay window, they watched it go.
A small black shape, drifting into the infinite silence—toward nothing, toward everything.

An inverted shooting star.

Evelyn closed her eyes.
Zeynn bowed his head.
Vykhor remained still.

But in that silence, one thing was certain:

Marn Sevil had died free.
And those who remained would ensure his death helped bring down the man who once sought to make him just another pawn.

**Narak’Tharr – Strategic Briefing Room**

The light was dim, but not enough to hide the haunting shape at the center of the table.

Marn Sevil’s suitcase.
Black. Smooth. No symbols, no visible locks. It emitted a faint vibration, barely perceptible.
As if it were waiting.
As if it were breathing.

They were all there.

Evelyn sat at the end of the table, leaning forward, fingertips grazing the lid.
Vykhor stood behind her, arms crossed, watching over her.
Zeynn, perched on the edge of a chair, fidgeted, unable to stay still.
Blue, lying at his feet, calm but alert.
And Skye, leaning against the wall, chewing gum, arms folded.

The silence had stretched for minutes.

Then Skye clicked her tongue.

“We’re gonna need reinforcements.”

All eyes turned to her.

She raised an eyebrow, as if the answer was obvious.

“This suitcase isn’t just a weapon. It’s a war cry. And you want to open it without Rax? That’s suicide.”

Zeynn frowned.

“The overarmed cyborg who rips turrets apart barehanded?”

“That one, yeah. He’s been hiding out on Arkan-B since his last mission went sideways. But I can get him back.”

Vykhor nodded slowly.

“If we’re assembling a full pack… he belongs to it.”

“Only way to get him in,” Skye added, “is with chaos. And a juicy target. He works better when he’s pissed.”

Evelyn said nothing.

Her eyes stayed locked on the suitcase.
She’d already scanned it four times. But nothing read as conventional weaponry.
No charge signatures.
No activation mechanism.
Just…

An energy pattern she didn’t recognize.

“It’s not a weapon,” she murmured.

Zeynn stopped moving.

“What do you mean? Marn said—”

“He said it was dangerous. Illegal. But not that it kills. I think this suitcase contains living tech. Or a prototype for control.”

Vykhor stepped forward.

“Control of what?”

“Of it,” Evelyn replied without looking up. “Or rather… of me. This suitcase might hold the key to what he wanted me to become. The instrument. The Master’s final project.”

She finally looked up at them.
There was fear in her eyes.
But also a blazing fire.

“And I’m going to find out how. And why.”

Zeynn stood.

Suddenly.

“While you do that… I’m gonna train.”

They all stared at him.

He scratched the back of his head.

“I’m serious. I’m done being the clever kid running for his life. I want to learn how to fight. For real. Vykhor?”

Vykhor didn’t smile.
But his gaze softened.
In his own way.

“Tomorrow. Dawn. Training hall.”

Zeynn nodded, standing a little taller.

Skye whistled softly.

“Damn. The kitten wants to grow claws.”

Zeynn shot her a dark look.
But didn’t respond.

Evelyn had already plunged into the suitcase’s first encryption layers, her holographic scanner projecting strange symbols above the lid.

Blue lifted his head.

His eyes gleamed—as if he sensed something.

The Kael’seth pack wasn’t complete yet.

But it was being born.

And the weapon Marn left behind…
Might not be what they thought.