Rosaline observed Quxior's movements carefully, her arms crossed and posture rigid, a silent testament to years of discipline. The firing range was a quiet sanctuary, save for the occasional hum of his weapon, but her gaze never wavered. Her eyes flicked to the faint orange glows from his shots, noting how the blasts struck but never quite hit their intended mark. She wasn’t sure if it was the gun’s fault or his focus, but she knew one thing for certain: the man had more potential than he was letting on.

She stepped forward, the sharp sound of her boots against the metal floor cutting through the silence.

“Legends.” Rosaline's voice was calm, controlled—her tone an even contrast to the intensity of the firing range. "Legends are stories, Captain. The Nexus... that’s just a fairy tale. A myth spun to give hope to those too weak to make their own fate."

She let the silence linger for a moment, watching as he fired again, his muscles straining against the weapon’s power. There was something almost too perfect about his form—like a predator trying to mask its hunger with false confidence. She didn't buy it.

"You’re asking about the best way to find out if the legend’s true? You’re asking the wrong question," she continued, her eyes narrowing slightly as she moved into a stance, hands on her hips. “The real question is: what will you do when you find out it’s not?”

She tilted her head, her gaze unyielding as her blue eyes met his. "The Nexus, or whatever it is, is a pipe dream for fools. The one thing that is truly more valuable in this universe is power—raw, unyielding power. And the only way to obtain it? You fight for it. You take it. You don’t go hunting some old artifact for answers you already have."

Rosaline's voice hardened, a slight edge creeping into her tone. "And trust me, Quxior... I don’t need a legend to know what it takes to seize power. I don’t need fairy tales. I make my own destiny."

Her gaze lingered on him for a moment longer, watching for any sign of a reaction. Whether he agreed with her or not didn’t matter; she was more interested in whether he’d learned how to stop chasing myths, and start taking what was his.

Then, after a beat, she added, her voice colder now, "But if you’re looking for a way to prove the legend’s true, I suggest you start hitting your targets first. Because chasing ghosts won’t help you when you're staring down your enemy."

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CALYX

Calyx leaned back in his chair, the low hum of the Black Dagger’s engines vibrating through the floor as he studied the creature before him. Experiment 42’s deep blue eyes—those strange, predatory eyes—locked onto him, the insatiable hunger always present beneath the surface, even after it had eaten. His lips twisted into something between a smile and a grimace. The creature had been a nuisance at first, unpredictable and violent, but over time, it had become… useful. And oddly, it had developed a certain attachment to him.

The sight of the blood-streaked floor, now a murky mix of slime and the residue of its latest meal, didn’t phase Calyx. He'd learned long ago to let the creature feed, let it be what it was, as long as it stayed contained. Today, it seemed docile enough, its large body coiled like a serpent, awaiting its master's words.

"Story, huh?" Calyx's voice was rough, seasoned by years of command and endless space travel. He leaned forward, fingers idly tracing the worn surface of his desk, the dim lights flickering above. "What kind of story do you want, 42? A tale of blood and war? A history of destruction?"

He could feel the creature’s gaze burrowing into him, the weight of its unnatural intelligence pressing against him. He exhaled slowly, the ship’s pulse a constant hum around them. The request seemed harmless enough, but he knew the creature well enough to understand that its hunger for stories wasn't just for entertainment—it was deeper than that. It hungered for something more than food.

"Alright," he began, his tone dropping into a more thoughtful cadence. "Here’s a story for you. It’s about a captain… and his crew. They were the best. Fast, smart, ruthless. They roamed the void, hunting down the remnants of old fleets, picking off stragglers. They never lost, never failed. One day, they encountered a ship unlike any they’d seen before—like a living thing. The crew called it the Serpent’s Coil. It was ancient, too perfect to be real, and it was rumored to hold something... something so valuable, it could turn the tide of any war. The captain, though, wasn’t interested in treasure. He was interested in control."

Calyx paused, allowing the tension to build in the room. The creature's gaze had never left him, the clicks and squeaks of its tongue growing softer as it listened, its head tilted as if trying to decipher his every word.

"The captain boarded the Coil alone. His crew thought him mad, but he didn’t care. He wanted to claim that ship for himself. And when he found it… when he found what it was truly hiding, it wasn’t treasure, not wealth. It was a doorway. A doorway to a place no one had ever seen—another galaxy, one beyond space as we know it, filled with power beyond imagination. He stepped through that doorway and… never came back."

Calyx’s eyes darkened, a flicker of something dangerous crossing his face. "The crew waited for him. Days, months. Years. They never saw him again. But they say the Coil still drifts through the void, carrying its secret with it. And that captain, the one who thought he could control everything? He became part of the ship. A part of the darkness, a part of the doorway. That’s the story you wanted, isn’t it, 42?"

He met the creature’s gaze, his voice low, almost a whisper. "A captain lost to his ambition, his need to control. That’s what happens when you think you can master the universe… and forget the price you’ll pay."

The silence that followed hung thick in the air. The creature shifted, its tail twitching, the clicking noises growing louder, more restless. It was waiting for more. Calyx knew it would always want more. Always hunger for more.

But that would have to be enough for today.

"Now," he said with a smirk, rising from his chair, "I’m sure you’ll find that story… interesting enough to pass the time. But remember, 42," he added, his voice hardening just slightly, "I’m the one who decides when you get to leave your little cage. Not you. And if you’re clever, you’ll remember that."

It watches his master with piercing eyes, growling at the constant reminder of its lack of freedom. The chains rattling against the grated floor, to provide the creature grip. Its serpentine body coiled, as it watched its master leave for the day. It growled in displeasure but also satisfied in the knowledge of a story to dwell on.

Rosaline stood with her arms crossed, her posture steady despite the tension in the air. She didn’t flinch as Quixtor fired again, the sharp crack of the energy weapon slicing through the otherwise still room. The captain was unpredictable, his moods often as erratic as his ambitions. But she’d learned long ago how to navigate that unpredictability—how to read the silence between his words, the way his finger would twitch before pulling the trigger, the way his eyes would narrow just before he made a point. And right now, she knew that silence was both an invitation and a command.

His words, though, carried weight. "Information," he had said. "Power." It was always about control with Quixtor. He had a singular vision for the universe, and while she didn’t share the same delusion of absolute power, she couldn’t deny the logic behind his methods—however reckless they sometimes appeared.

"I understand," Rosaline said calmly, meeting his gaze without hesitation.

The captain’s intense focus had never bothered her before, though she knew it could be a weapon in itself. She exhaled slowly, considering her next words carefully, giving him the space to process his own thoughts. She wasn’t about to argue now; not when he was this far gone in his obsession with the Nexus.

"Enemies have more than information, Quixtor," she continued, her voice steady but firm. "They have resources, alliances, and sometimes... they have time. Time to use against us."

Her gaze flicked to the gun in his hand. She knew it was more than just a tool for him—it was a symbol of his resolve, of his drive to assert control in any way he could. The man was obsessed with gaining power, and while she understood his thirst for it, she didn’t always agree with his methods.

"What we need," she went on, "is to move faster than they can react. We need to strike at the heart of the Nexus, not just the edges. The information will come in time, but we can't afford to wait until we have it all. Not when we could be caught between forces bigger than us."

She let that last line hang in the air. The Nexus was still just a legend to most, but if it was real, it was a force neither of them fully understood—and neither of them could control alone.

"I’ll find what we need. But the question is, Quixtor, will you wait for that information to fall into our laps, or will you act before it’s too late?"

Her voice had softened slightly, a reminder that she was, after all, on his side. But that didn’t mean she was going to let him blindly charge into oblivion. She needed him to see the bigger picture.

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CALYX
(Pausing on him for now, waiting for more to join. If none do soon, I'll have him come back to interact with the experiment)

In that moment, Quixor could feel his patience was wearing thin with his second in command. He did a couple of trick shots that were surely to impress and then chucked down the gun before facing her fully.

ROSALINE
Rosaline didn’t flinch when Quixtor towered over her, his presence as overwhelming as ever. The familiar scent of tension filled the air, like the electric charge before a storm, and she knew she had to tread carefully. He wasn’t just a captain; he was a force of nature, a man who had earned his title as Emperor—but even emperors could be wrong.

His words stung, but she didn’t show it. She met his fierce gaze without breaking, her expression steady. His “trick shots” were just that—tricks. She’d seen his bravado before. It didn’t impress her. Not when the fate of the Vanguard and its crew was hanging in the balance.

“I may be younger, Quixtor,” she said, her voice even but laced with the cold steel of reason, “but I understand the cost of inaction just as well as you do. The universe doesn’t wait for us to be ready.” She took a step forward, closing the gap between them, her eyes narrowing just slightly as she leaned in to meet his intensity. “The longer we hesitate, the more our enemies will grow. Will strengthen. The more we delay, the more we risk.”

She paused, letting the words sink in before continuing, unflinching under his glare. "I’m not asking to rush in blindly, Quixtor. But we can't afford to wait forever. You might think waiting for information is the key, but in the end, it’s action that will shape the future."

Her gaze flickered briefly toward the gun he'd tossed aside, and her lips tightened in silent distaste. He could try to intimidate her all he wanted, but Rosaline wasn’t easily cowed. They had been through too much together for her to back down now—especially when the stakes were so high.

“I’ll head to the bridge, Captain,” she said, the finality in her tone making it clear she wasn’t backing down. “But you’d better start thinking about what comes after we have the information we need. Because I won’t be the only one who acts when the time comes.”

With a stiff nod, she turned, walking towards the door. She wasn’t about to stay in his presence any longer than necessary—not when his anger was a live wire, ready to snap. But she left him with a final thought, her voice carrying over her shoulder as she passed through the doorway:

"You can’t control everything, Quixtor. Not even you."

Even after all this time, he was still impressed with his second in command and her resilence. He knew it was why he chose her. To challenge him. He couldn't have that kind of force resting in enemy hands, let alone her betray him, not that her intentions had ever implied that but the long lost human saying of keeping your enemies close and all that.

Location: Aboard the Galactic Coalition Ship
Time: Midday, Galactic Standard Time

Neoma’s boots echoed down the gleaming hallway of the Starstrider, the ship’s high-tech corridors stretching endlessly around her. She didn’t mind the emptiness—she’d gotten used to the hum of the ship, the quiet footsteps of crew members as they went about their business. Today, though, it was different. The comms had buzzed in her ear just moments ago with a priority alert: Distress signal received. Planet Alpha-7 in danger. The Coalition’s senior officers were busy handling the big picture, but Neoma knew her role.

She was the eyes and ears of the future, the next generation of galactic peacekeepers. And she wasn’t about to let this opportunity slip away.

Her small, gloved hand brushed against the edge of the console in the corridor, fingers brushing over the cold surface as she walked. She was ten years old, but she had proven time and again that age had nothing to do with ability—at least, that’s what she told herself.

Her communicator blinked again. A voice—cool and clipped—came through the static.

“Neoma, this is the Command Deck. We’re sending you the coordinates. We need you to head to Alpha-7 and analyze the source of the disturbance. You’re cleared for a solo mission.”

Solo mission.

She smiled to herself, excitement building in her chest. This was it. The first real mission she could tackle alone. She adjusted the collar of her Coalition uniform, made sure her communicator was secure, and took a deep breath. No time to waste.

Neoma jogged down another corridor, her small frame darting around corners as she headed for the ship's docking bay. The mission briefing had been brief, but the important details were clear: something was jamming communications on Alpha-7, and the planet’s inhabitants were in danger. If she could figure out what was causing the disturbance, the Coalition could act before things got worse.

Inside the docking bay, the Stellar Scout, a small but sleek exploration shuttle, waited. Its sleek silver body gleamed under the bright lights. Neoma’s hands trembled slightly with anticipation as she climbed into the cockpit, slipping into the pilot’s seat with practiced ease. Her fingers tapped the controls, and the ship powered up, the low hum vibrating through her chest. She was ready.

“Here goes,” she whispered, and with a determined push of a button, the shuttle’s engines roared to life. The docking bay doors slid open, and Neoma piloted the Stellar Scout into the inky void of space.

Stars glittered around her like scattered diamonds, and the immense expanse of the galaxy stretched endlessly before her. As the ship grew smaller behind her, Neoma felt the weight of the mission settle into her bones. Alpha-7 wasn’t far—she’d be there in no time.

The distress signal was clearer now, a faint but persistent beep in her headset. The planet itself loomed ahead, a vibrant blue and green sphere, but something was off. The signal’s interference was unmistakable. Something unnatural was affecting the planet’s atmosphere, distorting the waves of communication like a stone dropped into a still pond.

Neoma squinted at the display, her brow furrowing. What could be causing it? A weapon? A malfunction? Whatever it was, she would figure it out.

She eased the shuttle into orbit around Alpha-7 and opened the data feed on her console. The readings were strange—temperature fluctuations in the atmosphere, magnetic pulses echoing from the planet’s core. It wasn’t a natural phenomenon.

“Alright, let's do this,” Neoma muttered to herself, setting the shuttle to hover above the planet’s surface. She activated the sensor array and began scanning for any unusual energy signatures or technological anomalies.

The planet below seemed peaceful, its cities glowing softly under the thin layer of cloud cover. Yet Neoma knew better than to let appearances fool her. The Coalition didn’t send distress signals unless things were serious.

She set the shuttle down in a small, open clearing just outside a city. As the hatch opened, the cool, alien breeze rushed in, carrying a faint hum in the air—a sign of the disturbance she’d been tracking.

Neoma felt her pulse quicken. This was her moment.

With a deep breath, she stepped out of the shuttle and adjusted her communicator. She activated the holographic scanner on her wrist, its soft blue light flickering to life. Whatever was causing the disturbance, she was going to find it. She was on her own now, but that didn’t matter. The Coalition trusted her.

And Neoma wasn’t about to let them down.

"Let's see what we're dealing with," she whispered, her voice steady. With that, she set off toward the heart of the city, ready to face whatever challenge lay ahead.