Kael Rhyne’s world burned in silence.

  The sky above Aelyon-4, once a serene expanse of violet and silver, was now choked with black smoke and the haunting glow of fires that devoured the colony. Massive ships loomed overhead like metal gods, their hulls marked with the blood-red insignia of the Valkren Marauders—pirates who thrived on death and ruin.

  Kael had always heard stories of the Marauders, whispered warnings from travelers who passed through their colony. Stories of planets stripped bare, people taken and never seen again. Stories he had once thought were meant to scare children into obedience.

  Now, he knew the truth.

  His mother had hidden him beneath the floorboards of their home, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed a trembling finger to his lips. “Don’t make a sound, Kael. No matter what happens.” He had obeyed, even as the door was blasted open. Even as his father’s voice rose in anger, cut short by a gunshot that made Kael flinch. Even as his mother screamed.

  Then silence.

  Hours—or maybe minutes—passed before they dragged him out. He fought, kicking and biting, but a gauntleted fist struck him hard across the face, sending him into darkness.

  When he woke, the sky was gone.

  The cargo hold stank of sweat, metal, and fear. Dim red emergency lights buzzed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the hunched forms of those who had survived the raid. Dozens of them—human and alien alike—sat in silence, their eyes hollow, their bodies shaking.

  Kael didn’t cry. He wanted to, but he was too numb. His cheek throbbed where he’d been struck, and his wrists were bound in energy cuffs that buzzed if he moved too much. He curled into himself, pressing his back against the cold metal wall of the ship, staring at nothing.

  “New one, huh?” a rough voice murmured beside him.

  Kael turned his head just enough to see a boy sitting next to him, maybe a few years older. He had dark, curly hair and eyes that were too tired for someone so young.

  “My name’s Jorik,” the boy continued. “You?”

  Kael hesitated. His name felt like the only thing he still owned, the only part of himself they hadn’t taken. But he forced the word out. “Kael.”

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  Jorik nodded. “They took you from a colony?”

  Kael swallowed. “Yeah.”

  “They take everyone. Turn some into workers, sell the rest.” Jorik leaned back against the wall, exhaling slowly. “Don’t fight. It makes things worse.”

  Kael wanted to say he wouldn’t. But deep down, he knew it would be a lie.

  The next few years were a blur of labor, exhaustion, and quiet defiance.

  Kael was sold to a Marauder captain named Drevek Korr, a brute of a man with augmetic limbs and a permanent sneer. He worked the lower decks of Korr’s ship, The Black Harrow, hauling cargo, scrubbing floors, and fixing whatever the ship’s crew was too lazy to handle themselves. Food was scarce, punishments frequent. The first time he tried to run, they broke his arm.

  He learned quickly. Learned when to keep his head down, when to listen, when to pretend he didn’t hear things he wasn’t meant to. He watched the crew, memorizing how they moved, how they spoke. He listened when they talked about the ship’s systems, about piloting, about the worlds they raided. He didn’t have books, didn’t have a teacher—but he learned.

  Jorik didn’t make it past the first year.

  A botched raid on a heavily defended transport saw him shot in the back as he tried to escape. Kael hadn’t been there to see it, but he’d heard the crew talking about it over drinks. Heard them laugh.

  He didn’t cry. Not then. But that was the first night he truly understood the depth of hatred curling in his chest.

  Kael’s chance came at ten years old.

  A raid gone wrong. A damaged ship. A brief window of opportunity.

  The Black Harrow had docked at a refueling station orbiting a desolate moon. Most of the crew were off getting drunk, and the few that remained were distracted, arguing over a haul gone bad. Kael had memorized the schematics of the ship, had watched the pilots enough to understand how they started the smaller crafts in the docking bay.

  His hands shook as he moved, slipping through the dimly lit corridors. One of the guards spotted him—shouted his name—but he was already running. He darted through the open bay doors, his heart pounding, and threw himself into the cockpit of a small escape craft. His fingers danced over the controls, recalling what he’d seen, what he’d heard.

  For the first time in years, he wasn’t following orders.

  The ship’s engines roared to life.

  Kael barely had time to strap in before he shot into the void, leaving the Black Harrow and the life he’d known behind.

  The escape didn’t lead to freedom. Not right away.

  The ship had just enough fuel to reach the outer rim of a star system before sputtering out, forcing him to land on Drelos V—a rusted, lawless planet filled with criminals, smugglers, and those with nowhere else to go. The perfect place for someone like him to disappear.

  At ten years old, he was alone in a world that didn’t care whether he lived or died.

  But he had survived worse.

  Years passed. Kael learned to navigate the underbelly of the world, to steal just enough to eat, to watch the docks where ships came and went, each one a reminder of what he wanted most.

  Freedom.

  He spent his nights staring at the sky, at the streaks of starships jumping to distant worlds. Wondering what lay beyond them. Wondering when it would be his turn.

  Four years had passed since his escape, and still, he waited.

  Because Kael Rhyne had sworn that one day, he wouldn’t just watch the ships leave.

  He would be on one of them.

  And he would never look back.