The stars had sharpened.
Ethan stood in the Wraithling's command deck, watching as the astral map refocused around a single pulsing coordinate: Oron Karth.
"Warp engine calibrated," Aethra announced. "Singularity thread stable. Jump possible within twenty minutes."
Ethan swallowed. The memory still clung to him—of the original Ghostwake, that last stand, the spear of light, the Unnamed.
He wasn't that man.
But maybe he was the one who had to pick up what was left.
Behind him, Aelira stepped into the room, securing the last of her gear—compressed armor plates layered over her Voidweave suit, two shortblades slung across her back.
"You sure about this?" she asked. "Oron Karth isn't a place people visit. It's a grave."
Ethan didn't look away from the star map. "It's also a question that's been haunting this ship for centuries. And maybe me too."
She smirked faintly. "Always chasing ghosts, aren't you, Cross?"
He turned to her. "Not chasing. Just… catching up."
Elsewhere – The Surface Below
In a forgotten hall beneath the Scorchfang Guild ruins, flickers of violet flame danced across old circuitry. A figure in a bronze robe stood before a black mirror etched with constellations that no longer existed.
He touched a sigil—the Mark of the Ghostwake.
"It's begun again," the priest murmured. "The path realigns."
Behind him, a robed assistant stepped forward. "Shall we inform the Ecliptic Circle?"
The priest smiled, his teeth too sharp.
"No. Let the false lights gather. Let them think they still steer the wheel. The flame that returns… it does not come to serve."
He stared into the mirror. And in it, for a heartbeat, Ethan's face shimmered—half-shadowed, half-starlit.
Back on the Wraithling
Ethan braced himself in the captain's chair. The cockpit dimmed, the panels glowing with arcane-tech glyphs. Aether conduits pulsed with pale blue fire.
Aethra's voice wrapped around them like a song from a lost galaxy.
"Ghostwake… Initiating void-thread descent. Prepare for jump."
A ring of violet light coiled around the ship, unraveling space like thread from an ancient loom. The air buzzed with energy.
Aelira locked eyes with Ethan. "No backing out now."
"Didn't plan to."
"Warp in 3… 2… 1…"
The Wraithling vanished——folded inward——and screamed across the dark.
Toward Oron Karth.
Toward the Dead Throne.