Ch. 246..250: Interstellar_ Return of the Villain Chapter 246-250

Chapter 246: Medical Team

Lyra didn’t spare Caius a second glance as he disappeared into the horizon.

As soon as he was out of sight, however, the strain caught up with her; her legs wobbled, and she dropped to one knee, fighting to stay upright.

"You... good?" Cohen asked. His voice was weak, and his face was ashen from the series of brutal psychokinesis attacks he’d endured.

He was barely holding on, and the others were in even worse shape—most of them lay slumped, twitching, their psychokinetic energy nearly drained to nothing.

Seeing the toll it had taken on everyone, Lyra summoned her healing energy, mingling it with a gentle wave of psychokinesis. That healing power washed over her team like a refreshing rainstorm.

A collective sigh of relief rose as they felt the soothing energy spread through them, restoring their strength—everyone, that is, except Miller.

Before anyone could fully recover, a piercing screech ripped through the air, forcing them all back to high alert.

In the blinding glow, a towering shadow appeared, its six transparent wings gleaming like glass.

"Oh right, the queen bee. She’s still there!" Caesara muttered, rubbing her temples. "Think we should just remove the mark and let her go?"

Todd adjusted his glasses, glancing up at the massive creature. "Only if she’s willing to leave without a fight. Otherwise, she’ll turn on us with no hesitation."

At that moment, Lyra steadied herself and called out firmly, "Come here."

The queen bee froze mid-hover, clearly hesitant. After a moment’s pause, she slowly glided closer.

Up close, her form had shifted since her transformation—she was larger than ever, with a smooth golden carapace, her six wings traced with intricate golden patterns.

Two soft, S-shaped antennae framed her head, and a line of leaf-like plates flowed down her body like an elegant, otherworldly gown.

Though stunning, her size was nothing short of intimidating, casting an enormous shadow over the group.

Unfazed, Lyra casually took a water bottle from her Space Button. She took a sip, and looked the queen bee over. "Shrink down," she ordered.

As her command echoed, the giant shadow shrank. The queen bee obeyed, reducing herself until she was only as tall as an average person, landing softly in front of Lyra.

SMACK!

Without warning, Lyra slapped the queen bee hard across her face, bending one of her delicate antennae. Everyone around was struck speechless.

"From this moment on," Lyra said, her voice calm but steely, "you work for me—no complaints, no hesitation. You got that?"

The queen bee let out a small, defeated squeak. Where her voice had once been commanding and fierce, it now sounded like a humbled whimper.

Caesara couldn’t help smirking, adding with a mischievous grin, "Didn’t Sis Marv say we’d just free the queen if she wanted to leave? Guess the queen should’ve thought about that before choosing to stay. Now she’s on our crew for life!"

The queen bee groaned, her once-proud form drooping, but Lyra’s expression remained as hard as iron. "Gather your swarm and start mining. Now."

The team looked on in a mix of awe and disbelief. ’Is this a dream, or did this powerful level-nine queen bee really just submit to HER so easily?’

Just then, with a shimmer, the queen bee transformed again. Her form shifted gracefully, turning into a striking blonde woman clad in a flowing white dress.

"She can shapeshift now!" someone murmured, clearly awestruck. "That’s what level-nine looks like!"

But what they couldn’t wrap their heads around was how Lyra had subdued a creature of such power as if the big bee were no more than an obedient cadet.

As if on cue, a message crackled through the base’s communication channel: "Lyra’s clearance duration has expired. Initiate forced return and blacklist from future entries?"

Due to her temporary clearance, the base had been tracking her every move since she’d landed. Now that she’d overstayed, she was flagged for immediate recall and a permanent ban from returning.

Cohen rubbed his temples, exhausted at the prospect of yet another complication. "Hold the report. I’ll handle it."

Of course, this was only a temporary fix—he’d still have to file a formal explanation and adjust her departure records to avoid a penalty.

Lyra glanced at the console timer.

During her face-off with Caius, three days had slipped by without her even noticing. But as far as she was concerned, the blacklisting was worth it—she’d secured the real prize.

"Don’t waste your time on the paperwork. Just send me off now," she said with a nonchalant shrug, already looking toward her next move.

Cohen frowned, worry evident in his voice. "At least let me file a full report. If I cover the details, you won’t get blacklisted. Or... are you planning to never come back to Wyrmtrace?"

"Let’s talk about it later," Lyra replied coolly, brushing it off.

After giving the queen bee her assignments, Lyra boarded the Lev for a direct return to base.

The ride was much faster this time, no detours or delays.

As soon as they landed, Cohen went straight to his office, signaling to his aide. "Start drafting a report immediately. I’m going to appeal Lyra’s overdue penalty."

Just then, Kogar approached, holding a document with a strange look on his face—equal parts surprise and discomfort. He shot Lyra an uneasy glance. "Sir, there’s no need to appeal."

Cohen turned to him, confused. "What do you mean?"

Kogar handed Cohen the document and then looked at Lyra. "Miss Shedd, check your opticomputer. You should have already received an invitation from Legion Glory."

Mandy walked in just in time to overhear this, her face lighting up with excitement—though she missed the wary look in Kogar’s eyes.

Lyra checked her opticomputer, her lips twisting into a wry smile. "The admiral’s decision is certainly... unexpected," she said, her voice thick with irony.

Curious, Mandy leaned over to see the message. Her eyes went wide with disbelief as she looked from the screen to Kogar. "There must be some misunderstanding, right?"

Kogar shook his head, almost avoiding Lyra’s gaze as he confirmed. "No mistake. I double-checked. She’s been assigned to the medical corps."

"Medical corps?" Cohen repeated, stunned. His father’s decision to place someone with Lyra’s combat expertise in a medical role seemed unbelievable.

"That’s correct," Kogar replied, looking deeply uncomfortable. "Along with this, Miss Shedd’s previous work with the Special Force has been acknowledged with a promotion to Lieutenant. The high command decided to assign her to the medical unit here on Wyrmtrace."

Lieutenant, yet assigned as a medic. The whole thing felt like a bizarre joke.

Lyra took a deep breath, steadying herself before anyone else could react. She looked at Cohen. "When do I start?"

If it was the medical corps, so be it. She would find a way to make it work.

As Lyra headed off to complete her induction, Cohen opened a communication channel with Frederick. Standing at attention before his father’s hologram, he saluted. "Sir, with all due respect, why assign Lyra like this? You’ve always valued her abilities."

Frederick studied his son, noting the strain still etched on his face from recent psychokinesis battles, and his own expression tightened. "It took delicate negotiations just to reintegrate her into the military, Cohen. True talent has a way of revealing itself, even when overlooked."

He was right. The military’s structure was complex and politically charged, something even an admiral couldn’t navigate alone. Just getting Lyra back had required careful maneuvering.

Cohen didn’t respond. Conversations with his father rarely drifted into personal matters, and this one ended abruptly.

As Frederick’s hologram faded, his expression darkened. He remembered Thierry’s whispered accusations and thinly veiled warnings about Lyra’s influence.

With a hardening resolve, he knew his decision had been the right move—for now.

 

Chapter 247: New Gig

When Mandy arrived at the Stellar Caravan’s base, she was directed to the lab where Lyra was working.

Swiping her ID at the entrance, Mandy walked through the secured corridors until she spotted Lyra inside.

The lab was packed with newly refined high-grade metals, their surfaces gleaming under the bright lights.

Koros, marker in hand, was diligently scrawling notes on a stack of level-seven metal sheets.

"As you specified, this level-seven metal’s reserved for internal components only," Koros said, glancing up. "It’s still not durable enough for external armor."

"Noted," Lyra replied with a wave. "Submit a funding request to Morrison. Let’s go ahead and produce ten units for the first run."

Koros’ face lit up, and he nodded enthusiastically. "Consider it done."

Rubbing his hands together, Koros ventured, "And about that elastic metal for the AI core..."

Lyra tossed him a small metal box without hesitation. "That should be enough. Take it and get started."

Koros caught it mid-air, practically buzzing with excitement. "Yes, ma’am! I’ll get on it right away!"

With Lyra stationed on Wyrmtrace for the foreseeable future, Koros was thrilled to throw himself into his designs, leaving Lyra to handle the other aspects of their work.

Just then, Lyra noticed Mandy standing by the door, standing at attention.

"I’m here to escort you to your assignment," Mandy said, straightening up.

Lyra nodded and followed her out. As they walked, Mandy cast a curious glance at Lyra.

No one had expected Lyra to accept a transfer to the medical corps so readily. In an age where superpowers defined rank and progression, moving from the elite Special Force to a medical position was almost unheard of.

For most, it would mean taking a step back in terms of prestige and advancement, and anyone in Lyra’s position would typically fight against such a reassignment.

When they reached the medical corps headquarters, Lyra’s arrival went mostly unnoticed.

Injured personnel were always coming and going here, and the staff were too absorbed in their work to pay much attention to anyone new, regardless of their background. Well, almost no one.

Frank, the corps commander, noticed.

Frank had been the head medic of the Phenix Legion’s medical corps; that was, until the tragic death of Commander Oleg and the subsequent dissolution of his unit.

With no medical squad in Cohen’s division, Frank and his team had been reassigned to Legion Glory.

Learning that this newcomer was Lyra, Frank’s face hardened.

He had two reasons for disliking her: first, he held a grudge for what he saw as her role in Oleg’s death, believing that if she’d stabilized Oleg’s vitals, they might have saved his legacy. Second, he resented having someone with no formal battlefield medical training—a soldier from the Special Force—placed in his unit.

When Lyra approached his desk and handed him her onboarding documents, Frank barely glanced up, a hint of disdain in his eyes. "Well, well... a soldier with a body count behind her is here to save lives? Ironic."

Lyra shrugged, unfazed. "You’re telling me. I was surprised myself."

Frank took her documents with a frown but didn’t enter them into the system right away.

Instead, he crossed his arms and gave her a hard look. "The medical corps isn’t like your Special Force. Healing powers are just a piece of it—you need real medical knowledge and training here. So you’ll be taking an entrance exam first."

"And if I fail?" Lyra asked calmly, unfazed by his hostility. "Does that mean I’m off the hook?" Her tone was casual, almost mocking, as if his hostility barely registered.

The jab didn’t go unnoticed. If she were just another recruit, speaking to a superior this way would have been unthinkable. But Lyra’s assignment came straight from the top, and she clearly didn’t feel the need to placate anyone.

Frank blinked, momentarily thrown by Lyra’s calm defiance. He scoffed, crossing his arms. "I still need to assess what kinds of injuries you’re actually capable of treating. If you’re completely unfit, you’ll be stuck in a placeholder role."

Lyra’s eyebrow quirked in amusement. "Didn’t know you had such positions here. Let’s just skip the test, then."

Mandy bit back a smirk. She found it funny that Frank seemed convinced Lyra was eager to dive into medical work.

Seeing her indifference, Frank’s face contorted with frustration. "Fine, suit yourself!" he snapped, furiously entering her information on his opticomputer.

He reached for an access card, yet he then paused. He reconsidered before tossing it back in the drawer with a glare. "Since you’re here to waste time, you won’t be needing this, will you?"

The card was key to logging hours, moving freely through restricted areas, and accessing the critical spaces within the medical division.

Lyra shrugged. "As long as I’m not penalized for skipping clock-ins or for my absence, that’s fine. You can even dock my pay if it makes you feel better."

The last thing she was worried about was money.

Her casual response only made Frank’s jaw clench tighter. "Fine! Just keep out of sight unless we absolutely need you!"

Lyra’s eyes glinted with a light smile. "I appreciate the understanding."

"Humph." Frank watched her go, secretly relieved. The last thing he wanted was an unqualified annoyance clogging up his division.

Medical work was more about building credentials quietly than chasing battlefield fame. It wasn’t until a medic achieved something monumental—saving a high-ranking officer, or pulling off a miracle—that anyone earned real respect. Someone like Lyra? She’d fade into the background here, if he had anything to say about it.

As they stepped outside, Mandy couldn’t resist asking, "Aren’t you worried that ticking off him might backfire? He could make things complicated for you."

Lyra glanced toward the treatment hall, where medics were tending to a steady stream of injured soldiers. "Mandy, how many patients does the medical corps treat each day?"

Mandy considered the question, then replied, "About two hundred on an average day. More if there’s a large operation going on."

A grin crept across Mandy’s face as she realized Lyra’s point. "Good point—he’s so buried in work, he won’t have time to keep tabs on me."

Lyra tilted her head, stretching her neck. "No clock-ins, no obligations. That gives me freedom to handle these rogue caravans the right way. They’ve handed me quite the ’gift,’ and I intend to use it."

It was a valuable gift, though it had come at a cost.

Just as she turned to leave, someone stepped forward, blocking her path.

"Lyra," the voice said with a sharp edge, "you did that on purpose, didn’t you?"

Chapter 248: Throwing Miller Back

Miller stood before Lyra, his face pale as a ghost, eyes sunken and red with fury. "You healed Cohen and the others, but you deliberately left me out!"

Everyone else who had suffered from Caius’s psychokinesis attack had been restored—everyone except him. His own psychokinetic powers were left shattered, irreversibly weakened.

Lyra stepped closer, her voice dropping to a menacing whisper. "Shouldn’t you be reporting this ’workplace injury’ to the Channing family? I’m surprised you even have the guts to come barking at me."

Miller’s face blanched, realization dawning. She knew about his secret deal with Caius, how he had quietly helped the Supreme infiltrate Wyrmtrace.

"Miller." Lyra’s sudden call of his name made him look up, meeting her gaze—her eyes dark and penetrating, slicing right through him.

For a split second, it felt like invisible knives were tearing through his mind, twisting, ripping his thoughts apart.

"Aaaargh!"

Under everyone’s shocked eyes, Miller collapsed. He clutching his head, shrieking in agony. His body convulsed on the floor until he foamed at the mouth and went limp.

Lyra barely glanced down at him as she stepped over his unconscious body and strode out the door.

Miller’s psychokinesis was obliterated. Even if he regained consciousness, his powers were gone for good. He was finished.

Walking beside Lyra, Mandy couldn’t hide her concern. "Wouldn’t this provoke the Whyte family?"

"Only if they still see any use in him," Lyra replied dismissively. After all, Miller hadn’t just endangered Cohen—he’d compromised all of Wyrmtrace by assisting Caius. His survival after this was doubtful.

Cohen’s response, when he heard of Miller’s fate, was only a cold scoff. "Lucky for him."

Recalling the betrayal, Cohen’s gaze darkened. "Erase his memory and dump him on Planet Nagano."

Kogar hesitated. "In his condition, there’s a good chance he won’t even wake up after the procedure."

"Do it," Cohen commanded, his voice sharp and final.

In that moment, Kogar noticed a shift in his superior—a newfound decisiveness, an edge that seemed more like Lyra’s own unflinching style.

"What about the Channing family, the Sholok family, and the other caravan groups?" Kogar asked carefully.

Cohen paused, a faintly wicked glint in his eyes as he twirled his pen. "We’ll let her make the first move. After all, as the admiral’s son, I’d never go against ordinary civilians."

Kogar only sighed; it seemed Cohen was picking up more of Lyra’s tactics than he’d realized.

And Lyra’s revenge was straightforward and brutal.

She flew her massive cargo ship solo, concealed behind a mask, and raided the caravans’ mining sites one by one. Her mission was simple: leave a trail of bruised, battered enemies and take every scrap of high-grade mineral they had.

In Wyrmtrace, she was unstoppable. Even when the caravans sent level-nine mercenaries after her, she shrugged them off with ease, disappearing into the sky with a cargo hold bursting with stolen ore.

"This has to be her!" Bernard, face swollen and bruised, shouted as he and a furious group of caravanners stormed the Stellar Caravan’s base.

"Lyra! Come out here! If you’re brave enough to rob us, don’t hide like a coward, you bit—"

WHOOSH!

A streak of green light sliced through the air, stopping an inch from Bernard’s ear. He froze, face draining of color.

Lyra stepped forward. She was dressed in a crisp white shirt, black suspenders over dark pants. Her boots hitting the ground with authority. "Choose your words carefully," she said icily. "Next time, I won’t miss."

Her eyes swept over the assembled caravanners, sharp and unwavering. "Well? What exactly do you want?"

Sholok stepped forward, glaring at her, his expression twisted with fury. "Don’t play innocent! If you’ve got the guts to rob us, don’t act like you don’t know!"

"Oh, that?" Lyra said, folding her arms with casual indifference. "Do you have any proof?"

Her nonchalant response nearly sent the caravanners over the edge.

"The proof’s right there in your warehouse! Let us in to search!" Bernard demanded, his voice trembling with fury.

Lyra nodded lazily toward the warehouse. "Feel free to try," she said, her gaze daring them with a dangerous glint.

They all stood frozen, hesitating, none brave enough to take her up on the offer.

A smirk tugged at Lyra’s lips. "I gave you the chance."

"Lyra, this is too much!" Bernard spat, face flushed with frustration.

"If you’ve got nothing else to say, then get lost." With that, Lyra turned on her heel and walked back into the base, leaving the caravanners simmering with rage.

As much as they cursed her under their breath, it was clear they were powerless here—true strength commanded respect, whether they liked it or not.

Humiliated and seething, Bernard paced furiously like a trapped animal. "So, what do we do now?"

"We go to the military! Lyra’s gone too far—no way will they let her get away with this," one of his companions said.

The group finally made their way to Cohen, explaining their grievances in heated tones.

Cohen listened with a faint frown, his brows drawing together thoughtfully as they spoke.

"Bold of someone to carry out attacks like this," he commented, casting a sharp look at the caravanners. "So, do you have any proof that Lyra’s behind it?"

Bernard, still bristling, sputtered, "No, but who else could it be? Only she has the skill to pull something like this!"

Kogar, who stood nearby, resisted the urge to roll his eyes. The caravanners truly didn’t grasp why they were in this mess.

"No proof, then." Cohen’s expression cooled, his voice dropping to a sharper edge. "Do you think I’m your errand boy? That I’ll go after whoever you say on your word alone? My standards are a little higher than you realize."

The weight of his words settled on the caravanners, a chill creeping down their spines.

They had brought a Supreme to Wyrmtrace, hoping to turn a quick profit without repercussions. By doing that, they’d crossed a line with Cohen from the very start.

Now, they were reaping the consequences.

Cohen continued in an official tone, "You’ll need solid evidence first. Without it, this incident falls under suspected space piracy. Return and wait for the official outcome."

But deep down, they knew no "outcome" would be coming.

Cohen and Lyra didn’t even need to strategize together; there was an unspoken understanding between them—a seamless partnership when it came to shielding each other.

The caravanners, blinded by greed, were finally being forced to face the backlash they’d invited upon themselves.

Soon after, news reached Bernard and his crew that their own warehouses had been stripped bare. They could no longer contain their outrage, and in a last-ditch effort, they went to Chuck, hoping he might intervene.

Chapter 249: You Are The Boss

Sholok’s face twisted in frustration, her heart bleeding with every thought of their stolen goods. Turning to Chuck, her voice hardened. "We were awarded an official contract to develop Wyrmtrace, yet the military’s inaction here is... deeply disappointing."

Chuck almost laughed out loud at the audacity but kept his gaze icy. "If any of you are unhappy, you’re welcome to leave Wyrmtrace. We’ll find new developers."

They’d clawed their way to get that development permit in the first place, savoring the profits while stirring up trouble. And now they wanted sympathy?

Chuck’s expression said it all—he intended to do absolutely nothing.

Bernard, cornered and fuming, decided to raise the stakes. "Let’s bring in another Supreme and wipe out the Stellar Caravan for good!"

An old man in the group hesitated. "That would cost us a fortune—assuming we even find a Supreme who’s willing."

Caius had only agreed because he’d been obsessed with the queen bee’s unique powers. Convincing someone else might not be so simple.

But Sholok, unwilling to let this humiliation stand, nodded in agreement. "Even if we lose some money, it’s worth it. My family has never taken a blow like this, and I won’t let it slide."

Encouraged, they reached out to two other Supremes. But after hearing their proposal, each one refused flatly.

The second Supreme they contacted even erupted in anger. "Are you lunatics trying to get me killed? Caius is in the military court now, facing charges for meddling in restricted affairs. You think I want to join him behind the bars? Get lost!"

The merchants were left stunned. Only then did the full weight of their situation dawn on them.

Frederick had acted swiftly. He sent two of the military’s own Supremes to detain Caius, for his interference in classified operations on Wyrmtrace.

After a formal military trial, Caius’s fate was sealed—his superpowers would be permanently stripped, a devastating sentence in their world.

Furthermore, the Channing family and other rogue caravans were blacklisted from all future government contracts, their Wyrmtrace development rights revoked.

When Lyra heard the news, she couldn’t help feeling a grudging respect for Frederick’s decisive, efficient handling of the matter.

The fallout was swift and ruthless. With no military backing or partnerships, the Channing and Sholok families fell into steep decline, their influence eroded and businesses drying up.

*****

The Stellar Caravan and the Mendez family inherited Wyrmtrace’s development rights.

Wiser now, the Mendez family kept a low profile, staying close to Lyra’s lead and the queen bee’s operations. They were content to settle for steady, residual profits.

Two years later, the transformation of Wyrmtrace was complete, and the planet was ready to welcome its first wave of settlers.

The initial arrivals were specialized teams sent to establish infrastructure, and for this pivotal phase, Snakehead approached Lyra, practically buzzing with excitement.

"I’ve done my best to pull in extra hands, but I doubt we’ll have enough," he said, unable to keep his hand from trembling slightly.

His share from Lyra’s team dwarfed anything he’d ever earned on Voidstar, and the scale of this project was enough to thrill him to his core.

Lyra stayed focused on the file in front of her, letting Snakehead carry on with his plan.

"I’m thinking I’ll send Todd back to keep Voidstar No. 2 steady while I personally oversee things on Wyrmtrace. And with your help," he added, eyes gleaming, "maybe I can secure an official role here with the military."

The very thought made his excitement spill over. A position on Wyrmtrace meant anchoring himself on a developing world—a move that would elevate his status and influence throughout the Alliance.

He could practically see his name rising in importance across the Alliance, his influence solidifying with each new development.

"No need for that," Lyra finally broke her silence. Her words were like a splash of cold water, immediately quenching Snakehead’s excitement. "You’ll stay stationed at Voidstar No. 2. I’ve got enough hands here."

Caesara, seated nearby, shot a brief glance at Lyra, her silence alone carrying a subtle tension. The single look made Snakehead tremble for a bit, stirring an unexpected sense of danger.

"I just thought if I came in person..." he started, trying to explain, but Lyra cut him off sharply.

"Snakehead," Lyra said, her tone steely, "I agreed to work with you because, back then, your position in the shadows meant you couldn’t interfere with what I had to do."

"But even now, I’d never be a threat to you," Snakehead protested, eyeing the young woman on the screen. He wanted a piece of the Wyrmtrace profits, not to challenge her position. He knew better than to overstep.

"The reason I’m keeping you on Voidstar No. 2," Lyra continued, her tone calm as she signed a document and passed it to Caesara, "is because I have other plans for you there. Let’s move forward as we discussed."

Caesara took the document without a word and left, her silence reinforcing Lyra’s authority.

That’s when realization hit Snakehead like a punch to the gut. Caesara hadn’t participated in the discussion at all—she hadn’t even spoken. A hard lump formed in his throat. "Caesara... she’s pledged loyalty to you?"

Lyra leaned back, crossing her arms. "She made the smart choice. If you want to know my plans, stay on board. If not, don’t send anyone else to do what I’ve assigned to you."

The message was clear: she didn’t need him or his crew anymore. She had her own team, equipped and capable of managing the Wyrmtrace project independently.

Snakehead fell silent, processing the full shift in his situation. The desperate, hunted Lyra he’d once known had become a powerful, self-sufficient force with or without him.

"And Todd?" he asked finally, almost afraid to know.

"His loyalty remains with you. He won’t betray you," Lyra replied, her gaze unwavering. "But understand this—I won’t tolerate interference from anyone outside my trusted team. Stick with me, Snakehead, and you’ll achieve more than you could alone."

Snakehead sat back, a weight settling over him as he rubbed a hand over his face. "The truth is... you don’t even need my permission anymore, do you? Whatever I decide, you’ve already set things in motion."

Their partnership had transformed, evolving from allies into something closer to a leader and subordinate.

Lyra crossed her legs, regarding him with a slight smile. "I believe in offering choices. That way, if you ever decide to turn on me, I’ll have full justification to act. Saves us both from the drama of ’you forced my hand’ speeches."

"Still as crazy as ever," Snakehead muttered. "You approach every alliance ready for it to go sideways."

"Exactly. So, what’s it going to be?"

He managed a rueful smile. "Guess I don’t really have a choice. Alright, you’re the boss now."

"Good," Lyra replied, her smile widening just a fraction. "Then the plan remains. You’ll stay at Voidstar No. 2."

Snakehead let out a long sigh, shaking his head in reluctant acceptance.

Chapter 250: New Employee

The Wyrmtrace colonization program was in full throttle, with recruitment posters plastered all over Alliance space.

They were calling out for engineers, builders, and anyone who could set up shop on the planet’s rough surface.

Skilled or not, people lined up to sign on, seeing this as a golden ticket—a chance to carve out a piece of the Alliance’s newest frontier, along with the promise of residence, status, and the rare shot at shaping an uncharted world.

But it wasn’t as simple as hopping on a shuttle and taking off. Getting a spot on Wyrmtrace required intense screening. This was the Alliance’s latest push into unknown territory, a crucial stronghold for future expeditions, and they didn’t want just anyone setting up camp.

At one of the busiest processing centers, lines stretched as far as the eye could see, with wannabe pioneers fidgeting through their last round of checks.

Meanwhile, out in the dark emptiness of space, a transport ship sped toward Wyrmtrace from the distant planet Nagano.

In the heart of that ship, Debbie stood just outside the command room, trying to gather herself for what lay on the other side.

Taking a steadying breath, she swung open the door, and a wall of noise slammed into her.

The common area was packed with a mix of scruffy characters, leaning against walls, huddling around card games, swapping half-joking whispers, and occasionally breaking out in laughter that echoed off the cold metal walls.

The second they noticed her, the crowd shifted, gathering around.

"Debbie! Are we almost there yet?" one guy asked, flashing her a cheeky grin. "How about those IDs you’ve been holding hostage?"

"Yeah, we’re ready to get started—promise we won’t make a break for it or anything!" another piped up.

"Oh, and what’s the story on the new boss? Kind of dying to see who’s calling the shots here!"

Debbie resisted the urge to roll her eyes. ’Sure you’re ready to work,’ she thought, ’just as soon as you figure out how to wriggle out of it.’

Ignoring her annoyance, she raised a megaphone and barked, "Listen up!"

The amplified sound made a few flinch, but it got their attention.

"We’ll be landing on Wyrmtrace in an hour," she said, her voice firm.

"I’ll be handing out your IDs, but first thing you all need to do is check in at the immigration office. After that, the base will send transport to pick us up, so don’t go wandering around," she warned, glancing at each of them.

’Wouldn’t be half as tough if this crowd wasn’t such a handful,’ she thought, but orders were orders—Lyra was expecting each and every one of them.

With a sigh, she pulled out a box of carefully organized ID cards and held it up. "When I call your name, come grab yours."

Someone from the crowd called out, "What about our access passes?"

Without those, they’d be limited to certain areas, stuck like visitors instead of settlers.

Debbie’s expression turned cold.

"The access passes are with the boss," she said sharply. "She’ll decide who gets them—and when."

Murmurs broke out, discontent spreading like a ripple through the group.

"Didn’t they say we’d get to meet this mysterious ’boss’ of ours? You’d think they’d treat us with a little trust!"

"Right? Expecting us to work for ’em without even a proper intro? What is this?"

Several people stepped closer, suspicion hardening their faces as they stared her down. "How do we know you’re not just holding out on us, Debbie?" one man jeered. "Maybe you’re hiding the access passes back in the command room!"

Debbie’s pulse quickened, but she held her ground. "I’d advise you to step back," she said, her voice icy. "Anyone who tries something here is looking at a one-way ticket nowhere. I’ll keep us all floating in space if I have to."

The edge in her tone made a few hesitate.

"Enough!" A clear, sharp voice cut through the crowd. A young man with close-cropped hair and a sleeveless shirt stepped forward, his eyes hard as he glared around the group.

"Remember what they told us before we left," he said, his voice low but firm. "We’re here on the Alliance’s dime, but we’re still prisoners. Let’s not kid ourselves. So we play along and don’t make waves, or it’s all our necks on the line."

Shane’s calm authority clearly had the crowd in line, though they grumbled as they relented.

"Fine, we’ll play nice—for now."

They filed up for their ID cards, and Debbie felt her shoulders ease for the first time all trip. "First up, Shane Danis," she called.

Shane, the young man with the cool intensity from earlier, put down his drink and moved toward her.

A small silver cross glinted on his tanned chest, catching the dim light as he made his way forward.

With a compact, powerful build and a gaze that cut like a knife, he radiated a magnetism that practically parted the crowd as he passed.

Debbie kept her expression neutral and quickly handed him his card, willing herself not to let his gaze throw her off.

Once she’d distributed the last ID, the ship started its descent, shuddering as they entered Wyrmtrace’s atmosphere.

Debbie headed down the narrow hallway toward the command room to input landing codes, her boots echoing softly in the dim space. She was almost at the door when a leg stretched out into her path.

"Debbie."

She stopped, heart racing as Shane emerged from the shadows, his expression unreadable and his presence as intense as ever.

"Can I... help you?" she managed, forcing her voice steady.

He leaned in, the corner of his mouth curling. "I just want to know—what kind of person is this boss of ours?"

Debbie kept her posture straight, her back against the wall. "Her name’s Lyra, and she doesn’t like her last name mentioned. What she’s like? You’ll find out soon enough."

Shane braced a hand on the wall beside her, effectively boxing her in, his gaze sharp and searching. "One more thing," he said, voice low.

Debbie’s cheeks heated as she looked anywhere but directly at him. "Wh-what’s that?"

"Are the access passes really with HER?"

His eyes held hers, and she fought to keep her expression neutral. "Trust me, SHE wouldn’t give something that important to me. I’m just the assistant."

Shane squinted, studying her with a hint of skepticism. She looked too flustered to be lying, and he lost interest, standing back and shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Alright. Fair enough."

As he turned to walk away, he muttered to himself, "Lyra... that name rings a bell."

Once he was out of sight, Debbie finally exhaled, patting her flushed cheeks as she straightened.

"Nice try, hotshot, but I’m not buying your charm," she muttered to herself with a smirk. ’Good looks aren’t gonna sway me—not as much as a paycheck does.’

She shook her head and marched back to the command room, sealing the door behind her with a sigh of relief. "Phew, that was something."

Her coworkers looked over, catching sight of her pink cheeks and stifling laughs.

"Rough shift, Debbie?"

"Hey, after this mission? You’re up for a promotion for sure."

Anton, their escort now, looked on from across the room, smirking as he sipped his drink. ’Funny how opportunity brings in all kinds of... talent,’ he thought, eyeing the crowd.

The ship landed, and Debbie barely had a moment to catch her breath before the passengers pushed toward the immigration hall, eager to start fresh on Wyrmtrace.

They practically ignored Debbie’s calls of, "Hey, don’t wander off!" disappearing into the hall in a noisy throng.

Debbie and the crew hurried after them, catching up just as the crowd gathered by the doors, suddenly silent and stiff.

Outside, two people waited—a man and a woman, both wearing a serious face that quieted even the rowdiest of the bunch.

The man, Cohen, gave the group a sour once-over. "These are the ’skilled technicians’ you promised? They don’t look like much," he muttered. Disorganized, unruly, not an ounce of discipline.

Lyra shrugged, barely looking at them. "I don’t care how they look. They’re here to be useful, not decorative."

Cohen shook his head, his expression grim. ’This lot’s trouble waiting to happen,’ he thought, eyeing their stances.

Several looked dangerously fit, and a few held themselves with the wary posture of seasoned fighters.

As he scanned the IDs, he noted a handful flagged as combat-level strength, some ranked as level-three or level-four Peculiars. One or two even showed up as level six. There was no way these people were just technicians.