The vastness of space was a strange thing to witness. A dark, endless sea that stretched forever outward, consuming light and meaning the farther one stared.

  Kraklak remembered being a young hatchling, floating on the surface of his ocean-covered home world, gazing up at that infinite blackness. Back then, it felt like endless wonders, possibilities, and mysteries.

  But later came the truth—bitter and cold.

  Everything beyond their galaxy was dead. Consumed in an event so ancient and catastrophic that no one could agree on its cause. An extinction that swallowed uncountable galaxies in a single breath.

  Planets, stars, civilizations—gone. Erased. What little remained of that moment was a singular certainty: the void had once blazed with an all-consuming light.

  No one knew what it was. A dying god, a natural implosion, a weapon from a reality now extinct. The theories changed depending on the era, but the void remained unchanged.

  Some still chased answers.

  Kraklak knew that he would likely never know. Not now. Not as he stood there, hearing the clang of the tether locking into place, anchoring him to yet another mission he wished he'd never taken.

  His superiors—brilliant minds, yet fools in practice—had made one of the most idiotic decisions since he'd joined this doomed fleet. Venturing into the unknown reaches of this sector.

  Territories where Nexus travel became a suicidal gamble. Where even the best-engineered arc ships could barely breach through without losing half their crew to instability or madness.

  And yet, this trip had discovered something.

  Something alive.

  Something powerful enough to wage war at their level of technology that learned. That adapted.

  They called it an enemy. Kraklak called a new understanding of biology.

  Every second, his mind spun through survival calculations. Most ended with silence.

  He reached the outer doors of Aegirarch’s vessel. The doors hissed open with an ominous hum, revealing a space that reflected its occupant perfectly: sparse, austere, and automated to the last circuit. There were no clones, no drones, and no crew bustling through the halls.

  Aegirarch trusted no one.

  Kraklak passed into the next chamber, pausing only to exit his exo-suit before slipping into the flooded sections of the ship. The water was cold, sterile, and faintly vibrating with the hum of the reactors as he swam through the narrow corridors.

  Eventually, he found him.

  Aegirarch half-submerged in a dining chamber designed for cooked meals, of all things floated serenely, a solemn melody drifting through the chamber.

  His eyes were closed. A half-eaten tray of nutrient-rich food floated beside him.

  Kraklak swam closer and examined him carefully.

  He had gained weight.

  That fact alone was both amusing and deeply unsettling. Aegirarch—the hyperefficient tactician who calculated every move, every calorie, every breath had begun to gorge himself.

  And Kraklak knew then, something had finally broken him.

  Even the coldest minds crack when they stare too long into the dark.

  “You've gained weight,” Kraklak said plainly. “Is this your lowest point or there's a lower level?”

  Aegirarch didn’t look up. He swirled the broth in his bowl, letting synthetic meat cubes float in lazy circles.

  “A low point? No. I’ve merely decided to indulge in life’s remaining pleasures—food, music, and poor company.”

  He finally looked up, pale eyes focusing on Kraklak with dry amusement.

  “Though frankly, you’re a terrible conversationalist. If I had someone who met my genetic preferences for a mate, this meal would be far more tolerable.”

  Kraklak snorted. “You could’ve grown one. Plenty of Grithan have.”

  Aegirarch grimaced, as if insulted. “Grow a mate? What am I, some soft-helmed merchant heir? No, I want something real. I haven’t wasted cycles mutilating my genome or slapping chrome under my skin just to feel compatible. My mate should be born flawed, like me.”

  Kraklak swam closer, nostrils flaring. “Your food—it smells off. That’s not the usual premium-grade protein the fleet uses.”

  Aegirarch shrugged, lifting a greasy slab to his mouth and swallowing it in one practised gulp.

  “I needed something… different. Something that keeps the panic at bay. I synthesized compounds into the meal. Nothing illegal. Just… calming.”

  Kraklak narrowed his eyes. “Calming you for what?”

  Aegirarch’s hands tightened on the tray. His voice dropped to a near whisper.

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  “For what my calculations have shown me. Over and over. No matter the variables.”

  He leaned back, the chair creaking under his weight. “Every simulation ends the same way death, destruction, and absolute collapse. Not just for us. For every species of this entire galaxy.”

  Kraklak froze. “Be specific.”

  “Fine,” Aegirarch said, pushing his tray into the waste chute with finality. He turned, expression hardening into the icy logic Kraklak remembered from before the campaign fractured him.

  “Let me ask you something. How long does it take an Ark Ship to fully charge its engines after a Nexus jump?”

  “Twenty to thirty galactic standard days,” Kraklak answered. “Depends on local interference and void density.”

  “And how much Nullite has been harvested so far? Enough to protect how many ships under an Ark’s shield during that period?”

  “Hundreds,” Kraklak admitted. “The fleet hulls alone carry millions—maybe a hundred billion tons.”

  Aegirarch nodded, a bitter smirk on his lips. “Now imagine the anomaly… growing, learning, and replicating our technology. How many more ships could it make in that same span?”

  Kraklak’s throat dried. The calculations started running in his mind now, pieces clicking together like jagged teeth.

  “You see it now,” Aegirarch said. “We aren’t leaving. None of us. Not the fleet, not the clone regiments. Not the consortium clans or the Hydrarchs. We brought this thing into being. And it has already surpassed us.”

  “It has a planet,” Kraklak said softly. “I’ve read the latest probes. They've been minor skirmishes. It’s… adapting too fast isn't it.”

  “It's so much worse than you could have ever imagined” Aegirarch leaned forward as he spoke.

  Kraklak hesitated. “Then what is?”

  Aegirarch’s voice dropped again. “I’ve reviewed every battlefield report, every ghost transmission, every failed distress beacon. I’ve traced rumours from the clone rebellion to anomalous mutations during the first battle.”

  He took a breath.

  “If even a single microorganism of that entity escaped the moon before… it could have infected a clone, or worse an entire ship.”

  Kraklak’s mind reeled. “That’s… paranoid. You don’t know that for sure.”

  Aegirarch’s eyes burned. “I do. It already happened.”

  He leaned forward, elbows on the table. “Seven clones. Survivors from Frival’s ship. They were recovered and reassigned—without quarantine. One was placed on each of the seven out of fourteen space hulks currently cycling through each Nullite deposit in the solar system.”

  Kraklak moved back. “That’s impossible. Our systems—our protocols would’ve flagged contamination.”

  “They were ignored,” Aegirarch spat. “Sorith-Ven wanted more Nullite. He silenced Frival to claim his shares. The anomaly used infected clones to communicate the entire operation and Frival’s death at that remote outpost. I thought it was a pocket of survivors. It wasn’t.”

  Kraklak’s voice cracked. “Do you think… the infected clones were the start of the rebellion?”

  Aegirarch gave a humourless laugh. “No cheap control chips was the result. Or it had a hand in it just. Either way, the infection is loose."

  Kraklak was motionless, overwhelmed. The implications—fleet-wide exposure, contaminated command structures, compromised infrastructure—it was all too much.

  “So what do we do now?” he asked, barely above a whisper.

  Aegirarch shook his head slowly. “I will do nothing. I’m already dead, the anomaly knows me. It’s already inside the fleet systems. It won’t let me live.”

  Kraklak swallowed hard. “And me?”

  “You have a chance. Negotiate with it. It's already aligned with several rogue clones, fighting against us.”

  Kraklak blinked. “Aligned? That makes no sense.”

  “Nothing makes sense any more,” Aegirarch muttered. “These are the Currents of Reversal, as the reef priests used to say. Go to Ankrae. See if she'll negotiate with it for you and her lives to be spared.”

  There was a pause, heavy as a dying star.

  Kraklak glanced at the waste chute. “You know what? I think I’ll have a meal. And a drink. The universe doesn’t make sense, and I’m tired of trying.”

  Aegirarch chuckled and tapped his V.I. “Prepare another serving. For the condemned.”

  Kraklak sat beside him, still stunned.

  “Do you think it’ll let us survive? Let Ankrae live? It wiped out most of her group.”

  Aegirarch raised his drink in a mock toast. “You? The unlucky researcher tossed into this cosmic death trap? You’ve got a fifty-fifty shot.”

  He swallowed deeply.

  “Whether you live or die now… that’s entirely up to it.”