The transport was deep in a hostile sector of the Outer Rim, moving closer to the rendezvous point. Inside his cabin, Ravik activated the wall console. The holoscreen flickered—no comms channels open, no outbound permissions granted. Only onboard AI.

“Confirm orders,” Ravik said.

AI RESPONSE: “Retinal scan required to confirm identity.”

Ravik leaned toward the lens as a faint grid of red light passed through violet. A soft chime. Success.

AI: “Captain Ravik Neravik. You are assigned to Imperial Fleet Ship Revenant, destroyer-class. Shadow Vanguard command. Operational.”

“Destroyer?” 

AI: “Primary role: precision and stealth operations in active war zones. Mobile base for Shadow Vanguard field teams. Crew complement nominal.”

He stared at the display of the ship schematic; a destroyer’s silhouette, narrow and sharp. Functional. Fast. Forgettable. Exactly the kind of ship no one was supposed to see.

“Crew?”

AI: “Five hundred forty-two, active.”

Ravik ran his fingers through his hair. The ship was wrong for someone of his rank. Too quiet, too small, too far from everything that mattered.

I don’t belong here…

He paced in the tight cabin, steps muffled against the deck vibrations.

AI: “Will that be all, sir?”

“Commanding officer.”

AI: “Major Kael Marris, Strike Commander, Shadow Vanguard Detachment. Reporting to Commander Zarion, Imperial Vanguard Command."

His throat tightened. Marris. The Academy had used one of his operations as a model exercise—open access, polished for instruction. Every other file tied to him had since been sealed.

“Mission?”

AI: “Deployment classified.”

“Retrieve personnel file for Kael Marris.”

AI: “Classified.”

Ravik crossed his arms. “That will be all.”

The console dimmed. He studied his reflection in the dark screen until the tension broke. His stomach growled. He exhaled through his nose, irritated. Of course he’d skipped the banquet. 

The memory flashed, unwanted—Lyrik’s teary eyes, the tremble in his hands as he desperately gripped Ravik’s coat, trying to salvage what was left of their connection. Ravik chose pride instead. Now, all he had to look forward to were field rations and recycled water.

Ravik pulled his datapad from the desk and keyed in his clearance override. He needed a distraction. If the AI was going to pretend Kael didn’t exist, the orders packet would have to do. 

His violet eyes scanned the dossier, then paused. There it was: Strike Commander — Major Kael Marris — Shadow Vanguard
Decorations: Four Vanguard Stars of Valor, three Command Citations.

Back at the Academy, all attempts to locate Kael’s records lead nowhere. And now here he was, commanding officer of the Revenant.

Kael was described as disciplined and calculating; an ideal Strike Commander, the kind of leader others would follow without question. Even the portrait looked like it followed regulation to the letter: clipped hair, eyes level, mouth unreadable.

He’ll love me. Just wait until I upstage him.

Still, he couldn't shake the curiosity. What was it like to lead with that kind of confidence, to feel like you belonged at the top, not by right, but by choice? It was infuriating.

Ravik scrolled lower, revealing a line of subordinate files nested beneath Kael’s rank. His team.

The command tree unfolded like a schematic, and Ravik pressed his own name first.

Infiltrator — Capt. Ravik Neravik
Primary Functions: Covert entry, intelligence extraction, sabotage, precision demolition.
Reporting Structure: Operates within Primary Strike Team under direct authority of Strike Commander Kael Marris.

He tapped the screen once, harder than intended. The datapad flickered.

Captain by rank… subordinate by convenience.

If Commander Zarion held authority over the entire Imperial Vanguard, and Kael was responsible for this unit, Ravik sat somewhere under both… buried. 

He glanced at the other names listed under Primary Strike Team.

Demolitionist — Lt. Veyra Strahl
Field rating: Exceptional.
Psychological profile: concise communicator; prefers silence to speculation.

Ravik tilted his head, reading the notes about Lieutenant Veyra’s expertise in explosives and her stoic demeanor. 

Finally, someone who isn’t going to swoon every time I walk into a room. 

1st Engineer — Lt. Rynn Forma

Engineers bored him. Next.

Medic — Lt. Elara Gris

So far, Kael’s team looked functional enough. Next.

Sniper — Lt. Sarin Deyka
Marksmanship: 99.8% confirmed accuracy.
Behavioral flag: Irreverent; charming; socially unpredictable.

Ravik groaned, dragging a hand over his face as he skimmed Lieutenant Sarin’s profile. Silver eyes and a wide smile stared back from the screen. 

Great. Just what I need—a fanboy with a scope. 

He could already hear the laughter, bright and unbothered, echoing down a corridor. His jaw clenched. He flicked past the sniper’s grin, ready to close the file—

The communicator beeped. Sharp. Insistent. Frowning, Ravik picked it up, noting the security clearance on the call. He straightened before he realized it, finger hovering a second too long over the button.

“Captain Ravik,” a voice said, low and smooth.

Ravik shivered. Even as an audio transmission, the authority radiating from that voice was unmistakable.

“Commander Zarion,” Ravik replied, keeping his tone neutral, though his pulse quickened. He hadn’t expected direct contact—not this soon.

“Just checking in on my new Infiltrator,” Zarion continued. “You have your orders, but this isn’t the Academy. Your Xerion pedigree means nothing in the Vanguard. Comfortable?”

“Comfortable enough, sir,” Ravik said, his throat dry. Zarion’s voice was too calm. Too controlled. Ravik hated how much he wanted to hear more.

A soft chuckle came through the line, deep and resonant. “Good. You’ll need your energy for what’s ahead.”

Ravik hesitated. He’d never felt uncertain speaking to a superior before, but this was different.

“I heard,” Zarion said, his tone shifting slightly, “that you were… disappointed in your assignment.”

Ravik’s jaw clenched, heat rising to his face. “No, sir.”

Another chuckle. “It’s not wise to lie to me, Captain.”

Ravik swallowed hard. “It’s not that I’m dissatisfied, sir. I just—”

“Wanted the Dominus, not the Revenant,” Zarion finished for him, his voice dropping into something almost teasing. “Let me make one thing very clear, Ravik. This isn’t a consolation prize. However, if it’s not what you wanted, the airlock is always an option. Open it now, take a walk, and I’ll find myself a new Infiltrator.”

His next inhale caught halfway. Zarion’s words were matter-of-fact, but there was a faint, suggestive edge beneath them. 

“I’ll make it work,” Ravik said finally, his voice steadier than he felt.

“Good. You’ll do fine, Captain. I see great potential in you. Don’t make me regret it.”

The transmission ended, leaving Ravik alone once more. He stared at the communicator, his breath uneven, his thoughts racing. All he could hear was the echo of Zarion’s voice; calm, commanding, and disarmingly intimate.

Ravik clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms. “Focus,” he muttered to himself. He dropped the datapad onto the desk, harder than he meant to. Past the viewport, the stars faded as the transport slid further into the void.