The Ghost drifted in the silent shadow of a shattered moon, its viewports turned away from the glittering, chaotic tapestry that was once the unified system. On the screens, the data was a river of fire. The Shattered War was not a single conflict but a million simultaneous brush fires, sector against sector, colony against homeworld, System Bearer against System Bearer, all fueled by the sudden vacuum of power and the corrupted, worthless currency of System Coins.
Roewi sat cross-legged in the center of the cargo hold, the only space large enough to contain his new reality. His eyes were closed, his breathing slow and deliberate. Before him, hovering in the air, were three interlocking rings of light, silver, multicolored, and transparent, a symbolic representation of the trinity of Orbs
