STARBOUND DEVOTION.

Night always came early on Neo-Terra. The artificial sun dipped into its programmed rest cycle at 19:00 hours sharp, painting the colony streets in muted blues and lilacs. And when the lights dimmed, shadows moved differently. They stretched, breathed, whispered. Sometimes they felt alive. Annastasia had always preferred this hour. She sat at the far end of the skybridge overlooking District Six, her slender frame wrapped in a soft black cloak. Her posture was elegant without effort, chin tilted slightly as though listening to something others could not hear. Her long hair cascaded around her shoulders, dark as a nebula cloud, catching the faint glints of star-lamps beneath her. But it was her eyes that set her apart. Not grey. Not silver. Something in between, like mercury that remembered how to feel. Every time a passerby accidentally met her gaze, they looked away too quickly. As if they sensed something wrong. Or something too right. Annastasia liked it that way. Silence was her shield. Distance was her safety. And loneliness was her destiny. At least, that was what she firmly believed. She pulled her cloak tighter as a cold breeze whispered along the suspended walkway. Down below, hover-trams hummed, neon storefronts blinked open and closed, and tired colonists trudged home from work. Life went on. Normal. Predictable. Human. Annastasia did not belong to any of that. Her fingers trembled the way they always did on nights like this when the visions came stronger. They crawled up from her subconscious without permission, quick flashes she could never hold onto long enough to understand. A woman screaming. A man whispering her name. A bright, blinding light. A cold metal table. And the drowning fear of not knowing who she really was. She exhaled slowly, her breath steady despite the panic clawing at her chest. Control, she reminded herself. You must always stay in control. The Seraphyn did not tremble. The Seraphyn did not fear. The Seraphyn did not form attachments. Even though she wasn’t fully Seraphyn, that part of her bloodline pulsed in her like an ancient phantom, beautiful, deadly, and unknown. She pressed her palm against the cool railing, trying to ground herself. “Not tonight,” she whispered, her voice soft enough to be mistaken for a breeze. “Please… not again.” But the visions were getting stronger. And someone else had begun to feel them too. ———- THE WATCHER Across the city, someone tapped into a classified neural frequency only used by high-ranking officers. A man stood inside an observation chamber aboard the starship Vanguard, orbiting Neo-Terra. He was tall, broad-shouldered, built like someone who had survived wars that no longer made history books. His jawline was sharp, his dark hair cut short in military style, and a faint scar ran from the corner of his right eye to his cheek. Commander Kael Ryn. His eyes, deep storm-blue, were locked on the holographic display hovering before him. Lines of data scrolled rapidly, forming the complex pattern of a psychic resonance signature. A signature that did not belong to any human. “So it’s true,” Kael murmured, his voice roughened by exhaustion and disbelief. “The Seraphyn DNA frequency is active.” He tapped a command on the console and a blurry still image appeared, from the city’s surveillance grid. A woman. Sitting alone. On a skybridge. Cloaked. Elegant. Still as moonlight. And her eyes… he leaned closer, breath catching. Silver. “Annastasia” the system labeled her. Registered refugee. Low threat level. No known family. Occupation: None. But Kael could feel it in his bones,the girl in the image was not a refugee. She was the one he had been searching for. The one who could answer the question humanity had feared for thirty years. Why was the galaxy destabilizing? Why were star routes collapsing? Why were cosmic storms forming in places they never should? His gut tightened. “She’s the key,” he whispered. Not as a soldier. Not as an officer. But as a man who had stopped believing in fate… until this moment. ——— THE HUNTERS Back on Neo-Terra, Annastasia sensed them before she heard them. A vibration in her chest. A faint static behind her ear. A shift in the air — like someone had opened a door to a darker world. She tensed. Not again. Her silver eyes flickered, the irises sharpening like a cat sensing danger. Three shadows approached from behind — quiet, careful, pretending to be casual. But Annastasia felt their intent. She always did. Government trackers. They had found her again. Her heart pulsed violently, but her expression remained calm. Soft. Controlled. The perfect porcelain mask. She rose from the railing with the same grace a dancer uses when stepping onto a stage. No sudden movements. No panic. One of the men spoke, his voice deep, mocking. “Evening, sweetheart. Been looking for you.” Annastasia turned slowly, her cloak fluttering behind her like a fallen star drifting through gravity. “I am not interested in being found,” she said, her voice calm — too calm for someone facing danger. “Not your choice,” the second man smirked. “If you come quietly,” the third added, “we won’t have to sedate you again.” At that word, again, something inside her shattered. A memory flashed violently: Cold metal cuffs. Needles in her veins. Hands forcing her down. Voices saying: She’s reacting, hold her still. Annastasia’s breath hitched. She hated this part of herself, the part that responded when she was cornered. The part that awakened when she was afraid. The part that made her different. The part that made her dangerous. “I don’t want to hurt anyone,” she whispered. “Too late,” the leader said. “You’re coming with—” He didn’t finish. The air around her shifted. A faint silver aura rippled from her skin like heat waves on desert sand. Her hair lifted slightly, strands floating as though underwater. Her eyes glowed brighter — luminous and alien. The men stiffened in fear. “s**t— she’s activating—!” Annastasia didn’t move. She didn’t lift a hand. She didn’t blink. Yet the world reacted to her. The metal railing beside her bent inward with a metallic groan. The air warped. A force— invisible but undeniable — slammed into the men like a silent explosion. They flew backward. Crashing into the ground with cries of pain. Annastasia stood trembling, breath shaky, aura flickering. “I said…” she whispered, “…I didn’t want to hurt anyone.” Her knees wobbled. Using her powers always left her weak. Unsteady. Vulnerable. She turned to run, but froze when she sensed another presence. Stronger. Calmer. Different. She lifted her gaze. A man stood at the other end of the skybridge. Tall. Steady. Eyes like stormlight studying her with a mixture of awe and something she couldn’t identify. He wasn’t afraid of her. He just stood there… watching. Annastasia’s chest tightened. A soft, strange pull tugged at her — like her soul recognized him. But that was impossible. No one could ever recognize her. The man took one step forward, his voice low and gentle despite the chaos behind her. “Annastasia,” he said. As if he’d always known her name. She backed away. “Don’t come closer.” “I’m not here to hurt you.” His tone was warm, controlled, careful — like speaking to something fragile and powerful at the same time. Her heart hammered. “Everyone says that.” “I’m not everyone.” The pull between them grew stronger, a magnetic thread neither of them understood. Not yet. The world around her dimmed as her vision blurred. The adrenaline crash came fast. Too fast. Her knees weakened. Her breath became shallow. No. Not in front of him. Not in front of anyone. She tried to steady herself… but darkness swept in anyway. Her last sight was of the mysterious man running toward her,arms outstretched, eyes filled with something that looked dangerously close to concern. And then Everything went black.