The Serenity cut through the storm, its hull glowing faintly as it descended toward the moon’s surface. Rycan sat strapped into his seat, the familiar vibrations of atmospheric entry shaking the ship. He watched the storm clouds outside the window, their dark masses illuminated by occasional flashes of lightning. The view was mesmerizing, but his mind was elsewhere.

Their mission had been shrouded in mystery from the start. Chief Inquisitor Sorell had shared barely anything about their objective, and what he did say left more questions than answers. A cult, hidden away on this desolate moon, supposedly connected to a series of terrorist attacks across the Republic’s systems. But why only send one inquisitor and a small crew of the Defense Forces for something like this? It didn’t add up.

Rycan tightened his grip on the armrests as the turbulence increased. The ship rocked violently, the hull groaning under the pressure. He glanced over at Sorell, who sat calm and composed despite the chaos around them. The inquisitor’s presence was unsettling in its stillness, as if he were detached from everything happening around him.

“Prepare for landing,” came Commander Crux’s voice over the intercom, cutting through Rycan’s thoughts. He nodded to himself, unbuckling his seatbelt as the ship stabilized. The storm outside suddenly seemed less menacing, the flickering lights of the waves below more a dance than a threat.

Rycan stood, pulling on his uniform jacket. The fabric was stiff, the collar too tight, but he ignored the discomfort. His hand moved instinctively to his veilgun, securing it at his side. It wasn’t that he expected trouble—though he’d learned to be ready for it—but there was something about this mission that made his nerves buzz with unease.

He looked over at Sorell again, who was now standing beside Commander Crux. They spoke in low tones, too quiet for Rycan to hear, but the way Crux nodded made it clear that whatever they discussed was important. Rycan felt a pang of irritation at being kept in the dark. He wasn’t a rookie anymore; he deserved to know what they were walking into.

The ship’s descent slowed, the roar of the storm outside muffled as they neared the surface. Rycan caught a glimpse of their destination through the window—a solitary building perched atop the cliffs, small and unimposing, but there was a weight to its presence, as if it held secrets that had long been buried.

“Ready yourselves,” Commander Crux called out, breaking the tense silence that had settled over the crew. Rycan took a deep breath, steeling himself for what was to come. The ship landed with a soft thud, the final tremor running through the hull like an exhaled breath.

As the landing gear settled into the rocky ground, Rycan looked out at the building again. The five domes were connected by narrow corridors, their metal surfaces glinting in the dim light. The place looked abandoned, but Rycan knew better than to trust appearances.

Inquisitor Sorell turned to the crew, his eyes settling on each of them before he spoke. “We must proceed with caution. This place holds more than it appears, and those within may be more dangerous than we expect. Trust your instincts, but do not act rashly. We are here to seek answers, not to start a fight.”

Rycan felt the weight of Sorell’s gaze linger on him a moment longer than the others. It was like being stripped bare, his thoughts and doubts laid out for the inquisitor to see. He clenched his jaw, pushing the feeling aside as he nodded in acknowledgment.

The ramp lowered, and the cold, wet air of the storm rushed in. Rycan squared his shoulders and followed Sorell and Crux down the ramp. The ground beneath their feet was uneven, the grass slick with rain. The sound of the waves crashing against the cliffs was louder now, a constant roar that filled the silence between them.

They approached the building cautiously, the shadows around them shifting with the storm’s erratic light. Rycan’s heart beat steadily in his chest, his senses heightened as they reached the entrance. He placed his hand on the veilgun at his side, feeling the cool metal under his fingers.

The door to the building creaked open, revealing a dark corridor beyond. Sorell stepped inside first, his presence commanding in the narrow space. Rycan followed close behind, his eyes scanning the shadows for any sign of movement. The air was thick with tension, every creak of the floorboards echoing in the silence.

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There was something wrong about this place, something that made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. Just as he was about to take a step inside, Sorrel stopped in the middle of his movement, his voice calm but firm. “We mean you no harm. We seek only to understand.” He slowly turned his head around. Rycan’s heart dropped, as he spun around and lifted his veilgun.

Between them and their ship stood a figure. The figure stood still, almost absorbed by the storm, rain streaming off their dark cloak as the wind howled around them. In the fading light, they were little more than a shadow, an unsettling presence barely visible through the heavy downpour.

The figure remained silent, but the air seemed to grow colder, the shadows pressing in around them. Rycan’s hand tightened on his veilgun, his instincts screaming at him to be ready.

The silence stretched on, heavy and oppressive, until finally, the figure spoke, their voice a whisper that cut through the darkness like a knife.

“You should not have come here.”

The man’s deep voice shook his body more than the occasional rumbling sounds created by the distant thunderstorm. Adrenaline surged through his body and time seemed to slow down as the hooded man pulled a silver object out from underneath his cloak.

The storm seemed to pause, held in breathless anticipation. A sharp snap-hiss cut through the tempest, the sound unnervingly clear against the roar of nature. A long, silver spear was now in the man’s hand. It was engulfed in a white light, casting an eerie glow that illuminated the figure’s face in flashes—just enough to reveal the cold determination in their eyes.

Rycan felt a strong hand shove him to the side, as Sorell quickly rushed towards the hostile man, pulling out and turning on his echoblade with one deliberate motion. Its resonating hum almost felt calming.

“Officers Rycan and Joor, check the inside. Be careful, there may be more hostiles here!”. Commander Crux’s voice cracked as he shouted his commands, his men quickly lining up in formation behind Sorell.

Rycan looked over to his comrade Joor, shortly nodding and then turning towards the looming building behind them, its shadowy entrance hiding potential ambushers right behind it. He swallowed down his fear and slowly made his way forwards, crouching down just a bit to be a smaller target.

As he and Joor reached the entrance, he heard the sharp sounds of two blades meeting, followed shortly by the distinct jagged bolts of veilgun fire. Together with the distant lightning the staccato bursts of energy formed a discordant symphony, each shot a harsh note in a melody that grated on the senses.

Joor took the first step into the building, immediately shifting his head left and right, scanning the entrance hall as quickly as possible. “First room, clear”. As he finished his sentence, a rumbling sound from deep within the building disrupted the unharmonious melody from outside.

"Did you hear that?" Joor whispered, his voice tense with caution. "It sounded like…. a security door opening. Someone else is here."

“We should keep pushing forward”, Rycan said with a calm tone that was meant to be reassuring - both Joor and himself. The hallway gave way to a round room that seemed more functional and lived-in. The space was well-kept, with neatly organized metal cabinets and workstations cluttered with various tools and equipment in active use. The warm, artificial lighting cast a steady glow over everything, a stark contrast to the storm’s turmoil outside.

Joor moved with purpose towards one of the cabinets, his fingers deftly opening the door to reveal a selection of sturdy cloaks and vests. These were clearly worn and maintained by those who still worked and lived here. He closed the cabinet with a resonant clang that reverberated softly through the room.

Without warning, a low rumble shook the walls, causing the metal cabinets to quiver. Rycan’s eyes darted to Joor, who suddenly clutched at his throat, his face contorted in pain and confusion. In a flash of lightning that seared through the window, Rycan saw the glint of a knife lodged deep in Joor’s throat.

Panic surged through Rycan, his thoughts racing as he drew his firearm. “Joor!” he cried, but the words were swallowed by the roaring storm. He backed away, his veilgun raised, every instinct on high alert. “Show yourself!” he demanded, though his voice was barely more than a strained shout against the backdrop of chaos.

A shadow flitted across the room, too quick to pinpoint. Rycan spun, firing a burst of crimson light that cut through the darkness in jagged lines. The bursts of energy illuminated the round room in harsh, fleeting flashes, casting long, sinistöer shadows. In front of him, the shadowy figure dropped to the ground.

Rycan’s breath came in short, sharp gasps as he searched for any sign of movement. A metallic clank and a low hiss suddenly broke the silence, the unmistakable sound of something heavy being shifted.

His instincts flared. Without hesitation, he dashed toward the source of the noise, his veilgun at the ready. He raced to the door leading to the next room, every step fueled by the immediate threat.