The next day, after dragging the battered boy up and down the platform and ignoring the calls from Natasha, Albin waited for Travone to regain his senses following a night of torture as light filtered into the room, illuminating the bruises and cuts that marred Travone’s face.

Like any bow class and few dagger class users, the quartermaster had not missed the previous night's commotion. "What did the boy do?" the quartermaster asked, knitting his brow as he scrutinized the dishevelled state of the room. Albin stood in the doorway, holding onto Travone.

"He is under investigation for murder, and I was taking some time to question him," Albin replied with an edge of irritation.

The quartermaster glanced past Albin at the disarray, a frown etching deeper lines on his weathered face. "Hope you don’t mind, but that’s a lot of damage. I’ll have to write a report about this," he said with an air of resignation.

"Go ahead. This fucker right here wanted to fight," Albin shot back, casting a disdainful look over his shoulder at Travone, who could barely stand on his own.

"Well, get on with it. Get him out of here," the quartermaster said, heading back to his shop office. He couldn’t bear to be part of the charade.

Dragged through the quarter like a lowly thief or strung-out addict, Travone felt his sense of shame like a cold wave. Half-conscious, he replayed the past few days' events in his mind: perhaps this was the worst thing he had ever done; he shouldn't have hidden the truth.

Many eyes tried to recognize him, and when they didn't, they turned back to their lives, indifferent to his suffering.

He felt lost and hatred for the world; it had abandoned him, but what was worse and twisted was that he was weak.

Albin was a Gamma rank; Travone’s Zeta rank made him feel painfully vulnerable even with his unique class. Albin had shattered Travone's spirit, breaking him, and he would go to the planet and retrieve the relic.

Albin strode into the UNE station, a perverse smile played on his lips, dragging Travone along.

He surveyed the seated UNE officers, locking eyes with the strongest Gamma ranks in the station. "You, you, you, and you!" he pointed, commanding their attention. "Come with me! Hector has tasked me with an investigation, and I need capable hands for an expedition to the dungeon planet."

"Who’s the kid?" a sharp-eyed female officer asked, regarding Travone with suspicion.

"Don’t worry about him; he’s a suspect," Albin replied dismissively.

"Where are we headed?" another officer queried, curiosity piqued.

"We’re clearing out a mine."

Unlike typical ship boarding, when UNE officers flagged a transport to embark, Travone watched as the seekers were ordered off the ship. The few who did not listen were pushed out while the officers reminded them of the UNE authority. Much like them, it did not take long for him to be unceremoniously thrown inside the craft along with hardened officers.

"Where are we headed?" the pilot asked, glancing at Albin.

"Here are the coordinates. It’s going to be an assault," Albin stated flatly.

"What are we expecting down there?" the pilot inquired, her brows knitted with concern.

"Vile spines. We'll jump out, only land when it’s clear," Albin advised coolly.

Flung onto the floors of the transport craft, Travone's body ached as he was manhandled, each jolt sending sharp pains through him. The feeling only got worse when the ship took off, and he shut his eyes, futilely dreaming of escape.

When the pilot arrived at the coordinates, she looked down and frowned. "Officer Albin, there are a lot of prowlers down there—are you sure about this?" the pilot asked.

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Albin shot a glance back at the Gamma officers before returning his gaze to the pilot. "Lower us down. I’ve wasted enough time getting here."

He turned to his fellow officers, a sense of bravado in his tone, "Boys, it’s time." He marched over to where Travone was slumped and, without warning, yanked him up by the arm. "You’re coming with us."

"Are you sure about this, Albin?" one of the officers questioned, eyeing the dusty earth below sprawling with radish black figures moving around.

"Yeah, that’s a lot of vile spines down there. I thought you guys were the strongest," Albin mocked with a derisive laugh.

One officer looked around, smiled, became emboldened, and leapt from the transport craft, landing more than fourteen meters down with a thud. Meanwhile, another unsheathed a long silver centenarian blade called his Astra shield and jumped into action.

Through all of this, the pilot simply observed four metallic-skinned humans descend onto the planet’s surface, ready to engage the prowlers.

It took a few minutes of looking down, "Lower us down! The Zeta rank over here won’t survive that landing!" one of the officers barked, glancing back at Travone.

And he was right; Travone's stomach churned at the thought of jumping from such a height. He pulled away instinctively, wrestling against Albin’s iron grip at the back of his neck.

"I can’t land it. It’s too dangerous!" the pilot protested.

Albin took a moment to consider and then decisively pointed, "Lower us! The vile spines are being held back by the others." The pilot's eyes darted to the airspace, quickly calculating their options.

"Alright," she said,

Before he knew it, the ship was being lowered close enough for even Travone to survive a fall from the ship.

"Are you ready?" Albin asked, but he didn’t wait for a response.

One moment, Travone was struggling to remain inside the cramped transport, and the next, he was plummeting, falling more than a dozen feet to the ground below. Grey sandy earth awaited his impact, a foreboding reminder of the dangers that lurked just beneath the surface.

Travone found himself paralyzed, his limbs refusing to respond as panic coursed through him. He blinked, trying to focus on the distant figure of a vile spine approaching swiftly. It strode faster towards him. Its spiny back gleamed ominously in the dim light, and its toothy maw dripped with saliva as it licked its green tongue over its lips in hunger. It looked at him with a predatory gaze.

Just as it was about to pounce, a shadow fell over it, and he watched in a blurry haze as a figure descended, daggers in hand, plunging them into the creature’s back. The vile spine thrashed violently, yet the officer drove his fists into the monster’s head, stunning it, before seizing the daggers embedded in its eyes.

To Travone's confusion, the figure placed the daggers into the holster on his back. A sense of dread filled him—this wasn’t just any dagger class user; it was Albin, utilizing Centurian iron weapons with finesse, which made his heart sink.

"Are you still alive, boy?" Albin's voice cut through the fog of his mind, and Travone flinched at the sound. "Good. That means we can keep moving."

A female officer's voice was interrupted from behind, and there was a tense urgency in her tone.

"What?" Albin snapped in irritation.

"That was a lot of prowlers. Mike got injured; he won’t survive."

"Then take him back," Albin ordered curtly. "In fact, you can all go back. Tell the pilot to land; you can escort him back."

“What of you?” the female officer pressed.

"I'm on a mission, and if I'm successful, I won’t need to board the transport craft."

A rough tug on Travone’s jacket signalled that he was being pulled away; he was led past the onlooking officers, their eyes filled with the judgment that marked him as a criminal.

All he could do was look down, a pit of shame growing in his chest as he was guided like a dog towards the mining cave.

Inside, the dark walls echoed with the sounds of wind against each stone and beam, reminding him of his toil. In one corner, a nest was made, and in it were human bones that sent a chill down his spine.

Albin's voice jolted him back to reality. "Where is it?" he demanded, shoving Travone forward.

Bloodied and swollen, as the alien astravores coursed through his body as they tried to heal him, Travone could only weakly gesture, feeling his body sluggish as it fought to recover.

Albin noticed the caved-in soil and bent down. Curious, he lifted an alien tile and looked up at the soil, "Is it behind here?"

Travone struggled to respond, his throat dry. He nearly choked on saliva, his senses dulled from exhaustion.

Albin nodded to himself with excitement; he placed his hand on the collapsed entrance and activated his skill: "Repel." The force of Albin’s Gamma rank sent shockwaves through the cave, causing the walls to implode inward spectacularly, leaving a gaping tunnel.

A craved frenzy of triumph etched itself in Albin’s eyes as he looked around at the ancient-looking structure. He took an unsteady step forward in reverence as he proclaimed, "By the Founders, boy, you have brought me what I needed. Witness my ascent to power!"

Had Travone been able to focus, he might have realized that the path leading Albin was more illuminated than before, each room well-lit by lanterns and with little or no obstacles in its path. He pointed toward a large door, and all he could think of was the alien that he had seen fighting behind the door. There was only a mix of fear and hope, hope that maybe it would kill Albin, and then hopefully, he could find a way to escape.

Albin pushed him back roughly as he strode towards the door, shoving against it with all his might, but it wouldn't budge. Just as he whirled around to punish Travone for the inconvenience, a faint click echoed in the stillness, and to his astonishment, the massive alien doors swung open, effortlessly giving way as though he were being welcomed.

Interlude

"I can sense my body failing, as a lord. I might have betrayed my people, but even the other lords have abandoned their soul weapons. I can feel it; there is nothing left on this planet. It is dead, left to the whims of the galaxy. My soul feels empty because I have given away my weapon as well—the strongest of the black weapons. I hope for one thing, Mother Galaxy, that he finds the weapon's true purpose. With the armory lodged in that boy’s soul, I have tampered with his mind, hoping I will live and die in peace for the next standard year. I sent him back through a portal for my convenience more than his, and I hoped never to see him again."