The Syndicate transport touched down with a low growl, its engines kicking up clouds of ash and dust from the barren ground around the Forge. The ramp extended, and Syndicate Commander Kestrel strode out first, her boots crunching on the lifeless earth. She surveyed the scene with a practiced eye, her dark, calculating gaze sweeping over the injured men slumped against jagged outcroppings of stone.

“Status?” Kestrel snapped, her tone sharp enough to make the nearest operative flinch.

One of the injured men, a bruised and bloodied scout, struggled to his feet, leaning heavily on his weapon. “We were ambushed, Commander. Three... maybe four of them. They hit us fast and hard.”

Kestrel’s expression darkened as she turned her attention to the Forge. The once vibrant structure now sat in eerie silence, its faint glow extinguished. The surface, once alive with flowing light, was dull and cracked, its patterns faded like a corpse drained of blood.

She paced forward, gesturing for her second-in-command, Lieutenant Orris, to follow. “And the Forge?” she asked, her voice low but brimming with barely restrained anger.

“Gone,” the scout said hoarsely, collapsing back against the rock. “Whatever power was in there... it’s gone. They must’ve done something.”

Kestrel’s jaw tightened as she stopped before the Forge’s entrance. Her gloved hand rested against the cold, dead surface of the structure, and she frowned. She had seen this Forge once before, years ago, when its power had been a pulsating, undeniable presence. Now, there was nothing.

Orris approached cautiously. “If the Forge is truly dormant, Commander, it’s possible they activated its protocols—took whatever was here.”

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“Or destroyed it,” Kestrel muttered. Her fingers brushed against a faint scorch mark near the entrance. It was recent. Fresh. The team had encountered resistance, yes, but there was more to this story. She could feel it in her bones.

“What about their ship?” she asked.

“It was... strange,” another injured operative croaked from the ground. “Not Syndicate. Something sleek. Fast.”

“A civilian ship, then?” Orris questioned.

“Maybe,” Kestrel said, stepping back from the Forge. “But one with a crew trained well enough to take down a Syndicate squad and leave without a trace. Hardly a coincidence they were here when the Forge went dark.”

“What are your orders, Commander?” Orris asked.

Kestrel’s lips curled into a thin smile, devoid of warmth. “We follow. Quietly.”

She turned to the squad. “Deploy the Specter.”

Orris nodded, a faint gleam of satisfaction in his eyes. The Specter was a state-of-the-art stealth vessel, invisible to most scanners and equipped with the Syndicate’s best surveillance tech. If the crew of this mysterious ship thought they could vanish after such an operation, they were sorely mistaken.

“And the wounded?” Orris asked.

Kestrel cast an indifferent glance toward the injured men. “Triage the ones who might survive. Leave the rest.”

As she made her way back to the transport, her thoughts churned. The Forge was more than a weapon or a relic—it was a piece of something far greater, something that had slipped through her fingers today. But not for long.

The Specter would find this Wildflower, and when it did, the Syndicate would uncover the truth. Whatever secrets lay in that ship or its crew, Kestrel would tear them apart until she had them all.

“Mark my words,” she muttered to herself as the ramp hissed shut behind her. “Whoever you are, you’ve just made an enemy of the Syndicate.”