Magnolia slept.

Her dreams were untroubled, a rare mercy. The weight of her actions at the Forge hadn’t yet found her in the quiet dark, and she remained blissfully unaware of the chaos unfolding outside her quarters.

Her crew worked tirelessly to evade the Syndicate. Hanjoon and Lee coordinated a series of evasive maneuvers from the cockpit, their communication quick and precise as the Wildflower slipped through asteroid fields and fluctuating nebulas. In-Su monitored the scanners, his fingers flying over the console while murmuring curses at the stealth ship that was too clever by half. Sela crouched near the armory hatch, checking weapons and preparing for the worst.

Through it all, the Wildflower pulsed with life.

And in the heart of the ship, something new stirred.

The Forge’s voice had called them her *hive*, and now, for the first time, they moved with singular purpose. In the treasure room, a spiral staircase of gleaming metal and bioluminescent light coiled downward, seamlessly crafted into the Wildflower’s structure as if it had always been there. The air shimmered faintly, charged with the remnants of Forge energy.

Below, the space was cavernous, its high ceilings adorned with faint, glowing patterns—echoes of the Forge’s draconic designs. The room seemed to thrum with potential, alive in a way that was both mechanical and organic. It had not existed hours before, but now it was as much a part of the ship as its engines or its captain.

The hive worked in efficient silence, their forms flitting between the staircase and the piles of crates that had been deposited in the room. Each box held a piece of the Forge—weaponry glinting with ancient precision, shards of technology humming with dormant power, and raw materials too alien to classify.

Liora, calm and deliberate, coordinated the efforts. Her ethereal form moved like liquid light, directing the others with simple gestures.

Rahim, dignified and steady, carried the heaviest loads, his movements careful to avoid damaging anything.

Sira darted between piles, cataloging each item with rapid efficiency. She murmured to herself as she worked, her clever hands placing delicate tools next to intricately carved artifacts.

Eryon, curious and eager, paused now and then to examine a piece of technology, his shimmering eyes wide with wonder before Liora’s sharp look sent him back to work.

Viera, poised and watchful, inspected a row of crystalline weapons, her hands glowing faintly as she tested their dormant power.

Thyren stood at the room’s edge, silent and vigilant, his eyes scanning the chamber for potential threats even here, within the Wildflower.

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Rilan worked swiftly at a workstation that seemed to rise from the floor in response to his presence, piecing together fragments of raw material into something new, something useful.

And Lirael, serene and meditative, stood in the center of the room, her hands resting lightly on a console that pulsed with Forge light. She murmured a low, resonant chant, syncing the room’s energy with the Wildflower’s heartbeat.

The hive moved as one, guided by an unspoken understanding. They were building something greater than themselves, their movements precise and purposeful. The room began to fill with order, the scattered crates transforming into organized rows of supplies, tools, and weaponry.

Above them, Magnolia stirred in her sleep, unaware of the changes beneath her feet. But the ship knew, and the ship was ready.

The Wildflower and its hive had a purpose now. The Forge’s legacy was alive within them, and whatever lay ahead—Syndicate or otherwise—they would face it together. All they needed was for Magnolia to wake and complete the ritual by placing the crystals.

The air in the new chamber pulsed with latent energy, the Forge’s power held in perfect suspension. The crystals—six in total—sat at the center of the room on an ornate pedestal that seemed to rise naturally from the floor. Their delicate surfaces shimmered with shifting light, a reflection of their purpose and the monumental task ahead.

Lirael stepped forward, her serene presence anchoring the room as she gazed at the crystals. “It waits for her,” she said softly, her voice carrying the weight of understanding. “The Wildflower holds its breath.”

Rahim, standing nearby, nodded gravely. “Without her, this is unfinished. The Forge entrusted her with its essence. Only her blood can bind it.”

Eryon, perched on a stack of neatly arranged crates, tilted his head curiously. “Why her? Why Magnolia, of all people?” His tone was innocent, but the question hung heavily in the room.

Sira rolled her eyes, her sharp wit cutting through the tension. “Because fate has a sense of humor, clearly. Or maybe the Forge just likes stubborn, accident-prone humans.”

“Enough,” Liora interjected, her calm voice carrying an edge of authority. “What’s done is done. She is the key now. We don’t need to question why.”

Nearby, Rilan adjusted a series of panels that had unfolded from the walls, his fingers flying across the glowing interfaces. “The ship’s systems are ready,” he said. “The energy flow is stabilized, but it’s like holding back a storm. We can’t sustain this state indefinitely.”

Viera’s gaze lingered on the crystals, her healer’s instincts recognizing the fragility of the balance. “She’s been through so much already. I don’t know if she’s ready for this.”

Thyren’s deep voice cut through the murmurs. “Ready or not, it must be done.” He turned his gaze upward, as if looking through the ship’s layers to where Magnolia slept. “She will rise when the time is right. She always does.”

The hive fell silent, the weight of his words settling over them. They knew Magnolia’s resilience, her strength even when she doubted herself. But they also knew the ritual would demand more of her than anything she had faced before.

The Wildflower itself seemed to hum softly, as if in agreement. Its systems thrummed with anticipation, every part of the ship aligned toward a single purpose. The hive could do only so much; the final step belonged to Magnolia alone.

Lirael turned back to the crystals, her hands resting lightly on the pedestal. “When she wakes, she will come,” she said with quiet certainty. “And when she places the crystals, the Wildflower will become what it was always meant to be.”

They could wait. They had to.