The room was cast in shadow, thick drapes choking out the cold, distant light of stars. The men around the table shifted in their seats, voices low, as if even sound itself could betray them. Hanjoon sat at the edge, angled slightly away from the rest, his amber eyes heavy-lidded, watchful.
Magnolia’s father presided at the head of the table, his presence a stone wall in the flow of conversation, controlling its direction with a glance or a raised hand. Hanjoon could feel the gaze of others shift toward him now and then, fleeting but assessing, each of them quietly weighing his silence. He offered no response, content to observe, though the words that filtered through the room felt like poison.
“Both sides are desperate for allies,” one merchant murmured, his fingers tapping a steady rhythm on the polished wood. “They’ll pay, and dearly. Credits, weapons, routes—whatever we ask, they'll grant it. And when the war is over…”
Another man leaned forward, his voice a hissing whisper. “We’ll hold the balance of power in our hands, control of entire systems. Their futures will rest on our choices here and now.”
There was a hum of approval, subdued but hungry. They wore their greed openly, a collective hunger that twisted every word they spoke into something sharp and cold. Hanjoon’s gaze drifted over their faces, lingering on the familiar lines of Magnolia’s father, a man with features as severe and unyielding as an iron blade. His face, like all the others, was untroubled, absorbed in calculating the potential profits of each alliance, each maneuver.
The talk continued, drifting from systems to ships to soldiers, reducing men and women to mere numbers. Hanjoon’s jaw tightened imperceptibly, but he gave no sign, no outward reaction. War was no stranger to him—he’d seen its cost too many times, witnessed it tear men apart, stripping them of everything until there was nothing left but hollow shells and empty graves.
One of the merchants—an older man with gray-streaked hair and shrewd, glittering eyes—cast a look toward him, mouth twisting into a faint, almost mocking smile.
“Of course, Captain Hanjoon knows well the price of war.” There was a murmur of agreement, a few nods of respect that felt more like a mockery. “It’s why we value his insight.”
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Hanjoon’s amber gaze shifted to meet the older man’s for a heartbeat, cold and unreadable. He let the silence settle, stretching long enough that the merchant glanced away as if expecting some insight that Hanjoon had no intention of offering.
As the conversation continued, he let his thoughts drift, threading through his mind like smoke. These men, these merchants who spoke of lives like commodities to be bought and sold, seemed blind to the destruction they were courting. Their words scraped against him, hollow and self-serving, while the images of his own crew—Magnolia, In-Su, the others—flashed through his mind. They were his family, his duty. They didn’t belong in this room, this conversation, this looming war.
And yet here he sat, bound by loyalty to Magnolia and to the bond that tied him to her world.
The merchants’ words echoed into the dimly lit air, calculating profits and alliances, setting futures in stone without ever considering the lives that would be broken along the way. Hanjoon’s silence was like steel, unyielding, a cold resolve building behind his amber eyes. Let them talk. Let them plan. But he knew, in the depths of his being, that he would not be dragged into their war—not if it threatened what he held dear.
As the merchants filed out, their voices faded down the hall, and Hanjoon stayed, still as stone, his gaze fixed on the polished table before him. He waited until the room had settled into a deep silence, broken only by the soft sounds of Lord Tova’s careful movements as he closed the door and returned to his seat.
“My actions have caught up with me Hanjoon,” Lord Tova began, his voice rich and measured, “I wouldn’t see them catch up with my wildflower.” He spoke the words with all the weight of expectation, each one seeming to hover in the still air between them.
Hanjoon didn’t reply, his face impassive, and Lord Tova’s keen gaze lingered on him for a moment, as though testing the silence, gauging the iron resolve behind those amber eyes.
After a pause, Tova’s hand moved, placing a small, intricate metal sphere onto the table between them, its surface gleaming with an ancient, labyrinthine design. “It’s a map,” he said softly, his voice tinged with something bordering on reverence, “to the Dragon’s Cradle, outside the seven systems. I would only ask two things of you.”
Hanjoon’s gaze flicked to the sphere, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, but he remained silent, his face an unreadable mask.
“Don't speak of war before you leave.” Lord Tova’s expression shifted, his tone cooling as he leaned forward, each word precise, deliberate. “And make sure Magnolia accepts the gifts I send tomorrow morning. Including the Pets that bring them.”
A sharp silence followed, heavy with unspoken tension. Hanjoon’s jaw tightened, his amber eyes hardening as they lingered on the sphere, but he gave no answer, nor did he let any reaction escape the iron control that held him still.
He reached out, his fingers closing over the sphere’s cool surface, feeling the weight of it, and then he rose without a word. With a single measured movement, he left the room, the quiet of his departure more telling than any reply he might have given.