You override the primary nav-locks and plot a manual course toward the source of the distress beacon. The Starling creaks in protest as her inertial dampeners strain to compensate for the storm’s aftershocks. Through the cracked viewport, you spot it—adrift, motionless, and unnervingly silent.

The Ardent Dawn.

Its once-pristine hull now bears the scorched scars of something brutal—long, claw-like gashes gouged into the plating, exposed conduits twitching like severed nerves. One of its docking bays gapes open like a jaw mid-scream, flickering lights pulsing erratically from within.

Your instruments stutter and glitch. Environmental scans return corrupted. Life signs: inconclusive. Radiation: low. Hull integrity: questionable.

Still, that blinking beacon persists. A digital heartbeat in the vacuum.

As the Starling steadies into position alongside the derelict ship, your gloved hand hovers over the airlock control. Something inside you recoils. This isn’t just a rescue mission. It’s something else. Something buried deeper.