The aftermath of the battle left the *Gallivant* scarred but triumphant, slicing through the cosmos like a blade through velvet darkness. The crew, a motley collection of rogues and renegades, found themselves momentarily adrift in a sea of calm, the eye of an unending storm.
Captain Vela stood at the helm, her gaze fixed on the star-studded infinity. "We've danced with death and lived to tell the tale," she mused aloud, the corners of her lips tilting upwards in a sardonic smile. "What's next on the agenda? More shadowy figures or just the usual void of existential dread?"
Loxley, leaning against a nearby console, offered a wry grin. "I'm voting for a vacation on some tropical planet. I hear the beaches on Zephyria IV are great this time of year—sand as soft as a whisper and waters deep and mysterious as your eyes, Captain."
Vela shot him a look that was half-amused, half-warning. "Keep your eyes on the stars, Loxley. And less on the crew."
