The interstellar base of *Obsidian Reach* was a miracle of engineering and ambition, an ironclad citadel floating on the edge of the Arixis Void. Built into the bones of an ancient asteroid, the Reach wasn't just a fortress; it was a growing empire. Metallic corridors buzzed with activity—mechanics tending to aging fighter craft, traders bartering over crates of stolen fuel, mercenaries cleaning weapons in the shadow of looming command towers. Every corner of the base brimmed with potential, a fragile balance of chaos and opportunity.
Kalen Vex was wiry and lean, built for speed and precision rather than brute strength. His sharp green eyes held a calculating intensity, always scanning, always planning, giving the impression of someone who had seen more than his years should allow. His dark hair, cropped unevenly, often fell into his eyes, lending him a scrappy, unkempt look that matched the patchwork jacket he wore—a faded, stitched-together relic of scavenged materials.
A faint scar ran along his jawline, a reminder of a close call he'd never speak about, and his hands bore the calluses of someone used to hard work and harder decisions. Despite his youthful appearance, there was a cold edge to Kalen's demeanor—a quiet confidence that made even seasoned mercenaries hesitate. His every movement was purposeful, his posture a balance between ready tension and practiced calm, like a coiled spring waiting to strike.
This was home in the way a battlefield was to a soldier or a deck of cards was to a gambler. The Reach wasn't warm, wasn't kind, but it had kept Kalen alive when every other corner of the galaxy had spat him out. A stray in every sense, Kalen had been left behind when the first warlords of the Reach carved their dominion into the asteroid's rock. He was a scrap in their wake, scavenging tools and rations when no one was looking, learning survival through necessity. Now, years later, he moved through the base like he belonged, though he never really did.
The central plaza stretched before him, a sprawling network of modular markets and temporary shelters, patched together with steel sheets and the stubborn will of the desperate. Through the crowd, Kalen slipped unnoticed, his lean frame and ragged coat blending seamlessly into the churn of smugglers, refugees, and mercenaries-for-hire. He kept his hood low, a threadbare patch of fabric shielding his face, though his sharp green eyes tracked everything.
The Reach was growing. And Kalen intended to grow with it.
"Oi, kid!" a gruff voice called from behind him. Kalen stiffened but didn't turn right away. Instead, he let his hand drift closer to the knife strapped beneath his belt. Turning slowly, he met the gaze of an imposing figure—Lazrik, one of the warlords who now claimed a seat of power in the Reach's makeshift council.
"You deaf, boy?" Lazrik's scarred mouth twisted into a grin. "I've been looking for you. Thought you'd like to know—there's work. If you're done skulking in the shadows."
"I don't skulk," Kalen replied, keeping his voice steady. "And I don't work for free."
Lazrik barked a laugh, drawing the attention of a few nearby vendors. "You've got teeth, I'll give you that. Fine—head to Sector Nine. Some of my *less competent* men seem to have misplaced a cargo crate. Find it, and maybe I'll make it worth your while."
Kalen's lips twitched, not quite a smile. He nodded once and turned to leave, but Lazrik's voice stopped him.
"Don't get too comfortable, kid," Lazrik warned, his tone dropping. "This place doesn't care how clever you think you are. One misstep, and it'll swallow you whole."
Kalen didn't look back. He didn't need to. The Reach had already taught him that lesson.
As he wound through the lower sectors, Kalen's thoughts raced. Lazrik's offer was just another stepping stone, a chance to climb higher in a place where power was up for grabs. The Reach was no mere outpost—it was a kingdom in the making, a sprawling hive of factions and alliances waiting to be bent toward one vision. Someone would rise to claim it. Why not him?
But first, he'd need an army. Allies. Resources. And a plan.