The command room buzzed with activity again, though the vibe was far lighter now. Kiana was nowhere to be seen—probably still clinging to Vermond like a divine koala somewhere. Erie, however, was busy leaning on the edge of the display table, popping some crunchy protein snacks into his mouth with a smirk.

  At the center, Jard had both hands up in the air, practically dancing in front of the holographic projection of the black hole. Charts, simulations, and questionable orbital paths spun like a psychedelic storm around him.

  “I call this maneuver…” Jard paused for dramatic flair, “the Spiral of Genius!”

  Ruen, seated across the room with a mug of synth-coffee, raised an eyebrow. “Did you just make that up?”

  “Yes,” Jard said proudly. “But the math doesn’t lie! If we stabilize the station using its four main thrusters in reverse polarity while compensating for frame-dragging caused by the black hole’s ergosphere, we can literally orbit doom itself.”

  Erie squinted at the diagrams, then leaned to Ruen. “Does this guy sound smart, or is he just making noises with big words?”

  “I think both,” Ruen said, sipping slowly. “But I like his confidence.”

  “Thank you,” Jard said, without looking. “Also, I heard that.”

  He spun around and pointed at a rough model of the station hovering above the black hole. “Look, if we anchor the railgun directly to the rotational path, and calculate timing just right, the gravity sling can add power to our shots. We’re talking god-slaying projectiles.”

  Erie crossed his arms. “You mean we’ll be spinning like a pizza around a black hole, and hoping we don’t become toppings?”

  “Exactly!” Jard said cheerfully. “But with style.”

  Ruen sighed. “Just don’t vaporize us. I have laundry in the synth-washer.”

  Suddenly the simulation spun out of control, the station model slamming into the event horizon with comical sound effects Jard had definitely added himself. “Okay okay okay,” he waved. “Minor miscalculation. Maybe don’t trust the decimal point I rounded down...”

  Erie blinked. “You did what now?”

  Ruen just chuckled. “We’re all gonna die.”

  Jard puffed his chest. “Not before I make this station the first ever sniper nest orbiting the edge of time itself.”

  “…Kinda cool when he says it like that,” Erie muttered.

  “Still terrifying,” Ruen added.

  They all turned back to the swirling simulation, and despite the jokes and the looming gravitational annihilation, they couldn't help but admire Jard’s sheer insanity.

  And somewhere, from one of the hallways, came Kiana’s voice sweetly echoing:

  “Big brother, don’t forget to rest~!”

  Erie whispered, “Now that’s the scary one.”

  Jard stood up front with a marker in hand, ignoring the sound, scribbling on the holo-board with passionate ferocity. “We can attach a reinforced relay into the edge of the gravity well. If we succeed, it’ll be the first data and power siphon node ever installed that close to a black hole.”

  Ruen raised a brow. “And if we fail?”

  “We become a part of history. Very, very flattened history.”

  Erie gave a short laugh. “Well, at least I’ll die next to you meatheads.”

  Jard nodded solemnly. “That’s the spirit.”

  Then, the automatic doors whooshed open.

  Vermond entered, composed and quiet, with Kiana clinging delicately to his arm. Her presence was ethereal—white hair flowing like nebula threads, eyes soft yet glowing with hidden fire. She held a small bento box in one hand and was gently feeding her brother slices of fruit and warm bread, all while standing beside him like a priestess beside a god.

  Jard gave a low whistle under his breath. “...Did he marry a divine being and not tell us?”

  Erie snorted. “Don’t say that too loud. She’ll start glowing again.”

  Kiana smiled sweetly at everyone—too sweet. “Don’t mind me. Big brother needs energy for thinking. Go on.”

  Vermond ignored the awkward tension and sat at the central table. “What’s the current plan?”

  Ruen brought up the display. “We’ve mapped a trajectory where the destroyer can sneak a device into the upper drag zone of the black hole’s pull—just far enough to stay stable. Jard thinks we can tether it to the station with cable fused to power anchors.”

  Jard spun around. “It’s crazy. And beautiful. And I think it’s going to work.”

  Kiana held a piece of food in front of Vermond’s lips. He ate quietly.

  “We’ll ride the destroyer into position,” Vermond said, eyes narrowing at the swirling blackness in the center of the map. “We’ll deploy the relay manually.”

  Erie frowned. “Is that wise? The gravity alone—”

  “I’ll use the energy field to stabilize the drop. It’s risky, but the reward is worth it.”

  Ruen tapped his fingers. “And nobody’s gonna mention how casually he drops field now? Cool. Great. Love that.”

  Erie stood near the back, arms crossed, eyeing Kiana as she wiped a crumb from Vermond’s lip with a gentle smile.

  Jard leaned close to him. “That girl’s... something else.”

  “You have no idea,” Erie muttered.

  “So,” Vermond continued, rising from his seat with calm authority. “We ready the destroyer. Ruen, begin prepping the tether module. Jard, finalize orbit calculations.”

  He glanced at Erie, eyes glinting. “You’re coming with me. As always.”

  “And Kiana?” Ruen asked.

  Kiana simply smiled and tightened her grip on Vermond’s hand.

  “I go wherever Big Brother goes.”

  Nobody dared argue.

  Minutes later..

  The hangar bay buzzed with activity. Crews ran diagnostics on the undead destroyer. Anchor cables were being coiled and recalibrated. Tension hung in the air—but not because of the mission.

  No, the real tension was in one corner of the observation deck, where Kiana sat gracefully on Vermond’s lap like it was her personal throne.

  She was feeding him—again.

  With every bite of fruit she placed in Vermond’s mouth, the temperature in the room seemed to drop… or maybe that was just the cold envy radiating from three very lonely men.

  Jard leaned over to Ruen. “You seeing this?”

  “I wish I wasn’t,” Ruen said flatly, arms crossed, trying not to look.

  Erie, arms limp at his side, was slouched dramatically against a pillar. “Bro... I’m gonna implode like the black hole.”

  Vermond sat there, calm as usual, gently chewing as Kiana lovingly wiped his cheek with a soft cloth.

  “You’re eating like a prince,” Jard grumbled under his breath. “Do you even know how to lift your own spoon anymore?”

  “Shhh,” Kiana whispered without even looking at them. “Big Brother is focusing on the mission.”

  “He’s focusing on the peach in your fingers!” Erie exploded.

  “...And now she’s giving him tea. From her own cup,” Ruen added in disbelief.

  They all just watched as Vermond, unfazed, took a sip from the same cup Kiana sipped from.

  Ruen cracked. “Okay, this is officially illegal.”

  “I need a girlfriend,” Erie mumbled into his hand.

  Jard nodded. “Same.”

  Ruen stared at his empty hands. “I held a wrench all morning. That’s the only thing that touched me today.”

  Erie flopped onto a nearby crate. “We need a support group. 'Lonely Command Bros Anonymous.' Weekly meetings. Snacks provided.”

  Kiana, still seated comfortably, gave them a radiant smile. “You can’t force love, Misters. It must blossom... like a star.”

  Erie stood and dramatically pointed at Vermond. “You! Stop being so attractive and mysterious and emotionally complex!”

  Vermond raised an eyebrow. “I’m literally just eating.”

  “While a beautiful girl is perched on you like a goddess on a throne!”

  Jard threw his hands up. “At this point, I’d settle for a girl who stabs me as long as she looks at me afterward.”

  “I got stabbed once,” Ruen muttered. “She still didn’t like me.”

  There was a long pause.

  Then Vermond finally spoke, calm and cold. “Focus on the mission.”

  Kiana nuzzled into his shoulder. “My focused Big Brother is so dreamy.”

  Erie collapsed again. “I’m done. Emotionally. Spiritually.”

  Ruen sighed. “I’m orbiting depression faster than we’re orbiting the black hole.”

  Jard looked at his datapad. “You think if I rename this fusion core 'Girlfriend.exe' I’ll feel better?”

  They all groaned in tragic unity.

  And then..

  The undead destroyer thrummed quietly as systems came online. Engines idled, glowing faintly. Ruen leaned against the wall of the boarding corridor, helmet tucked under his arm. Jard tapped nervously at a datapad. Erie just sat, legs dangling off a crate, staring at the hatch like it had personally wronged him.

  “Where are they?” Ruen asked, voice flat, heart already wounded.

  “I swear,” Erie muttered. “If she’s feeding him again…”

  The doors finally hissed open.

  Step. Step. Radiant aura.

  Vermond walked in like a shadow given form. And right beside him—Kiana, glowing like a celestial being, holding a tray of sliced fruit with one hand… and Vermond’s hand with the other.

  She stopped mid-step, picked a piece of fruit with delicate fingers, and lifted it toward Vermond’s lips.

  Everyone watched in silence.

  Vermond chewed with the same impassive expression as always, but Kiana beamed like she just saved a galaxy. Then, out of nowhere, she leaned in and kissed his cheek.

  Smack.

  Erie immediately turned around, covering his face.

  Ruen slid down the wall, knees to his chest.

  Jard stared into the distance. “I used to believe in hope…”

  Kiana gave a cheerful, “Let’s do our best today!” before skipping ahead, pulling Vermond along.

  As they passed, she gave the other three a sweet smile.

  Erie wiped a tear. “She’s too powerful.”

  “She’s not even trying!” Jard choked out. “That kiss—it had AOE effects! I felt it in my spine!”

  “I’m emotionally divorced from life,” Ruen muttered.

  Then, the ship’s internal speakers came on. Kiana’s voice chimed:

  “Everyone, please focus on your work. Big Brother and I are rooting for you.”

  Erie stared at the speaker. “I can’t take this. I’m gonna start rooting for the black hole.”

  Ruen nodded solemnly. “Let it take me.”

  Jard stared down at the console. “I’m installing dating apps in this friggin’ railgun.”

  The undead destroyer undocked smoothly from the massive space station, its cloaking systems already active. In the distance, the black hole shimmered like a sleeping god, ripples of twisted gravity warping starlight in every direction. The atmosphere inside the bridge was calm… serious.

  Except for one thing.

  Kiana was, once again, on Vermond’s lap—legs elegantly folded, arms loosely wrapped around his neck, her cheek softly resting against his shoulder as if she had claimed her seat permanently. Her green eyes flicked from screen to screen with faint interest.

  Everyone else was too polite—or too terrified—to say anything.

  Jard stood in front of the holotable, gesturing as the 3D projection of the black hole twisted and shifted. “This zone here is the edge of the event horizon. We need to place the energy siphoning node in a stable orbit, just outside the danger threshold.”

  Vermond nodded calmly, his chin gently brushing against Kiana’s hair. “How long will it take for the module to anchor?”

  “Six hours minimum,” Jard replied. “If the pull doesn’t destabilize the graviton scaffolding, we’ll be safe.”

  Kiana tilted her head up. “Then we’ll be watching the node for six hours… together.”

  Erie rubbed his face with both hands.

  Ruen’s helmet fell from his lap.

  Jard continued, eyes twitching. “Uh… yes, well. The ship must stay within a calculable range to relay coordinates and provide backup gravitational support. We’ll need a team to suit up and deploy the module.”

  “I’ll do it,” Erie volunteered quickly—probably just to get away.

  “I’ll go with him,” Ruen muttered, arms crossed.

  Kiana gently ran her fingers through Vermond’s hair. “Big brother can stay here. I’ll make sure he’s comfortable.”

  Vermond, silent as ever, tapped a finger to his lips thoughtfully. “Good. We stay on command. Erie, Ruen, take three elites with you. Jard, guide them remotely.”

  Kiana whispered beside his ear, “I’ll guide you too… through the stars.”

  Erie dropped his helmet. “I’m— I’m seriously gonna lose it.”

  Ruen was already halfway out the door.

  Minutes later...

  Erie leaned back against a console, arms crossed, while Ruen mimicked him with a pout. The two had taken up roles… suspiciously familiar roles.

  “Alright,” Erie said, deepening his voice mockingly. “You be Kiana, I’ll be Vermond.”

  Ruen deadpanned. “Why am I Kiana?”

  “Because you’ve got that silent, moody energy today.”

  “I’m always like this.”

  “Exactly.”

  Ruen rolled his eyes and then, with the grace of a wooden plank, wrapped his arms around Erie’s neck and said in the most monotone voice imaginable, “Big brother… feed me space grapes…”

  Erie nearly lost it laughing but composed himself, clearing his throat dramatically. “Of course, little sister. Let me just fire the god-tier railgun while you sit on my lap.”

  They both cracked up—until Jard walked in.

  He stood frozen in the doorway, blinking at the scene before him: Erie with one arm outstretched like some dramatic romantic lead, and Ruen awkwardly perched half-sideways in front of him like a broken mannequin mid-hug.

  “…Do I even want to know?” Jard finally asked.

  Erie turned, all confidence. “We’re practicing tactics.”

  Ruen gave a thumbs-up. “Emotional warfare.”

  Jard pinched the bridge of his nose. “You two need girlfriends.”

  Erie shrugged. “We’re just trying to keep up with that.” He pointed to the other side of the bridge where Kiana was happily curled on Vermond’s lap again, gently brushing crumbs from his collar.

  Vermond didn’t even look up. “Focus on the mission.”

  Kiana looked at them with a smug smile. “You two look adorable together. Just saying.”

  Erie’s face went pale.

  Ruen muttered, “We’re never going to live this down…”

  Jard backed away slowly, muttering, “I’m going back to the black hole calculations. At least space doesn’t judge me.”

  They then began to move.

  “We’ll need to deploy stabilizers every 400 meters to survive in a stable orbit without being pulled apart,” Jard muttered. “One miscalculation, and the whole station becomes stardust.”

  Vermond’s eyes didn’t leave the display. “How close can we push it without crossing the red line?”

  Jard tapped on the interface. “If we get this right, close enough to siphon power from the accretion disc itself—but we’ll need to build a shielding grid. Energy output will be insane. But the heat and pressure…”

  Kiana smiled faintly. “That’s why we have you, Jard. We believe in you.”

  Erie’s voice crackled from the engineering bay through the internal comms, “Hey! Ruen and I are already moving materials and prepping shielding frames. Just say the word and we’ll start the external rigging.”

  Then, another voice buzzed in, louder—and grumpier.

  Old man Renn.

  “What the hell is this?! You left me behind?! I’m looking at the logs and I see my ship docked, but nobody told me the destroyer was headed out!”

  Vermond exhaled. “Renn…”

  “Don’t ‘Renn’ me, you soul-eating brat! Who do you think helped keep your station from collapsing into itself? You think I can’t help aim your oversized death cannon? And where the hell’s my chair?!”

  Jard muttered with a half-smile, “I warned you not to remove his personal mug.”

  Kiana pressed a button. “We’re nearing the final planning phase, Renn. We’ll update you on everything and bring you in for calibration. You’re important.”

  “…I want a snack waiting for me.”

  Kiana looked at Vermond.

  He smirked. “I’ll send Erie’s cooking.”

  A pause.

  “Fine. But I better not find out you all took off because you couldn’t handle my brilliance.”

  The comm went silent again.

  Vermond stood, finally breaking the still tension. “Jard, you handle the orbital math. Kiana and I will begin synchronizing energy pulse parameters.”

  Jard nodded.

  “Erie, Ruen,” Vermond called through the comms again, “Get the outer plates ready. We’ll be dancing close to the fire.”

  “Aye aye, commander!” Erie replied, a rare seriousness in his tone.

  Hours had passed since arrival. Coordinates double-checked. Stabilizers anchored. Now, it was time.

  Inside the command room, Jard leaned forward at the console, sweat on his brow despite the chill. “Stabilization grid is active. Orbital rotation is holding. Begin deployment… now.”

  Through the external cams, the first massive siphon spires unfolded from the destroyer’s underbelly—monolithic black structures laced with glowing crimson veins, humming with undead resonance.

  Erie’s voice came through. “Rig A secured. No interference from the field so far. Ruen, how’s Rig B?”

  Ruen replied, “Stabilizers are shaking but holding. Feels like we’re trying to mine the heart of a dying god.”

  Inside the command chamber, Vermond stood tall, arms crossed. Kiana clung lightly to his side, her expression calm but eyes blazing with silent joy—just being near him. She turned to Jard with a gentle smile. “Any anomalies?”

  Jard wiped his palms on his coat. “Aside from dancing on the edge of annihilation? No. Systems stable. First siphon should hit energy resonance in ten…”

  The countdown began. Lights flickered slightly as the spires pierced the vacuum between normal space and the black hole’s edge. The air vibrated.

  Erie spoke again, slightly amazed, “We’re... pulling energy. This is working. It’s actually working.”

  Then it happened.

  The siphons lit up like veins struck by lightning, each pulsing with chaotic, luminous energy drawn straight from the swirling maelstrom beyond. Power surged through the destroyer’s main conduit lines. Monitors flared as numbers spiked.

  Jard laughed. “We did it! The system's handling it! I can't believe—HA! We’re sucking the universe’s soul!”

  Kiana leaned closer into Vermond, whispering softly, “You’re amazing, Big Brother… This power… only someone like you could command it.”

  Vermond simply watched, expression calm, but something dark burned quietly behind his glowing eyes. Power… yes. But it always came with cost.

  Suddenly, Ruen’s voice buzzed in, lower. “Uh… you guys might want to see this.”

  On the side display, a new blip appeared at the edge of the siphon zone—not a ship, not debris.

  Something was waking up.

  Jard’s grin slowly faded. “...What the hell is that?”

  Kiana’s face was unreadable. She slowly placed her hand on Vermond’s. “It’s coming.”

  The air grew heavy. The temperature didn’t change—but something far worse did.

  A sound—no, a presence—pushed through the silence of space. It echoed through hull plating, sensors, even the walls of the soul.

  A low, thunderous roar.

  Ancient. Deep. Alive.

  Jard’s hands flew over controls. “What the hell is that?! That’s not turbulence!”

  The monitors flickered. Readouts went insane. The destroyer’s stabilizers strained, metal creaking. The station, though distant, was visibly pulling off-axis—drawn toward the void like a ship caught in a tide.

  Erie shouted, “That’s not a flare—it’s awake! The damn thing is awake! This is not natural physics!”

  Ruen yelled, “Pull us out! Pull the spires! Jard, disengage now!”

  Vermond narrowed his eyes, glowing with faint numbers. His instincts screamed that this was more than gravity. Something within the blackhole had stirred… something that noticed them.

  Comms sparked to life. Renn’s voice blared.

  “You kids better tell me what’s going on! The whole station’s rattling like a goddamn tin can in a cyclone! What did you do?!”

  But before anyone could respond—

  Kiana stood calmly, a serene smile on her face.

  She moved slowly to the viewport. Her emerald eyes shimmered, and for a moment, she looked… older. Eternal. Something else.

  She gently touched the glass, looking out at the swirling darkness now reaching for them.

  "He's awake," she whispered, almost lovingly.

  Everyone turned to her.

  “Kiana?” Vermond asked, voice low, trying to keep steady.

  She turned to him, still smiling. “Don’t be afraid, Big Brother… We’ve finally caught its attention.”

  Another roar.

  This time, it wasn’t just sound.

  It was a call.

  A will.

  Something older than death. Older than stars. And it knew Vermond’s name.

  The destroyer shook violently—alarms blaring—but Kiana never broke her smile.

  "This is fate, Vermond."

  She stepped closer to him, resting her forehead to his.

  "You're not just meant to command the dead... you're meant to command the abyss."

  The destroyer groaned as it tilted in space, systems screaming, the very reality around it folding like fabric being drawn into the abyss.

  Everyone gripped something.

  Erie shouted. Jard was cursing. Ruen's knuckles turned white holding onto a rail.

  But Vermond didn’t hear them.

  Kiana leaned forward.

  Still calm. Still smiling.

  She gently cupped Vermond’s face with both hands—and pressed her lips to his.

  Soft. Long. Certain.

  And then—

  BOOM.

  A shockwave burst from the command deck.

  Not physical. Not necrotic. Not just divine.

  It was something new—something between stars and death and obsession.

  Kiana’s hair lifted like starlight in water. Her eyes blazed green-gold.

  Vermond’s eyes glowed white, every number inside his soul momentarily flaring bright.

  Outside, the space around them twisted, warped—the blackhole surged like it acknowledged them.

  But it didn’t pull the station in anymore.

  Instead—

  The massive structure slid, spun unnaturally—and locked into a perfect, seamless orbit.

  Jard fell into his chair. “What... the hell just happened?”

  Erie was frozen, one hand still up in panic. “W-we were gonna die! That’s not how orbit physics works! WHAT THE HELL JUST—”

  Ruen was slack-jawed, pointing out the viewport.

  The station was orbiting the blackhole.

  Stably. Precisely.

  As if the blackhole itself had adjusted its pull to fit them.

  Inside the command deck, Kiana pulled back from Vermond, still smiling—eyes calm.

  “See?” she whispered sweetly. “You’re mine now. And now this world… this blackhole… everything else… has to accept that.”

  Vermond blinked. He wasn’t sure if the heat in his chest was love or cosmic fire.

  “This… this is insane.” He whispered.

  He spun on his heel, slammed his tablet onto the nearest panel, and began drawing—no, unleashing—a storm of blueprints. Holographic lines raced in every direction, overlapping, intersecting. Layer after layer of ideas and architecture flowed like lightning through his hands.

  Erie blinked, just arrived back inside the destroyer. “...You okay there, genius?”

  Jard didn’t answer. He was too far gone.

  “We’ll anchor here.” He pointed at a simulated asteroid belt forming around the singularity. “Convert mass into shielding nodes.”

  “Radiation repurposed for power. Harnessed by graviton siphons.” Another point. Another flash. “Time dilation zones—perfect for long-term experiments.”

  Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.

  He spun to face them, eyes glowing with reflected light. “We’re not just gonna live next to a blackhole. We’re gonna build a throne around it!”

  Ruen muttered, “...Bro’s already naming castles in his head.”

  Erie groaned, “He’s in blueprint god mode again. We’ll be building floating toilets next.”

  Jard ignored them. He was already summoning schematics for defensive arms, folded space corridors, and even a gravity well garden. “This place is going to be the fortress. No one will reach us. Not the Folkan, not the cleansers—nothing. We’re going to be kings at the edge of reality.”

  Then he paused… slowly turned to Vermond and Kiana, still close together near the viewport.

  Jard narrowed his eyes. “…Also, maybe don’t kiss next time before letting me prep the sensors. I think my bones reversed for a second.”

  Kiana just smiled. “We’ll kiss again when the fortress is finished.”

  Vermond nodded, calmly. “Better make it fast then.”

  Jard spun back to work, shouting. “GET ME A COFFEE. AND BY COFFEE, I MEAN A CORE STABILIZER!”

  Back at the station, alarms were still flickering weakly from the sudden gravitational shift earlier. Emergency protocols disengaged when the system confirmed: the station was now perfectly orbiting the blackhole, as if guided by the hands of a cosmic god.

  In the Command Hall, Old Man Renn stood frozen in front of the massive viewport, arms trembling, a cup of tea halfway to his lips—now cold.

  “They… they made the damn station orbit the blackhole…” he muttered.

  Behind him, crew scrambled to stabilize systems, but Renn didn’t move.

  Then suddenly, the hangar shook.

  BOOOOM.

  The undead destroyer returned—quiet and majestic, like a leviathan docking with a space cathedral. Metal slid, locks sealed, and hissed steam announced the arrival of its twisted, glorious presence.

  Renn turned as the hangar lights flickered.

  Inside, Jard was still on board, hunched over a console with his arms flailing through layers of holograms, muttering equations and designs that made no sense to ordinary minds.

  “Gravimetric cannon housing on the southern pole… orbit-tethered shield nodes… must be facing the event horizon at all times…”

  Renn squinted. “What in the name of hell is that kid doing now…”

  Then he grunted, hit the intercom, and roared into the hallway:

  “SOMEONE DRAG THAT DAMN ENGINEER OUT HERE BEFORE HE TURNS THE STATION INTO A TIME MACHINE!”

  But inside the destroyer…

  Jard whispered with a grin. “Oh no, old man… it’s already too late.”

  He then tapped a panel, and a label appeared above his schematics:

  PROJECT: GOD’S EDGE

  Stage 1 – The Citadel of the Maw

  “Vermond,” Jard said with the kind of excitement only a man who hasn’t slept for 72 hours can produce, “We’re going to build a Space Citadel. I’m not talking armor plates and railguns—I mean a full transformation. The station will become a living fortress, orbiting the most dangerous thing in the universe. A stronghold of the damned, but divine.”

  Vermond leaned on the console, arms crossed. Kiana sat beside him, holding his sleeve like she always did now, silently watching the glowing lines of potential futures on the display.

  “How much?” Vermond asked flatly.

  Jard chuckled, then coughed, then stopped laughing.

  “A lot. Like… collapse-a-small-empire ‘a lot.’ We’ll need materials, blueprints, and enough Credits to make the Federation itself weep.”

  Vermond didn’t blink.

  “We’ll trade the Dark Crystal.”

  Jard froze. “…You’re serious?”

  Vermond turned, and that soft glow in his eyes—those cursed, numbered eyes—shone.

  “Yes. I'm serious.”

  Meanwhile, at the station’s cafeteria…

  Old man Renn slurped his soup like he’d already given up trying to understand this generation. Ruen was chewing on some sort of glowing fungus-pastry, while Erie—forehead resting on his palm—looked like he was seconds away from throwing the table.

  “They’re planning something big again,” Erie muttered.

  “Let me guess,” Renn said with a grunt. “Giant sword on the station? Robotic limbs? Feeding the station the souls of the damned?”

  “No, worse,” Erie replied. “They’re building a castle around a blackhole and funding it with space devil rocks.”

  Ruen blinked. “Why do I feel like we’re background characters in some twisted love story and science experiment combined…”

  Renn sipped from his mug, stared at them both, and sighed.

  “Boys… this ain’t science fiction anymore. It’s just family issues with a budget.”

  And then..

  The merchant vessel DryUntilWet drifted just outside sensor reach of the citadel-to-be, its elegant hull shimmering with exotic shielding—layers of chemical resin and anti-radiation paint barely holding up in the strange energies near the blackhole. Inside, the infamous merchant—grimy coat, long fingers always twitching with a love of profit—stared at the monitor in disbelief.

  “No way…” he muttered, leaning closer to the image feed.

  A massive station—rebuilt, rebraced—calmly floated in orbit of a living blackhole. No chains. No anchors. Just unnatural stability.

  Suddenly, his comms blinked.

  Vermond’s voice came through—calm, but cold.

  “You didn’t see anything.”

  The merchant gulped, sitting up straight.

  “I mean, I saw a star. Very pretty star. Beautiful place. Totally unremarkable.”

  “Good,” Vermond said. Then added, “You’ll keep it secret.”

  “Of course!” the merchant replied quickly. “You know I’d never say a word. I wouldn’t even tell my own reflection.” He paused. “But I gotta admit… that station orbiting a blackhole? That’s legendary. That’s myth. That’s—”

  “Do you want the Dark Crystal or not?”

  That shut the merchant up. He smiled wide.

  “I absolutely do. Bring it aboard. You’ve got yourself trade priority. But hey—between us? You ever want to sell tours, I know people who’d pay just to see that place…”

  “We’re not making a theme park.”

  “No, no, of course not.” He winked at no one. “Not yet.”

  The DryUntilWet crept closer, its engines whining as they adjusted to the gravitational flux—until suddenly, the ship jolted.

  Alarms blared inside. The merchant stumbled, caught his balance, and looked at the readings.

  “What the—?! We’re being rejected! The gravity’s twisting like we’re a fly trying to land on a tiger’s nose!”

  Inside the Command Center, Vermond narrowed his eyes, watching the vessel twitch and struggle on the edge of the orbital bubble.

  Kiana, still beside him, leaned close—closer than usual.

  Her lips barely brushed his ear as she whispered. "Just think… that the ship is allowed here. The blackhole listens to you, remember?”

  Then she gently bit his earlobe and pulled back with a sly smile.

  Vermond froze for a second—heat creeping into his face—then closed his eyes.

  He reached into that space of thought, where soul and command intertwined.

  And he imagined the vessel was welcome.

  That it belonged.

  That it wouldn’t be swallowed.

  Outside… the blackhole’s furious pull shifted. A deep, resonating hum sounded in the void, like the satisfied growl of a sleeping god.

  Suddenly—

  The DryUntilWet stabilized.

  The ship’s hull stopped trembling. The shields calmed. They floated like royalty on sacred waters.

  Inside the merchant’s cockpit, his jaw dropped.

  “What the hell just happened…? Did… did your station just let us in?”

  Back on comms, Vermond simply said, “You’re allowed now.”

  The merchant blinked rapidly.

  “You guys are either cursed, blessed, or married to some eldritch goddess—”

  He stopped mid-sentence, his eyes scanning the camera feed.

  “Wait… that girl beside you… she just winked at me?”

  Vermond didn’t answer. Kiana smiled coldly behind him, resting her hand on Vermond’s shoulder.

  Then the merchant composed himself.

  “Anyway, here's my surprise offer… and it's not cheap. I’ve got access to a Phantom Forge Core. Limited stock. It lets you phase part of your station outside normal space.”

  He smirked.

  “Invisibility. Untouchable. But dangerous. It eats normal tech unless stabilized by something… dark.”

  He paused.

  “I figured you might have something… dark.”

  Vermond’s expression remained unreadable.

  Kiana, however, looked thrilled.

  “He has enough,” she said quietly. “And more.”

  The DryUntilWet had barely stabilized before the data feed lit up with requests—a cascade of orders, each more ridiculous than the last.

  The merchant squinted at his terminal as the requests streamed in:

  180 industrial-grade forcefield generators

  64 fusion-grade reactor nodes

  29 gravitic anchors

  12 atmospheric zone stabilizers

  A dozen automated shipyards

  Hundreds of kilometers of refined armor plating

  And a request for “ten thousand units of aesthetic alloy, Citadel-black”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa—what are you building over there, a new empire?” the merchant muttered, eyes wide as the numbers climbed.

  In the Command Center, Jard leaned back in his seat beside Vermond, pulling up more diagrams. His hair was frazzled, his hands covered in grease, and his excitement was manic.

  “Okay, so listen—this part? We’ll need twin spires laced with plasma weaves. We mount the quantum relay behind the blackhole-facing side, and boom! Broadcast through spacetime. Also, I need an entire ring of anti-collapse relays. Oh, and thermal isolation domes.”

  “How many?” Vermond asked, deadpan.

  Jard grinned. “All of them.”

  Kiana giggled softly beside Vermond. “Big brother loves shopping.”

  The merchant's voice broke through the comms again.

  “Okay—I'm sorry—but I have to ask: how in the name of galactic sanity are you guys pulling this off? I’ve supplied stations, dreadnoughts, even royal courts—but this?”

  Vermond leaned in toward the screen, his tone quiet but heavy with command.

  “You’ll deliver. You don’t ask questions.”

  There was silence.

  Then a nervous laugh.

  “Okay, okay—sure—just saying. Just curious.”

  Kiana stepped into view. Her green eyes glowed faintly.

  “Too curious,” she whispered.

  The merchant froze.

  “...Understood.”

  She smiled sweetly.

  “You’re lucky. Big brother said you’re allowed.”

  Behind them, Jard was still scribbling. “We need towers, yes—massive towers—and an inner sanctum chamber with soul insulation… a garden maybe? Nah, make it a death garden. And an orbital chandelier!”

  The merchant stared at the order sheet.

  “...I need a vacation.”

  But he accepted the orders anyway.

  Vermond folded his arms, eyes narrowed at the merchant’s screen. The list of materials already scrolled endlessly behind him, and now Jard had added “living workforce” to the construction blueprint. Kiana leaned lazily on his shoulder, arms looped around his arm as if refusing to be apart even during war meetings.

  “We need bodies,” Jard said bluntly, tapping on the holo. “One hundred thousand workers. If we want the Citadel operational in a month, we need hands, engineers, technicians, miners, welders—breathers.”

  The merchant looked uneasy but nodded.

  “There’s one place.”

  A planet flickered onto the screen. Dark. Densely populated. Rotting.

  “This is Fulll-3,” the merchant said. “Not under any empire control anymore. Billions live there. The poor, the forgotten. The lawless. Crime syndicates run the cities. No hope, no food, no medicine—nothing.”

  Ruen entered with a tray of cafeteria snacks and squinted at the screen.

  “Looks cheerful.”

  Erie followed behind, chewing something unidentifiable. “So we’re gonna offer them jobs, right? Or... scare them into it?”

  Vermond said nothing for a moment, calculating.

  Kiana suddenly sat upright and spoke softly.

  “They need a purpose. Let them work for something. Let them build a future. Let them build our Citadel.”

  The merchant raised an eyebrow.

  “You’re really going to give those people a chance?”

  Vermond finally answered, his voice cold but calm.

  “We’ll give them food. Pay. A place to live. If they work... they rise.”

  Jard chuckled, eyes gleaming. “We’ll filter the skilled from the desperate. Give the best ones purpose. And the rest... well, labor is still labor.”

  Kiana smiled. “And maybe,” she added gently, “just maybe, they’ll see my Big Brother as their salvation.”

  Erie leaned to Ruen and whispered. “Is it me, or is this starting to sound like the beginning of a cult?”

  “Shut up, I’m signing up,” Ruen replied, fake crying while eating.

  Vermond stared at the projection of Fulll-3 again.

  “Tell them,” he said to the merchant, “The Citadel is rising. If they want to live, build it.”

  "Now, watch your payment," Vermond said, Coldly.

  The merchant's jaw nearly hit the floor as the vault doors hissed open.

  Dark crystals. Piled. Stacked. Gleaming with raw, eerie energy. Each one pulsing with power no sane merchant would ever turn down.

  “By the stars…” he whispered, taking a step forward, his voice shaking. “This could fund a warfleet. Or ten.”

  Vermond walked beside him, quiet, calm.

  “You want payment. This is your payment. I want a million workers delivered from Fulll-3. On time. Quietly.”

  “A m-million?” Jard’s voice cracked behind them as he leaned into the vault entrance, eyes wide. “Vermond, I said we needed a hundred thousand—not a million!”

  “And I said,” Vermond turned slightly, “we build something greater than planned. We won't just build a Citadel. We’ll build a new system of power.”

  Kiana was clinging to his arm as usual, grinning as if everything was unfolding just as she hoped.

  “A kingdom...” she whispered.

  The merchant blinked hard, trying not to drool. “This… this will cover the cost. I’ll send every ship I have. I’ll even rent ones I don’t own. But this—this stays between us.”

  “Good,” Vermond replied.

  Erie elbowed Ruen. “Million workers, huh?”

  Ruen sighed, dragging his hand across his face. “That’s a lot of toilets to install.”

  Jard stepped forward, muttering. “We’ll need housing expansion. More resource lines. AI labor directors. Food logistics. Blackhole shielding systems for the new quarters...”

  “You’ll manage,” Vermond said. “We’ve got the crystals. We’ve got the destroyer. We’ve got a blackhole.”

  Kiana rested her head on Vermond’s shoulder, smiling like a queen beside her king. “We’ve got everything.”

  13 hours later..

  The alert rang across the station—

  “Massive jump signature detected—multiple vessels incoming!”

  The black void of space near the Citadel shimmered, then tore open as dozens, then hundreds of ships emerged. Old freighters, clunky cargo haulers, stripped-down transports—all crammed with people.

  Erie’s eyes widened as he watched the chaos unfold from the window. “Damn. That’s a crowd.”

  Inside the Command Center, Vermond stood with his arms folded, Kiana latched onto his arm as usual, humming softly.

  The comms crackled alive. “Told you,” said the merchant, smug. “Transporting a million ain’t quick. I’ve got the first batch of eighty thousand. You’ll get more every twelve hours. Hope your docking stations can handle it.”

  Jard rushed in with a holopad, staring at the incoming ships. “We’re gonna need to double the landing capacity. Triple, even! What are we going to feed them with—air?!”

  Kiana tilted her head, smirking. “They can eat their hopes and dreams until we stabilize supply chains.”

  Erie choked back a laugh. Ruen just rubbed his forehead.

  Suddenly, a voice burst across the comms—loud, angry, familiar.

  “OH, SO YOU'RE ALL JUST GONNA BUILD AN EMPIRE AND LEAVE ME OUT OF IT AGAIN?!”

  It was Renn.

  Vermond sighed. “He’s awake.”

  “Damn right I am!” Renn growled. “I’m still stuck in this damn station watching reruns of Space Gardens! You need manpower, I’m manpower! Let me do something before I rot to death, dammit!”

  Erie, leaning into the mic: “You already rotted. That beard’s older than the Federation.”

  “I’m serious!” Renn barked. “Put me in charge of logistics or something—I ain’t dying a spectator!”

  Vermond nodded slowly, thoughtful. “Fine. You’ll manage worker sorting, dorm assignments, and food lines.”

  Renn paused. “…Wait. You’re giving me real work?”

  “Congratulations,” Erie muttered. “You’re head of peasants and potatoes.”

  “I’ll take it!” Renn shouted proudly. “Finally!”

  As the first transport ships began docking, people poured out—skinny, tired, but eyes glowing with hope. They looked up at the looming Citadel-in-progress, suspended above the hungry blackhole, and didn’t run.

  They stayed.

  They were ready.

  Jard sighed, watching it all unfold with awe and dread. “We’re really doing this, huh?”

  The arrival turned into near-chaos within minutes.

  The docking bays boomed one after another, hissing open to flood with people—shouting, stumbling, eyes wide in awe or confusion. Crates fell, someone was already trying to sell fried meat sticks, a child climbed a ventilation pipe like it was a jungle gym. The first batch of 80,000 wasn’t going to wait for anyone’s order.

  Then… silence fell over Docking Bay 1.

  Six elite undead stepped forward—tall, terrifying, and fully geared. Their faces were blank white masks, expressions unreadable, but their sheer presence made the atmosphere drop in temperature.

  One of them raised a hand and pointed to the mob.

  Without a word, the entire group fell into stunned silence. One person even dropped their drink.

  The same pattern repeated across the other bays. The elite undead didn’t speak. They didn’t need to. Order returned like someone had hit a reset button.

  Inside the Command Room, Vermond watched the feeds with arms folded.

  “Deploy more undead for guidance patrols,” he muttered.

  Kiana sat on his lap again, her fingers running lazily through his hair. “Your soldiers are so polite,” she said sweetly.

  Jard was sprinting from console to console behind them. “We need more sleeping quarters—NOW! And air scrubbers! And oh Void, the sewage system’s going to die in twelve hours—”

  Vermond calmly opened comms.

  “Merchant. I’m buying one of your older battleships. We’ll convert it into overflow housing.”

  The merchant’s voice buzzed back, amused.

  “Any preferences? It’s an old Bledde Mark IV—armored, but no weapons. You want to load it up?”

  Vermond replied smoothly:

  “Just one medium explosive cannon. Two anti-missile pods. Nothing more. It’s not meant to fight.”

  The merchant chuckled.

  “Well, you’re the first warlord I’ve met who orders minimum weapons.”

  “Efficiency,” Vermond replied.

  The battleship—scuffed, grey, and massive—was towed into orbit near the station. The workers, now under Renn’s grumbling guidance, began shuffling toward it in organized lines.

  Ruen stared from one of the hallways, munching a protein stick.

  “They really turned this mess into a working plan.”

  Erie leaned next to him, arms crossed.

  “Vermond, Kiana, Jard—they’re building something big. Like real big. Maybe too big.”

  Ruen shrugged. “Big enough to change everything.”

  Meanwhile, in Docking Bay 12, one kid whispered to another as the elite undead marched by.

  “Are we safe here?”

  The other kid looked at the Soon-to-be-Citadel casting its shadow over the blackhole and whispered,

  “If we’re not… no one is.”

  The old Bledde Mark IV, now renamed The Temp Dweller, groaned under its own age as the docking clamps latched it into place beside the station. Ancient paint peeled from its flanks, revealing layers of forgotten battles, scars of time. But today, it wasn’t a warship—it was a floating city block.

  Jard, Erie, and Ruen were already aboard, walking down the creaking metal halls with datapads in hand.

  “We’ll divide it into four sections,” Jard muttered, sketching quickly on his tablet. “Living quarters, mess halls, sanitation, and a general leisure deck. Minimal luxuries. Just keep 'em sane.”

  Erie kicked a rusted pipe. “This thing smells like a corpse.”

  “Good,” Jard replied. “Then it fits the theme.”

  In the mess hall, several hundred of the newly arrived workers had already started unpacking. Crates turned into chairs, bags into beds. The elite undead stood silently in corners like guardians, their white eyes glowing faintly.

  “We’ll need food processors, bunk layers, and clean water,” Ruen said, marking another section. “And maybe someone to sing lullabies.”

  Erie smirked. “You volunteering?”

  Meanwhile, up at the command center of the Temp Dweller, Vermond and Kiana arrived. She still held onto his arm tightly, her green eyes glowing faintly—never straying from his presence.

  The crowd quieted as Vermond entered. One of the new arrivals stepped forward, older man, face weathered by poverty.

  “You… you're the one who brought us here?”

  Vermond nodded. “You want work, you’ll get it. You want safety, follow orders. You want a future—help me build it.”

  The man dropped to a knee. The others followed.

  Kiana smiled proudly beside him.

  “They’re not afraid,” she whispered.

  “They don’t need to be,” Vermond replied. “We’re not Pirates.”

  Back in the maintenance bay, Jard clapped his hands. “Right then! This place is now sleeping quarters for twenty thousand people! Who’s ready to install air filters with me?”

  Ruen muttered, “We were engineers, now we’re janitors.”

  Erie slapped a crate open. “We’re builders now.”

  Back in the Command Center.

  Kiana lay curled on the couch, her head resting in Vermond’s lap, white hair spilling like moonlight. Her breathing was soft and steady, lips slightly parted, a peaceful look softening her usually intense features. Vermond sat still, one hand gently moving, brushing a strand of her hair aside and caressing the tips of her pointed ears—soft, warm, and trembling faintly to his touch.

  He stared at her, whispering low, as if afraid to wake her… but needing to speak.

  “Why do you keep calling me your big brother…?” His voice was quiet, distant. “Kiana..”

  His fingers paused at the tip of her ear, then moved again. Slowly, rhythmically.

  “Why are you so close to me? Why do you cling to me like I’m the only thing left in the universe?”

  She didn’t stir.

  “Why do you love me so much?” His voice cracked, barely audible.

  The silence stretched, broken only by the low hum and Kiana’s breath.

  “You’re obsessed with me, Kiana… Why? Why me?”

  He leaned back slightly, still stroking her hair. His eyes softened. “And why are you so beautiful…?” he whispered. “Like something not even this galaxy could’ve created… something divine...”

  Kiana stirred faintly but didn’t wake. Her lips formed a soft smile in her sleep as if she somehow heard him in her dream.

  Vermond exhaled through his nose. He looked out the window. The void looked back.

  Inside one of the temporary build offices, Jard hunched over a comm console, greasy hands flipping through blueprint holograms as he tapped furiously at the controls.

  “C’mon… where’s that damn merchant…” Jard grumbled, cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.

  The holo flickered.

  DryUntilWet appeared, raising an eyebrow and smirking. “Back so soon, Jard? Didn’t Vermond say no more spending?”

  Jard leaned in, lowering his voice.

  “Yeah yeah, but this isn’t Vermond. This is me. I need five more construction ships. The heavy kind. I got a vision, you hear me? A vision of a blackhole-bound Citadel so good it’ll put every station in the quadrant to shame.”

  “A vision, huh?” the merchant drawled. “What’s it paying with? Dreams?”

  Jard grinned. “Nah… better. I got credits.”

  He pulled out three ID cards and waved them toward the cam.

  “These belong to Erie, Ruen, and old man Renn. Don't tell them.”

  The merchant blinked.

  “…You stole from your crew?”

  “I borrowed, with style,” Jard said, puffing proudly. “They’ll get a great view when this thing’s done.”

  The merchant snorted.

  “You’re lucky I like chaos. Deal.”

  Jard sat back in his chair with a devilish grin as the transaction processed. On the console, five massive construction ships blinked into the order queue, already preparing for the jump.

  Behind him, the office door suddenly creaked open.

  Ruen poked his head in, suspicious.

  “Hey. You seen my credit chip?”

  Jard casually turned around, arms behind his back.

  “Credit chip? Nah. You probably dropped it. Clumsy hands and all.”

  Erie’s voice chimed in from the hallway.

  “Hey! Me too!”

  And then Renn yelled from somewhere down the corridor,

  “WHAT DO YOU MEAN MY ACCOUNT IS EMPTY?!”

  Jard slowly closed the door and locked it.

  “They’ll thank me later,” he muttered, eyes glinting with mad inspiration as blueprints scrolled wildly before him.

  “The Citadel must rise.”

  Minutes later..

  Jard’s eyes widened.

  “No, no no no no—”

  He was already sprinting through the steel corridors of the station, nearly slipping around a corner as he headed straight to the Command Center. The door slid open—

  And there, in the dim, soft-blue ambient glow of the starless void, Vermond and Kiana were lying on the main couch like two curled children. Kiana’s arms were lazily wrapped around Vermond’s torso, and her cheek was pressed against his chest. Both were breathing calmly, peacefully. Vermond’s arm unconsciously rested around her, his fingers tangled in her silver hair.

  Jard blinked. “...Are you guys serious right now?”

  No response.

  He stormed up, shaking Vermond by the shoulder.

  “Vermond. The ships. They’re getting pulled. Blackhole. Death. Screaming. Your project’s about to get erased!”

  Vermond’s eyes opened—calm, glowing faintly. He didn’t even sit up.

  He simply raised one hand, eyes still half-lidded with drowsiness.

  Outside, the construction vessels—seconds away from being crushed by gravitational tides—suddenly stopped. Not violently, but smoothly, as if invisible hands cradled them in place. Then… the gravitational pull relaxed. The blackhole, impossibly, seemed to shift its hunger away.

  The five vessels began to glide toward the station like they had always belonged there.

  Jard stared. “...What the hell did you do?”

  Vermond closed his eyes again, Kiana mumbling happily in her sleep, still hugging him tightly.

  He didn’t respond.

  “You didn’t even look…” Jard whispered. Then louder, “You didn’t even LOOK, you bastard!”

  Vermond muttered softly, still half-asleep.

  “Blackhole knows her scent… she said it was allowed.”

  Jard froze.

  “She—? ...Kiana?”

  As if on cue, Kiana stirred, nuzzling closer to Vermond. “Mmm… told you, my big brother’s special… shhh…” She said, sweetly.

  Jard slowly backed out of the room, slapping his forehead. “I don’t get paid enough for this weird, romantic, cosmic drama…”

  But he paused outside the door, a grin breaking across his face as he looked at the feed:

  All five construction ships now safely docked, prepping their arms and materials.

  “Hell yeah,” he muttered. “Time to build a goddamn fortress around a blackhole.”

  Jard was just about to step out of the Command Center when Vermond’s voice—calm and oddly commanding despite its softness—called out.

  “Jard. Wait.”

  Jard turned mid-step, raising an eyebrow. Kiana had half-sat up on the couch now, still curled against Vermond’s side with that usual, eerie smile. Her white hair glowed faintly in the dimmed lights.

  “What now?” Jard asked.

  Vermond, now fully awake and sitting up, reached forward and tapped into the comms. “Merchant. You there?”

  The familiar static-crackled voice of the DryUntilWet’s captain buzzed in almost instantly.

  “I never left, Future Leader of an Empire. You enjoying your... rest?”

  Kiana chuckled beside Vermond, burying her face against him. Jard sighed.

  Vermond’s tone was sharp now, focused.

  “Five construction vessels won’t be enough. Not for a million workers.”

  He stood slowly, letting Kiana lean against his side as he paced toward the central screen.

  “I want you to deliver: 133 small construction crafts, 92 medium construction vessels, 43 large construction vessels. And I want a hundred thousand old construction suits with basic tools for manual deployment.”

  The other end of the comms went silent.

  For a moment, only the quiet hum of the station and Kiana’s content humming was heard.

  Then—

  “Pffft—AHAHA! You’re not building a Citadel, you’re trying to build a galactic monument!” the Merchant said with amusement.

  “You do realize your dark crystal stash might not survive that list, right?”

  Vermond didn’t even blink.

  “It’s okay.”

  Kiana beamed.

  Jard froze, then did a double-take.

  “Wait, what?! You’re actually gonna trade all that? You’re actually—by the stars—okay with it!?”

  Vermond looked over his shoulder, one hand resting on the console, the other still holding Kiana close.

  “I’m building a fortress by a blackhole, Jard. I don’t care about riches—I care about this. Let’s make it real.”

  Jard’s face cracked into a wide, utterly joyful grin.

  He slammed a fist into his palm.

  “Oh hell yeah! You glorious, sleep-deprived son of a genius—WE’RE GONNA BUILD A CITY OF GODS!”

  From the comms, the Merchant was laughing again.

  “Alright then, consider it done! I’ll start deploying the haulers. This... this is going to be the biggest trade in my life.”

  Kiana looked up at Vermond, whispering,

  “Big brother always makes big decisions... that’s why I love you.”

  Jard was already sprinting toward the docking bays.

  He was going to personally welcome every single delivery.

  Cut to the Cafeteria of Controlled Mayhem, where Erie and Ruen sat at their usual table—now slightly shoved aside thanks to the recent layout shuffle for "mass personnel intake."

  Erie poked at the gray ration cubes on his tray with the handle of a wrench, grimacing.

  "We're getting a million workers," Erie muttered, half to himself.

  "That's one million people with one million chances of me not dying alone."

  Ruen raised an eyebrow, his fork frozen mid-air. "You’re saying you want to date one of the construction workers?"

  Erie narrowed his eyes. "I’m saying—statistically—at least one of them has to be into emotionally unavailable, scarred-up muscle freaks who bench press their trauma."

  Ruen leaned back, arms crossed.

  "You sure about that? Because last time, your 'statistical hope' ended with you being catfished by a cleaning drone."

  "It beeped affectionately, Ruen!"

  Before Ruen could reply, the door hissed open.

  A few of the first arrivals—scruffy, ragged workers from the merchant’s transport—stepped in, wide-eyed and stunned by the interior of the undead-built station.

  One woman looked around and whispered, “Is this the cafeteria?”

  Erie instantly stood up.

  "WELCOME TO YOUR NEW LIFE!"

  He smoothed back his messy hair and slapped his bicep.

  "The name’s Erie. If you need help adjusting, I'm available. Emotionally and physically.”

  Ruen groaned and covered his face.

  "Stars, here we go..."

  The woman stared for a second, then leaned to her friend and whispered, “Is that guy trying to flex and flirt at the same time?”

  "I think so."

  Another worker stepped in—this time a towering guy with a sledgehammer slung over his shoulder. He looked right at Ruen and gave a sharp nod.

  "You one of the planners?"

  Ruen blinked. "Uh… yeah?"

  "Cool. Got any coffee?"

  Erie pointed toward the dispenser. "Behind him. Black as the void and tastes like depression."

  The guy grunted in approval and moved past.

  Erie slumped back down beside Ruen, grumbling. "Why does he get attention and I get weird stares?"

  Ruen sipped his drink.

  "Because you keep saying things like ‘I’m available emotionally and physically’ like it’s a pickup line and not a medical warning.”

  Erie threw a napkin at him.

  "This is war, Ruen. Romance war. And I’m not losing to a blackhole, a Citadel, or that weird whispering sister."

  Ruen chuckled, patting his friend’s shoulder. "You’ll get your weird romance arc eventually, buddy."

  22 Hours later..

  A thousand docking alarms. Screeching hydraulics. The scent of recycled air laced with fried synth-onions and desperation.

  Old Man Renn stood in the middle of the chaos, eyes twitching, two data tablets in each hand, four screens open in mid-air, and zero patience left.

  "WHERE IS SECTION F?! THAT IS NOT SECTION F! THAT IS A TOILET!" he yelled, red-faced, as a group of bewildered workers wandered through a hallway marked Airlock Maintenance.

  "Why are you holding a mattress?!"

  The worker paused. "Someone said this was where we sleep."

  "On an airlock maintenance panel?!"

  Suddenly, boom. Erie crashed into the scene like a cannonball.

  "Old man!" Erie shouted over the noise. "You're gonna have an aneurysm!"

  "I AM the aneurysm!" Renn barked.

  Ruen followed behind, calm as always (Just an act—Not really calm in the inside), sipping the worst cafeteria coffee in existence.

  "We brought clipboards. And sarcasm. Let’s organize this madness."

  With grunts, hand signals, and surprising efficiency, Erie started directing the crowd like a drill sergeant with charm.

  Ruen sorted files like a bored god of logistics.

  The Elite Undeads, stood motionless at key corridors—silent, unsettling, and undeniably effective.

  Order was slowly forming.

  Meanwhile...

  Inside the Command Chamber, above the madness, Vermond stared at the blackhole through the large viewport.

  Kiana leaned beside him, sitting on the armrest of his command chair like she owned it.

  Jard was pacing, working on a projection—designs swirling around him like sparks of genius.

  But Vermond… had a plan.

  "We'll give them something to believe in," he said slowly.

  "A symbol. A story. The fallen empire... rebuilt."

  He turned to Kiana, his expression serious.

  "Kiana... your image. The citizens need hope. You’ll be the face of it. The princess who lost everything. Rebuilding beside her 'brother.'"

  Kiana blinked slowly.

  Then smiled. Slowly.

  "A kingdom with my Big Brother as its King... and me, his devoted Queen?"

  Vermond coughed. "I—well—it’s just a metaphor, you don’t have to go that far—"

  But Kiana had already leaned into the live comms feed, which was accidentally still open.

  She kissed Vermond’s lips.

  A soft smack echoed into every corner of the Citadel.

  The docking bay froze. Cafeteria workers gasped. Even the Elite Undead tilted their heads in sync.

  Ruen, holding two clipboards. "What the hell was that?"

  Erie, staring at a screen. "I think the Commander-son-of-a-void just got kissed into a religion."

  Back in the command center, Vermond stared at her, stunned.

  "Kiana… that wasn’t in the plan."

  Kiana turned toward the screen, eyes half-lidded and voice velvet-smooth.

  "No one… touches my Big Brother."

  The silence across the comms was deafening.

  Even Jard paused, blinking at his blueprint.

  Erie and Ruen both leaned back from their stations, wide-eyed.

  "Did she just—"

  "Yup."

  "And—"

  "Yup."

  Old man Renn’s voice crackled in.

  "I leave you alone for hours and now we’re building an empire with a romance subplot?!"

  25 Hours later..

  The construction continued in waves, sparks flying across scaffolding as the workers from the poor planet built foundations with passion and desperation. Steel and stone fused, halls expanded, and drones hummed like a colony of bees.

  The Citadel was growing.

  Inside the control tower of the station, Vermond stood with his hands behind his back, the blackhole swirling like an eye of the void beyond the glass. Kiana was beside him, of course—leaning slightly against his shoulder, eyes half-lidded but sharp.

  Then—a chime.

  Merchant DryUntilWet’s voice came through the comms, crackling with static.

  "… We have a problem. One of my major vessels, loaded with resources, is being chased. Three hostile destroyers. They’re close—within a few jumps of your sector."

  Vermond didn’t even flinch. He slowly smiled.

  "Then bring them here."

  The comm went silent for a moment.

  "No defense?" the merchant asked carefully.

  "No guns pointed at them?"

  "Just bring them."

  "...Understood."

  He didn’t question it. Not anymore. Not after seeing the blackhole bend to Vermond's will.

  Moments passed. The bridge lights dimmed. Tactical readouts flared red.

  “Three warp signatures inbound.”

  Everyone inside the station tensed.

  Then:

  Three sleek, black pirate destroyers dropped out of warp, their hulls gleaming with plasma plating, weapons hot.

  For a second, it looked like they might fire.

  But then… the blackhole pulsed.

  A sound—deep, otherworldly, like the growl of a celestial beast—echoed through space.

  The destroyers began to shift, violently pulled off-course. Their captains fought it—barrier flares, reverse thrusts, panic.

  Didn’t matter.

  One by one, the pirate destroyers screamed as they were dragged into the blackhole, hulls bending like metal paper, crushed into nothing.

  Gone.

  Silence.

  Then: a slow clapping from behind.

  Ruen, stepping onto the bridge with a smirk.

  "I don’t care what anyone says, that’s the coolest home defense system I’ve ever seen."

  Erie followed behind, grinning.

  "Who needs turrets when that blackhole itself is in love with you?"

  Vermond didn’t answer.

  Kiana smiled wide beside him, gaze fixed on the empty void where the destroyers once were.

  She leaned closer to Vermond and whispered. “Good job, Big brother.”

  He didn’t correct her.

  The blackhole was quiet now. Its cosmic hunger temporarily calmed, as if content with the offerings it had devoured. The space around the Citadel shimmered faintly—protected, tamed, or simply obeying the one who stood at its heart.

  Then they arrived.

  Hundreds of ships.

  Construction vessels. Cargo haulers. Shuttles brimming with old space suits, tools, and industrial modules. The merchant's fleet glided in with practiced grace, each marked with the sigil of DryUntilWet’s trade empire.

  Through the windows of the Command Center, the sky lit up like a second sun—one made of steel and ambition.

  “They’re here…” Jard whispered, his voice trembling not with fear—but excitement.

  Then he shouted.

  "All construction teams! Form up! Everyone to their stations! We have a city to build!"

  The comms lit up with chatter. From the station to the battleship. From temporary docks to floating platforms. The sound of a million hands beginning to move.

  “This month—no, no delays!” Jard barked, standing atop a container crate near the central control zone. “We don’t build this slow. We finish this Citadel now!”

  He slammed his fist on a holo-terminal, activating blueprint overlays across multiple screens.

  Massive pillars. Energy-core towers. Defensive rings. Civilian hubs. Massive docking yards.

  Every part of the Citadel had a place. And Jard commanded it all.

  Inside the station, Vermond stood, watching everything like a maestro watching his orchestra tune. Kiana, as always, sat on the armrest beside him, one leg crossed over the other, her eyes half-lidded with pleasure.

  "He’s really into it," Vermond muttered, watching Jard scream orders at three people simultaneously.

  "He’s having the time of his life," Kiana giggled, brushing her fingers through Vermond’s hair. “Let him. You already claimed the blackhole. Let him build your throne.”

  Vermond said nothing… but his eyes gleamed faintly, reflecting the stars and the swirling gravity well behind it all.

  In the background, Ruen and Erie stood near the hangar gates, watching the construction madness begin.

  “So this is it,” Ruen muttered. “A kingdom of steel. Born from a hole in space.”

  Erie smirked. “Built by undead, pirates, orphans, mad scientists… and led by a guy with glowing eyes and a clingy space sister. Honestly? I’m into it.”

  They both laughed.

  Jard stood on a floating scaffold, gripping a comm.

  "No delays! We finish Sector A before the day ends! And someone stop putting food crates in the reactor tunnel!"

  On the lower docking platforms, Erie chewed on an old protein bar, watching the growing metal behemoth with wide eyes.

  “This is super fast,” he muttered, nudging Ruen with his elbow. “We’re gonna fully build the Citadel within a month, really. At this pace, they’ll have a space opera filmed here by next week.”

  Ruen replied with a grunt, still balancing a crate on one shoulder.

  “If you say the word opera again, I swear I’ll throw you into the waste shaft.”

  26 hours later..

  The first defensive railposts came online. Turrets on auto-crawl legs stood atop partially built towers, scanning the abyss around the blackhole.

  Old man Renn, finally placed in charge of local civilian organization, was running around with a data tablet and a migraine.

  “These people don’t listen! They think setting up a black market on Deck 3 is normal!”

  Erie passed by, whistling. “It kinda is, boss.”

  Renn turned around and threw the tablet. Erie dodged it with a grin.

  “Don’t worry! You’ll get used to being completely ignored!”

  24 hours later...

  Food distribution modules installed.

  A million hungry workers began getting proper meals. Soup dispensers, ration printers, nutrient bars—somehow, Vermond had made room for it all.

  The merchant’s haulers kept coming and going, ferrying supplies nonstop. In the vault, the dark crystals were disappearing fast—but Vermond never batted an eye.

  Kiana, however, spent her day wandering the catwalks, watching the build.

  Clinging close to Vermond wherever he walked.

  “They’re building your empire, big brother,” she whispered once, her green eyes gleaming. “They just don’t realize it yet.”

  67 hours later..

  Construction drones multiplied.

  Decks became halls. Halls became cities.

  Housing pods were lifted and docked to the outer ring. Communication towers started lighting up, reaching distant frequencies. Massive shield generators were mounted to lock orbit with the blackhole’s edge.

  Erie and Ruen got assigned to supervise Docking Hub Beta.

  “We’ve got forty-nine elevator shafts being built vertically through space, and some idiot stuck a bathroom at the center.”

  Erie facepalmed. “Tell Jard we need plumbers that understand gravity.”

  22 hours later...

  Jard stood before the workers, voice amplified through comms.

  “Phase One is complete. You’ve done the impossible. But now… we start layering the Citadel’s soul!”

  Cheers erupted. Lights blinked across the hull. The Citadel was no longer just a dream—it was beginning to breathe.

  12 hours later..

  The comms buzzed across the command center, cutting through the ambient noise of welding and construction. Vermond stood calmly, Kiana resting against him, her eyes half-lidded and curious.

  Merchant, through the comms. “Vermond. I have news… a lot of people—millions, in fact—want to join your empire.”

  Vermond tilted his head slightly, voice cool.

  “How many?”

  The merchant’s holo-projection flickered, his smile widening like a dealer laying down a winning hand.

  “Thirty-six million souls.”

  At that moment, a scream echoed through the Citadel's internal comms.

  Jard, yelling through the channel. “THIRTY-SIX MILLION!? ARE YOU OUT OF YOUR MIND?!”

  Somewhere on Deck 5, Erie nearly dropped his datapad, looking toward Ruen.

  Ruen just blinked slowly and muttered.

  “He’s gonna do it.”

  Back in the Command Center, Vermond stood silent for a moment, fingers stroking Kiana’s hair as she giggled softly, curling into him.

  “That’s a lot of people,” he finally said. “So… how much?”

  The merchant leaned closer, his image distorting slightly.

  “One giant dark crystal in your vault. That’s all I want.”

  Kiana’s eyes gleamed with mischief. She whispered something into Vermond’s ear.

  A smirk tugged at his lips.

  “Agreed,” Vermond said.

  “And make sure they come with old space construction suits and proper tools.”

  The merchant grinned devilishly.

  “You got it.”

  Jard’s voice didn’t return for a moment. Then…

  Jard, through comms, eerily calm.

  “…We’re going to build the greatest city the galaxy has ever seen. The Citadel of the Blackhole. Bring them all. I’ll carve paradise from the void itself.”

  Erie and Ruen stared at each other, then at the comms speaker. Renn, who had just taken a bite of soup, slowly lowered his spoon.

  “…He’s smiling like a maniac, isn’t he?”

  “You know it.” Erie muttered.

  The void then trembled.

  A tremor rippled across the sensors of the undead destroyer, the station, and the Citadel's blooming construction towers.

  “…What the hell is that?” Renn asked.

  Then—BOOM. A hundred thousand warp signatures flared across the system.

  Old, rusted, smoking, groaning vessels of every kind poured in like a tsunami of broken dreams. Faint echoes of horns, blinking red lights, malfunctioning landing thrusters—an entire armada of desperation.

  Cargo haulers barely holding their seams. Civilian shuttles stacked with crates, scrap, and humans peeking from windows. Some were flying sideways. Some literally had parts tied down with rope.

  And all of them were headed straight toward the Citadel.

  The Citadel's orbiting space lit up like a city skyline.

  Jard, standing in command, mouth open.

  “…HOLY SPACE.”

  Erie, blinking hard. “…That's a lot of rust.”

  “And misery. Don’t forget the misery.” Ruen added.

  Vermond stood with arms folded on the Citadel’s upper deck, Kiana beside him—one arm lovingly wrapped around his waist, her head leaning on his shoulder.

  He slowly turned his head to the holo-call already blinking.

  “Merchant,” he said calmly, “how… in this endless void… did you get that many ships? Even if they’re old?”

  The merchant’s projection appeared, casual as always, sipping something suspiciously colorful.

  Merchant, grinning ear to ear, “Simple, my friend. I bought every single forgotten junker and derelict I could find across seventeen scrapyard systems.”

  The merchant then raised his glass, toasting his own brilliance.

  “Thanks to your beautiful, powerful, and oh-so-valuable dark crystals.”

  Kiana giggled beside Vermond. “That’s why I said just give it. He’s useful, right?”

  Vermond smirked, shaking his head as the first wave of ships began attempting clumsy dockings.

  Elite undead stood at each bay, guiding with glowing eyes and stiff, perfect coordination.

  Some of the poor immigrants inside cried at the sight of safety. Others simply stared at the Citadel’s growing towers in disbelief.

  Jard, yelling through the comms again.

  “EVERYONE TO STATIONS! THIS IS GOING TO BE THE BIGGEST NIGHTMARE I’VE EVER LOVED!”

  2 hours later..

  It happened in the middle of another loud comm session.

  Jard, eyes bloodshot, pacing across the command bridge like a lunatic, suddenly slammed his hand down on the console.

  “NO. THIS—this isn’t enough. This is child’s play. A Citadel? No, no, NO!”

  “WE’RE GOING TO BUILD A SPACE CAPITAL! THE CAPITAL OF EMPIRES! THE HEART OF THE BLACKHOLE!”

  Everyone turned silent. Even the elite undead paused mid-step.

  Erie, blinking. “…He snapped.”

  Ruen, taking notes. “Or maybe… maybe he ascended.”

  Vermond, sitting calmly with Kiana on his lap—again—simply tilted his head, mildly curious.

  Kiana, grinning. “Let him dream big, Big brother. It suits him.”

  Jard’s voice cracked across all channels.

  “We’ll make it larger than a moon! A whole capital—citadel cities stacked on top of cities! Space elevators, central cores, deep vaults, eco-domes, planetary defense towers, a royal sector! This is IT! THIS IS—!”

  Beep.

  Merchant on comms, chuckling.

  “...You're mad, engineer. But I like mad. Now, listen: you want that much? You'll need everything. And I mean—everything. I’ll prepare transport ships, resources, tech, suits, processors, metals, even workers—but—you pay me slowly. One contract, delivery guaranteed.”

  Everyone turned to Vermond.

  “…No.” He said, coldly.

  Silence.

  “I don’t like contracts. I like choices.”

  He stood up, Kiana sliding off his lap like a cat, her eyes glowing.

  He walked to the vault, and on the private visual line to the merchant, held out three glowing medium dark crystals, pure and pulsing.

  “This will be your payment.”

  The merchant stared at the feed. For a moment, even he was breathless.

  “Those… still breathe with death. You do realize that’s worth more than that?”

  Vermond, through the comms. “And still… I give them to you.”

  The merchant’s grin widened.

  “Fine. Deal. You got it, space lord. I’m transferring millions of tons worth of resources now. Ships are en route. I want front row seats when this monster of a Capital is done.”

  25 hours later.

  Thousands of ships began warping in. Mountains of steel. Beams longer than towers. Energy cores. Alien alloys. Terraforming kits. Plasma reactors. Artificial gravity cores.

  Jard, screaming with joy, “YES! THIS IS IT! THIS IS ITTTT!”

  Even the undead twitched with excitement.

  And above it all, Vermond turned to the blackhole.

  “Let’s carve an empire... where even gravity bows to us.”

  The stars were no longer quiet.

  The Space Capital Citadel, still under wild construction, was already being called by some as the "Black Throne."

  Massive rings were forming around the blackhole’s orbit, powered by stabilized gravity cores.

  Hundreds of city sectors were mapped, ships swarming like locusts building towers, domes, bays, sectors.

  And then came the call. The merchant spoke.

  “Vermond. I have another offer.”

  Jard, groaning in the background.

  “Another? Let me guess—he wants the sun.”

  “Not quite. I want… the heart.”

  The command center fell quiet. The Merchant continued.

  “I will send you resources for free. Endless transport, supplies, materials, even defense weapons. My best workers, top-tier logistics, my whole company. In return—give me the center of your capital citadel. Let me build the Grand Market there—the greatest in all known sectors. And at the very top of my market tower—”

  He paused.

  “—that’s where you, Vermond, and your command seat will be built. Your throne, your peak, your legend.”

  It was bold. It was insane.

  Even Jard’s mouth opened.

  “…Did he just say he’ll give us everything… for a market in the middle?”

  Erie, snorting.

  “Sounds like a good deal. I mean… center-front shop and we get a free empire?”

  Vermond sat quietly, arms crossed. But before he could speak—

  Kiana leaned over him, her white hair brushing his cheek.

  Her hands cradled his face, lips pressing to his firmly. Then spoke, warmly.

  “It’ll be beneficial to us, Big Brother. With him… we won’t just rule. We’ll thrive.”

  Her green eyes glowed with something fierce and strange.

  Vermond stared at her for a moment, then turned to the comms.

  “You get the center. Build your market. And I’ll build my throne… on top of it.”

  The Merchant burst out laughing with glee.

  “You’ve made the wisest deal in the galaxy, Vermond. Long live the Black Throne.”

  7 hours later..

  The construction did not stop.

  If anything, it roared.

  The Merchant’s fleets arrived like a swarm of metallic angels—cargo haulers, construction carriers, mobile food dispensers, and even med-station barges. Massive automated cranes deployed. Shields stabilized. Drones screamed overhead.

  Merchant, through comms.

  “To all personnel. Food dispensers are online. Priority to sector 9 through 34. Work rotations adjusted. Additional construction ships en route.”

  He paused, then.

  “Long live the Black Throne.”

  Jard stood at the highest point of the central under-construction spire, wind howling through the scaffolding. His coat flapped like a banner of madness.

  Jard through loudspeaker.

  “WE AREN’T BUILDING A CAPITAL—WE’RE BUILDING HISTORY! MORE SHIPS! MORE TOOLS! IF YOU’RE BREATHING—YOU’RE BUILDING!”

  Erie and Ruen, now dubbed unofficial “Sector Coordinators,” moved between people like streaks of lightning.

  Ruen, laughing hard, “This is madness.”

  “No. This is Vermond’s empire. And we’re the damn architects.” Erie answered.

  The food lines moved smooth, the stations swarmed with people getting nutrient bars, hot synth-meals, and flavored liquids. There was even music playing at some dispensers now.

  Old Man Renn at a food terminal, chewing hard. “Last time I saw this many people working this hard, a planet blew up.”

  Meanwhile, Vermond and Kiana watched from the high observation deck, construction lights reflecting in their eyes. The massive market tower’s foundation had already begun, spiraling up, hundreds of lifts carrying goods nonstop.

  Kiana, sitting beside Vermond, smiling, “Look, Big Brother… they’re all moving like they’ve been waiting their whole lives for this.”

  Vermond, quietly stroking Kiana's hair. “They have.”

  1 hour later..

  “EVERYONE—LISTEN UP!”

  Jard’s voice cracked through every comm, every screen, every speaker across the titanic construction zones.

  From the lowest scaffolds to the outermost decks—all movement paused.

  Civilians, engineers, undead elites, even food bots turned.

  Jard stood on a reinforced platform with a wild grin, wind tugging at his hair, one massive blueprint glowing behind him in holographic grandeur.

  “THE CITADEL ISN’T BIG ENOUGH! WE’RE GOING TO EXPAND AGAIN! WE’RE NOT BUILDING A CITY—WE’RE BUILDING A LEGEND! INTRODUCING…”

  The blueprints flared in full.

  A structure so massive it blocked the stars in the simulation—a fortress-city so vast, it wrapped around the entire stable orbit.

  “THE SUPER CAPITAL CITADEL!”

  Gasps echoed across every channel.

  Erie, through private comms, chewing a snack. “This guy’s insane.”

  Ruen, holding a can of soda. “...I think I love it.”

  Jard, continuing his physychotic plan.

  “We will add three orbital belts for shipyards, one for housing, and the top dome will hold a planetary-grade council hall!”

  “It will dwarf moons. It will be SEEN from parsecs away!”

  Kiana, sipping tea beside Vermond in the command tower, whispered with a smile. “He’s going feral.”

  Vermond, calmly watching, one hand stroking her hair. “Good. Let him.”

  Suddenly, the Merchant’s face popped on the comms, sipping from a goblet in his ship.

  Merchant, deadpan. “...I take it you’ll need more materials?”

  Vermond, smirking. “Triple the last order. And throw in an orbital coffee garden.”

  The merchant choked, then laughed. “It’s a deal. Long live the Super Capital Citadel.”

  The merchant’s face flickered across the comms again, a calm voice speaking behind the smooth mask of a trade negotiator.

  “Also.. Vermond, another wave is coming. One hundred million.”

  Silence.

  Renn, grumbling, “You’ll burn all your dark crystals at this rate, boy.”

  But then the merchant smiled, strangely sincere this time.

  “It will be... my gift. For being such an entertaining sovereign.”

  A pause, the screen glitching.

  Then—

  The artificial face pulled away with a soft hiss.

  Beneath the hologram was no merchant.

  She was beautiful. Too beautiful.

  Long black hair spilled like shadows across her shoulders. Eyes that gleamed like deep red velvet wine. Skin pale like starlight, yet her smile—

  Her smile wasn’t normal.

  Everyone just… stared.

  Renn, quietly shaken. “...Mon? No. You— You were the leader of the Crimson Branch... until the rebellion.”

  Her red eyes flicked to him lazily.

  “Correct.”

  Kiana blinked. Something within her clicked.

  The air felt thicker.

  That woman—she wasn’t like Vermond.

  She was like her.

  They were the same kind of... creature.

  Something ancient, divine, or perhaps cursed.

  And Mon—Mon knew that Kiana understood.

  Mon’s smile widened. “Kiana… I’ve watched you. Your devotion. Your madness. Your beauty. I ...admire it.”

  Kiana’s gaze narrowed, her hand slowly wrapping around Vermond’s arm as if to remind Mon. “...He’s mine.”

  Mon, smiling brighter, “Oh, I know. I don’t want him. I want you, Kiana.”

  A silence swept the command room.

  Erie, Confused, whispering. “A-Ah. oh. Oh.”

  Mon, tilting her head. “I’m not here for a fight. I want what you want—order. A new haven. Power drawn from ruins. A home built from ashes.”

  She turned to Vermond, her tone shifting to a formal grace.

  “Let us work together, Sovereign. I’ll bring them in. Feed them. Arm them. Help build your Super Capital Citadel.”

  She paused, then.

  “Just kidding about loving you, Kiana. No need to glare at me like that.”

  There was a beat of silence before she added with a casual chuckle.

  “I’m not interested in you nor Vermond. I’m just... here to help you build. After all, a better world needs all kinds of hands.”

  Kiana’s glare softened, her expression unreadable as she took a deep breath. But before she could react, Vermond’s voice cut through the tension.

  “Good. We have work to do.”

  He reached for Kiana’s hand, his usual calm demeanor returning as he began to refocus on the plans for their new empire. The atmosphere shifted quickly—back to business.

  Erie, over comms, chuckling nervously.

  “Man, that was awkward. A bit too close for comfort.”

  Renn, grumbling, still skeptical.

  “Hmph. Let’s hope we don’t have more distractions. We’ve got enough work as it is.”

  Jard, enthusiastically, clearly fueled by the chaos, “I can’t believe it, we’re almost done with the Super Capital Citadel! With all this manpower, we’ll be finished in no time. Let’s keep this going!”

  Ruen, with a sigh. “Yeah, sure, Jard. But the moment we finish, we’ll probably be dealing with even more problems. You know how it goes.”

  Vermond then turned, facing Kiana. “We can handle it. Kiana, let’s make sure the infrastructure is secure.”

  Kiana nodded silently, squeezing Vermond’s hand as she turned her focus back to the plans. Her thoughts were still on the strange encounter with Mon, but she wouldn’t let it distract her. Not now.

  Mon, off-screen, almost absentmindedly. “Anyway, I’ve set the resources in motion. You’ll have what you need.”

  And just like that, they were back to work. A huge volume of resources began arriving, shuttles, workers, and materials pouring in at an unrelenting pace. The Super Capital Citadel—their Citadel—was starting to rise. The foundation was already in place, and with Mon’s help, construction was accelerating faster than anyone had imagined.

  Jard, excitedly happy for it.

  “This is it! Look at these ships! We’re turning the station into a fortress! A massive Super Capital Citadel!”

  Kiana kept her focus on Vermond, but her hand was still firmly grasping his. Her eyes flicked toward Mon, whose appearance still lingered in her mind. She wasn’t sure about Mon’s intentions.

  25 hours later..

  More and more people poured into the Super Capital Citadel—its massive structures now visible even from orbit, dwarfing moons, casting wide shadows across the nearby void. The endless tide of shuttles brought workers. The Super Capital Citadel was alive, breathing, expanding.

  At the heart of it, Jard stood atop a scaffold, arms wide, face lit with manic excitement.

  “We’re going to make it even—!”

  Before he could finish, Erie rushed in like a blur and slapped his hand over Jard’s mouth.

  “No,” Erie said, voice strained but firm. "No more expansions. Let us finish this one first!”

  The crowd nearby laughed, a bit of tension easing from the busy decks.

  Back in the Command Center, Kiana and Vermond watched the transmission through the central display. The blueprints flickered beside them, updates streaming in real-time. Kiana leaned against Vermond, arms crossed, eyes scanning the endless data.

  “He’s going to say it again,” she muttered.

  Vermond, unfazed, kept reading. “He always does.”

  Kiana let out a small sigh, though a smile played at the corner of her lips.

  “But it’s working.”

  Vermond nodded slowly, his voice calm.

  “Yes. It's working.”

  Outside, the Super Capital Citadel continued to rise—impossibly vast, impossibly fast. The dream was no longer distant.

  14 hours later..

  Inside the Command Center, the core team had gathered around a massive holo-display of the Super Capital Citadel—its current unfinished interior stretching out like a hollowed titan waiting to be molded.

  Jard was pacing, excited as ever.

  “We’ve built the largest damn structure in the sector—now we make it beautiful! We need color, we need design!”

  Erie leaned back in his chair, arms crossed. “Pure black. Sleek, elegant, intimidating. Can you imagine it? Like a void palace.”

  Old man Renn immediately scoffed. “No. Absolutely not. We’re orbiting a blackhole, lad. You want people walking into walls thinking it's space? We’ll lose half the engineers!”

  Ruen raised a brow. “What about a deep green? Not just any green—dark, rich, smooth. Feels alive, like something ancient. Connected.”

  Jard wrinkled his nose. “That sounds like moldy socks.”

  Mon, quiet for once, just smiled from the corner, her red eyes glinting, watching them with amusement.

  Then Kiana stepped forward, her white hair almost glowing in the pale lights of the Command Center. Her voice was soft, but firm.

  “Pure white. Bright. Clean. Let the blackhole be the background—we’ll be the light in its shadow.”

  Everyone turned to her. There was a pause.

  Vermond looked at her, then nodded.

  “She’s right. White.”

  Erie scratched the back of his head. “Huh... actually, yeah. That’d look... divine, in a way.”

  Renn grumbled. “Too bright. But... fine. Better than black.”

  Jard threw both arms in the air. “YES! White! With soft metallic trims, maybe! Like a palace in the stars!”

  Mon tilted her head slightly, smiling. “White, then. How fitting...”

  And just like that, the decision was made. The largest structure in existence, a beacon built beside a blackhole—would shine in white.

  53 hours later..

  The Super Capital Citadel—no, at this point, a celestial titan—loomed in the shadow of the blackhole like a god’s throne. Its sheer size dwarfed moons, a structure so vast that it could be seen from light-years away with the right scope.

  Pure white, it shimmered against the abyss like a beacon of defiance and ambition. Its surface gleamed, spotless and smooth, with thousands of massive docking bays circling its outer shell—enough to harbor fleets, armadas, even planetside evacuation ships.

  Tucked beneath its layered shell were ship hangars stacked in tiers—each able to hold hundreds of vessels, from fighters to dreadnoughts. Automated cranes, guided rails, and magnetic pads lined every corner for rapid deployment. The Citadel Sectors inside were divided meticulously: Residential zones, command hubs, industrial cores, energy control centers, research sanctuaries, cloning and medical bays, Royal Sectors and beyond that—a section reserved for the unknown.

  Its defense systems? Unholy.

  Dozens of long-range orbital cannons Mon has contributed capable of melting ships at extreme distance.

  Point defense turrets, anti-fighter flak, interceptor nets.

  Shield arrays that rotated energy frequency in response to kinetic or energy-based assaults.

  And—deep in the Citadel’s heart—a reactor fused with a sliver of blackhole matter, stabilizing and powering it like a caged storm.

  Up top, overlooking everything, was the Observatory Dome—a massive hemisphere of military-grade enhanced space glass, reinforced and reflective, allowing them to view the infinite cosmos... and the swirling giant blackhole that felt both distant and too close. The stars, the void, and the swirling gravity monster—always watching.

  And then there was Jard’s madness.

  He’d installed engines.

  Not just any engines—colossal propulsion drives that even Mon we're impressed by his own creation, siphoning energy straight from the blackhole’s drag and momentum.

  The Citadel—this entire planet-sized structure—could move.

  It was no longer just a capital.

  It was a Super Large, God-Tier, Mobile Capital War Citadel.

  A fortress.

  A home.

  A weapon.

  And it belonged to Vermond and Kiana.

  22 hours later..

  The moment came like a wave—sudden, overwhelming, and beautiful.

  The Super Capital Citadel was complete.

  Hundreds of millions of people stood across balconies, plazas, inner domes, and observation rings, staring up at the glowing lights of the structure they had all helped build. The white halls gleamed, the sectors pulsed with stable energy, and soft music echoed from the speaker towers planted across every section of the citadel.

  Jard, standing atop a command scaffold, shouted through every comm line with a voice trembling from excitement:

  “IT’S DONE! LOOK AT THIS! WE BUILT A HOME THAT RIVALS GODS!”

  Erie leaned on the railing beside him, laughing, finally relieved.

  “We did it… we actually built a Super Capital Citadel in just a F***** Week!. This might be the first time I’m not worried about dying tomorrow.”

  Ruen, beside him, eyes tired but proud, added. “Enjoy this, everyone. This moment... it's rare.”

  Renn, still grumbling, wiped a tear before anyone could see.

  “Tch… it’s not perfect. But damn if it isn’t beautiful.”

  Mon, smiling with her black hair shimmering under the citadel's soft lights, broadcasted across the system.

  “To every soul who worked, fought, bled, and endured… today is yours.”

  Vermond and Kiana, standing at the very top—above the merchant’s market, at the peak of the citadel—watched everything unfold below. Fireworks erupted from different bays, golden trails spiraling across the stars. Holograms bloomed into glowing flowers. Light shows painted the inside of the dome like living auroras.

  Kiana leaned her head on Vermond’s shoulder, her voice soft, gentle:

  “We gave them a home, big brother… a real one.”

  Vermond nodded slowly, his eyes reflecting the swirling beauty of the blackhole and the galaxy beyond.

  “And we’re not done. But tonight… they deserve this.”

  Celebration erupted.

  Dancers filled the plazas.

  Old music from every culture replayed, laughter echoed through sectors.

  Children ran through the marble halls, no longer afraid.

  People held hands, sang, and told stories beneath the starlit glass.

  For once—

  After all the chaos, the death, the blackhole, the madness...

  They were happy.

  They were home.

  FOR NOW...

  NEXT CHAPTER: THE RISE OF THE NEW EMPIRE!