The System's glyphs bloomed to life behind Ethan's eyelids, threading streams of soft azure light through the corners of his vision.
[Optional Objective Complete: Interfere with Scorchfang Guild Activities – Status: Success][Calculating Contribution…][System Judgment: Above Standard. Reward Tier Upgraded.][Reward: Stella-Class Vessel – "Wraithling" (Grade: Low)][Would you like to claim your reward now? Y/N]
His heartbeat paused. A ship. Not a skimmer, not a crawler, not a rented slug-hauler with rust for armor—but a Stella-class vessel. Void-capable. The kind of thing nobles fought over and smugglers died for.
He exhaled slowly, eyes flicking toward the pale horizon where fractured mountains slumped like dying gods. Aelira stood nearby, adjusting the strap on her cloak, her bow slung across her back. The ruins they'd taken shelter in were quiet now—no more scouts, no more drones. Just wind.
"…Claim it," Ethan said.
The air snapped like a fabric being torn. A gust of force blew outward in concentric rings, throwing dust and shattered leaves into a cyclone around them. The runes formed beneath his boots first—nested circles of sigils spiraling outward, burning with iridescent light. Space above the circle wavered like heat haze, then bent inward.
Reality folded.
A rift tore open with a low hum, almost a purr, and from it emerged the Wraithling.
She was small, sleek, predatory. Jet-black plating hugged a narrow frame like bone armor molded to purpose. Her hull was marked with faint scars and faded etchings, one of which pulsed faintly with cerulean light—the shape of a crescent coil wrapped in what looked like stylized fangs. Unfamiliar. Ancient. Beautiful.
Aelira stepped forward, her breath catching. "Void-forged lines," she murmured. "That's not just tech. That's… old-world crafting."
Ethan approached the vessel slowly. The ship's core gave off a low, resonant thrum, not mechanical—almost alive. The System manifested a new screen as he approached.
[Wraithling: Stella-Class Recon & Intercept Vessel]– Hull Integrity: 92%– Propulsion: Grav-thrust + Micro-warp (Limited Use)– Cloaking Field: Functional (Short Duration)– Internal Systems: 77% Operational– Bound AI Node: Inactive– Ownership: Transferred to [Ethan Cross / Kaelen Varros]– Personality: Dormant
[Would you like to initialize neural sync with ship interface?]
He didn't even hesitate.
[Confirmed.]
The connection hit like lightning. Not pain—just data, raw and ancient, flooding into his mind. He caught fragments—echoes of the ship's past. A silent hangar. A woman's voice, calm and low. A last order before abandonment: "Sleep until worthy hands awaken you."
Ethan staggered, eyes wide. "It has… memories."
Aelira caught his arm. "What did you see?"
"Ghosts," he said quietly. "This ship has history. It wasn't made by the System. It was found. Salvaged—or stolen—and offered to me as a tool."
He ran a hand along the hull. The metal was cool, but pulsing faintly now, like it responded to his touch.
[Cloaking Field Online.][Auto-calibrating for single-user flight.][Awaiting pilot command.]
"We can leave the outlands," Aelira whispered. "Break past the border fortresses. Maybe even reach the Outer Shell."
Ethan nodded, still absorbing the gravity of it. This changed everything. They could fly above beast zones, drop into forgotten ruins, or even intercept aerial convoys. And more than that—this ship was a key. A relic. A message from the System:
But in the distance, behind the low mountains, something stirred. A ripple in the sky, like a lens adjusting. The System chimed again:
[Alert: Vessel Activation Detected by Local Surveillance Grid][Threat Probability: Moderate – Estimated Time to First Interception: 32 minutes]
Aelira's smile faded. "Of course. Nothing comes without a price."
Ethan grinned, stepping toward the vessel's open hatch. "Let them come. Let them see what happens when you give a dead man wings."