The interiorof the cottage was exactly as Doren remembered: cluttered with star charts, stacked high with data crystals, every surface covered in the detritus of a lifetime spent chasing shadows. The smell hit him like a physical force—dust and old paper and the particular chemical tang of preservation fluid. It smelled like his past.
Marina settled into a chair that seemed to have been built around her, her joints creaking in harmony with the wood. A cup of something steaming had already been set out on the table beside her, though Doren hadn’t seen her prepare it.
“Sit,” she commanded. “Both of you. And let me see the child.”
Emma hesitated, glancing at Doren. He gave a small nod.
Marina took Ari with surprising gentleness, cradling the baby against her bony chest. Ari didn’t fuss—she rarely did with strangers, but this seemed different. She stared up at the old woman with an expression that might have been recognition.
“Yes,” Marina murmured. “You’re one of them, aren’t you? One of the Keys.” She looked up at Doren. “Where did you find her?”
“Ithyian slave ship. The Grorn were hunting her.”
“Of course they were.” Marina stroked a finger down Ari’s silver cheek. “The Order of Eternal Night has been searching for the Keys for centuries. They believe the Vault contains technology that will allow them to transcend their physical forms—becomesomething more than mortal.” Her lips twisted. “Fools. They don’t understand what the Precursors actually were.”
“And you do?”
“I understand enough to know that some doors should stay closed.” She handed Ari back to Emma, who accepted her gratefully. “But I also know you, Doren. You won’t stop until you’ve seen what’s inside. You’ve always been that way—too curious for your own good.”
He didn’t deny it. Couldn’t, really. The Vault had been the singular focus of his adult life, the dream that had pulled him through every setback and betrayal. Even now, with Emma and Ari depending on him, he couldn’t fully abandon it.
Maybe that made him selfish. Maybe it made him his father’s son in more ways than he wanted to admit.
“I found something.” He pulled the data crystal from his jacket and set it on the table between them. “On a mining asteroid. The Grorn were already there, but I managed to download a recording before we escaped.”
Marina’s eyes sharpened. She picked up the crystal, turning it over in her fingers. “Show me.”
The holographic display flickered to life above the table—the same recording Doren had played on the ship. Star systems, coordinates, fragments of a language that hadn’t been spoken in millennia.
But Marina’s reaction was different from his. Where he’d seen tantalizing clues, she seemed to see answers.
“Here.” Her finger stabbed at a cluster of symbols. “This notation—I’ve seen it before. In the original texts, the onesfrom the Precursor archive on Voss Prime.” She turned to him, something like excitement lighting her weathered features. “It’s a location. Specific coordinates for what they called a ‘waystation.’“
“A waystation?”
“A staging point. The Precursors built them throughout the galaxy, places where their people could rest and resupply during long journeys.” She leaned forward, her voice dropping. “I always theorized that the Vault wasn’t a single location, but rather the end point of a network. Each waystation would contain a piece of the puzzle—a key, if you will, that would unlock the next step in the journey.”
Doren’s heart was racing. “Do you know where this waystation is?”
“I do now.” Marina pushed herself up from the chair, shuffling towards a stack of crates in the corner. “I’ve spent fifty years gathering records, cross-referencing sources, trying to piece together the Precursor migration routes. I always knew the answer was out there, somewhere. I just didn’t have all the pieces.”
She pulled out a wooden box, its surface carved with symbols that Doren recognized from his years of searching. Inside, nestled in faded velvet, lay a collection of data crystals, star charts, and yellowed papers covered in cramped handwriting.
“Everything I have,” Marina said, holding the box out to him. “Take it. All of it.”
Doren didn’t move. “Marina?—”
“I’m old, boy. Too old to chase dreams through the stars anymore.” She pressed the box into his hands. “You were always meant to finish what I started. I knew it the moment I met you—a half-starved cub with fire in his eyes and a Precursor artifact in his pocket. The universe has a sense of humor that way.”
The box felt heavy. Heavier than it should have, given its contents.
“The waystation,” he said, his voice rough. “Where is it?”
“A small moon in the Ashtar system, on the far edge of explored space. The records suggest the Precursors maintained a research outpost there, though it’s been abandoned for millennia.” She met his eyes, and for the first time, he saw fear in hers. “Be careful, Doren. The Grorn aren’t the only danger. The Precursors left guardians behind—automated defenses that don’t distinguish between friend and foe. Many have sought the Vault. Few have survived the seeking.”
“I’m not planning to die.”
“No one ever does.” Her hand found his, her fingers cold and fragile. “But plans have a way of changing when the universe intervenes.”
