As there’s a lot going on, I’ve decided to keep this update clear and clean of all previous information; if you need to catch up, please feel free to hit the Parent button below in order to follow this thread back to its source for special bits that you might have missed or need to review. Rather than sort updates by department, I’ve also decided to highlight each individual thread here in order to provide more specific hints and prompts for those in need of help.

Please remember that if you become stuck or confused, you can always reach out to Jenn or myself at any time for clarification. I never consider an opportunity to expand or improve our narrative a bother or inconvenience, so don’t be shy. With that, let’s dig in!

● [Engineering]: An Ever-Shifting Perspective— In accordance with Captain Rende’s orders, Engineering has initiated a static warp field around the Viking in order to prevent subspace travel by the alien energy beings. While most of the crew experiences only minor disorientation, those that have interacted with the motes find themselves suffering nigh-crippling symptoms. Thankfully, the effects seem to subside within moments. How will this affect the energy beings on this side of the subspace barrier? Could the effects be studied to somehow bolster the Viking’s defenses against further incursions? What consequences will this have on those touched by the motes?

● [Sickbay]: The Price of Existence— Doctors Semenza and Jones have successfully repaired the damage inflicted upon Lord Hab’rabi by the rogue Ensign Sacco, and the alien is conscious. Lieutenant Forgrave and Lieutenant Commander Sigmundsson, finished with their preliminary investigation on Deck 34, begin to question him concerning the goings-on. Hab’rabi submits to the line of questioning as patiently as possible, but is both cryptic and unforthcoming in his responses. Hab’rabi’s mood shifts violently however when the static warp field rips through Sickbay and sends him tumbling from his biobed. Is there more going on than merely an obstinate alien lord and his pride? Could there be something behind what he stressed to Forgrave? Is he an enemy or an ally… or a victim himself?

● [Deck 8]: Chaos and Reason— A concerned call from Repair Team Alpha summons Chief Asam and Ensigns O’Laria and Little to inspect some rather deliberate-looking damage to the isolinear control systems. Unfortunately for Eldorin, he’s called away leaving O’Laria and Little to get to the bottom of things without him. Is there more to the damage than meets the eye? Why would anyone disable the failsafes meant to protect the ship from such malfunctions? What are the commonalities between the most-affected systems? Could something bigger be happening than an unfortunate system glitch?

● [Bridge]: Belly of the Beast— The Viking has returned to take Hab’rabi’s colony ship in-tow, hoping to perhaps find some answers to the mysteries the crew has unearthed. While attempting to retrieve information from the alien ship, Captain Rende encounters Legion—the ship’s computer augmented through integration of remnants. Legion makes it known that it will not assist Rende if it means harm to its charges, but manages to entertain the captain’s probing queries before malfunctioning and terminating the connection. During a storm of audio, the bridge crew is able to piece together some rather disturbing voice snippets… and a chilling account buried deep in the background. Will this alter the captain’s plan to investigate the behemoth, or will the crew brave the unknown vessel in the search for answers?

Hopefully I didn’t miss anything, and if I did feel free to let me know! If you’re not sure of what to do or how to go about something, reach out to Jen or myself via Discord or email so we can help. We’ve started the climax to this interesting tale, so let’s all work hard to bring it across the finish line. Happy writing!
—Jas—

I had been roused from my slumber for an emergency. The Valh’kaeri —our vessel, the Hope of the Valhrn—had been thrown from warp space when it collided with a tear in subspace. Legion had detected its gravitational fluctuation just in time to avert catastrophic disaster, but we sustained heavy damage to our engines due to the stress and had to effect repairs…


“Report,” Hab’rabi barked, easing himself into his throne on the bridge. A remnant drifted by, alighted on his hand for a moment as if to comfort him.

Klaxons blared all around him as gen worked hurriedly at the controls. The ship gave a metallic keen, shuddered, then fell silent. Viewscreens winked to life, and he gasped. A curtain of stars was flung across the dorsal side of the Valh’kaeri, shivering in the coldness of the void. A jagged, sinuous line of indigo cut sharply across the horizontal axis, as if an invisible force had ripped his view in half. A gaping, inky wound was all that was left, yawning beneath the colony ship as far around them as he could perceive. The Valh’kaeri felt as if it were teetering on the lip of some celestial beast, the barest breath causing them to pitch inward and be consumed. Hab’rabi had to force the air from his lungs, unaware that he had held it in anxious anticipation.

“It is a subspace filament, my lord,” a science officer responded from behind him. “The event horizon was almost completely in-line with our heading, so our astrogational sensors did not detect it in time. Legion managed to pick up its gravametric distortions and alter our course, but the resonant shear collapsed our warp field. Repair crews have been dispatched, but we are disabled for the moment. In essence, sire, we have run aground.”


Despite the damage we had only sustained a few casualties from the resulting power surge from our drive system. We effected repairs, honored our dead, and learned all that we could about the subspace distortion in order to avoid future incident. The designers of the Valh’kaeri and her eight sister ships had been wise, built her to withstand the many perils of the Empty. We would survive to move on, but while we labored forces beyond our understanding were at play and we did not discover this until it was far too late…


Hab’rabi gripped the arms of his throne hard enough that his knuckled turned lilac. “How far off course are we, Navigator?”

The woman, kneeling before, threw herself prostrate at his feet. A pair of her ancestors bobbed along her shoulders, winking playfully. “Please forgive me, my lord, but I cannot say! The filament’s gravitational distortions obfuscated its spatial drift; there is no way to know how far we were carried while we were occupied with repairs. We are beyond the reaches of known space, and the cosmology is unlike any in our astrogational records. Plotting a return course is risky at best, and it could add months—or even decades—to our journey.”

Taking a deep breath, Hab’rabi closed his eyes and thought a moment. His forebearers whispered in the recesses of his subconscious, and he listened. Finally, he nodded and stared down at Navigator.

“There is nothing to forgive,” he murmured. “My wrath is not with you, but with this hellsbred distortion which harries us. Your service is flawless, your council unmatched. You are honored.”

Navigator blinked up at him, amber eyes grateful. “Thank you, my lord. How might I serve?”

“What is done is done. There is no unmaking the past, only preparing for the future.” A remnant pooled beneath the skin of his palm, moved to his fingertip, faded. “Now that we are ready, we will put this filament behind us and return to the Empty. We will abide a time while it does as it will, observe its leaving if the gods decree it so. Perhaps in that we will learn how fast it moves, thereby calculating how far it might have brought us and by what heading. You will do this for the valhrn.”

“My lord is wise. I will begin at his pleasure.”

Hab’rabi nodded and swung his attention to the pair of officers standing a respectful distance behind Navigator. “Adjutants, conduct us away from this spatial curse and return us to the Empty. Once we are clear of all interference, begin inspection of nearby systems for viable habitation. If we are blessed, perhaps the gods have delivered us to the doorstep of our new home.”

“As you command, my lord!”

Hab’rabi glared at the rippling hole in space beyond the viewscreen. “Begin.”


But we were not blessed. The filament’s superluminal current had carried us lightyears from where we first encountered it, much like the waves of the ocean will toy with a ship without sail or rudder. We observed its movements as long as our sensors would allow, but the erratic nature of the distortion offered no pattern upon which to form a theory. We were truly lost, and there were no habitable systems in the region of Empty in which we drifted.

As my tube sealed and I drifted off, I somehow knew it would be the former.


Mist swirling around his head, nausea swirling in his core, Hab’rabi pitched from his stasis tube into an angry world. Alarms shrilled, voices cried out, soldiers rushed past on heavy feet. Hands fell on him, hauled him to his feet. A cool cloth pressed to his shaven brow and he nuzzled into it like a babe before he could stop himself. Remnants buzzed around his head like angry pyreflies. He swatted at them drunkenly, but they slipped through his bones as if they were water. Something pinched his neck, and suddenly he was awake, gasping.

“Forgive us, my lord, for handling your royal person so roughly,” the woman swaying in his vision choked, kneeling at his feet. By her garb, she was an adept chirurgeon.

Hab’rabi’s head lolled on his shoulders, but strength was quickly filling him. “What has happened? Where is your master?”

“Dead, sire.” The chirurgeon’s voice was thick with grief. “Killed by…”

Her words broke into ragged sobs, shattered into a thousand heavy tears. Hab’rabi nodded to the two men holding him, knelt by the young woman and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Peace, child. He has gone to serve the gods, dwells with his ancestors. There is no greater joy that this. Be brave, and speak plain: what took his final breath?”

“His attendant!” she shrilled, collapsing into her hands and weeping.

“My lord, if I may.” Hab’rabi looked up at the armored man to his left, energy pistol clenched in a tight fist. “Something moves among the crew, sire. Daemons, or something very like. Our weapons have proven ineffective against their incorporeal form. We can only slow them down when they… I’m sorry, sire. It beggars belief.”

The lord’s eyes narrowed, his gaze heavy. “Speak, Praetor.”

“When they usurp the bodies of our people and drive them like slathering animals at our brethren,” the other soldier spat. “At first we tried to reason with them, but they would not listen. Then we tried to contain them, restrain them, or subdue them with force fields and energy weapons. All useless. Our security personnel were forced to resort to brutish violence to hamper their advance, but when their hosts were disabled or killed the daemon would leap at its attacker and begin the cycle again. We’ve sealed the blast doors to keep them contained, but we do not know how long that will last. Our only saving grace—if such a thing can be said, my lord—is that they are disorganized and… hungry.

Hab’rabi’s stomach pitched at the implications. Such things had not occurred among the valhrn since before the Enlightenment. Shaking away the taste of bile between his teeth, he grunted. “Do we know what they are after beyond… food?”

“No, sire,” the praetor hissed through grit teeth. “Their general migration is taking them close to the Royal Vault, but their goal could be the habitat beyond.”

Hab’rabi nodded, eyes pensive. Finally, he pushed himself to his feet. “Conduct me to the bridge. We have a great task ahead.”


The Valh’kaeri was not the only thing to break free of the subspace filament. When we departed, we unwittingly brought several energy life forms from the closest recesses of subspace in our ion wake. Straight from our nightmares they came, forcing my people to dance like marionettes to their savage tune. They wore our skins as one would a uniform, and discard them just as easily when they wore out or broke. Energy weapons were useless, and all physical efforts to contain them were merely stopgap measures to slow their advance.

As they ripped through my people, they became more cunning and organized. Originally solitary and haphazard, they moved in small packs within days and as a cohesive unit within weeks! It was a demoralizing siege, for our foes did not just attack our bodies but our minds. Mothers turned on daughters, fathers brutalized their sons. Friend savaged friend, all without rhyme or reason. In time, we began to distrust each other and ourselves, doubting what we heard and saw. We named them harvusha—angered ancestors said to exact penance from the unjust and the damned—and some began to side with them flouting the folly of our doomed mission.

Those of us who remained diligent and righteous in the eyes of the gods prevailed, however, for our strength was discovered to be their weakness…


“Hold her!”

Hab’rabi stood over the struggling and huddled forms of three praetor as they wrestled to keep the harvusha pinned to the deck. She bucked, snapping and snarling bitter curses, but could not prevail against their strength and the augmented gravity field around her. Hab’rabi’s arms were folded across his chest to keep his hands from shaking. His face, a placid mask of calm and purpose held precariously over his grief. The harvusha had once been his beloved mate, after all, the mother to their daughter. For her to end her life in this way—with broken teeth and bloodstained clothes—was the greatest offense he had ever known. What he had found in that tunnel had nearly broken him, and it would break her once she was free of the daemon’s grip.

Perhaps it would be a mercy for her to never know, for her to remain blissful in death. Either way, it had to be done and he the only one to do the deed. The gods could be so cruel.

As if sensing his teetering resolve, the harvusha ceased its struggle and turned one unblinking eye up to him. Recognition turned its bleeding lips into a crooked sneer. “Will you not bargain with us, my lord? Will you not treat with us to end this needless conflict?”

“I am exalted,” Hab’rabi spat, gritting his teeth. “I am anointed by the gods themselves to lead our people to salvation. I do not make pacts with wraiths and daemons, ancestors or no. Yours is a ploy for time, nothing more. But your time will come. We will survive you, and you will meet your end!”

The fleshclad wraith cackled. “Are you so sure, my lord? There is but one of you, many of us! You cannot contain us all! Give us the yur and peace shall exist between our kind. Refuse, and—”

“Enough! Stand ready, my praetors.”

Hab’rabi knelt then, pressing his knee into the harvusha’s lower back. She bucked and surged against her captors, and he struggled to maintain his balance. Such strength! But by the thick tearing sounds coming from within the host body, the wraith had broken her limits in a desperate attempt to flee. It could not, he knew, for a holy remnant also nestled within her bosom and entangled itself with the harvusha’s twisted energy. Hab’rabi took her head in his hands, closed his eyes, and pulled with all his will.

The empty husk croaked and slackened beneath him, and a tear slid down his face. Goodbye, my ageless love. May the gods favor you always. He opened his eyes, now empty of all but righteous fury, and watched the ember glow slide up his arm and across his shoulder. Like a hot iron, he could feel it sizzle along his nerves and burn itself into his brain where the others rattled their mental cages. A hand steadied him against the swirling vertigo that threatened his control, but he was hab and would not submit.

~You will treat with us, my dear Lord Hab’rabi.~ a voice purred against the back of his skull. ~Already we can feel your strength waning against the strain of our might. We are patient, however, and will give you time to consider. In time, you will submit.~

Hab’rabi shook his head and brushed away the voice with a hand. He stood, did not look down. He could not. Turning, he noted a host of somber faces gazing upon him, survivors all. He knew there were no words of comfort for them, nothing to be said. Hab’rabi could only bow to them in respect of their sacrifice, felt humbled when they genuflected in response. Solemnly, he drew a deep breath and shouted, “It is done! Honor the fallen, and celebrate the living. We will carry on their memory in all we do. Our new home will be a reflection of their love and sacrifice.”


Only the gods know how I managed to maintain my composure while we saw to the repairs and the funeral rites. The price of existence had been high. Less than one hundred fifty out of an original compliment of over ten thousand had survived the wraith attack. Within me I carried a plague, and I knew it was only a matter of time before it slipped free once more. I was no longer a lord or hab, merely a warden with prisoners locked away in the bowels of my mind. How long could I endure their attempts to escape? What would be the fate of my people were they to slip free once more? Were I to perish, there would be no other hab to contain them.

I was the last to go into stasis, I made certain of it. With a heavy heart I gave Legion what I assumed would be my final orders: an impossible task of finding the perfect world with immeasurable criteria upon which to settle. Ever dutiful, I knew Legion would work ceaselessly, tirelessly, endlessly while we slept. My people would dream of a sunrise they would never see, slip peacefully into the World Beyond in blissful ignorance of my cowardice. I would keep the daemons at bay for as long as I could, and they would die with me. There were other ships, other hopes. I convinced myself ours was not the final chapter in the fall of the valhrn, merely the end of ours. Others surely survived to continue our tale, though our songs would never be sung. It would have to be enough.

And so I slept.


A beeping tickled the darkness of his unconsciousness, and Hab’rabi awoke. Shapes moved beyond the frosted portal of his stasis tube, voices murmured beyond. Confused and disoriented, he searched his mind for an answer. His thought tickled against something, and it snapped at his conscious self. The wraiths! Yes, they were all there but… something was wrong. He felt them sliding beneath his skin like eels beneath a sheet, searching. His will held them fast still, but his ancestors were weakened. Their voices so very distant and thin. How long had he slumbered?

~We said we would be patient with you, Lord Hab’rabi,~ a familiar voice hissed in his ear. ~You are weak from your sleep, and we are so very full. Your ancestors were quite nourishing.~

Had the harvusha found a way to sustain themselves on the energy of the remnants, much as they had subsisted on his people when they held fleshly forms? The thought was maddening, devious in its simplicity. Hab’rabi could feel the hope drain from his limbs, but his will was iron and they could not slip free of his grip. He knew he could not hold them forever, but he would try.

If I give you what you desire, he entertained to his shame, will you leave us in peace?

~It is no longer the yur we desire, my dear lord, but something else entirely. Soon you will be free to spend the remainder of your days slinking through the stars in search of an empty home, with only your shame to comfort you. And we? We will be free again!~

He could hear the stasis tube cycling up, pressurizing in anticipation of his emergence. What is it that you want, then?

~You shall see,~ the wraith cackled. ~Very, very soon!~