The Return of White Crystal Star Map Draftsman II: Fate of the Galaxy

The alert chime signaling their imminent arrival blared, and Sandra hurried to the porthole to scan the exterior. This sector of space was like a forgotten corner of the deep ocean—profound, frigid, and devoid of any star casting sunlight like their home sun. The faint glow from distant, colossal illumination devices barely pierced the darkness, leaving the area beyond shrouded in mystery.

Their target was aboard a warship, its fore and aft turret positions converted into observation decks. A motley crew of inhabitants mingled across its hull, and the stark contrast between the pitch-black vessel and its uniformly aligned light tubes suggested the station was run by someone with a military background—or perhaps by professional mercenaries.

Sandra glanced back at the two men accompanying her, Hamilton’s appointed aides. They were already slowing the ship and transmitting docking clearance requests. As the vessel settled smoothly against the warship’s hull and the airlock engaged, the first door slid open automatically after scanning the orange-uniformed soldiers’ ID cards, revealing a narrow, claustrophobic passageway before them.

Rusted iron grates groaned underfoot, straining to support their weight, while the overhead bulbs blazed so brightly they stung the eyes. At the corridor’s end, three branching paths stretched out, each marked with signs indicating different detention zones. Digital screens displayed basic information about the inmates—3D holograms, names, and planetary origins. The orange-uniformed men quickly located Stacean Lucius’s data: his cell was down the left fork, a short distance away, where a row of fully sealed doors had replaced the traditional iron bars. Each doorframe featured a screen showing the prisoner’s vital signs and daily meal plans. It was a level of thoroughness that made Sandra think, This place is run like a well-oiled machine, not a makeshift prison.

A cheerful greeting crackled over the overhead intercom, halting the three of them mid-step. “Welcome, esteemed clients.”

Sandra shot a look at the orange-uniformed men, and one of them nodded. “I’ll check it out,” he said, jogging forward. He scanned each cell warily as he passed, pausing abruptly at one door. Sandra frowned in confusion—then the door slid open, and a slender woman with short hair stepped out. Her dark skin was accentuated by a voluminous emerald-green cloak, her hands hidden beneath its folds, her movements unreadable. This, Sandra surmised, was the voice they’d heard earlier.

“Greetings,” the woman said, bowing slightly to Sandra.

“Who are you?” Sandra asked, inching forward with her hand instinctively resting on her holstered gun.

“No need for tension,” the woman replied with a smile, gesturing vaguely in the air. “Think of me as your after-sales service provider—here to resolve any issues you might have.”

“We’re here to pick someone up. Tell us where he is.” Sandra nodded at the orange-uniformed man, who handed the woman a data pad with Stacean’s information.

“Ah,” the woman said, scanning the pad. “Him. He’s in the innermost cell. Are you here to collect him early?”

“Do you have a problem with that?” Sandra asked sharply.

“Not at all. Follow me.” The woman led the way deeper into the corridor, glancing back at Sandra every few steps. “He’s in perfect condition now, you know. When he arrived, he was in terrible shape—burns covering so many vital areas. But here… we can fix anything. We’ve been providing this service for a long time, if you care to inquire. We’re the best at what we do.”

The woman prattled on about their services like a seasoned salesperson, leading them to a small room where she handed Sandra a stack of documents to sign. She explained she’d need to take the paperwork to “the boss” for approval, and asked them to wait. “It’s just a formality, given the special circumstances,” she said before exiting. Sandra nodded at the orange-uniformed man to check the perimeter, then scanned the area herself. The station was like a giant beehive, with people packed into every cell—most of them, she suspected, had been brought here against their will, just like Stacean. Down another corridor, a handful of guards patrolled with outdated firearms—leftovers from a bygone military era, judging by their design. Sandra shook her head. For a place running a high-stakes custody business, their security was laughably inadequate. If anyone decided to mount a rescue or a raid, they’d be defenseless.

“Please follow me,” the green-cloaked woman called from the doorway, interrupting Sandra’s thoughts. She hadn’t bothered reading the documents—they were just a waste of time.

The woman led them back down the corridor, the screens beside each door a stark reminder of how many captives were being held here. They stopped midway down the hall, and the woman pressed her wrist against the scanner. The door slid open with a soft hiss, and Sandra pushed past her, charging inside.

“Auntie, you’re here!” Stacean Lucius was sitting on the edge of the bed, smiling weakly as he greeted her.

“I am,” Sandra replied, rushing to his side. She cupped his face, examining his ears and cheeks, then pulled down his collar to check the healing of the wounds on his neck. “How are you feeling? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Where’s Dad?”

“He’s safe, in another location.” Sandra nodded at the orange-uniformed men, who stepped forward to scan Stacean thoroughly before giving her a thumbs-up. “I’m taking you back to the Solar System first, then I’ll go meet him.”

“Is someone holding him hostage?”

Sandra shook her head.

“That’s a relief.” Stacean smiled again, his mannerisms so eerily similar to Dawn’s that it made Sandra’s heart ache. Yet in her eyes, Stacean had always been… softer, somehow. She couldn’t put it into words, but it was there.

“When can we leave?” Sandra asked, turning to the green-cloaked woman.

“At any time, esteemed client,” the woman replied with a mechanical smile.

Sandra immediately sent a message to Dawn Lucius. Encoded, it streaked through the pitch-black sector like energy erupting from a supermassive black hole, cutting through stellar gravity and dark matter to find its way to Dawn, far away on Planet Vonia.

The “casual gathering” Minister Zhou Qing had promised was anything but. He’d invited nearly half the Science Department, and the banquet hall was a rustic thatched pavilion with a pointed roof—its thatch a patchwork of old and new, suggesting it was replaced periodically. Dried food hung from the wooden support beams, and the earthen floor was packed hard, so no dust rose underfoot. There were no walls—instead, carefully cultivated flowers and trimmed shrubs in vibrant reds and greens surrounded the pavilion, evoking the feeling of a spring day on ancient Earth. The early arrivals sat scattered at various tables, rising to greet Zhou Qing as he approached. After a round of polite pleasantries, he seated Dawn Lucius and Ailven at his own table. The servants began serving the meal, and everyone ate in silence—a local dining custom, it seemed. Only when the clinking of cutlery died down did a few people approach Ailven to chat. Dawn checked the message from Sandra on his comm device, a wave of relief washing over him.

Once Stacean was back in the Solar System, he’d be safe—at least, safer than he was now. The Solar System had a sizable military force to protect him, and as the Norm of its civilization, Stacean bore the heavy responsibility of ensuring Earth’s survival. He didn’t deserve to be dragged into the power struggles and chaos of the major federations. Sandra would stay with him, and Dawn was grateful for that.

As for his role as the Star Map Draftsman… it confused him. If he destroyed newborn stars, he’d be preventing the formation of new planets—robbing the universe of future habitats and stifling the diversity of life. He remembered his days at the Space Agency, when Earth’s scientists had concluded the universe was expanding, with galaxies moving away from each other faster than the speed of light. Even if dark matter did increase, it was unlikely to cause the Magellanic Clouds to collide with the Galaxy, let alone the galaxies within the Laniakea Supercluster. At the rate galaxies were receding, future generations of humans might not even be able to see other galaxies in the night sky. The light from distant galaxies would take billions of years to reach the Solar System—and would humanity even exist that long?

“Lost in thought, young man?” Minister Zhou Qing’s voice broke through Dawn’s reverie, his hand patting Dawn’s shoulder gently.

“Just daydreaming, Minister Zhou Qing,” Dawn replied with a faint smile.

“You look like you’re thinking of your family.”

“I am.”

“Your child, or your partner?”

“Both.”

“Then you’re luckier than me.” Zhou Qing sighed, sitting down beside Dawn. “I have a daughter—she’s the most important person in my life…” He trailed off, staring into the distance, his fists clenching and unclenching on his knees. He fell silent, the pain evident in his eyes.

“What happened?” Dawn asked softly.

“It’s nothing—best not to dwell on it.” Zhou Qing wiped a tear from his eye, forcing a smile as he looked at Dawn. “She was such a bright, healthy girl. Grew up so fast… but I was always too busy with work. Or maybe… maybe I made enemies. They made her sick. There was nothing we could do to save her.”

“I’m so sorry,” Dawn said sincerely. “But your civilization is so advanced—surely there must have been a way to cure her.”

Zhou Qing shook his head, his expression bleak. “Some wounds can’t be healed by technology.”

“Where is she now?” Dawn pressed gently.

“Right here,” Zhou Qing replied, his voice barely a whisper. “But it doesn’t matter anymore…”

“What do you mean it doesn’t matter? She’s still with you,” Dawn said. “Unlike me… my son is far away.”

Zhou Qing looked at him in surprise. “Your son isn’t with you?”

Dawn shook his head. He held his hand up above his head, then shifted his hips forward slightly, smiling at the memory. “He’s this tall now.”

“And you said he’s the leader of a civilization?”

“Yes. A Level Zero civilization, far from here.”

“Level Zero doesn’t mean hopeless. It will grow and advance in time,” Zhou Qing said, a note of warmth in his voice. “Besides, communication between civilizations of all levels has increased so much these days. Level Zero civilizations are almost forced to evolve, whether they like it or not. It’s like what I’m doing now—inviting them to join the Defenders’ Alliance.”

“I suppose,” Dawn said, his smile fading. “But my son’s civilization was dragged into all this because of me.”

“I don’t understand,” Zhou Qing said, frowning in confusion. “Aren’t you Ailven’s assistant? To have that position, you must be a citizen of at least a Level Two civilization. How did your son end up tangled in the troubles of a Level Zero civilization?”

Dawn realized he’d said too much. His son was his Achilles’ heel, the one thing that could make him drop his guard completely. He felt his throat tighten, like a wheat field trampled by a ravenous boar—raw, exposed, and aching. He didn’t know what to say. He glanced at Zhou Qing, then squeezed the comm device on his wrist, turning his gaze away to stare at the flowers.

After a long, heavy silence, Zhou Qing sighed deeply and patted Dawn’s shoulder again. “Look—don’t worry. I’m not a politician. I’m just a scientist with a bit of power and influence. If you’re in trouble, you can talk to me. I’ll do whatever I can to help. No parent should have to suffer the way I have.”

“Thank you, Minister Zhou Qing,” Dawn said, touched. He pressed a fist to his chest, offering a small, grateful smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

Dawn was still composing a reply to Sandra while she was busy demanding a transit authorization code from the green-cloaked woman. Earlier, when Sandra had asked if the station worried about raids, the woman had gestured expansively at the sky, explaining that the small patrol ships floating nearby could instantly destroy any object without a valid transit code—even stray asteroids pulled in by gravity. “Nothing gets in or out without our permission,” she’d boasted. Sandra had insisted on additional guarantees, and the woman had led them to meet “the boss.” They’d been about to step into the elevator when one of the orange-uniformed men suddenly stepped in front of Sandra, pressing a finger to his lips and gesturing for them to listen.

“I feel vibrations!” Sandra said sharply, her voice urgent.

“Where are they coming from?” the green-cloaked woman asked, looking flustered.

“Explosions,” the orange-uniformed man replied, his tone grim.

The woman stared at Sandra in disbelief. “I know sound can’t travel in a vacuum, thank you very much.”

“Where is your ‘boss’?” Sandra demanded, stepping closer to the woman, her voice low and threatening.

The woman looked equally confused. She’d worked here for years and had never felt a single vibration. She pointed downward. “Downstairs. The command center.”

“Don’t get involved. We’re leaving,” the orange-uniformed man said, grabbing Sandra’s arm.

“Let’s go.” Sandra pressed a gun into Stacean’s hand, then led the way, sprinting back toward the exit.

“What about me?” the green-cloaked woman called, standing frozen in the elevator doorway, torn between following Sandra and fleeing to the command center to hide with her boss.

“I suggest you find a place to hide,” Sandra shouted over her shoulder.

“Who could this be?” Sandra asked the orange-uniformed man as they ran.

“We don’t know. This place has enemies in every corner of the galaxy. But for an attack to happen right when we’re here to pick him up…” The man glanced at Stacean, picking up the pace. “We need to be extra careful. Master Hamilton doesn’t want anything to happen to him.”

“Agreed.” Sandra looked at Stacean, her expression fierce. “No matter what happens, stay close to me. Do you understand?”

“I understand.” Stacean nodded, gripping the gun tightly.

The three of them quickly suited up in their spacesuits, bursting through the iron gate they’d entered through earlier. The shockwaves from the explosions hammered against their helmets, and the patrol ships that had been floating vigilantly overhead were now reduced to smoldering wreckage. The once-gray sector of space was now a fiery red, debris tumbling chaotically through the void. Among the wreckage, bodies floated lifelessly—some motionless, others thrashing wildly, reaching out for something to cling to. The larger warship nearby was fighting back valiantly, pouring all its firepower into the agile attacking vessels, but to little avail. The orange-uniformed man activated their ship’s engines, reversing rapidly. Stacean felt like he was being thrown forward, the sudden acceleration and the restraining force of his seatbelt squeezing his chest painfully. This was a sight most people from the Solar System would never see—and Stacean hoped that one day, his people would master this technology. Clutching the seatbelt so tightly it left indentations in his palms, he refused to let go.

The attacking ships bore no identifying marks, making it impossible to determine their allegiance. But they were definitely not pirates—their tactics were too precise, too disciplined, like those of a well-trained military force. The small, agile craft targeted only the defensive systems, taking out the weapons that posed a threat to the larger ships behind them. Even as the station’s defenses fired back, they focused relentlessly on neutralizing the threat. The larger attacking vessels, meanwhile, annihilated the station’s patrol ships with ease—like a mischievous child let loose in an unattended bakery, smashing everything in sight without a second thought.

“Hold on tight!” the orange-uniformed man yelled as the ship’s AI blared an incoming enemy alert. Sandra watched in horror as the small black ships that had been attacking the defenses changed course, heading straight for them—followed closely by the larger vessels, their weapons now locked onto their ship.

The other orange-uniformed man frantically typed on the control panel, pulling up a map of the nearest galaxies where a Star Bridge could be activated. They needed to reach a system with a star—a star’s gravity well was essential for opening a Star Bridge. The options were slim; this sector of space was desolate, a graveyard of dead stars and drifting rocks. To make matters worse, they had to navigate through a dense field of asteroids—celestial bodies that would one day become the cores of stars or planets, but were now nothing more than obstacles blocking their escape. The black ships drew closer, firing non-lethal but highly destructive missiles that bombarded their ship’s force field. If this continued, they’d be disabled long before they reached the Star Bridge.

“Hang in there! Just a little longer!” the man at the controls shouted to the pilot.

“How much farther?” the pilot yelled back, swerving to avoid an incoming asteroid.

“We need to go through that nebula!” the controller said, pointing at the thick, swirling cloud of gas and dust in the distance.

“Are you sure? What’s in there?”

The controller had no time to reply. The black ships were closing in fast, the larger vessels hot on their heels. Their situation was like that of a young buffalo, separated from its herd during migration, being chased by a pack of wolves, wild dogs, and lions—an unlikely alliance of predators, united by hunger. The buffalo had no escape; it had no choice but to charge into the murky river ahead. Either it would lose its pursuers and survive… or it would be torn apart by the crocodiles lurking beneath the surface.

“Listen!” the controller shouted, turning to Sandra. His words were fragmented, each syllable drowned out by the sound of explosions. Sandra couldn’t make out what he was saying—until they plunged into the nebula, and the noise faded enough for her to hear him clearly. “There’s a newly formed star system ahead. We’ll eject you behind the planet—the escape pod will get you safely to the surface. Once you’re down, send a distress signal to Master Hamilton. We’ll fly around to the front of the planet—the gravitational depression is near there. We’ll activate the Star Bridge to draw the pursuers away.” He explained frantically, pulling up a map on the console and setting the Star Bridge’s destination—a hidden Defenders’ Alliance outpost.

“Get ready now!” Sandra yelled to Stacean, unbuckling her seatbelt and scrambling over to him. She helped him unbuckle his belt, then activated her comm device to send a distress signal as they climbed into the escape pod. Moments later, the orange-uniformed men ejected them at the prearranged location, and the pod plummeted toward the planet below. The acceleration slammed Stacean back into his seat, his eyelids forced shut by the G-forces. The planet’s gravity was stronger than the pod’s deceleration, making him feel like his head was being pulled from his shoulders.

The sensation didn’t last long. The pod jolted violently as it crashed into the surface, the impact squeezing their internal organs together in a wave of searing pain. Stacean’s stomach churned, and he fought to keep from vomiting. Outside, the sound of metal being cut echoed through the pod—loud, jarring, like firecrackers going off in the middle of the night. Sandra was the first to recover, fumbling to put on her spacesuit and activate the emergency systems. The life support would keep them alive for a while, and the distress signal was already streaming out into the cosmos. She pulled out her gun, aiming it at the pod door, her finger tensed on the trigger. Stacean struggled to his feet, suiting up as well. He met Sandra’s gaze, his voice steady despite the fear. “Auntie, I’m ready.”

They watched as the pod door was slowly cut open—first a series of small dents, then the metal began to thin, cracks spiderwebbing across the surface. The cutting tool whirred, tearing through the only thing standing between them and their attackers. Sandra and Stacean kept their eyes fixed on the growing crack, their guns wavering slightly with each impact. As the tool’s blade finally broke through, Sandra looked at Stacean, her voice firm. “Don’t be afraid. I’m here with you. And I’ve sent a message to your dad—he’s coming to save us.”

“I know!” Stacean replied, smiling bravely.

The pod door was wrenched off its hinges by mechanical arms, and Sandra and Stacean opened fire, emptying their magazines at the figures outside. But the only thing they saw was a thick, black net hurtling toward them, trapping them inside before they could make out who their attackers were. They breathed the dwindling oxygen in their spacesuits, the faint emergency lights offering little more than false comfort. Sandra sent another message to Dawn, and another to her brother, General Duncan. Whoever these people were, they weren’t trying to kill them—if they had been, they would have blown the pod up instead of going to all this trouble to capture them. That meant there was room for negotiation. But Sandra had no intention of negotiating. This was almost certainly about Stacean—someone wanted him for the same reason Hamilton had kidnapped him.

“Hello there! No need to panic!” A sneering male voice crackled over their comm channel, its tone dripping with malice.

“Who are you? What do you want?” Sandra shouted, her voice echoing inside the net as she searched frantically for a weak point to break through.

“Relax, relax,” the voice said, moving around the net—Sandra could hear his footsteps outside. He stopped to her right, the sound of his voice growing louder. “Someone hired us to hold you two for a little while. In exchange, we get a ticket to board that ship. Just a little while—that’s all.” He covered the comm and shouted something to the others outside, his voice filled with amusement. A chorus of laughter erupted from the attackers, and Sandra kicked the net in frustration.

“What ship?” she demanded, her voice rising.

“You don’t know?” the man asked, feigning surprise. He covered the comm again, turning to his men. “She doesn’t even know about the ship!” He raised his voice, mocking her, and the laughter redoubled. Sandra gritted her teeth, her hands balling into fists. The man cleared his throat, returning to the comm, his tone now oozing with greed. “There’s a ship out there—what do we call it, boys? You’ll never guess. We call it the Ship of Immortality. On board, there’s a Datheon who’s distributing White Crystal to the rich, the powerful, the famous—enough to keep them alive for centuries. Centuries! Can you imagine? We’ll be able to live like kings in this universe forever!” The men outside roared with laughter, their voices filled with delirious excitement.

“Madam Winifred destroyed all the White Crystal,” Sandra scoffed, her voice dripping with contempt. “It’s gone—completely gone. There’s no way any of it is left.”

“Destroyed? How naive can you be?” the man sneered. “Just because she said she destroyed it doesn’t mean it’s true.”

“I was there! I saw it with my own eyes!” Sandra retorted, her voice cracking with emotion. “I was on Visadio Planet when she pressed the button. The entire planet exploded—every last vial of White Crystal, every piece of equipment, turned to ash. Buried under the thick sand of Malea Planet forever.” She let out a bitter laugh, the memory of that day still vivid in her mind.

Muffled arguments broke out outside the net, but Sandra couldn’t make out what was being said. Stacean pressed his ear to the net, listening intently—but the voices soon faded into silence.

Then, the net was pulled open.

A group of men wearing Moreth Federation military uniforms stood before them. Their leaders wore face masks, and their weapons were not standard-issue Moreth Federation gear—instead, they carried a hodgepodge of firearms from various manufacturers. Their movements were perfectly synchronized, however—too coordinated for a ragtag group of mercenaries. The lead masked man stepped forward, circling Sandra and Stacean slowly, his eyes scanning them up and down. He paused in front of Sandra, pacing back and forth a few times before stopping, his voice cold and calculating. “So—you’re the Ashton Federation diplomat?”

“Figured it out, did you?” Sandra replied, her tone sharp with defiance. It was the same voice that had been taunting her over the comm.

“You said you were there when Madam Winifred destroyed the White Crystal. You were on Visadio Planet during the great war?”

“How did you know I’m a diplomat?” Sandra asked, ignoring his question.

“I asked you about White Crystal. Answer the question,” the masked man said, his gaze drifting away from her, his patience wearing thin.

“You answer mine first, then we’ll talk about Visadio Planet.”

“I’ve seen you before—at an embassy function in the Ashton Federation,” the masked man said flatly. “Now answer my question.”

“Where did you get those uniforms?” Sandra pressed, nodding at the Moreth Federation insignia on his sleeves.

“Borrowed them,” the masked man replied, holding up his wrists to show her the patches. “They’re just for show.”

“I thought the Moreth Federation was desperate for White Crystal,” Sandra said, her voice laced with sarcasm. “Why hide your face if you’re just doing your government’s bidding?”

“This has nothing to do with the Moreth Federation,” the masked man snapped. “Now answer my question—or I’ll kill you and keep the boy.” His voice was a threat, cold and final, as he pointed at Stacean.

“Try it!” Sandra shouted, raising her voice, her eyes blazing with fury as she stepped in front of Stacean, shielding him with her body.

The masked man waved a hand, and two of his men stepped forward, cocking their guns and pointing them directly at Sandra’s head.

“Wait!” Stacean yelled, stepping forward and grabbing the barrels of the guns, pushing them away from Sandra. He turned to the masked man, his voice trembling but resolute. “I was there too. It’s true—every word she says is true.”

“What’s true?” the masked man demanded, his grip tightening on his own gun.

“Madam Winifred did destroy the White Crystal. The explosion—it was real. I saw it with my own eyes.” Stacean swallowed hard, his throat dry with fear, but he held the masked man’s gaze.

“Who are you? Why should I believe you?”

“I’m—”

“Don’t tell him!” Sandra shouted, cutting him off.

“I’m interested to hear what he has to say,” the masked man said, raising a hand. Two more men stepped forward, grabbing Sandra’s arms and pinning them behind her back.

“Don’t hurt her!” Stacean pleaded, stepping between Sandra and the masked man. He took a deep breath, his voice ringing out clearly. “My name is Stacean Lucius. I’m the son of Dawn Lucius—the Star Map Draftsman. I was on Visadio Planet. I saw it happen.”

The masked man fell silent, staring at Stacean for a long moment. Then he circled him slowly, his head tilted to the side, as if assessing a valuable prize. Finally, he spoke, his voice sharp and commanding. “Contact the client. Verify the White Crystal information. Take these two into custody. We’re leaving.” He turned on his heel and strode away, leaving Sandra and Stacean to be dragged away by his men. The large ship that had intercepted them was clearly a wartime mothership—its design was that of an advanced Ashton Federation warship, the kind that could be bought by anyone with enough galaxy coins: wealthy businessmen, civilization leaders, even pirates. There was no way to trace its ownership.

As the men dragged Stacean away, the two guards holding Sandra loosened their grip for a split second—and she seized the opportunity, sending another distress signal, this time encoded with a priority alert.

Back on Planet Gorov, Hamilton wasted no time returning to his laboratory. Built entirely by robots, the massive facility was known only to him and a handful of construction workers—even Ailven had never seen its true interior. Hamilton stood in the central plaza, staring up at the ceiling. The support structures twisted and curved overhead, like leaves growing inside a bowl, spreading inward from the walls until they converged on a layered, gyroscope-like device in the center. Between these structures, holographic projections displayed star maps of every known galaxy in the universe, along with real-time data on dark matter fluctuations. Hamilton gazed at the Galaxy’s star map, marveling at his own creation. This was no ordinary laboratory—it was a feat of engineering beyond most people’s wildest imaginations.

His thoughts were interrupted by an incoming call from Dawn Lucius. Dawn’s voice was filled with anger and fear as he demanded to know why someone had tried to hijack Stacean. Hamilton was stunned—had someone else also set their sights on the Star Map Draftsman’s son? But Dawn’s next words left him even more shocked.

“Did you say White Crystal has reappeared?” Hamilton asked, his voice tight with disbelief. When Dawn confirmed it, Hamilton felt a cold chill run down his spine. His worst fear was coming true: Madam Winifred was back, using White Crystal to build a power base, to establish a new regime. This changed everything. He needed to accelerate his plans—now.

“Don’t worry,” Hamilton said quickly, his mind racing. “I’ll have Ailven send a rescue team immediately.” He ended the call abruptly, then contacted Ailven, relaying the situation in urgent, clipped sentences. When he finished, he paced the plaza, his hands clenched behind his back, his expression grim. Something was very wrong. The galaxy was teetering on the brink of chaos—and the return of White Crystal might just be the push that sent it over the edge. With a heavy heart, he turned and walked out of the laboratory, the weight of the universe pressing down on his shoulders.