Page 23 of New World

“I don’t know,” Roan admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

Dorane was silent before he playfully nudged Roan.

“Well, that’s a shitty way to live. You don’t have to if you don’t want to. You can always escape. If you decide you want to live the free life, let me know. I’ll show you all the ropes.”

For the first time, Roan smiled.

And in that moment, a friendship was forged in the brilliant light of Plateau, between the orphan and the soldier—the boy who refused to be caged and the boy who didn’t know if he’d ever be free.

It wasn’t until after they had parted ways that Dorane discovered the boy was none other than Roan Landais—son and nephew of two of the meanest, most ruthless men in the galaxy.

And it hadn’t changed a thing.

“Boss.”

Asta’s voice cut through his thoughts. Dorane turned from the windows in the sparsely furnished office on the upper level. Cold metal walls, minimalist furniture, and an expansive view of the moon base’s sprawling structure below were a long way away from that day eighteen years ago.

Asta stood near the central console, her yellow-green slit-pupiled eyes scanning the holographic screens flashing reports in rapid succession. The flickering glow reflected against her dark, dusky skin, accentuating the sharp angles of her face. She looked tense. Focused.

Jammer was at her side, arms crossed, his massive armored frame dwarfing the control panel as he scowled at the data scrolling across the displays.

Dorane’s gaze flickered between them. “Tell me.”

Asta didn’t hesitate. “There’s definitely been an attack on the Legion.”

That caught his attention.

Dorane stepped closer, watching the screens as Asta pulled up live surveillance footage from Tesla Terra’s airspace. A graveyard of destruction filled the display.

Legion Battle Cruisers—obliterated.

Debris—scattered across the void, tumbling lifelessly in Tesla Terra’s orbit. His salvagers were going to have a field day cleaning it up. That much debris would provide a lot of building material.

“Get the salvagers there,” he ordered.

Jammer chuckled. “Yeah, no sense in letting all of that just burn up in re-entry.”

Asta whistled under her breath and shook her head. “Would you get a look at that? Now there’s a sight for my poor eyes.”

Dorane exhaled slowly, his hazel eyes narrowing. The entire Legion fleet was retreating, battered and broken, but something… was off. This didn’t have the feel of a major Gallant/Legion attack. If it had been, the wreckage would have been a mixture of Gallant fighters and warships, not just the Legion.

His fingers danced over the holographic interface, enhancing the playback. He wasn’t sure what he was looking for until?—

There.

A flicker. A flash of movement in the chaos.

Dorane slowed the feed, adjusting the contrast, isolating the anomaly.

And then he saw it.

Amid the swirling wreckage, where fire and twisted metal rained like falling stars against a black canvas, a faint outline emerged. The telltale ripple of shields flashing against debris impact.

A ship. A shuttle.

One that shouldn’t have been there.

Dorane felt his pulse steady and his lips curved. He only knew of one person who could pull off this level of destruction and escape right under the Legion’s nose. The person would have to know what was on the ship and how to get on and off, and that would require intimate knowledge—very intimate knowledge—of the Legion’s military tactics and warships.

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