Page 24 of New World

A slow laugh rumbled from his chest. He shook his head, pure admiration laced with amusement.

“Way to go, my friend,” he murmured, eyes locked on the phantom ship as it vanished into the void.

Asta’s ears twitched. “What?”

Dorane grinned, stepped back, and rolled his shoulders. Roan was alive.

Of course he was.

He shot Asta a knowing look.

“Just an old friend who is too mean to kill and too stubborn to die.”

6

Shadows of Cryon II:

* * *

The hum of Cryon II’s artificial atmosphere and gravity was constant, an ever-present static that vibrated through the metal walls and narrow service corridors. Zoak moved through the less traveled passages, his steps silent, his breath measured. He had been on this moon base for days now, learning its arteries, tracing its pathways, and memorizing the movements of its most influential occupant—Dorane LeGaugh.

The man was an enigma, a self-made power in a galaxy dominated by old blood and military rule. A shadow king ruling a metal kingdom. Many underestimated him—like the bumbling Melskarian bounty hunter who had tried to kill Dorane this evening. Zoak did not.

He crouched low against a grated walkway, his four-fingered hands flexing with anticipation as he peered down into one of the many observation lounges scattered throughout Cryon II’s core district. Below him, the glow of holoscreens illuminated Dorane’s angular face, his hazel eyes flickering as he absorbed the intelligence reports his second-in-command, Asta Ma’Tran, was feeding him.

Zoak watched, waiting.

A lesser assassin would have made their move by now. A quick shot. A clean kill. A moment of satisfaction and then nothingness. But Zoak did not kill for simple contracts. He killed to be remembered.

He wanted a story worth telling.

And what greater story than the dismantling of the Ancient Knights and the men who would see them rise again?

His communicator buzzed softly against his wrist. A secure line. No traceable link. Zoak sighed inwardly, irritation flickering through him as he flicked it on. The moment he saw Coleridge Landais’s face, his mood darkened.

“Andri is your new target, Zoak,” Coleridge’s voice rasped, his tone clipped. “Kill him and you’ll have a fortune greater than your wildest dreams. The credits are being transferred as I speak. You now have the funds to be the assassin you’ve always wanted to be. In addition to the Director, I have included funds and resources for the termination of General Roan Landais and The Ancient Knights of the Gallant. My brother has already funded Dorane LeGaugh. They’re yours. Every last one of them. Make it count, Turbinta, and your name will never be forgotten.”

Zoak barely contained his smirk. A fortune? A name to be remembered? The very things he had always craved.

And yet, as he watched Dorane now—pacing, restless, unknowingly playing a part in Zoak’s masterpiece—he felt something close to satisfaction. Not yet. He wasn’t ready to kill him just yet.

Zoak’s gaze flicked to the holoscreens where Asta and Jammer were more than likely discussing the Legion’s failed attack. The fallout of Tesla Terra had sent ripples across the stars, the story relayed and retold across the galaxy.

Zoak leaned in, eyes narrowing on Dorane’s face through the scope he was looking through. The man had been staring at the screen before he threw his head back and started laughing. It wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Dorane’s amusement could only mean one thing.

Roan Landais had survived.

A slow exhale left Zoak’s lips. Asta and Jammer did not seem to realize what that meant. He did… and so did Dorane. They had seen men cheat death before. They had both done it. It took a certain madness, a specific will.

It took a legend.

My name will echo through the galaxy when this is done.

Zoak settled further into the shadows, his fingers drumming absently against the casing of his rifle. Soon. Not tonight, not while Dorane was still maneuvering, still fighting shadows he didn’t even know were circling him. No—he wanted Dorane to know he was being hunted. It would make the kill more satisfying. He wanted Dorane to feel the weight of inevitability pressing down before the blade slid between his ribs.

He had a list now. Dorane. Roan. The Ancient Knights. And finally, Andri.

All pieces in the final act.

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