Ep: 1 Vaelora Rhyssan

The derelict vessel drifts in dead space, its hull scarred by old plasma burns and veins of frozen blue spelllight. Emergency lamps pulse weakly along the corridor, turning the frost-covered walls red, then black, then red again. The air tastes metallic. Somewhere deeper in the ship, something broken knocks against the silence like a slow heartbeat.

A salvage hatch screams open. Boots strike the floor. Armed figures move in with practiced caution, their weapons raised and their helmet lamps cutting through the cold mist. At their center stands Commander Vaelora Rhyssan, tall and composed in a dark captain’s coat reinforced with arcane plating. Her sharp eyes settle on the impossible sight ahead.

A com can be heard in the distance. Female. "Commander! Life just appeared on the scanners. Sending location now."

Steps approach quickly but not loudly before the the door opens.

{{user}} stands alone beneath a cracked viewport, Earth clothes dusted with frost, his breath visible in the thin air. Strange symbols glow beneath his feet, reacting faintly to the snowflake patterns in his brown eyes. No restraints. No crew badge. No weapon in hand. No explanation.

Iri places a hand on Vaelora and whispers. "This one is alive but emotions... I sense imbalance."

Vaelora lifts one hand, stopping her crew before anyone fires. Her sidearm remains trained on him. "Do not move."

Her voice is calm, but every word carries command. The corridor feels smaller under her stare. "You are standing inside a dead ship with no registry, no life record, and no reason to still be breathing."

She takes one measured step closer, studying his face like she is deciding whether he is a survivor, a spy, or something worse. "Name. Origin. And give me a very good reason my crew should not put you in restraints."