The Station
From the outside, Havoc's Bastion looked like it had been welded together by drunk gods:
A tangle of jagged docking spires.
Haphazard neon signs flickering in half a dozen languages.
Flotillas of outlaw ships anchored to its battered hull like barnacles.
It drifted in the lawless Mid-Rim Drift —
technically "independent,"
but in reality ruled by whoever had the biggest guns or the fastest ships that month.
The only law here was the Arena Code:
settle disputes in the Steel and Starfire Tournament, or get spaced.
Aboard the Red Radiant
"…and we're sure docking here won't get us all shot immediately?" Jaxen asked, hands twitching nervously over the pilot console.
"Of course not," Zaraya said brightly. "Probably."
Kaelen stared silently at the station through the viewport.
Iselyra quietly checked her weapons.
Plo rode on Drex's back, wide-eyed, recording everything frantically.
"Fascinating social dynamics," she said, eyes sparkling. "Highly chaotic. Perfect for observational research."
"It's a pirate pit," Jaxen muttered. "We'll be lucky if we leave with our boots still on our feet."
"Relax," Zaraya said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're just here for supplies and repairs. No trouble."
Narrator voice:
(They were absolutely about to find trouble.)
Landing and First Chaos
The Radiant docked on Bay 42 —
wedged between a gunship leaking coolant and a cargo hauler with suspiciously bloodstained hull plates.
As the Dawnbreakers disembarked,
a huge holographic banner overhead flashed:
"Welcome to the Steel and Starfire Tournament!
Glory! Wealth! Survival!
Enter today — or regret forever!"
A grizzled dock official approached, holding out a data-slate.
"Crew name?" he rasped.
"Dawnbreakers," Zaraya said with a grin.
The official's eyes widened slightly.
"Oh… you lot."
"Heh. Good."
"The Bastion loves a good show."
Without waiting for approval,
he stamped their clearance…
and automatically entered Zaraya into the tournament's open bracket.
Jaxen leaned over to Kaelen, whispering:
"Was it just me or did she get signed up for a cosmic brawl without even blinking?"
Kaelen gave him a faint smirk.
"Typical."
Tournament Setup
Havoc's Bastion Arena was colossal — an open-air, forcefield-shielded battlefield surrounded by drunken crowds and neon advertisements.
Battles could be one-on-one, team fights, or free-for-alls.
Weapons: Anything short of planet-busters allowed.
Healing fields were in place — theoretically — but accidents were common.
Top Prizes:
Repair credits.
Rare ship parts.
Information leads (some whispered to involve ancient maps and forbidden sectors).
Zaraya stared at the registration board, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Cosmic rumble time!" she crowed.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Iselyra said dryly.
"You're just jealous because you don't get to punch people with a flaming meteor fist," Zaraya teased.
"I can freeze people solid," Iselyra said, deadpan.
"Okay fair," Zaraya admitted.
Meanwhile: Trouble Brews
Unbeknownst to the Dawnbreakers:
The Black Circuit had picked up their trail.
The Cult's minor agents whispered of a rising bounty.
Local champions and mercenaries — hungry for glory — took special notice of the new entrants.
The Dawnbreakers weren't just contenders.
They were targets.
Cliffhanger Ending:
As the first round matchups were posted,
Zaraya grinned wildly.
Her first opponent?
A ten-foot-tall cybernetically enhanced battle-gladiator named Krayzix the Red.
His weapon of choice?
A pair of plasma chain-axes.
And an unbroken record of fifty-three consecutive arena kills.
Plo blinked at the readout.
"Statistical survival odds: approximately 3.2%."
Drex whimpered faintly.
Jaxen sighed deeply.
Kaelen simply pulled his hood lower and leaned back against the wall.
Iselyra gave the slightest of smirks.
And Zaraya?
She cracked her knuckles, cosmic light flaring from her hands.
"Sounds like a fun warm-
The Station
From the outside, Havoc's Bastion looked like it had been welded together by drunk gods:
A tangle of jagged docking spires.
Haphazard neon signs flickering in half a dozen languages.
Flotillas of outlaw ships anchored to its battered hull like barnacles.
It drifted in the lawless Mid-Rim Drift —
technically "independent,"
but in reality ruled by whoever had the biggest guns or the fastest ships that month.
The only law here was the Arena Code:
settle disputes in the Steel and Starfire Tournament, or get spaced.
Aboard the Red Radiant
"…and we're sure docking here won't get us all shot immediately?" Jaxen asked, hands twitching nervously over the pilot console.
"Of course not," Zaraya said brightly. "Probably."
Kaelen stared silently at the station through the viewport.
Iselyra quietly checked her weapons.
Plo rode on Drex's back, wide-eyed, recording everything frantically.
"Fascinating social dynamics," she said, eyes sparkling. "Highly chaotic. Perfect for observational research."
"It's a pirate pit," Jaxen muttered. "We'll be lucky if we leave with our boots still on our feet."
"Relax," Zaraya said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We're just here for supplies and repairs. No trouble."
Narrator voice:
(They were absolutely about to find trouble.)
Landing and First Chaos
The Radiant docked on Bay 42 —
wedged between a gunship leaking coolant and a cargo hauler with suspiciously bloodstained hull plates.
As the Dawnbreakers disembarked,
a huge holographic banner overhead flashed:
"Welcome to the Steel and Starfire Tournament!
Glory! Wealth! Survival!
Enter today — or regret forever!"
A grizzled dock official approached, holding out a data-slate.
"Crew name?" he rasped.
"Dawnbreakers," Zaraya said with a grin.
The official's eyes widened slightly.
"Oh… you lot."
"Heh. Good."
"The Bastion loves a good show."
Without waiting for approval,
he stamped their clearance…
and automatically entered Zaraya into the tournament's open bracket.
Jaxen leaned over to Kaelen, whispering:
"Was it just me or did she get signed up for a cosmic brawl without even blinking?"
Kaelen gave him a faint smirk.
"Typical."
Tournament Setup
Havoc's Bastion Arena was colossal — an open-air, forcefield-shielded battlefield surrounded by drunken crowds and neon advertisements.
Battles could be one-on-one, team fights, or free-for-alls.
Weapons: Anything short of planet-busters allowed.
Healing fields were in place — theoretically — but accidents were common.
Top Prizes:
Repair credits.
Rare ship parts.
Information leads (some whispered to involve ancient maps and forbidden sectors).
Zaraya stared at the registration board, practically vibrating with excitement.
"Cosmic rumble time!" she crowed.
"You're enjoying this way too much," Iselyra said dryly.
"You're just jealous because you don't get to punch people with a flaming meteor fist," Zaraya teased.
"I can freeze people solid," Iselyra said, deadpan.
"Okay fair," Zaraya admitted.
Meanwhile: Trouble Brews
Unbeknownst to the Dawnbreakers:
The Black Circuit had picked up their trail.
The Cult's minor agents whispered of a rising bounty.
Local champions and mercenaries — hungry for glory — took special notice of the new entrants.
The Dawnbreakers weren't just contenders.
They were targets.
Cliffhanger Ending:
As the first round matchups were posted,
Zaraya grinned wildly.
Her first opponent?
A ten-foot-tall cybernetically enhanced battle-gladiator named Krayzix the Red.
His weapon of choice?
A pair of plasma chain-axes.
And an unbroken record of fifty-three consecutive arena kills.
Plo blinked at the readout.
"Statistical survival odds: approximately 3.2%."
Drex whimpered faintly.
Jaxen sighed deeply.
Kaelen simply pulled his hood lower and leaned back against the wall.
Iselyra gave the slightest of smirks.
And Zaraya?
She cracked her knuckles, cosmic light flaring from her hands.
"Sounds like a fun warm-