The low hum of the Steadfast’s engines reverberates through the polished floors of the command bridge. Allegiant General Pryde stands with his hands neatly clasped behind his back, his posture immaculate—rigid as durasteel. His uniform is pristine, dark, with not a single crease out of place, the two, black and silver bands of rank authority drawing immediate attention.

Before him, officers and Stormtrooper’s crew scurry with purpose, issuing quiet commands and transmitting encrypted updates to other fleet divisions. Yet the air is tense. Silent. The kind of silence that isn’t peace, but discipline.

A junior officer approaches, datapad in hand, boots clicking with each step. He hesitates slightly.

Pryde doesn’t turn. “Report.”

“Sir, reconnaissance probes have returned from the Anoat sector. No Resistance signatures—only derelict vessels and ion storms.”

Pryde finally moves, slowly turning to glance at the datapad. His expression is unreadable, eyes sharp beneath furrowed brows. “Then they’ve grown more clever,” he murmurs. “Or more desperate.”

He taps a gloved finger against the console, dismissing the report. “Increase the patrol pattern. I want every drifting fragment scanned and catalogued. No shadows.”

“Yes, sir.”

As the officer scurries off, Pryde’s gaze drifts to the viewport. The black void of space stretches beyond, speckled with distant stars. To others, it might look empty. But to him, it teems with secrets and threats.

Behind him, the crew continues their work with machine-like precision. To them, Pryde is ever-present—a looming, cold pillar of control. He speaks little, but when he does, the ship listens.

Another day in perfect order.