Lilly Ulstvarr traced the constellations with a predatory glint in her emerald eyes. The obsidian bridge of her newly acquired flagship, the Iron Will, was a stark contrast to the blinding brilliance of the starscape sprawled before her. Gone were the plush carpets and gilded accents of her family's vessels; here, cold, functional metal reigned supreme. She liked it.

Her fingers tightened around the armrest, the faint hum of the engines a comforting thrum beneath her. This wasn't her parent's Star Argent, a bloated monument to excessive wealth. The Iron Will was a hunter's knife, honed for efficiency and lethality. Every bulkhead, every viewport, screamed of purpose. It was perfect.