The capital's lower levels breathed differently than the towers above.
Here, the air carried the stale tang of recycled oxygen and old metal, drawn through ducts laid down generations ago and forgotten once sleeker systems replaced them. Lights flickered inconsistently along the corridor walls, their glow reflecting off condensation that clung like sweat to exposed piping. Tobias moved through the maintenance passageway with measured steps, acutely aware that this was a place where the city's pulse slowed and its secrets gathered.
Trace advanced several paces ahead, rifle angled low but ready, his movements smooth and practiced. Every turn he took came without hesitation, guided by an intimacy with No'aar's undercity that no schematic could replicate. "They won't have gone far," he said quietly, voice barely carrying over the distant thrum of generators. "An assassin who's failed and wounded doesn't flee in straight lines. They burrow, they listen, and they wait for one last chance."
Behind them, Kvasir moved with a very different rhythm. His attention never lingered on the walls or shadows, but on the data-slate in his hands, where streams of information scrolled in silent procession. Transit logs, biometric residue, power draw fluctuations so minor they bordered on irrelevant—except to someone who knew where truth liked to hide. "They attempted to erase themselves," he remarked pleasantly, as though commenting on the weather. "Which is, of course, how they revealed their trail. Perfect absence is far louder than imperfection."
A pressure began to build behind Tobias' eyes, familiar now but no less unwelcome. It was not a vision in the traditional sense, not a clear image of what would be, but a narrowing of possibility, futures compressing until only a few brittle paths remained. He slowed, then stopped altogether, his gaze lifting toward a junction ahead where three corridors converged beneath a rusted maintenance arch.
"There," Tobias said, certainty settling into his voice. "They're here. Junction node, just beyond the bend." The attack came in a blur of desperation.
A concealed figure burst from the shadows with a speed born of panic rather than precision, a mono-blade snapping toward Trace's unguarded flank. Trace twisted instinctively, the strike glancing off armor instead of flesh, and in that same heartbeat Tobias stepped forward. Prescience guided his movement, pulling him into the exact place he needed to be before conscious thought could interfere. He fired once, deliberately, the shot shattering the assassin's knee actuator and sending them crashing hard against the deck plating.
The assassin thrashed violently, one gloved hand already moving toward a hidden poison capsule, the final escape House Mordred afforded its tools. Tobias was there before it could reach her lips, his voice cutting through the chaos with cold authority. "No," he said, the word carrying more weight than a threat.
A heavy clang echoed down the corridor as a bulkhead slammed shut behind them, sealing off escape routes. Cassian Rook's Hoplite had locked the section down remotely, the vice-commander's intervention precise and timely even from a distance. Trace closed the remaining gap in seconds, wrenching the poison capsule free and forcing the assassin face-down against the deck until resistance ebbed into shallow, ragged breathing.
Kvasir crouched beside the fallen figure, examining them with detached interest as he keyed a few notes into his slate. "House Mordred," he confirmed calmly. "An independent cell, operating on incomplete intelligence. Which strongly suggests they were never meant to return for debrief." His gaze flicked briefly toward Tobias. "Disposable assets tend to know just enough to be useful."
Tobias looked down at the unconscious assassin, the future settling into a quieter shape now that this particular threat had been contained. "They'll survive," he said evenly. "Long enough to tell us how many more like them are already woven into this city." Something unseen shifted, a door closing on a future that had come too close to opening.
Hours later, the war chamber hummed with controlled intensity.
The hololithic projection of No'aar dominated the room, its image layered and dynamic as Tobias manipulated it with subtle gestures. Oceans peeled away to reveal abyssal trenches and pressurized transit tunnels. Cities resolved into glowing nodes, and beneath them all lay the planet's true anatomy—a lattice of conduits, maintenance arteries, data trunks, and supply veins that sustained life while offering countless avenues for sabotage.
"This," Tobias said quietly, his gaze fixed on the exposed infrastructure, "is where the war will actually be decided."
Trace leaned forward, bracing one gauntleted hand against the edge of the table as he studied the undersea networks and subterranean routes. "And now we know the enemy's already moving through it," he added. "Assassin cells don't operate in isolation. They scout, map, and mark targets for others to exploit."
Kvasir expanded a cluster of crimson glyphs with a flick of his fingers, the results of the interrogation beginning to take coherent shape. "House Mordred isn't preparing an open assault," he said, his tone conversational despite the implications. "They're planning erosion—leadership strikes, infrastructure degradation, and persistent uncertainty. Slow pressure applied until governance collapses under its own weight." He offered a faint smile. "It's a very old strategy."
Cassian stood a respectful half-step behind Tobias, posture rigid but engaged, eyes tracking refinery clusters and transit nexuses as if already assigning units in his mind. "Then we deny them time," he said. "Hetairois anchor the refineries. Hoplites control tunnel intersections and operate as mobile hunters. We make every route contested and every shadow dangerous."
Tobias overlaid his own projections atop the data, faint gold lines branching into dozens of potential futures before collapsing into a handful of survivable paths. The effort tugged at him, subtle but persistent, yet he did not look away. "Ambiguity is their greatest weapon," he said. "So we strip it from them entirely."
Beyond the chamber walls, No'aar continued its silent rotation beneath distant stars, unaware that its hidden bones had been mapped, reinforced, and claimed. The assassin had failed, but the warning remained, etched now into strategy rather than fear.
The planet was no longer just territory. It was a system under siege—and Tobias intended to master every part of it.