Chapter One

Sacora

Of the seven deadly sins, mine most definitely would be pride.

“Wormhole travel imminent,” the commuter shuttle’s AI announced. The voice drowned out the sound of my favorite entertainment serial, Perseus Brim, which played on my personal tablet. “Initiating breach.” 

The lights of my private cabin changed, casting my reflection in the mirror in a shade of deep blue. A row of commuter shuttles, all similar to my own and visible through my room’s porthole, lined up single file, each waiting their turn for the nearby wormholes. The edge of the nearest wormhole’s triangular frame loomed at the edge of my view, identical to the others in the distance. They acted as both windows and doors into another part of the galaxy, each granting a peek at a scatter of faraway stars.

The proximity alert sounded out as a palpable static penetrated the air. A deep, resounding frequency hummed through my bones and a wave of goosebumps erupted across my skin. I took a deep breath, smelling the telltale scent of ozone, before exhaling a cloud of frosty air. After a tense several moments, the shuttle passed through the frame and warmth seeped back into me. The blue light painting the room snapped to its previous imitation of sunlight, indicating we had breached successfully.

I glared at the scissors I had been holding in a death grip. After a moment of deliberation, I tossed them into the sink. 

“I can’t do this.”

 I began pulling my elbow length hair into a quick French braid at the back of my head. As I tied off the end, my eyes snagged on a bundle of loose threads on my shoulder.

“Now entering Bloodfall Territory,” the shuttle AI announced. “Arrival estimated in one hour, twenty-six minutes.”

I gaped at the golden thread of my candidate patch lifting from my uniform’s garnet-colored fabric. Any and all anxiety I had about the length of my hair vanished. After checking the time on my tablet, I scrambled to gather the rest of my things, making sure to double check for my military ID in my pocket. I had to head out right away if I had any hope of mending my uniform before orientation. 

I completed one final sweep of the room before hefting my bag over my shoulder and flipping off the scissors in the sink on my way out the door.

Once in the hall, I removed the metallic cuff at the shell of my ear and pressed it against the payment pad outside my door. The nearest directory indicated the only tailor on the shuttle was seven stops away if I took the rail system that ran a loop around the ship.

It didn’t take long to find the place. A decal of a round blue sphere resembling a planet I recognized instantly was plastered across the window. Below the planet - the single-biome world, Piscon - a sticker was haphazardly slapped on the glass. It read “JAA Certified” beside the logo of the Junic Alliance Armada. The triangle shape contained a spiral galaxy made up of three colors: red, yellow, and blue.

The room beyond the glass was cramped, only large enough to fit a tall receptionist counter and space for a single customer. The doorway behind the counter led to a room brimming with all manner of freshly laundered clothing, most being military uniforms. A loud voice hollered out to me from its depths.

“Nah, out! Estlà enza day.”

Dropping my bag on the ground, I leaned over the tall counter and called, “I know it’s after hours, but it’s an emergency.”

I heard an irritated scoff before the voice replied again, this time with emphasis. “Enza day.”

“Please,” I begged. “I’m a Parhelia Program candidate.”

A brief silence lingered before the sound of rustling and I watched with avid amusement as a figure finally elbowed their way out of the room. The woman glared at me and stabbed a small object between her fingers in my direction. A sewing needle.

“You come in here, thinking you can threaten me? A fucking chiếnne? Here?”

I grimaced, “No threats. I’m merely trying to convey the seriousness of-”

“No!” the woman snapped, cutting me off. The needle between her fingers pierced through the air, punctuating her words as she spoke. “You think a mon like me will bow down to a chiếnne like you?”

I started to gesture to my shoulder and the traitorous patch. “I can’t be seen with this.”

Her snort of amusement made it clear that the sight of the heterochromia-eyed wolf embroidered on the patch meant nothing to her. “No. Enza day. Out!”

The sound of a door sliding open drew her attention over my shoulder. I began to undo the snaps of my jacket.

“Please, I’ll pay you double the price. No - triple, if you can repair this patch before we land on JAW Sköll…”

The tailor ignored me as she gestured to an overfilled rack on the wall, where orders hung to be picked up. “Your ‘forms zere.”

Out of the corner of my eye, I spied a messy bun of long blond hair. Before I could look at him fully, my eyes caught on the skin tight material on his muscular forearm as it passed over my shoulder. It was ink black, yet when it caught the light, it shimmered in a range of green and violet hues. The fabric glinted like dark iridescent snakeskin, a dead giveaway for his military branch. They were Parhelia Program fatigues, or thermals, made of temperature regulating fibers that were found in all Sun Dog livery.

 I quickly snapped my head away as he retrieved a set of freshly laundered military uniforms from the rack on the wall. The last thing I needed right now was a Sun Dog seeing me beg for a last minute uniform repair mere hours before landing on ship. As I self-consciously placed a hand over my ruined patch, the customer reached his arm around me again, placing an ear cuff in the tailor’s awaiting hand. As she completed the transaction, she scoffed and gestured to the jacket in my hands, her tone conversational, as if speaking to an old friend. “Wants fix, but enza day.”

I cringed inwardly at the brief silence that followed, deliberately avoiding all form of eye contact out of pure embarrassment. Then, as the tailor returned his ear cuff, the customer spoke.

“Tough salt,” he said. The two quiet words melted like butter over my eardrums, smooth and warm.

The woman squinted up at him for a long moment. Then she issued me a scowl and held out her hand. Without hesitation, I shoved my jacket into it.

“I do this for ze cœurant, not for you,” she snarled. Then she spun and disappeared into the room behind her, muttering angry nothings under her breath. 

I watched her go, utterly confused but grateful. There was the quiet thump of the shop door closing and I turned around to see that I was alone.

I made good on my word and paid the woman triple, though the balance had me cringing at the staggering amount for the service rendered. My military stipend from the Parhelia Program was generous, though not bottomless.

Now donning a freshly mended uniform, I wandered into the shuttle’s public gallery. Giant, clear portholes paneled both walls and spanned from floor to ceiling. They granted passengers a perfect view of the galaxy outside, stretching wall to wall along the length of the gallery car. Once I found a clear enough space near the glass, I dropped my bag and admired the scene.

In the distance, a pair of Junic Alliance Warships, otherwise known as JAWs, glowed silver against the pitch dark of the cosmos.

Sköll and Hati were perfect specimens, virtually identical and shining metallic and gargantuan against the matted blackness of space. Their overall shape was similar to the head of a crocodile, with silver hulls that ran to a bow that showcased their most iconic feature. Silver lips seemed to pull back, revealing hundreds of dark blue portholes for teeth. The gaping maw was open, allowing all variety of space traffic in and out of it. JAWs were warships with a bite that bore deadly, wicked grins.

One of the two was Sköll, the warship destined to be my new home. As the headquarters of the Parhelia Program, the moment I stepped foot upon it, the assessment of my candidacy to join their ranks would officially begin.

I had spent the past four years at the Galactic University’s Luna campus preparing to present as a candidate. Every two years, the program selected new Sun Dogs in an evaluation known as the Helion Hunt. Only those who had the substance to excel as elite soldiers amongst their ranks could attempt armor bonding. Everyone in the alliance knew that wielding armor was what it took to be a Sun Dog.

Enlist, bond, bask in the glory.

That was the plan, anyway. In the end, it was entirely up to the relics to decide. Even after passing the Hunt, you were at the mercy of them. Every year selectees walked away unsuccessful, having failed to bond to an armor.

My thoughts were interrupted when a woman stepped beside me. She appeared about my age, around her mid-twenties. She gazed out at the JAWs in the distance, her full lips quirked to the side quizzically. She stood half a head taller than me and her uniform hugged her slim figure. I spotted our matching shoulder patches and I resisted the urge to sigh with relief. The long, coppery hair cascading over her shoulder fell even further than mine. 

“Gorgeous, aren’t they?” she asked. The JAWs, as if knowing they had admirers from afar, seemed to wink at us from a distance. She turned to me, her pale and slender hand outstretched. “I’m Anslee. Anslee Auvray. It’s nice to run into another candidate.”

At her name, a spark of recognition flared. I reached out and shook her hand. “Sacora Hwin.”

“Penny for your thoughts?” Anslee asked. I smiled at the familiar Terran phrase.

“Imagining what it would be like to go through all of this,” I said, gesturing broadly around us. “Enlisting, training, military college, selection - all to not bond with a relic in the end.”

“They have at least a dozen relics this time,” she said, a note of reassurance gentling her voice. “Even if all don’t bond, that’s much more than two years ago. Last Helion Hunt they barely had enough for a new pack.”

Her words did nothing to settle my anxiety. One step at a time.

“Would you like to sit together at orientation?” she asked.

I looked at her thoughtfully. She had brown, doe-like eyes that stared at me expectantly, awaiting my response. After a moment of consideration, I gave her an enthusiastic nod and she smiled widely before pulling off her ear cuff to exchange contact information. It would be good to have a friend on the ship that wasn’t Roan. 

I spent the remainder of my time watching the JAWs in the distance grow closer. The images I had seen of the warships in college paled in comparison to their wonder in person. Eventually, a blue glow lit the gallery as the shuttle prepared for its arrival on JAW Sköll.

Soon, I would be home.

Except from Starshatter by D.T. Mako © 2026, D.T. Mako | No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author.