Read Obsidian Concord free: the opening chapter

Dust and Neon: Aerilon Arrival | Ky’thanian Shadows

The transport shuddered, a metallic groan echoing through the cramped cabin. Kaelen Varrick barely registered it. He’d spent enough time in transit to become numb to the discomfort. Aerilon. Even the name felt heavy, burdened by expectation. The capital of the Concord. A beacon of…what? He wasn’t sure anymore.

He adjusted the collar of his standard-issue Aegis Directorate uniform, the fabric scratchy against his skin. It felt like a costume. A performance. He hadn’t felt much loyalty to the Concord for years, not since Elysium. But duty was a stubborn thing, a weight he carried with practiced ease.

Outside the viewport, Aerilon swelled into view. Not a planet, not exactly. A colossal structure built around a gas giant, a latticework of shimmering towers and orbital rings suspended in perpetual twilight. It was beautiful, in a cold, inhuman way. A monument to order, to control. He’d seen the holos, the propaganda. They didn't show this.

The ship docked with a pneumatic hiss, and the cabin door slid open. A wave of humid, recycled air washed over him, thick with the scent of spice and something else…something acrid, like burnt metal.

A customs official, sleek and impassive in a pristine white uniform, scanned his identification chip. “Investigator Varrick. Welcome to Aerilon. Purpose of visit?”

“Routine investigation,” Kaelen said, his voice flat. “Trade dispute. Sector 7.” He didn’t offer more. The less they knew, the better. Especially after the…complications with the last assignment.

The official didn’t seem interested in details. Just efficient processing. “Proceed to Level 3. Your transport awaits.”

Level 3. The lower tiers. He’d requested it specifically. He wanted to see Aerilon beyond the polished facades.

---

The transport was a repulsorlift taxi, a battered chrome bubble that smelled of stale synth-coffee and regret. The driver, a woman with weary eyes and cybernetic enhancements tracing patterns on her temples, didn’t bother with pleasantries.

“Level 3,” Kaelen said, sliding into the worn seat.

She grunted, and the taxi lurched forward, descending into the bowels of the city. The higher he went, the more the light faded. The gleaming towers above became distant, abstract shapes. The air grew heavier, the smells more pungent.

The polished chrome of the exterior gave way to corroded metal, flickering neon signs advertising dubious pleasures, and walls plastered with faded advertisements. The crowds thickened, a sea of faces from a dozen different worlds, all hustling, bartering, surviving. He saw Ky’thanian merchants with sun-baked skin, their stalls overflowing with desert spices. He saw Drekkari laborers, their massive frames crammed into narrow walkways. He saw the hollow-eyed, the desperate, the forgotten.

This wasn’t the Aerilon the Concord showcased to its citizens.

“Quite a drop from the upper levels, isn’t it?” Kaelen said, breaking the silence.

The driver glanced at him in the rearview mirror. “You new here, investigator?”

“Passing through,” he replied.

“This is where Aerilon actually lives. The upper levels are for show. For tourists. For the Council members who pretend they understand anything about real life.” She spat into a small receptacle. “Down here, we deal with the consequences of their decisions.”

He noticed the subtle venom in her voice. Resentment simmered beneath the surface, a low, constant hum.

“Sector 7 is…rough,” she added, as if reading his thoughts. “Lots of independent traders, smugglers, information brokers. The Aegis Directorate doesn't spend much time down here unless something’s already gone wrong.”

“That’s precisely where I need to be.”

---

The taxi deposited him in front of a warehouse, its metal skin blistered and scarred. The entrance was a narrow archway choked with debris. A flickering neon sign above the door read, in faded letters, “The Obsidian Moth.”

He paid the driver and stepped out into the gloom. The air was thick with the smell of oil, dust, and something faintly floral, masking a deeper, more unpleasant odor.

The warehouse interior was a labyrinth of stacked crates, shadowy alcoves, and makeshift stalls. The floor was grimy, littered with discarded packaging and broken tech. A cacophony of voices filled the air, haggling, shouting, the rhythmic clang of metal on metal.

He moved through the crowd, his hand instinctively resting on the sidearm concealed beneath his jacket. He wasn’t expecting open hostility, but caution was ingrained in him. Years of service with the Aegis Directorate had taught him to expect the unexpected.

He spotted a small, dimly lit stall tucked away in a corner. A woman sat behind a cluttered counter, her face obscured by a wide-brimmed hat. She was sorting through a pile of data chips, her fingers moving with practiced speed.

This was Lyra. The contact Jaxx had provided. An information broker with a reputation for discretion and a knack for finding things that were supposed to be lost.

He approached the stall. “Lyra?”

The woman didn’t look up. “Depends who’s asking.” Her voice was low and gravelly, roughened by years of smoke and secrets.

“Investigator Varrick. Aegis Directorate.” He flashed his identification chip.

She finally raised her head, her eyes, dark and piercing, assessing him with cool detachment. She was Ky’thanian, he noted. The high cheekbones, the copper skin, the intricate tattoos that snaked across her exposed arms. He remembered reading about Ky’thanian culture. A proud, fiercely independent people, resistant to Concord control.

“An Aegis investigator,” she said, her tone dripping with skepticism. “What could you possibly want from me?”

“I’m investigating a trade dispute. A missing scientist. I understand you have…access to information.”

Lyra’s lips curved into a wry smile. “Everyone has access to information, investigator. The trick is knowing what to do with it.” She paused, her gaze unwavering. “And knowing who to trust.”

“I’m willing to pay,” Kaelen said, placing a handful of Concord credits on the counter.

Lyra didn’t bother to count the money. “Credits aren’t everything. Information has a price, but it’s not always measured in currency.” She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a whisper. “What are you really looking for, investigator? Because I suspect this missing scientist is just the tip of a very large iceberg.”

Kaelen hesitated. He hadn’t even begun the investigation, and already he was facing questions he wasn’t prepared to answer. He hadn’t expected to encounter resistance so quickly.

“Just a routine inquiry,” he said, trying to sound convincing.

Lyra’s laugh was short and humorless. “Routine. In Aerilon? There’s no such thing.” She tapped a data chip with a long, slender finger. “I have something you might find…interesting. It concerns your missing scientist. But be warned, investigator. Some doors are best left unopened.”

She slid the chip across the counter. As Kaelen reached for it, a commotion erupted near the warehouse entrance. Shouts, the sound of breaking glass, the heavy thud of boots on the grimy floor.

Lyra’s eyes narrowed. “Looks like your ‘routine inquiry’ just got a little more complicated.”

“Looks like your ‘routine inquiry’ just got a little more complicated.”

Kaelen glanced towards the source of the disturbance. Three figures in the grey uniforms of the Aerilon Dockworkers’ Collective were roughing up a smaller, wiry man. The man was pleading, his voice lost in the echoing cavern of the underbelly market. Dockworkers weren’t security. They moved freight, maintained the aging infrastructure, and generally stayed out of law enforcement matters. This wasn't a simple dispute.

“What’s going on?” Kaelen asked Lyra, his hand still hovering over the data chip.

“Territorial dispute, most likely,” she said, her tone nonchalant. “The Collective and the Scavengers have been vying for control of Sector Gamma for months. Mostly petty theft, extortion. Sometimes it escalates.” She gestured with her chin towards the struggling man. “That’s Renek. A tech scavenger. Finds discarded components, repairs them, sells them on. Annoying to the Collective because he undercuts their salvage crews.”

Kaelen’s investigative instincts flared. This wasn't random. "They’re being…thorough."

Lyra shrugged. “They send a message. Aerilon operates on messages, investigator. Loud ones.”

He watched as one of the dockworkers kicked Renek, sending him sprawling. Kaelen knew he should remain detached, an observer. But the brutality felt…wrong. He activated his wrist comm. “Varrick to Directorate Security. Requesting backup in Sector Gamma, level three. Possible assault in progress.”

“Acknowledged, Varrick. ETA five minutes.” The clipped response felt distant, inadequate.

He turned back to Lyra. “This is a typical night?”

“Oh, far from the worst,” she replied dryly. “Up above, in the Zenith district, they’re sipping synth-wine and discussing philosophical nuances. Down here, we’re just trying to survive another cycle.” She glanced around the stall, her eyes scanning the haphazard collection of data chips, salvaged tech, and illicit goods. “Aerilon is a layered city, investigator. The higher you go, the cleaner, the brighter, the more…disconnected it becomes. The Zenith pretends this doesn’t exist. They need us to be invisible.”

Kaelen took the data chip. “And you thrive in the invisibility.”

“I adapt.” Lyra’s expression was unreadable. "Take a look around. Feel the weight of it. The Zenith is built on the backs of those rotting in the core."

He did. The air was thick with the smell of recycled water, stale food, and something acrid, metallic. The walls were stained with grime, patched with makeshift repairs. The flickering neon signs of the market stalls cast long, distorted shadows. This wasn't just decay. It was systemic neglect. A deliberate squeezing of resources.

The sounds of the scuffle intensified. Kaelen saw Renek was now bleeding from a gash on his forehead. Time to intervene. "My backup will be here soon. I'm going to see if I can help."

Lyra merely raised an eyebrow. “Be my guest, investigator. Just remember, down here, there are no heroes. Only survivors.”

Arrival and Scrutiny: Customs and First Impressions

Kaelen knelt beside Renek, applying pressure to the bleeding cut. The dockworker groaned, clutching his head. A small crowd had gathered, murmuring and shifting uneasily. Directorate security was still minutes away. He glanced at Lyra, who remained impassive, leaning against a stack of crates. Her arms were crossed, her expression hinting at amusement, or perhaps something colder.

“You alright?” Kaelen asked Renek, his voice clipped.

Renek blinked, trying to focus. “Just a…a disagreement. Happens all the time.” He winced as Kaelen tightened the makeshift bandage. “They wanted a cut of my earnings. For ‘protection’.”

“Protection from what?” Kaelen asked, his gaze sweeping the faces in the crowd. Most averted his eyes.

“From everyone,” Renek mumbled. “From the Zenith security, from the gangs, from…everything.”

Lyra scoffed. “Protection racket is a generous term. It’s theft, plain and simple.”

Kaelen ignored her, focusing on Renek. “You report this to the authorities?”

“What’s the point? They’re part of it.” Renek spat on the ground. “They take their share. And then they pretend to be surprised when things go wrong.”

The rumble of approaching speeders cut through the noise. Three Directorate security vehicles screeched to a halt, disgorging a team of armored officers. They moved with practiced efficiency, scanning the area, their weapons raised.

“What’s the situation?” a gruff voice barked. It was Sergeant Tarris, a veteran officer Kaelen had worked with on a few cases.

“Minor altercation,” Kaelen said, standing up. “Assault. Victim receiving medical attention.”

Tarris glanced at Renek, then at the gathering crowd. “Just another night in the undercity.” He signaled to his officers. “Disperse the onlookers. Take statements. And find whoever did this.”

“They already know who did it,” Lyra said, her voice sharp. “Three men in grey jackets. They left heading towards Sector Delta. Ask around. Everyone knows them.”

Tarris shot Lyra a hostile look. “And you are?”

“A concerned citizen,” she replied smoothly. “Someone who sees what happens down here every day.”

Tarris grunted, clearly unimpressed. “Right. Just stay out of the way.” He turned back to Kaelen. “What are you doing here, Varrick? Thought you were investigating a missing scientist.”

“Multi-tasking,” Kaelen said, keeping his tone neutral. “Getting a feel for the environment. Understanding the…local dynamics.”

Tarris snorted. “Waste of time. This is just a cesspool. Nothing but criminals and malcontents. You won't find any answers down here.”

Kaelen didn’t respond. He watched as Tarris and his officers began their investigation, their methods predictably heavy-handed. They questioned witnesses with barely concealed contempt, their accusations laced with threats. The crowd quickly dispersed, melting back into the shadows.

---

The security team finished their questioning and left. Kaelen turned to Lyra. "They didn't seem to appreciate your help."

“They don't appreciate anyone who shines a light on their failures,” Lyra said, adjusting the collar of her jacket. “They prefer the darkness. It makes their job easier.”

Kaelen felt a familiar frustration building. The Aegis Directorate was supposed to be a force for order, for justice. But too often, he found himself protecting the system, not the people it was meant to serve.

“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “I need to file a report. And then I need to speak with someone who might actually know something about Dr. Thorne.”

“I can help with that,” Lyra said, leading the way through the maze of stalls. “I know a few people who move in the shadows. People who hear things. People who see things.”

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the only sound the rhythmic clang of machinery and the murmur of distant voices. The market was slowly coming to life, stalls reopening, vendors hawking their wares. The smell of spiced food mingled with the ever-present stench of decay.

“You’re Ky’thanian, aren’t you?” Kaelen asked, breaking the silence.

Lyra glanced at him, a flicker of surprise in her eyes. “You noticed.”

“The way you carry yourself. The subtle details of your clothing. And the way you look at Aerilon. Like it’s a foreign occupation.”

Lyra smiled, a thin, brittle expression. “You’re observant, investigator. I thought you might be.”

“Ky’than is one of the major resource suppliers to the Concord, isn’t it?” Kaelen continued. “Mining, energy production…?”

“We provide what the Zenith demands,” Lyra said, her voice tight. “In exchange for…what? A few scraps of technology? A promise of protection? We've been giving to the Concord for generations, and what have we gotten in return? Exploitation. Disrespect. And a slow, steady erosion of our culture.”

Kaelen knew the history. Ky’than had been a fiercely independent planet before joining the Concord. Their resistance had been brutal, but ultimately futile. The Concord had offered them a deal: resources in exchange for peace. But the terms of the deal had been rigged from the start, ensuring that Ky’than remained dependent on the Concord’s goodwill.

“It sounds like you’re not a fan of the Concord,” Kaelen said, carefully.

“I’m a Ky’thanian,” Lyra replied, her eyes fixed on the distance. “That should be answer enough.”

---

They reached the edge of the market, where the cobbled streets gave way to a narrow alleyway. Lyra stopped in front of a dilapidated building, its windows boarded up, its walls covered in graffiti.

“This is where we need to be,” she said. “My contact operates from here.”

Kaelen hesitated. The place looked like a deathtrap. “What kind of contact?”

“Someone who knows how to find things. Someone who doesn’t ask too many questions.”

Lyra pushed open the door, revealing a dark, cramped interior. The air was thick with the smell of smoke and stale alcohol. A single flickering lamp illuminated a makeshift bar, behind which stood a hulking figure with a shaved head and numerous cybernetic implants.

“Jaxx,” Lyra said, approaching the bar. “It’s been a while.”

The figure, Jaxx, turned around, his expression unreadable. He scanned Kaelen with cold, calculating eyes. “Well, well. What have we here? A Directorate investigator. Lost your way?”

“I’m looking for information,” Kaelen said, keeping his voice steady. “About a missing scientist. Dr. Elias Thorne.”

Jaxx chuckled, a harsh, grating sound. “Thorne, you say? Heard the name. What’s it worth to you?”

Kaelen knew this dance. Information always came at a price. “What do you want?”

Jaxx leaned closer, his voice a low growl. “Let’s just say I have a few…outstanding debts. And a fondness for rare Ky’thanian artifacts.” He glanced at Lyra. “I hear your people have a knack for acquiring such things.”

Lyra’s jaw tightened. “Don’t even start.”

Kaelen held up a hand. “I can arrange payment. Credits. Whatever you need. Just tell me what you know about Dr. Thorne.”

Jaxx grinned, revealing a row of metallic teeth. “Patience, investigator. Let’s talk business first. Credits are good. Artifacts are better. And a little…discretion is priceless.” He paused, his eyes locking with Kaelen’s. “Because in this city, everyone has secrets. And some secrets are worth killing for.”

Kaelen felt a shiver run down his spine. He had a feeling that this investigation was about to become a lot more complicated. And a lot more dangerous. He exchanged a look with Lyra. She returned his gaze with a warning, a silent message that they were now wading into very murky waters. He had a sense they would either find answers here, or disappear into the shadows of Aerilon forever.

He had a sense they would either find answers here, or disappear into the shadows of Aerilon forever.

“Discretion is…understandable,” Kaelen said slowly, choosing his words with care. “I’m not authorized to divulge certain aspects of the Directorate’s work. But I assure you, this isn’t about hindering any ongoing operations. It’s a missing person. A respected scientist.”

Jaxx scoffed. “Respected by whom? The Directorate? That’s a laugh. Everything you people do is cloaked in secrecy and spun to fit your narrative.” He wiped down the bar with a dirty rag, deliberately ignoring Kaelen’s attempt at reassurance. “Thorne…he was asking questions. Dangerous questions. About the Obsidian Fields. About the Concord’s real purpose in controlling them.”

Lyra’s hand tightened on the strap of her bag. “What kind of questions?”

“The kind that get people disappeared,” Jaxx said with a shrug. “He was poking around old data caches, accessing restricted archives. He thought he’d found something the Concord didn’t want anyone to know.”

“And you know what that something is?” Kaelen pressed.

Jaxx let out another grating chuckle. “I know enough to stay alive. But I heard whispers. Something about…anomalies. Residual energy signatures from before the Concord. Before the Stabilization. Something buried deep within the Fields.”

Suddenly, a harsh voice cut through the smoky air. “Hold it right there.”

Two figures materialized from the shadows, clad in the dark grey uniforms of Aerilon Station Security. Their faces were impassive, their weapons holstered but visible. The one in the lead, a woman with a severe haircut and piercing blue eyes, stepped forward.

“Directorate investigator Kaelen. We’ve been expecting you.” She didn't offer a greeting, merely stated it as a fact. “Standard arrival protocols require a full security assessment, particularly for personnel involved in sensitive investigations.” She glanced at Lyra, her expression hardening. “And your…associate. Identification, please.”

Lyra’s response was clipped and cold. “Ky’thanian Diplomatic Courier. My credentials are in order.”

The Security officer didn’t bother checking. “Regardless. You will both accompany us for processing. Standard procedure. We need to verify your purpose on Aerilon, and ensure you are not carrying any unauthorized materials.” She turned to Jaxx. “And you, Jaxx. Mind if we have a word? Your establishment seems to attract…unusual clientele.”

Jaxx’s metallic teeth glinted in the dim light. He didn’t seem surprised. “Always a pleasure to cooperate with the authorities,” he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

Kaelen knew this wasn't just routine. It was a power play. A deliberate attempt to isolate him, to control the flow of information. He glanced at Lyra, a silent question in his eyes. They were walking into a meticulously constructed trap, and the game had just begun.

The sample ends here.