Page 28 of Galactic Sentinels, Vol. 1 (Chronicles of Pherebos #1)

Pherebos.

I'm losing patience. It’s been over a week since Ileana vanished—taking off in Akifumi’s single-seater like a ghost in the night.

We’ve managed to track her path, but we’re still lagging behind my mentor’s much faster ship. I keep asking myself: what could’ve pushed her to such an extreme? Things felt right between us. I thought we were finally in sync. So why did she run? Why run from me? I’m her Dedicated Soul… aren’t I?

Akifumi thinks she might’ve killed her sister and her lover, then bolted the first chance she got. I haven’t told him she already tried to escape with SIL once before. I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

I’m clinging to what I believe, and Wingo’s with me.She didn’t do it.I know. I feel it too.

I take a deep breath and tap the console as we begin docking. SIL finally aligns with Akifumi’s single-seater, which has been drifting in space, motionless.

‘’My scanner isn’t picking up any signs of life on board,’’ SILMAR reports flatly .

My chest tightens. If my Dedicated Soul has died… I won’t be far behind. I need to make arrangements for Wingo—fast. I won’t let my old friend suffer because of my end.

‘ ’I still don’t see your link, ’’Wingo confirms sadly.

The three of us stand in silence as SILMAR locks the airlock between our ship and Akifumi’s. When the communication hatch finally opens, I step through first, dreading what I might find. The cold inside hits me like a punch.

The single-seater’s AI is offline. I tell SILMAR to reboot it.

While I wait, I scan the cabin. It’s empty. The bunk’s unfolded but untouched. The only place left is the hygiene pod—its door sealed shut.

After a tense few minutes, SILMAR restores the ship’s systems. The door controls come back online. I rush to the rear, desperate to find her. Akifumi stays behind, questioning the console about what happened before the shutdown.

But there’s no sign of her.

I’m devastated. I walk over to Akifumi, trying to keep it together, and start pressing him for answers.

He explains that the ship was hit by an initial electromagnetic discharge that damaged its shielding. The AI kicked into emergency backup mode—standard protocol. But then, everything just… stopped. Probably a second EM pulse.

‘’Smugglers?’’I ask, recognizing the tactic. ‘’It’s an old trick.’ ’

‘’All signs point to it,’’he confirms. ‘’The last coordinates logged during the attack are several parsecs from here.

They must’ve knocked out the AI, then towed the ship in stealth mode—waiting for the cold and oxygen deprivation to do their work.

Once enough time passed, they docked and came to collect whatever was left. ’’

‘’Ileana,’’I whisper, my voice cracking under the weight of dread.

‘ ’Ileana,’’ Akifumi echoes, grim.

My mind spirals. What would traffickers want with a young human woman? I don’t need to imagine fifty scenarios. Just one is enough—and it’s horrifying. I glance at my mentor. He’s already reached the same conclusion.

An hour later, I leave Akifumi behind in his now-functional single-seater and set off again with Wingo. Our destination: the nearest slave market.

I run final checks as SIL descends toward CS-8.

It’s been a while since I passed through this Coalition splinter base, but it’s still one of the biggest hubs in the twelfth southern parsec.

If anyone knows where the next auction is happening, it’s here.

Akifumi’s intel was too vague—we need something solid.

I’m not my usual calm, detached self. They’ve taken my Dedicated Soul. That alone is enough to shake me to the core. And I still don’t understand why she ran from me in the first place .

Since then, I’ve been chasing her trail, feeling anxious and bitter. Not even Wingo—my loyal companion—can lift my spirits.

As soon as we land, I activate SIL’s security protocols and head straight for the bar at the far end of the dock.

It’s exactly how I remember it from two years ago, the last time I was here—right before I crossed paths with Wingo. This is where I lifted a sensitive list from a guy named Farid. I just hope he’s not around… or that he’s forgotten my face.

But honestly? I’ll do whatever it takes to get the information I need to find Ileana.

Until the auction, I don’t think she’s in immediate danger. Her captors will want to keep her healthy—she’ll fetch a better price that way. But the sooner I get her back, the sooner I’ll be able to breathe again. My breath has been shallow and erratic for days now.

When Wingo and I step into the bar, the place goes dead silent.

The room is packed—Humans, Vendors, Sadjims, Penubians, and all kinds of Coalition smugglers.

This isn’t some quiet little backwater like the one Ileana used to dream about.

These people? They’d sell their own kin for a few extra credits.

No question, our entrance has them on edge.

Me—the only known Asgarnian in this quadrant—and Wingo, who doesn’t even look like he belongs in this galaxy.

I can see it in their eyes: they’re calculating whether we’re worth the risk of capturing .

But luck’s on my side. I spot Rick in the back, slouched at a table.

I make my way across the bar. The crowd parts slowly, eyes following me. I stop in front of him.

He’s exactly how I remember him—massive build, hairy shoulders, arms spilling out of a filthy, reeking outfit. He’s sitting with a guy who looks just like him. With any luck, this one’s just as dim as the first.

“Prick! My man! So good to see you. How’ve you been?”

Both Humans stare at me with the alertness of a pagurod at sunrise. And if you’ve ever seen a pagurod in the morning, you know there’s not a whole lot going on upstairs.

“It’s Rick. Not Prick,” he corrects me, sounding unsure.

“Oh, right, sorry. I’m terrible with names,” I say, chuckling.

He stands up and offers a handshake. Just as I expected, he’s thrilled by the attention. Everyone’s watching now—even the guy next to him. He’s the one who knows an Asgarnian traveling with some weird alien creature. This is his moment of glory.

Without waiting, I sit down at their table. Wingo curls up at my feet.

Around us, the tension eases. Conversations pick back up.

“This is my brother, Nick,” Rick says. “Been a while since we’ve seen you around,” he adds, eyeing me with suspicion .

“Rick and Nick,” Wingo snorts. “Gotta love parents who put zero effort into naming their kids. Their aura’s weird, too. Like… muffled.”

“Don’t say it—I know. You don’t like them.”

“Hey, if I can’t speak my mind anymore… It’s like they’re sharing one brain between the two of them. You feel me?”

Unfazed, I nod politely to Nick and launch into a convoluted explanation.

“You know how it is, Prick—uh, Rick. One grain of sand in the gears and suddenly you’re neck-deep in trouble. So I’ve been laying low, trying to stay off the Confederation’s radar for a while.”

“Hey, was it you who sold my brother those landing struts?” Nick asks, squinting at me.

“Could be,” I reply casually. “Back in the day, I scavenged a few old Confed wrecks and stripped whatever parts I could find. But yeah, I guess I got on their radar after a while.”

“Well, your gear wasn’t exactly top quality,” he grumbles.

I give him a look of mock sympathy and just shrug.

“Not my fault, buddy. But hey, I’ve got something way better for you now. A real deal. One-of-a-kind stuff—galaxy exclusive.”

Both of them lean in, eyes gleaming with curiosity. They’re already imagining the rare score they’re about to make.

“Asgarnian weapons. Premium pieces.”

I drop the word Asgarnian like a bomb. It hits hard. I’ve got their full attention now—their greed practically radiating off them .

I pull out a tablet and show them a photo of the weapon: a double-bladed dagger, easily three feet long. To sell it better, I recorded a demo back on the SIL—me handling the blade with enough skill to make it look both deadly and desirable.

As soon as the video ends, Rick starts firing off questions.

“How many do you have? Where’d you get them? How much are you asking?”

“Whoa, slow down, Prick. Let’s start with that last one—because chances are, you can’t afford what I’m looking for.”

“My brother and I can get anything,” Nick cuts in, puffing out his chest.

“We’ll see about that. I’m tired of flying solo in that rust bucket of mine. I want to treat myself. Thinking of picking up a little slave to make life more comfortable…”

“Well, you’re in luck—we’ve got two for sale!” Rick grins.

“Careful now. I’m not looking for just any slave. I’ve always dreamed of owning a Human. Like you guys. Humans are just so… beautiful, don’t you think?”

“Ugh, stop it. You’re gonna make me puke—or laugh myself to death,” Wingo groans. “Can you feel that? Their aura’s pulsing with pride. These two morons, ugly as sin, actually took your compliment seriously.”

“But listen, Pherebos,” Nick tries to bargain, “we’ve got a young Polarienne. That’s even better than a Human, right? The other one’s a young male, if you’re into that. ”

These two are revolting. I have to force myself to keep a straight face just to get through this disgusting conversation.

“Yeah, that’s not gonna cut it, sorry guys. I’m not looking for bargain-bin slaves. I want a Human. Young. Black hair. Gray eyes, if possible. I want to choose her myself.”

I stand up, pretending to take my leave, and signal Wingo to follow. But a hand grabs my forearm.

“Wait!” Nick blurts out. “We know where you can find that.”

I stop and turn toward him, raising an eyebrow.

“You’ve got my full attention. I’m listening.”

“We don’t have what you’re looking for,” Rick admits, “but we know where to get it. That kind of info doesn’t come free, though.”

“I’m not giving you an Asgarnian weapon in exchange for some half-baked rumor. What do I look like, an idiot?”

“No, no!” Rick says quickly. “Pherebos, we swear—we can get you what you want. There’s a big slave market coming up. Biggest one in the sector. We can take you there. With us, you’ll get in no problem. It’s happening in ten days.”

I study them in silence. These two blockheads are seriously limited.

Not evil, just… dumb. They don’t even realize they’re about to hand me the coordinates to the auctionandescort me there in person.

Have they even figured out that the weapons will be the price I pay to buy Ileana back—and that they’ll walk away with nothing ?

When I realized Ileana was in the hands of traffickers—and that snatching her back wouldn’t be easy—I made a quick detour to MyFaS.

There, I forged replicas of so-called Asgarnian weapons.

No one’s ever seen the real thing, so all I have to do is claim they’re from my home planet. Their rarity will do the rest.

Now I’ve got ten double-bladed daggers in my possession, and I’m praying to the Currents that it’ll be enough to buy Ileana back. Assuming I can even find her.

“So, deal?” Rick presses.

Did I miss something? I was lost in thought—maybe I skipped a step in the negotiation? But one glance at Wingo confirms I didn’t. They’re just rushing things, nervous about my lack of enthusiasm.

“Deal,” I say, shaking hands with each of them.

These two will take me to the site of the next big slave auction—no strings attached.

“Prick, Dick, it’s a pleasure doing business with you,” I say with a wide grin.

“Rick and Nick!” Rick corrects automatically.

“Oh, right… me and names. Anyway, let me buy you guys a round to celebrate!”