Kael Vorne crouched behind a jagged dune, the crimson sand of Vyris biting into the knees of his weathered armor. The desert planet's air was thick with the tang of ozone and scorched metal, a storm brewing in the churning sky above, its purples and reds swirling like a bruise across the stars. His pulse rifle hummed softly in his gloved hands, its scope trained on a Krythar dreadnought hovering a kilometer out, its angular steel hull etched with glowing crimson runes. The ship's cannons pulsed with menace, a reminder of the galaxy's fractured state - thirty years since the Unity Accord collapsed, and chaos reigned. Kael didn't care about unity or the wars that followed. He cared about survival, and survival meant credits.

The job was simple, or so Vira Solen had claimed. The Synthari scientist's voice had crackled through his comm two days ago, her cybernetic tone clipped and precise. "Infiltrate a Pyrothan hive beneath Vyris's crust. Steal data on their immunity to the Luminari Plague. The pay's enough for a jump-ship ticket - any system you want." Kael had grunted his agreement, his dark eyes narrowing at the holo-image of her silver, circuit-laced face. The credits were good enough to buy passage off this galactic crucible, far from Krythar dreadnoughts, Varkis scavengers, and the plague that hollowed out its victims. Failure, though, meant death - or worse, infection. Kael had seen what the plague did, and he wasn't about to let it claim him.

He adjusted his rifle's scope, the hum of its charge a steady rhythm against the distant rumble of thunder. The dune's shadow offered cover, but the sand was hot, searing through the worn padding of his armor. His breath was shallow, filtered through a battered rebreather that tasted of rust. Vyris was a hellhole - crimson dunes stretching to the horizon, punctuated by fissures that glowed with molten light, as if the planet itself were bleeding. The Pyrothans, ancient and merciless, had stirred from millennia of slumber, their hives pulsing beneath the crust. Kael didn't know why they'd awoken, only that their power was a death sentence for anyone foolish enough to cross them. He wasn't here to fight them - just to steal from them and get out.

A memory surfaced, unbidden, sharp as a plasma bolt. Ten years ago, on a fringe colony at the galaxy's edge, Kael and his sister Mara had scavenged a derelict ship under a starlit sky. She'd been the brave one, always a step ahead, her hands steady as she pried open a drone's casing. "You're too slow, Kael!" she'd teased, her laughter bright, her eyes sparkling with mischief. They'd been a team, surviving raiders and hunger, dreaming of a better life. But the Luminari Plague came, and those eyes turned vacant, her body marching into a swarm of glowing husks. Kael had run, leaving her to die, the guilt a weight he'd carried ever since. Now, he was a Wastelander, taking the galaxy's dirtiest jobs, sentiment a luxury he couldn't afford.

He shook off the memory, his jaw tightening, his gruff voice a low growl. "Not now." The mission was all that mattered. Vira's instructions were clear: the hive entrance was a fissure half a kilometer west, its molten glow a beacon in the desert. The data held the key to an antigen, she'd said - something to stop the plague's spread. Kael didn't care about saving the galaxy; he cared about the credits. But the thought of the plague, of Mara's hollow eyes, made his grip on the rifle tighten, a flicker of something deeper stirring beneath his cynicism.

The dreadnought's cannons flared, plasma bolts streaking into the distance, likely targeting Varkis bio-ships or human pirates scavenging the dunes. Kael seized the distraction, slinging his rifle over his shoulder and sprinting across the sand, his boots kicking up crimson dust. The storm's wind howled, stinging his exposed skin, but he reached the fissure - a jagged wound in the planet's crust, its edges glowing with molten light. The air shimmered with heat, the scent of sulfur choking, and a low, resonant chant emanated from below, like the heartbeat of a dying star. Kael's pulse quickened, his dark eyes scanning the fissure's depths. The Pyrothans were down there, and so was his ticket out.

He pulled a grappling hook from his pack, its cable glinting in the storm's lightning. Vira's warning echoed in his mind: "The Pyrothans and Crysalith are awake. They purge 'weak' species. Don't get caught." Kael didn't plan to. He secured the hook, tested its hold, and began his descent, the molten glow swallowing him as he vanished into the hive's heart.