The red sun of the Morska System burned brightly, its glow painting her second planet in hues of crimson and rust. From the viewport of the freighter Vornak, orbiting high above, K’trok gazed upon the remains of his once proud house. The foundries spread across the surface were silent, their smokestacks long cold. Assembly yards, once active with the building of small ships for the Empire, now littered the plains abandoned and stripped of any value. In the distance, a single silhouette hung in the planet’s only remaining orbital drydock.

The T’Ong.

Commissioned in 2280, the T’Ong was a K’t’inga-class cruiser, a weapon of the Klingon Empire forged in the crucible of tensions with the Federation. K’trok’s granduncle, K’Temoc, had commanded her through those shadowed years, his name etched in blood and glory. K’Temoc, brother of Davok, the legendary Master Smith of House Varek, whose weapons are said to hum with the spirit of those who wield them. In her prime over a hundred years ago, she carved a path through the Archanis System, striking deep into Federation territory, her campaign still dissected in the War College as a masterwork of audacity and guile.

Chosen for a mission classified at the highest levels, her crew slept in cryostasis for over seven decades to accomplish her objective. When her crew awakened in 2365, they found a galaxy transformed. The Empire and Federation were now allies, and Qo’noS had new enemies. The T’Ong, technologically outdated by then, was refit and upgraded, her crew reassimilated into the KDF. She was pressed back into the fleet, proudly serving the Empire once again.

She fought through the Dominion War, her aged hull resisting Cardassian spiral-wave disruptors, Dominion polaron beams, and Breen disruptors. She gained glory, the name T’Ong reborn in fire and blood. This ship, one of the oldest in service during the war, made it all the way to the invasion of Cardassia in 2375 and survived. Battered and severely damaged, but intact. Soon after, as the Empire started to rebuild and replenish from its heavy losses, the T’Ong was decommissioned. Honored, yes, but cast aside nonetheless. Left to rot in the drydock above Morska, a relic of a prouder age.

Until K’trok returned.

He stood at the viewport, hands clasped behind his back, his broad frame clad in the battered armor he had worn for years as an officer in the KDF. His eyes dark and unyielding, traced the T’Ong’s scarred hull, her nacelles dark but unbroken, her engines cold. For over a year, he had clawed his way through the underbelly of the Empire, trading with smugglers, bartering with Houses great and minor, and sacrificing what little remained of his House’s wealth… all to bring the T’Ong back to life.

The shipyards of Moska were dead, the planetary forges extinguished, but K’trok had summoned the last of the artisans of House Varek, grizzled smiths who hammered hull plating by hand, their chants echoing the old songs of the Empire. Her disruptors were scavenged from the shattered hulks of Vor’cha-class cruisers, her plasma coils pried from the wreckage of Dominion War battlefields. Her warp core was stitched together from the remains of three separate failed cores, each cannibalized for a single functioning matrix. A ship of ghosts, resurrected by sheer will.

The hiss of docking bay doors broke his reverie. Three Kzinti strode into the freighter’s hold, their lean, feline forms illuminated by the dim lights. Their fur gleamed faintly, and their fanged grins bared a predator’s arrogance. The largest, a scar-faced male with burning eyes, carried a case stamped with Romulan markings.

“Lord K’trok,” the Kzin rasped in guttural tlhIngan Hol. “Your components. Type-VII plasma relays. All tested and fully operational, as promised.”

K’trok’s nostrils flared at the stink of these creatures, his gaze looking over the case. “Stolen, no doubt.”

The Kzin’s ears flattened, though his grin held. “What difference does it make? You Klingons steal from those weaker than you. We merely take from warehouses.”

K’trok’s jaw tightened, a low rumble building in his chest. He took a single step forward, his boots ringing against the deck plating. The Kzin’s smirlk faded, his clawed hand twitching towards the weapon at his hip. The air grew thick, charged with the promise of violence.

“You will not question Klingon honor, scavenger,” K’trok said, his voice a blade’s edge. “Not in my presence.”

He turned slightly, motioning towards the cargo transporter with a gauntleted hand. “My engineers will inspect and verify each piece…”

The Kzin hissed slightly under his breath but complied, their movements sharp and clearly resentful. K’trok watched in silence, his gaze drifting back to the drydock. The T’Ong hung there, her hull catching the red light of Morska’s star, a faint gleam tracing her curves like blood in the veins of a sleeping giant.

“She was glorious once,” said Sogh Kovor, stepping to K’trok’s side at the viewport. The young officer’s armor was scuffed, patched with mismatched plates, but his eyes burned with pride. “The songs say she single-handedly took Archanis from the humans.”

K’trok nodded, a faint grin on his face. “She did more than that. She proved House Varek was more than just a minor house of artisans, but that we could carve our name in the stars.”

He exhaled, a sound closer to a growl. “My father squandered it all. Sold our lands, our mines, our honor, all in an attempt to curry favor with the House of Duras. My grandfather’s body was barely cold before Morak plotted our house on a course to ruin. It pains me he was already dead by the time I came back to challenge him, choked on his own despair and bloodwine.”

His eyes fixed again on the T’Ong, her running lights flickering to life as the plasma conduits were connected. “All that our forebearers built is gone… all but her. Through her, House Varek will rise again.”

The Kzinti finished unloading, their crates transported over to the T’Ong. The scar-faced leader dared a final glance back, his yellow eyes meeting K’trok’s. The Klingon held his gaze, unblinking, until the Kzin looked away, tail twitching as they slunk back to their shuttle.

“We should teach them the meaning of Klingon honor,” Kovor said through gritted teeth.

“Let them go,” K’trok said, his voice low. “Their stench will linger long enough.”

The T’Ong stirred. Dim lights blinking across her flanks, her sensor arrays glowing faintly like the eyes of an ancient beast rousing from a long slumber. K’trok straightened, the ghost of a smile tugging at his scarred lip.

“Blood and steel,” he murmured, more to himself than Kovor. “That is all a Klingon needs.”

The drydock’s arms began to retract, releasing the T’Ong into the void of space. Her engine let out a low, resonant pulse that vibrated through the freighter’s hull. K’trok turned from the viewport, his cloak sweeping behind him as he strode towards the transporter.

“Prepare the remaining crew,” he ordered Kovor. “We take her to Qo’noS. Let the Empire see that despite my father’s stupidity and Toral’s best efforts, House Varek remains.”