Repairs had consumed the better part of two days. Fourteen hours earlier, the USS Henry Hudson arrived in-system as support. The Challenger-class light cruiser had intercepted the Thunderchild’s probe during its own comm relay deployment operations deeper in the Expanse. Without hesitation, it relayed the transmission onward to Framheim and altered course to Paldor.

By the time the Thunderchild stabilized its power grid and sealed the last plasma breach, the Hudson was already coordinating recovery efforts. Shuttles ferried medical teams across to the battered refinery platforms. Containment scaffolds bristled around crumpled superstructures where the Secundi technicians worked alongside Starfleet and Klingon engineers, their movements careful and practiced.

The T’Ong maintained a geosynchronous position above Refinery Platform Eight. L’Dren oversaw the replacement of disruptor relays and hull plates with a precision that even impressed Th’iveqan.

The Hudson also brought orders… Thunderchild and the T’Ong were to report to Framheim for a full debrief once repairs were completed.

Jast had acknowledged it calmly, K’trok had done so with a low sound that carried resignation more than irritation.

The last of K’Rath’s warriors, abandoned during his retreat, now sat in the Thunderchild’s brig behind shimmering cell barriers. They had fought like cornered animals before capture, screaming battle cries until exhaustion dropped them to their knees. Each expected execution. Each awaited K’trok’s blade.

Which made the meeting in the forward observation lounge all the more delicate.

Jast stood near the viewport with hands lightly clasped, the faint rust and gold bands of Paldor’s atmosphere flickering across his uniform. K’trok joined him without announcement, the bulk of the Klingon’s presence filling the room like a shift in gravity.

“You should not have taken them alive,” K’trok said in a deep grumble.

Jast arched a brow. “Why not?”

K’trok’s voice rumbled like a stormfront rolling over stone. “They followed a traitor, but they followed him as soldiers. To leave them caged dishonors the one thing they still possess.”

“We do not execute prisoners on my ship,” Jast replied. “Not even your soldiers.”

“They are not mine,” K’trok said sharply. “Their blood belongs to a PetaQ. They could have stood against K’Rath, yet they chose not to.”

Jast turned from the viewport. “That is why they must be returned. Framheim has requested our presence for a full debrief. Captain Kurnath will be there to receive them. He is your Empire’s designated expedition commander in this region.”

K’trok scoffed. “Kurnath is not known to be a lapdog of the House of Duras, but he is nonetheless a politician. A man who knows the words others wish to hear.”

“Then give him the chance to prove himself,” Jast said. “Let him judge his own soldiers. Let your Empire account for its own crimes.”

K’trok’s jaw clenched. For a moment, Jast suspected the Klingon might refuse outright, pride held taut as a drawn bowstring.

But something shifted in K’trok’s eyes. Respect, perhaps. Or the recognition that carrying out executions aboard a Federation starship would fracture whatever fragile alliance had formed in the storm.

K’trok exhaled slowly. “Very well. They will face Klingon judgment. Not mine… but not yours.”

“Thank you,” Jast said.

“Do not thank me, Captain. I do this so the matter ends cleanly. Nothing more.”

Yet Jast saw the truth beneath the gruff tone. K’trok was choosing restraint and doing so because Jast had asked. That meant something.

Before either could say more, the Secundi emissary arrived with a formal invitation carved in a small, thin sheet of blue-gray stone.

A ceremony. A ritual of gratitude. Held on Secundus, the moon where the Secundi honored the storms that had given them life.

K’trok blinked once. “A ritual?”

“It seems we are the guests of honor,” Jast said. “Both of us.”

_________________________________

The moon of Secundus was quiet in a way that the gas giant Paldor was not. The shuttle touched down on a broad expanse of pale stone worn smooth by ages of dust and wind. Jagged crystal pillars rose around the landing zone site, shimmering with internal light, pulsing like a heartbeat.

Secundi elders waited in a semicircle. Tall. Lithe. Pale skin catching the faint glow as though carved from moonlight. Their wide nasal ridges and elongated limbs gave them an ethereal presence, almost statuesque. Their transparent robes were patterned in swirling gradients that mirrored the storm bands of Paldor.

Seren Athell stepped forward with serene composure.

“Welcome, protectors of our living world,” she said.

K’trok’s brows furrowed. “Your world?”

Athell gestured to the horizon where the gas giant dominated the sky, its turbulent atmosphere shifting in great curls of violet and bronze. “Paldor is not a world. Paldor is a being. A force without malice. A presence that gives, and in giving, shapes us.”

She guided them toward a spiraling ramp carved into the natural basin. As they descended, each footstep triggered a response from the pulsing light of the crystalline pillars. The sound vibrated through stone and bone alike, creating a sense that the ground itself breathed.

Jast whispered, “This place feels alive.”

“It is alive,” Athell said. “All life in this system exists because Paldor hurled it outward. Stones cast from storms became the seeds of our moons. Minerals shaped our blood. Heat and pressure gave us atmosphere. Paldor is our first ancestor.”

K’trok nodded with unexpected respect. “A worthy lineage indeed.”

At the center of the amphitheater lay the Storm-Kissed Stones. Hundreds of them. Each shaped, not by hands, but by the violent birth throes of Paldor’s storms. Each bore patterns formed by atmospheric pressure, particles, and time. Marked in ruts and isotope inclusions, their presence seemed to vibrate within those assembled around them. Iridescent streaks shifted as Jast approached, reflecting starlight in dazzling ripples.

Athell walked over to them with outstretched hands, her eyes closed. Her hands hovered over each section a moment before moving along to the next grouping. Eventually, she stopped, feeling something deep within from one of the stones. She lifted two stones set apart from the rest.

She offered one to Jast. It was smooth and gently curved; its surface etched with natural lines that flowed like water across its small surface. Its colors shifted between silver and violet.

“You placed yourself between us and exploitation,” Athell said with a small smile. “This stone recognizes a shield raised in protection.”

Next, she offered the second to K’trok. A heavier stone, edges jagged and rough… darker. Its spiral striations mirrored the gold and red of Paldor itself.

“You answered when the Great Gods of the storms called for a guardian. This stone honors that strength, a strength you chose knowing the cost.”

K’trok bowed his head briefly, accepting the gift with both hands. “NuqneH.”

Athell’s expression warmed. “So long as these stones endure, your names will be remembered by our people. I expect now we will see more travel in our region… meet more races. Thank you for showing us that you are not all demons.”

The assembled Secundi stepped forward then, forming a circle around them. They inhaled together, then released a harmonic chant that blended with the crystalline pillars’ natural resonance. The sound swelled like thunder moving across distant clouds. It was not music, yet it was a song. Jast and K’trok felt it vibrating in their bones. Startling at first, but them calming, like floods of warm water washing away a deep cold.

When the chant faded, Athell dipped her fingers into a basin of shimmering red mineral water and marked Jast’s palm with a curved line.

“A symbol of shelter.”

Next, she marked K’trok’s palm with a sharply angled line.

“A symbol of guardianship.”

The marks glowed softly before fading into the skin.

For a long moment, the two commanders stood side by side, surrounded by the voices of a people who believed their storms were gods. The emotion of it was quiet, but profound.

K’trok finally spoke. “Klingons have many rituals. This one speaks to my soul in a way I have not before encountered.”

Jast smiled, looking over at the towering Klingon warrior. “I am honored to stand with you today.”

K’trok gave a single, firm nod. “Then let it be known. If ever fate calls us together again, I will answer.”

“As will I,” Jast replied.

The Secundi watched them with reverence as the ceremony drew to a close.

Above them, Paldor’s storms churned in majestic silence, bearing witness to a new bond forged not in battle, but in reverence for the gifts of an alien people.