The skyline of Veyron shimmered with gold-threaded sunlight as Kaela and Alenya strode down a wide promenade toward a massive structure that seemed to hum with silent gravity.
It wasn't just the size that made the Voidbank stand out. It was the way the air changed around it—quieter, denser, like the space between realities had thinned just enough to whisper.
The building was constructed from obsidian-veined alloys and shimmering prismglass, shaped into sharp curves that refracted ambient light in pulsing patterns. Suspended above the entrance, a massive sigil spun slowly: a floating cube fracturing into infinite mirrors before reforming.
Voidbank Central — Veyron Branch.
"Storage across the stars. Withdraw anywhere. Security beyond death."
"Still gives me the chills," Alenya muttered, adjusting her jacket. "You ever been inside one?"
Kaela shook her head. "Never needed one. Never had enough worth storing."
"Well, we do now. And if even half the stories about Xelthora are true, we'll need something safer than a duffel bag and a prayer."
What is a Voidbank?
Every major trade hub in the galaxy had at least one branch—Voidbanks, private institutions older than even the GCA itself. They specialized in one thing:
Dimensional vaults.
Constructed with ancient rune-tech and stabilized by qi-sync matrices, each vault was carved into a sub-pocket of folded space, keyed to a customer's QComm ID and qi signature. Most vaults allowed withdrawals anywhere via wrist command—but deposits could only be made at a verified bank site.
That was the catch.
It wasn't about inconvenience. It was about control. By forcing mercs, traders, and cultivators to deposit in-person, Voidbanks prevented the storage of cursed relics, forbidden cultivation manuals, and outlawed substances—things that could warp entire planetary ecosystems if left unchecked.
Even pirates respected Voidbanks. Rumor had it that one captain tried to breach a vault. His body was returned… without a soul.
Inside, the lobby was calm and clinical, almost like a temple. Vault representatives—cloaked Syneths and marble-skinned Kamarians stood behind floating counters. Dozens of mercenaries moved through the space, some syncing weapons, others upgrading accounts. A Varyx warlord argued with a Crystalline teller over vault size, his tail flicking anxiously.
"I'm not paying extra for spiritual isolation, I'm not storing cursed items—"
A polite smile from the teller. "Protocol, sir. Any item radiating post-tribulation aura requires a nullification chamber."
Kaela stepped up to a free booth.
The representative—a Nyari with skin like starlight and eyes that shimmered with galaxies—offered a small nod. "Welcome. Initiating vault sync."
A circular pad rose from the counter. Kaela placed her hand on it. Her QComm blinked to life.
"Confirm identity. Please maintain spiritual focus…"
She closed her eye and let her qi flow gently into the matrix. A faint hum rose around her fingertips.
"Signature verified," the Nyari said. "Vault tier: Bronze-Level Starter. Storage limit: 200 kilograms. Spatial buffer: 4 cubic meters. Withdrawal permissions: galaxy-wide. Deposit permissions: branch-limited."
A small crystal cube shimmered into her palm. Her Vaultkey.
"Welcome to the Voidbank, Strayflare," the Nyari intoned.
Kaela stared at the cube. It pulsed with her qi, cool and faintly alive.
Alenya was finishing up at the next booth. She had a higher-tier vault—naturally. Probably from her past merc jobs. She waved her own Vaultkey, a sleek ring set with a glowing rune.
"Got yours?"
Kaela nodded, tucking the cube into her belt pouch. "Yeah. Starter vault. It'll do."
"We'll need to use it smart," Alenya said. "Ammo. Tech. Maybe even store a backup QComm or manual scrolls in case we get separated."
"Think they allow snacks?"
Alenya smirked. "You'd be surprised."
As they walked out, the midday light was already shifting into sunset gold.
"We're almost set," Kaela said, feeling the weight of the Vaultkey against her side. "Now we just need credits."
Alenya flexed her fingers, firelight sparking under her skin. "Let's go earn some."
The late afternoon sun cast long geometric shadows through Veyron's crystal arcways as Kaela and Alenya strolled through the Mercenary Registry District—a cluster of glass towers, info-hubs, and freelance boards alive with glowing requests.
Every few meters, virtual bulletin boards flickered with holographic bounties, contract listings, and private commissions:
"Lost cargo in quadrant 17—hazard pay available."
"Escort gig – high-end noble caravan, minor risk."
"Wanted: rogue Synth-killer. 25,000 QCredits. Dead preferred."
Alenya scrolled through options lazily on her wrist, squinting.
"Most of these are garbage," she muttered. "Low pay, high death rate. Classic fringe city bait."
Kaela paused at a screen listing high-paying odd jobs.
"Need power rerouted in lower wards."
"Medical assistant needed for one-day procedure."
"Document retrieval—expect spiritual resistance."
"Maybe that one," Kaela said, pointing at the last.
Alenya raised a brow. "You volunteering to get soul-scorched for a scroll?"
"I've had worse."
They exchanged a dry laugh before a commotion down the avenue made them pause.
A crowd had formed in front of a broadcast pillar, where a rotating news feed showed a woman in ministerial robes standing before a burning building. A subtitle streamed beneath her image:
"GCA condemns extremist activity in Ward 9. Citizens demand action against rising cultist presence."
Kaela and Alenya moved closer.
The crowd around them wasn't calm. Angry voices echoed in different languages, a few translated in real-time by floating drones.
"They took my brother last week! Nobody's doing anything!"
"I saw their symbols carved on the walls—void rings and blood suns!"
"Where are the EAC patrols now?! Too busy polishing their guns to protect us?"
Alenya frowned. "That's new. Cults showing up in Veyron?"
"Everyone wants a piece of this place," Kaela muttered. "Including lunatics."
One elderly Kamari woman stood on a crate, shouting above the crowd, her mask of ancestor bone gleaming in the light.
"They hide beneath your feet! The Underbellies burn with their rot! The Gilded City forgets that rot spreads!"
A few patrol drones flew by overhead, but none intervened.
Kaela shook her head and turned away. "We don't have time for crusades. We're only here for a month."
Alenya nodded. "Let the GCA handle their problems. We handle ours."
They ducked into a nearby building—Guild Registry Hall Seven, a quieter place for mid-level freelancers. The air inside was cool, thick with the scent of old paper, synthetic leather, and incense used to ward off qi interference.
"Alright," Kaela said, flicking her wrist. "Let's earn enough to come back with armor and manuals."
A clerk greeted them with a tired nod. "Looking for short-term contracts?"
"Two weeks max," Alenya said.
"Weapons or support class?"
Kaela replied, "Combat. Stealth. We'll take what pays."
The clerk tapped her console and gestured to a side wall where three job tokens slid out of a slot—each one glowing with different levels of difficulty and pay.
Kaela grabbed one and inspected it:
"Underground tunnel sweep. Minor hostile activity expected. 8,000 QCredits + hazard bonus."
"Looks doable," she said.
"More cult tunnels?" Alenya asked, glancing at the token.
Kaela pocketed it. "Doesn't say. And we're not asking."
Alenya chuckled. "See, this is why we work."