🌌 S1.11 Galaxy Dynasty: The Silver Thread Frays

Luma, Cipher and Glitter Paws

Luma sat cross-legged on the resonance lounge bench, her glass-skin form catching the light like poured flame. The city outside glowed in ribbons, auroras twisting through the sky in patterns only she seemed to notice. But her eyes weren’t on the horizon—they were fixed on the data streams, on the spirals of her former faction’s decisions.

They were failing. She could see it. Markets slipping, resonance lines fluctuating, silver leaking where it should have been contained. Every number was a wound, every pulse a betrayal.

“They don’t even know what they’re doing,” she hissed, her fingers curling until her nails made little streaks of light across her skin. “We left them with strength, with order—and look at them. Wasting it. Bleeding it. It makes me sick.”

Cipher leaned against the glass rail, arms crossed. The pup lay at his feet, ears flicking at the rise in her voice. His silence stretched long enough to sting.

Finally, he spoke, voice low but edged:

“Don’t. Don’t start pulling at their threads. You go sniffing after their business, they’ll sniff back. And when they do, they’ll find us. That’s the last thing we need.”

Luma shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel. “So we sit here? While they ruin everything we built? While our legacy dies on their watch?”

Cipher’s gaze darkened, his jaw tightening. He thought of the chamber, of glyphs bending toward paws that should have meant nothing. He thought of the whisper he still hadn’t told her.

“We don’t move until we know who tried to kill us,” he said flatly. “I’m not playing their games while we’re still ghosts.”

The pup tilted his head, almost as though he agreed.

Luma’s anger cracked into a laugh—bitter, ringing in the aura-lit chamber. “You always were the patient one.”

Cipher didn’t smile. “And you always wanted the world yesterday.”

Silence fell again, heavy and charged. The auroras above shifted, streaks of silver threading through flame.

In her chest, the ache sharpened. She wanted a child. An heir. Something that would outlast the games, the betrayals, the endless hunger of factions. Cipher didn’t understand—couldn’t understand—that the clock on her line was louder than any threat in the stars.

She leaned back, gaze flicking from the sky to the dog at his feet. “Then tell me, Cipher,” she whispered. “If we’re already dead to them… what’s left to lose?”

Luma pinched the bridge of her nose and finally asked, “So what did you name your dog?”

Cipher didn’t miss the bite in her tone. He leaned back, lips twitching.

“I thought you wanted to call him… Marshmallow. Or was it Princess Glitterpaws?”

Her glare could have cut silver. “That was a joke.”

“Good,” Cipher said, scratching the pup’s ear. “Because I went with Glitter Paws.”

The Dog gave a sharp little bark, like he already knew his name. Luma rolled her eyes at the pair.