The Amarr taught Asha Acrobati that purpose was assigned, not chosen. She had believed that for most of her life. Even as a miner and industrialist—far from the throne’s politics—she carried the Empire’s certainty like armor.
But certainty had nearly gotten her killed.
Her frigate still bore the scars of the ambush. Engineers on the neutral station had patched what they could, but the hull remained warped, a reminder of how quickly loyal service could end in silence. She told herself she would return to Amarr space as soon as repairs finished.
Yet she stayed.
It was the other two Ashas who unsettled her. Asha Soldati, fierce and unbroken despite everything the Minmatar had endured. Asha Explorati, calm and star‑touched, speaking of Anoikis as if it were a living thing. They were opposites, yet both seemed freer than anyone Acrobati had ever known.
Explorati’s stories lingered in her mind long after they parted—wormholes shifting like tides, ancient ruins humming with forgotten power, places untouched by empire or doctrine. Acrobati found herself wondering what it would be like to see such things with her own eyes.
And Soldati… the warrior should have been her enemy. Instead, Acrobati saw someone who had survived the same pointless clash, someone who understood what it meant to be used by forces far larger than herself.
On the third day, her ship was ready.
She stood before the docking umbilical, clearance codes glowing on her datapad. One press would send her back to the Empire, back to duty, back to the life she had always known.
Her thumb hovered.
She thought of Explorati’s quiet wonder. Soldati’s fierce honesty. The Empire’s endless demands. The war that had nearly claimed both her and the woman she’d been raised to hate.
For the first time, she asked herself what she wanted.
She would find what she was looking for in the Virtus Crusade.