Rain fell gently across the basalt plain. Starlight from the one sun of three that was visible during this time of the year peeked through misty clouds that hung high above the landscape. Precipitation was fine enough that it seemed to hover rather than fall. It formed damp puddles that turned the dark stone beneath it slick and reflective. On Khamor III, rain rarely came in storms. The planet’s atmosphere favored long, patient drizzles that soaked into soil and coated surfaces of stone and alloy. Water beaded along the curved surfaces of Romulan architecture before it slipped into carefully channeled runoff grooves. A scent of unfamiliar flora and mineral-rich sands carried on the breeze from distant lowlands.

Colonel Joliuhk stood beneath the shallow overhang of the council dome’s outer terrace and watched the rain in silence. The domed settlement spread behind him in layered tiers of dark stone and matte alloy. Each structure stood half-buried into the terrain as if the city had grown organically from the planet’s crust. Romulan engineering favored permanence. Thick stone blocks were joined by fiber-thin seams. These materials were gathered from across the Beta Quadrant. Each was chosen to endure centuries of stress. This was not a temporary outpost. The Romulans had started building this world into a new home.

Khamor III orbited within a slow, complex dance of three suns. During this season, only one sun dominated the sky. Its pale amber presence hung low, light diffused by the planet’s cloud cover into soft illumination. At other times of the year, two suns would rise together. On rare days, all three would align in the sky. Their combined light floods the surface with brilliance so intense that even Romulan photoreceptors find it uncomfortable.

Joliuhk preferred days like today, where one sun had one voice in the sky.

Above the horizon, barely visible through the mist, Khamor IV loomed like a darker sibling. Its gravity tugged subtly at Khamor III’s tides. Its two small moons were already faintly visible despite the daylight. At night, those moons reflected starlight and shined brightly. Asteroids caught in a slow, lethal ballet around the system’s inner lanes often framed the moons on the other side of the Khamorian Shards. From the surface of Khamor III, the Shards appeared as a constellation of drifting lights, like embers suspended in black glass. The surface of many of these asteroids are reflective because of their materials and a high presence of ice. On the opposite side of the sky, Khamor III’s own larger moon hung heavy and bright each night. The many celestial bodies in the sky were seen as a symbol of balance tothe newly arrived locals.

Balance was something the Romulans here desperately wanted.

Joliuhk adjusted the fall of his dark robe across his rounded mid-section. He turned as the council dome’s entrance spread open behind him. The interior air was warmer, drier, and heavy with the faint scent of incense. The aroma centered around old Romulan traditions meant to steady thought and sharpen focus. He stepped inside as his padded footfalls landed softly against polished stone.

The council chamber was circular. Its ceiling rose into a shallow dome etched with stylized representations of Romulus and Remus. The imagery had been recreated from memory and archives decades after the supernova took everything after their people. The reproduction of a historic etching was painstakingly recreated. Around the chamber’s perimeter stood observers comprised of officers, engineers, townsfolk and elders. Most did not sit. Many observers stood with hands folded behind their backs, faces impassive. Their silence was not passive. It was evaluative. Each glance felt weighted. Each blink of the eye seemed laced with judgement.

At the chamber’s center stood a low, curved table of dark alloy. Its polished surface was inlaid with subtle lines of green light that pulsed slowly to mimic the rhythm of a calm heartbeat. Ironically, the pace was calm to Romulans, but beat noticeably faster than a human heart.

Colonel Joliuhk took his place at the head of the long table.

Age had softened him but not diminished his ridged, angular features. His skin held a warm golden glow with faint green undertones that could only be seen in the way light reflected off his complexion. Faint wrinkles traced the corners of his eyes and mouth. His once-athletic frame had given way to a rounder silhouette that spoke of years spent behind command consoles rather than engaged in manual labor. His obsidian hair was cut in the traditional rounded style, blunt across the crown in a bowl-like shape. Ebon, pointed sideburns framed his flaxen face. His dark gray irises held a depth shaped by loss.

“We gather,” Joliuhk began, voice low and steady, “under cloudy sky and uncertain stars.”

The observers remained silent.

“Romulus is gone,” Joliuhk continued. “Remus is gone. Our people scatter like ash across the quadrants. We carry the need to escape interspecies politics. We are driven to acquire resources by the need to survive. To thrive. The fear of failure is not on the scope of one family or a colony. Our entire species is at stake.” His hands rested flat on the table. “This fleet of ours was chosen not for conquest, but for our right to build a future free from the weight of the Beta Quadrant. Distance from old rivalries is essential. Many of us also seek distance from the pressures of the Free State’s more… aggressive inclinations.”

A subtle tightening passed through the chamber at that. No one spoke, yet looks of tension were exchanged among those gathered.

“We came to Khamor III because the Akaru welcomed us,” the colonel said. “They spoke not of borders, but of coexistence. This world offered soil that could sustain life without demanding blood.”

The doors parted again. Three Starfleet officers of the USS Cardinal arrived quietly. Commander Smythe entered first, shoulders damp from the rainfall. His posture appeared relaxed, but his eyes were alert. Alongside him was Lieutenant Commander Ikastrul Zaa. Her wavy brown hair was worn high into an updo with a wide tail worn down her shoulders in a Betazoid style. The counselor’s warm ebony eyes quietly studied the room with unmistakable awareness. Lieutenant Raii followed, emerald skin vivid against the backdrop of muted stone. His fluorescent orange hair was dampened slightly by the weather. The wet fabric of his red-shouldered uniform clung to his muscles.

They stopped several paces from the table and waited.

Joliuhk inclined his head. “Commander Smythe. You honor us by braving our weather.”

Smythe smiled faintly. “I’ve faced worse,” he said. “Rain has a way of clarifying things. I find it mentally soothing.”

“So it is,” Joliuhk replied.

Before Smythe could speak further, a voice calmly cut in from the chamber’s edge.

“And yet clarity is precisely what the Klingons deny us.”

Sub-commander Nirrot stepped forward from among the observers.

She was small by Romulan standards, barely five foot three. Her slender frame carried amber eyes that burned intensely like a controlled blaze. Her black hair was pulled back tightly to accentuate the sharp lines of her face. She moved with the confidence of someone accustomed to speaking poison politely.

“They arrive in this system,” Nirrot continued, “just as we establish ourselves. They claim Khamor IV as their own. It is the harsher world, yes, but also quite rich in resources. They know we came here to escape them. To escape centuries of conflict and cold wars. Yet they follow anyway.”

A anxious ripple passed through the observers as more glances were quietly exchanged.

“They did not come for resources alone,” she said. “They came to remind us that there is no distance far enough. Even now, they set up monitoring and reconnaissance equipment angled in our direction.”

Joliuhk turned to face her fully. “You presume intent.”

“I recognize patterns,” Nirrot replied calmly. “The Klingons do not forgive avoidance. They take it personally.”

Commander Smythe cleared his throat. “If I may.”

Nirrot glanced at him, eyes sharp. “You may,” she said, “but understand that we have learned to distrust reassurances delivered after the arrival of warships.”

Raii stepped forward half a pace. “For what it’s worth,” the Orion said calmly, “the Klingons have agreed to talks. They agreed not to set up any bases. They believe in de-escalation. Shared resource discussions have been brought up and they seemed pretty receptive.”

Nirrot’s lips curved faintly. “Chains, dressed as courtesy.”

Raii’s brow lifted. “Boundaries,” he countered. “Necessary ones.” He remembered Captain Raku saying something similar during the meeting with the Klingons yesterday.

Joliuhk raised a hand to reclaim the floor. “We shall not dismiss Starfleet’s efforts,” he said. “Nor the Akaru’s warnings.” His gaze shifted briefly to Counselor Zaa, who inclined her head slightly. Her empathic senses were awash with the chamber’s undercurrents. “The Akaru have shown us both prophecies and data that suggest there are relics beneath the surface of Khamor IV. The increase in disturbances around us may be tied to excavation there. We believe the Akaru are not just being superstitious.”

“And yet,” Nirrot said softly, “the Klingons dig anyway.”

“Because they are Klingons,” Joliuhk replied. “Perhaps they fear the scarcity of resources as much as we do.”

The colonel drew in a slow breath. “I will not pretend I do not see the insult. Khamor IV is so close. Their warships cast shadows across our sky. But I will not assume spite where desperation could be the cause.”

The observers’ gazes sharpened towards Joliuhk.

“We did not come here to provoke them,” Joliuhk said. “Nor to challenge them. We came here to begin again.”

Rain drummed faintly against the dome overhead.

Commander Smythe spoke at last. “Yo’HoD K’Vel has agreed to a three-party meeting. Klingon. Romulan. Akaru. He overruled his own executive officer to do so.”

Nirrot’s eyes narrowed. “Temporarily.”

“Perhaps,” Smythe conceded. “But it’s a start.”

Joliuhk studied the Starfleet commander for a long moment. “You believe an agreement with the Klingons can hold, I see.”

“I believe it can,” Smythe said honestly. “As long as everyone remembers what they stand to lose anyway.”

Silence followed.

Beyond the dome, the rain continued to fall. Sunlight diffused through cloud and mist. High above, the star trio kept their slow, indifferent dance. On one side of the sky, the distant glimmer of the Khamorian Shards waited for night. On the other, Khamor III’s moon watched from orbit.

Joliuhk rested his hands on the table once more. “We will attend,” he said. “We shall converse with the Klingons. And we will all remember why we came here.”

Nirrot did not argue further. She merely stepped back into the line of observers, her expression unreadable.

The observers remained silent. Their looks appeared full of new resolve and perspective.

Beneath the rain-soaked sky of Khamor III, the future of a fragile new world balanced on words not yet spoken.