The old empires are gone. Nobody agrees on how they fell. What remains is the Frontier: thousands of sectors strung together by Jump Gates that nobody alive knows how to build. The gates still work. The Spire Citadels still hold power. Every ship that crosses the dark runs on technology designed by the Architects — and the Architects have not returned. The Frontier did not wait for them. Eight Corporations carved it into territories. Traders move cargo through contested space. Miners strip asteroid fields down to the rock. The KRON Intergalactic Bank records every transaction on a ledger that cannot be forged, and the KRON is the one thing every faction still agrees on. Two docks anchor the whole structure. STARDOCK, the great citadel of the Lawful, a beacon of order and commerce at the heart of the Frontier. SHADOWDOCK, the hidden stronghold of the Outlaws, built in the darkness betw Vollständige Beschreibung anzeigen
The old empires are gone. Nobody agrees on how they fell. What remains is the Frontier: thousands of sectors strung together by Jump Gates that nobody alive knows how to build. The gates still work. The Spire Citadels still hold power. Every ship that crosses the dark runs on technology designed by the Architects — and the Architects have not returned. The Frontier did not wait for them. Eight Corporations carved it into territories. Traders move cargo through contested space. Miners strip asteroid fields down to the rock. The KRON Intergalactic Bank records every transaction on a ledger that cannot be forged, and the KRON is the one thing every faction still agrees on. Two docks anchor the whole structure. STARDOCK, the great citadel of the Lawful, a beacon of order and commerce at the heart of the Frontier. SHADOWDOCK, the hidden stronghold of the Outlaws, built in the darkness between the stars, beyond the reach of any law. Two philosophies. One Frontier. And then there is the part nobody can explain. The map moves. Sectors that were connected are not connected any more. Trade routes that made fortunes close without warning. Cartographers have measured it for years and found exactly one correlation: the more the Frontier fights, the faster it changes shape. Some call it the Kron. Most call it nothing at all, because naming it has never helped anyone. There is one more anomaly, and it appears in no official register. Ships that carry no registry. They do not trade and they do not negotiate. Scanners fail to classify them. The few commanders who have survived an encounter all report the same thing: they were not attacked. They were looked at. The Frontier is yours. Nobody is going to tell you what it is.