In the stronghold of the Brotherhood of Starcrow, a lone planet wandering the void, a hooded figure knelt before a large, shadowed hall. Lining the walls were countless jars, each containing a softly glowing, green flame. Hours passed as the hooded figure maintained his vigil silent, akin to a statue. If not for the barest of motion of air from his breath, he would be indistinguishable from the stone upon which he knelt.
At last, after an indeterminate time had passed, a change occurred. From a single jar, a bright white light emanated, momentarily illuminating the shadowed hall, banishing the darkness. But it was short lived. As it faded, the hall returning to the soft embrace of shadow, the jar was revealed to be empty.
Slowly standing, the figure lifted his hood, revealing an ancient face. Gnarled like a primordial oak, his eyes were milky white and unseeing, though his movements were uncannily precise. He swiped at the air before him, a hazy mirage rippling into existence of an indistinct figure.
He spoke, his voice hoarse as though he had not used it in years.
"The contract is fulfilled. The one known as The Godling, Zahto Zen has been eliminated."
The hazy mirage replied, its androgenous voice the epitome of well-mannered and courteous.
"Good. But it is not over. The ripples in the pond have not been quelled, and the oncoming waves at the horizon only grow more wrathful. An extension to our contract would be most agreeable. Compensation is no issue, of course."
"The Brotherhood is at your disposal."
The hazy figure nodded, satisfied, before continuing.
"I will send the file through soon. It is bare, but I am sure that is no obstacle to professionals of your calibre?"
The old man hacked a cough, rasping a reply.
"There is no place in the galaxy that remains untouched by our presence."
The hazy figure chuckled, pleased.
"Good, good. Then I shall tell you all that we know: the one known as The Beacon. He wields one of their hideous contracts, a perversion of all that is pure, though its power is not to be underestimated. We have foreseen both where he is and where he shall be. The specifics of the mission are to your discretion, of course, but be warned.
"He attempts to go to Outspace."
The old man squinted his milky eyes, as though questioning whether his aging ears were finally failing him.
"Outspace?" he croaked. "It seems he seeks demise even without our professional assistance."
"Indeed. However, we will require proof of elimination in order to fulfil payment. Whether you do that here, or venture along with him into the abyss it matters not. As long as it is done in time."
The old man nodded slowly.
"Very well. So, it shall be done."
"Ah, perfect. It is pleasurable doing business with you, Father Hux. I hope we shall never have to speak again."
With that, the connection was terminated and the hazy mirage dissipated. In the silence that remained, the old man, Father Hux, turned to his side. His milky eyes fixed onto an unassuming shadow.
"You heard him, yes?"
His hoarse voice barked. The shadow melted into the form of a kneeling figure, clad in a flowing cloak of darkness.
"My eyes may not see, but you are still a few hundred years too early to fool me, boy."
The old man spoke acerbically, pre-empting the shadow's surprise at being caught, before continuing.
"Regardless, you heard our benefactor, yes?"
The shadowed figure snorted, replying in a condescending tone.
" 'The Beacon.' I've heard of him, though I didn't think he was real."
"He is as real as we are, boy," the old man warned. "Abolish your preconceptions. You of all people should know, that the gaps between the stars hide things beyond fathoming."
The old man paused, grinning in the darkness, revealing a mouth missing several teeth.
"Though, at least while under the veil of night, we alone are the Hunters."
Shaking himself from his thoughts, he addressed the kneeling figure in a tone suddenly heavy with steel and blood.
"The Beacon is your target. He wields a corrupted contract with an Unnamed Thing. You understand what that entails, correct?"
The shadowed figure nodded and the old man looked on satisfied.
"Good."
He swiped at the air again, though instead of the hazy mirage, a map was projected in soft light. It showed the galaxy, two blinking dots catching their attention.
"He is at New Ithaca, for now. As for where he will be, that is at these co-ordinates in the depths of Outspace."
He fixed a piercing gaze onto the kneeling figure.
"You have full discretion as to how you wish to complete this task, but be wary of Outspace. There, even the so-called Unnamed Things fear to tread. So far from the gaze of the Watchful Eye..."
The old man shuddered, as a sudden chill descended onto the hall. The shadows lengthened, the green flames flickering in their jars ominously. The kneeling figure spoke with chilling intensity.
"I understand, Father Hux. I will not fail. Like my brother who slew the fearful Godling, I will extinguish The Beacon."
The old man nodded, and the figure melted into the shadows, his presence disappearing from that sacred hall. The old man re-assumed his kneeling position surveying the hall of green flames, though not before murmuring softly in the direction of his disappeared acolyte.
"Have confidence in your skills, but pride is our enemy. It makes fools of kings, and failures of assassins. Abolish your pride, and your blade will carry only emptiness within. The shadows are often the first to feel the undercurrents of change, and if what I sense is true..."
He paused, shaking his head. Covering himself with his hood once more, the hall was returned to its heavy silence, unchanged save for one jar whose green flame had been extinguished forever. He continued his vigil soundlessly, though hidden, his thoughts raced faster than ever.