Nyra stood on the balcony of her modest apartment, watching as the Topaz Star set on the horizon of Wellspring—the planetary capital of Talos. The Blueish light bathed the sprawling city below, reflecting off the metallic roofs of countless factories and casting long shadows over the sandy streets.
She began pacing nervously, moving back and forth between the balcony and the entrance to her apartment. Her footsteps echoed faintly in the stillness of the room, a rhythmic counterpoint to her swirling thoughts. All her hard work, all the late nights of campaigning—today she would find out if it had all been worth it or if it had been for nothing.
Pausing at the railing, she rested her hands on the cool metal, gazing down at the industrial heart of Wellspring. The desert planet of Talos served as the Syndicate's main manufacturing hub, a place of ceaseless labor and relentless determination. Nyra's thoughts drifted to her own years spent in those factories, her hands blistered and muscles aching. She remembered the clamor of machinery, the shared grievances whispered among workers, and the pride that came from creating something tangible. Those experiences had shaped her, grounding her understanding of the day-to-day struggles of the average Talos citizen. She hoped they would give her an edge in the election.
The possibility of victory filled her with equal parts excitement and dread. If the citizens of Talos chose her as their new Celestar—their planetary leader—she could finally bring the changes she had spent years envisioning. Yet the weight of responsibility loomed large, casting a shadow over her hopes.
Her nerves tightened, and the pacing resumed, quicker this time. A sudden buzz from her desk interrupted her restless steps, and her comms unit lit up. She walked over and tapped the device. A display flickered to life, projecting an image of her campaign manager, Aven, whose face bore the weary look of someone who had spent too many sleepless nights.
"Nyra," Aven began, his voice measured but tinged with unease, "the votes are still being counted. This is already the biggest turnout Talos has seen in decades, but we don't have any final numbers yet." He hesitated before continuing. "Listen, I hope you're prepared—you know, just in case—"
"No matter what the decision of the people, I'll respect it," Nyra said, cutting him off with a steady voice. "It's their choice, and if that rich idiot Revian is who they want, then so be it."
Aven's expression softened into a faint smile. "I'm glad to hear that. Best of luck to you, Nyra."
She nodded in thanks and ended the call, though it left her more on edge than before. Her pacing resumed, the small apartment feeling even smaller with each passing moment.
A knock at the door startled her, offering a welcome distraction. She opened it to find her elderly neighbor, Mirel, standing with a bundle cradled in her arms. The familiar, kind smile on Mirel's face brought a brief wave of calm to Nyra's frayed nerves.
"You shouldn't have," Nyra said with a sigh, though her tone carried warmth.
"Nonsense," Mirel replied, gently pushing the package toward her. "You've done more for the people in this building than anyone I've known in my seventy years. You deserve a treat."
Nyra accepted the bundle gratefully, a small smile forming. "Thank you, Mirel. It will be savored."
"No problem. I'll leave you to it. Goodbye, and good luck," Mirel said, her voice full of sincerity as she turned to leave.
Nyra carried the package to her table and sat down, carefully unwrapping it to reveal a still-warm loaf of sweetbread. Mirel had always been known as the best baker in Wellspring, and she knew exactly how much Nyra enjoyed her treats. Breaking off a piece, Nyra took a bite, the warm spices and soft texture grounding her in the moment. It was a quiet reminder of the connections she had built and the faith so many had placed in her.
For the first time in hours, she felt a flicker of confidence. Maybe—just maybe—she could win this election.