“The law forbids. We provide. The galaxy pretends—and we profit.”

When the stars themselves were nearly devoured by war, when empires tore holes in reality and called them weapons, the galaxy recoiled in horror. From that ruin came the Black Sun Agreement—a promise, etched into the bones of civilization, that such power would never again be used.

And like all promises born from fear… it was broken the moment it became inconvenient.

The Blacksun Traders are the inheritors of that broken promise.

They are not a nation. They are not an empire. They are the shadow that stretches between them—moving through the gaps where law falters and necessity takes hold. Where others see forbidden technology, outlawed weapons, and relics too dangerous to wield, the Blacksun see opportunity.

They deal in what the galaxy pretends does not exist.

Singularity shards.
Energy weapons outlawed by ancient decree.
Fragments of Domnus-era science.
Artifacts that bend Affinity in ways no one should understand.

If it is forbidden… they can get it.

If it is lost… they can find it.

If it should never be used again… they will sell it to the highest bidder.

To some, they are nothing more than pirates—raiders in sleek ships that strike from the void, taking what they want and vanishing before retaliation can come. To others, they are smugglers and scavengers, combing the wreckage of dead systems and forgotten wars for anything of value.

But that is only the surface.

The Blacksun are as varied as the clients they serve.

Some operate as ruthless marauders, carving their path through the galaxy with stolen weapons and brutal efficiency. Their fleets are patchwork war machines, armed with relics that defy the very laws the rest of the galaxy obeys. They live fast, fight hard, and burn out just as quickly.

Others are disciplined—former soldiers, officers, and commanders who saw the truth behind the Black Sun Agreement and chose profit over principle. They run their operations like private armies, precise and professional, offering their services to those who can afford them. To these Traders, war is not chaos.

It is business.

And then there are the rare few who cloak themselves in something resembling honor.

Merchant houses that deal not in destruction, but in controlled exchange. They justify their existence as a necessary evil—that without them, the balance of power would collapse, that access to forbidden tools must exist for those willing to pay the cost. These Traders maintain reputations, uphold contracts, and operate with a code that borders on nobility.

But even they deal in the same currency.

Power.

The Blacksun do not care who you are. Empire, Citadel, anarchist, cultist—it makes no difference. If you have something of value, they will trade. If you need something dangerous, they will provide. And if you cross them…

They will collect.

Because in a galaxy bound by rules, by treaties, by carefully maintained illusions of control, the Blacksun represent something far more honest:

The truth that power never disappeared.

It simply changed hands.

They are the merchants of the forbidden.
The brokers of ruin.
The quiet architects behind wars no one admits to starting.

And while the galaxy clings to its fragile peace, repeating the same promises that once nearly destroyed it…

The Blacksun Traders watch.

They wait.

And they sell the tools that will break it all over again.