Blake surged upward from sleep, a half-formed cry dying in his throat. His hand shot to his knife—but it wasn't there. No knife, no gun, no threat. Just darkness and the soft hum of ship systems.

His heart hammered against his ribs as fragments of the dream splintered and fell away. The taste of dust and cordite lingered on his tongue, phantom echoes of gunfire still ringing in his ears. Sweat had soaked through his shirt, leaving it clinging uncomfortably to his skin.

A warm presence pressed against his side—not physically there, but real all the same. The ghostly sensation of soft fur and feathers brushed his arm, carrying a faint scent like sunshine and ozone. Kitt, in one of her preferred forms, a chimeric blend of feline grace and avian features that somehow felt perfectly natural despite its impossibility.

"You're safe," she murmured, her usual sharp wit replaced by something gentler. "The ship is secure. Eland's in the engine room. Medical bay is fully stocked. All weapons are within reach."

Blake's breathing steadied as she listed off the tactical information, grounding him in the present moment. The persistent image of blood-stained sand began to fade, replaced by the familiar contours of his quarters aboard Eland's vessel.

He didn't need to explain the nightmare. Kitt had been there, after all—not physically, but through their deepening bond she had access to his memories, his fears. She knew about the mission that had gone sideways, about the choices he'd been forced to make. About the consequences that still haunted him years later.

"What time is it?" Blake asked, mostly to change the subject.

"0300 ship time," Kitt replied. Her projected form shifted slightly, and Blake felt the ghost of pressure against his shoulder. "You've been asleep for about ten hours."

Blake huffed out a weak laugh. "Well, I did give myself quite the workout earlier."

"You could say that." Kitt's tone remained unusually soft, almost maternal. None of her typical playful mockery colored the words. "Before you came around the plan was to siege Rax's compound. You managed to win the battle before the dinner bell."

The phantom sensation of warmth intensified slightly—not demanding anything, simply offering comfort through presence. Blake found himself grateful for the contact, even if it wasn't entirely real. Sometimes the weight of memory felt too heavy to bear alone.

"We did," Blake insisted. He had played his role, but Kitt's hacking of the security systems had been the thing that actually stopped the fighting. Without that, someone might have rallied Rax's men and continued the bloodshed.

"Sure," Kitt agreed quietly. "We're both bad-asses."

They sat together in comfortable silence, Kitt's presence a steady anchor against the darker corners of his mind. On the digital display that served as the interior cabin's "window," distant stars wheeled slowly past, their cold light offering silent witness to countless other nights like this one.

After a time, Blake's stomach rumbled, and Kitt's laughter danced through their link.

"Bad-asses that need to eat," she said. "And you'll have to manage for both of us. At least until we get the time to go back to that armory."

"Yeah, a snack would be nice," Blake replied, standing and pulling on a pair of plain slacks he had stolen from the pile of identical clothing from the ship's stores. "And tomorrow we'll go get you a couple of plasma rifles to play with."

"I want to hit the garage too!" She exclaimed, already sounding much more her normal self. "We're going to be a lot cooler when I can fabricate us some wheels."

Blake imagined a sleek black Firebird, but he could feel Kitt push back on the idea immediately.

"Too derivative, Connover. Besides, I'm not a phoenix, I'm a chimera. I'll come up with something unique."

Blake just smiled. Content.

* * *

The dining area stretched out at a disorienting angle, every surface tilted just enough to throw off a person's inner ear. For most visitors, the slant would have made simple movements like walking or standing feel like navigating a carnival fun house. But Blake activated [Unfettered Stride] with a whisper of mana, his steps becoming sure and steady as he compensated for the odd geometry.

He remembered his first time in this room—how the angle had made his head spin, how every movement had required conscious thought and careful balance. Now it felt almost natural. Amazing what a person could get used to, given enough time and the right abilities.

Eland sat at the jury-rigged table he'd cobbled together in the days before Blake had met him, nursing something that steamed gently in a battered metal cup. The same table where Blake had first taken the nanite injection that allowed them to communicate. Where everything had changed.

"Evening," Blake said, nodding to the Stokrine as he made his way to the food preparation unit. "Or morning, I guess. Kitt tell you I was coming?"

"Indeed she did." Eland's cetacean features shifted into what Blake had learned to recognize as an amused expression. "Most helpful of her."

"Traitor!" Kitt's voice crackled through the room's comm speaker, managing to sound both scandalized and delighted at once. "I can't believe you'd sell me out like this. After everything we've been through!"

Blake shook his head, fighting back a smile as he grabbed the first food packet his fingers brushed against. The metallic packaging crinkled as he fed it into the prep unit, not bothering to check what meal he'd selected.

The unit hummed as it processed his selection, status lights pulsing in familiar patterns. Blake leaned against the tilted counter, practicing the subtle adjustments of [Unfettered Stride] that kept him stable despite the angle. Even at minimal power, the ability felt different now than it had when he first got it—smoother, more intuitive. Like the difference between speaking a foreign language through careful memorization versus true fluency.

A cheerful chime announced his meal was ready. Blake retrieved the steaming container, noting with mild interest that he'd apparently selected some kind of curry. The rich aroma of spices filled the air as he crossed to the table, his movements easy and natural despite the awkward slope of the deck beneath his feet.

He settled into the chair across from Eland, the metal frame creaking slightly as it took his weight. Steam curled up from his curry in lazy spirals, carrying scents that reminded him of late nights in Bangalore—though he had no doubt the taste would be unique from his memory, given its origin.

"So what's next?" Blake asked between bites of curry. The food was good—different from what he'd expected, but satisfying. "Now that the locals aren't actively trying to kill us anymore."

Eland took a measured sip from his steaming cup before answering. "Most of what we need is actually on Aureon's list. With Korrn's people helping now, we should be able to get the ship righted and repaired enough for low orbit in a few weeks."

Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Blake paused mid-bite, his spoon hovering halfway to his mouth. "Wait, seriously? We're going to space?" A grin spread across his face before he could stop it. "I've been all around the world, but I never actually got to leave it. Well, not the traditional way—with a rocket and a suit and all that."

Amusement crinkled the corners of Eland's eyes. The Stokrine's expression shifted in ways Blake was still learning to read, but the gentle humor came through clearly enough. "Try to contain your enthusiasm," Eland said. "There's still considerable work ahead. Getting the ship spaceworthy is only the first challenge. The engine systems will require extensive repairs before we can achieve stable orbit."

"But we're on our way," Blake insisted. The curry suddenly tasted even better, flavored by possibilities. "We're actually going to get off this rock."

"Indeed." Eland set his cup down with careful precision, compensating for the room's odd angle. "I must admit, I look forward to rejoining my sect. Though..." He paused, looking somewhat uncomfortable. "I should perhaps mention that I may face some... consequences upon my return."

Blake's good mood faltered slightly. "What kind of consequences?"

"Nothing too severe," Eland assured him quickly. "It's simply that the nanites I provided to you were actually meant for delivery to the sect. They were a special order that will now need to be requisitioned again."

"How much trouble are we talking about here?" Blake asked, studying his friend's expression.

Eland waved a massive hand dismissively. "Minimal. A minor disciplinary—"

"Minor?" Zephyr's voice cut through the speaker, sharp with disbelief. "The nanites alone will have Zareen tanning your hide. But having to call home for a tow? That's going to cost you. And let's not forget this is your second time getting caught by a wormhole when you should have known better. Ashok is going to have you scrubbing the station's exterior in zero-g until your grandchildren graduate the academy."

"Thank you, Zephyr," Eland said dryly. "Your input is, as always, deeply appreciated."

Blake pushed his curry aside, suddenly less hungry. "I didn't realize the nanites were that important. If I had known—"

"You would have done exactly what you did," Eland interrupted firmly. "Because it was the correct choice. The nanites were meant to assist in research, yes, but they served a far more vital purpose in facilitating our communication and cooperation. Without that, neither of us would likely have survived long enough to worry about consequences."

"Eland, I don't think anything in this damned place could kill you." Blake said flatly.

"Oh, of course not. You would have been killed—I would have died of boredom with only Zephyr to talk to. And look at how exciting things became because you were around!"

Blake kept his smile steady, studying the dwindling level of the curry in his bowl. No point dwelling on things that couldn't be changed.

"Well, I doubt Ashok will be too hard on you. If you're anything to judge him by, I'm sure he's a reasonable leader."

"Oh, he is quite reasonable," Eland agreed, his massive shoulders rising in what might have been a shrug. "Which actually makes it worse. His disappointment carries far more weight than simple anger would."

"Been there," Blake replied. Sometimes a quiet 'I expected better' could cut deeper than any amount of shouting.

They fell into comfortable conversation after that, touching on lighter subjects. Eland shared stories about his early days as an archaeologist, including a particularly entertaining mishap involving a partially sentient library system that had taken offense to his proposed overhaul to its cataloging methods. Blake contributed a few carefully selected tales from his own past—nothing too dark, just enough to keep the mood light.

Eventually, exhaustion began creeping back in around the edges of Blake's awareness. His body was still healing, he had been injured pretty much every time he laid down over the last week after all. He caught himself stifling a yawn and decided it was time to call it a night.

"I should try to get a bit more rest," he said, rising from the table. His empty bowl clinked against the metal surface as he gathered it. "Thanks for the company."

"Of course." Eland's expression shifted into what Blake had learned to interpret as a warm smile. "Sleep well, my friend."

Back in his quarters, Blake settled onto the narrow bunk that had become his home over the last two weeks. The mattress wasn't particularly comfortable by Earth standards, but after some of the places he'd slept over the years, it felt downright luxurious. He'd learned early in his career that comfort was relative.

Kitt's presence ghosted along the edges of his consciousness, a familiar warmth. "You're thinking awful loud over there," she observed.

"Just... processing," Blake replied, staring up at the metal ceiling. Faint patterns of light played across its surface—reflections from the faux-window. "We've got some downtime coming up. Might as well put it to good use."

"Mm." Kitt's tone carried a hint of approval. "Planning to hit the books? Metaphorically speaking, since I don't think we have any actual books around here."

"Something like that." Blake shifted, trying to find a more comfortable position. His muscles still ached from the fight with Rax's brute, but it was a clean pain—the kind that meant healing rather than injury. "There's so much I don't understand yet. About all of this. The System, cultivation, our bond..."

"The vast conspiracies of ancient cosmic forces?" Kitt suggested helpfully. "The true nature of reality? The meaning of life, the universe, and everything?"

Blake snorted. "I was thinking we could start with the basics and work our way up to existential philosophy."

"You'd be surprised how quickly one leads to the other," she said wryly. "But you're right. There's a lot to cover. The cultivation arts alone could take years to fully grasp. And that's before we get into the really interesting stuff about what our particular... arrangement makes possible."

"Yeah… We should probably figure out exactly what we can do together. Preferably before the next life-or-death situation."

"Good thinking." A ghostly sensation like purring vibrated through their connection. "I have so many ideas to try out. Did you know that with the right application of spatial manipulation, we could theoretically—"

"Tomorrow," Blake interrupted, unable to completely suppress his smile. "Let's start with the fundamentals first."

"Fine," Kitt sighed dramatically. "But you should know I'll probably side with Eland when it comes to teaching. No mercy, no shortcuts."

"Wouldn't have it any other way.”

He closed his eyes, letting his mind drift. The past weeks had been a constant stream of crisis and reaction, barely any time to think beyond immediate survival. Now, finally, he had a chance to step back and really consider his situation. To plan. To learn.

The thought should have been daunting. His entire world had been turned upside down, after all. He'd been dropped into an alien environment, bound to an experimental techno-organic entity, and introduced to powers that challenged his understanding of reality itself. By any reasonable measure, he should have been overwhelmed.

Instead, he felt... eager. The same focused anticipation he'd experienced before particularly challenging training exercises, but deeper. More fundamental. This wasn't just about learning new skills or mastering new tools. This was about understanding the true nature of power—what it was, how it worked, and most importantly, how to use it responsibly.

"You're still thinking too loud," Kitt observed.

"Just excited," Blake admitted. "It's been a while since I had a clear objective that didn't involve breaking things or killing people."

"We will definitely be breaking things," Kitt pointed out. "And people are almost certainly going to end up dead."

Blake smiled in the darkness. She wasn't wrong—danger would always be part of the equation. But for the first time in longer than he cared to remember, violence wasn't the primary focus. He had a chance to build something instead of just destroying. To grow in ways that went beyond simply becoming a more effective weapon.

He had a Path.

The concept still felt strange, weighted with meanings he was only beginning to grasp. But it felt right, too. Like finding a piece of himself he hadn't known was missing until now.

Blake let his eyes drift closed once more, feeling the gentle pull of exhaustion. His mind was already spinning with questions he wanted to ask, concepts he needed to explore, abilities he had to master. But there would be time for all of that tomorrow. And the day after. And all the days that followed.

For now, he simply allowed himself to feel the rightness of it all. The sense of purpose that hummed through his bones like a perfectly tuned engine. There would be challenges ahead—probably more than he could imagine. But for the first time in years, he knew exactly where he was going.

And he couldn't wait to get started.