(Dylan)

Dylan squinted into the darkness of the brig, but the light from the hallway fell short of the cells, leaving their occupant little more than bars and shadows.

“Are you okay?” he asked.

The last time he’d seen his friend, Echo, was above deck, right before the captain barked at him for distracting the newly appointed mechanic. Now they’d locked her up like a criminal. Dylan dropped onto the bench by the door, his fists tightening as he simmered. Anyone who thought he was a distraction to her now could fuck right off.

“The repairs are done,” her voice said after a beat, drifting from the darkness. “The ship will be ready to leave by tomorrow.”

“That’s great—” he said with a clipped tone. “But not what I asked.” She was deflecting, but it told him enough.

Silence hung heavily between them.

Dylan leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and dropping his head into his hands. He shut his eyes. “Sorry,” he said, softening his voice. “It’s been a long day.”

He took a breath to calm down, only to gag at the reminder of how badly he needed a shower. “Also, sorry about the smell,” he added.

“It’s okay, I can’t—” She stopped to prove herself wrong as Dylan heard her take a long sniff. “Other lamprians can’t smell.”

‘Lucky,’ he thought. If he could, he’d give up his sense of smell and taste right now, too. It made sense though—lamprians didn’t have organs, just bones held together by magic. He just hadn’t considered it before, and now it got him wondering.

“Does that mean you can’t see either?” He looked up from under his brows into the darkness.

“Not with our—” She stopped, her hesitation lingering in the shadows. Dylan caught her meaning; she didn’t see herself as one of them anymore. “They don’t see with their eyes. They sense energy instead. It’s like seeing, but each creature gives off light, not just the sun. It’s… difficult to explain.”

He pictured the heat-vision from the Predator movies, imagining lamprians detecting light in ways humans couldn’t. He had other questions he wanted to ask—so many—but they’d have to wait. The important ones had to come first.

Dylan sat back and asked, “Why are you locked up?”

“I asked them to,” she said, surprising him. Her trembling words stealing the fuel for his outrage. “It’s…” She paused, taking a shaky breath. “It’s easier this way. They don’t need to watch me if I’m stuck here.” She broke into another sob. “It was awful… Being there, stuck with them. I could feel their thoughts, their… rejection.” Her voice dropped to a whisper. “They’re afraid of me.”

His anger faltered, stumbling into the dark as her pain filled the room.

“Do… Do you know what that feels like?” she asked.

His chest tightened, his own anger twisting into sorrow. It took everything not to drown in the dark emotions welling inside him. “I think I do…” He sniffled, dragging his sleeve under his nose.

He understood what she meant. While he got along with most, there were always a few—teachers, classmates, co-workers—without the patience to deal with his ADHD. Their feelings—impatience, rejection, disappointment—had been easy to pick up on. And it hurt. Every time.

“Why were you crying?” he asked, his voice thick as he tried to mask his own tears.

She let out another sob; the sound echoing softly off the cell walls. “I’m afraid,” she whispered.

Those two words nearly broke him. He’d been afraid for most of his life: afraid of not living up to expectations—not being good enough. But most of all, he was afraid of failing, which often led to giving up before he even started.

Since arriving on Mother of Dragons, he’d discovered a whole new kind of fear. Being alone and afraid was a terrible existence. His heart ached for Echo, and he resolved to give her the patience she needed to explain her own fears. Sometimes, saying it out loud made it easier to understand—and understanding was the enemy of fear.

“I don’t want to change.”

Dylan tilted his head, her words catching him off guard. “What do you mean?”

He heard the shuffle of her feet, and then a hand reached into the light—a skeletal hand covered in slick, blue sinew and muscle.

Dylan’s breath hitched as his eyes went wide and he froze. Before he could say a word, the hand jerked back, retreating into the darkness in shame.

“I’m sorry,” Dylan blurted, leaning forward and reaching toward the bars, a gesture too late. “I just… I didn’t expect—”

“I know,” Echo said, her voice breaking between sobs. “It’s terrible.”

Cursing himself for his reaction, he stammered, “It just caught me off guard, is all. Trust me, I reacted a lot worse when I met my first lamprian—”

He snapped his mouth shut, wincing. ‘Great job, Dylan. That’s definitely not helping,’ he thought.

Echo said nothing, and her silence grew too heavy for him.

“What’s happening to you?” he asked finally.

“Nekralis,” Echo said. “This body is regenerating.”

Dylan opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. He didn’t want to appear callous again. “I don’t understand. Is that… a bad thing?” he asked, raising an eyebrow.

“It’s not what my host would’ve wanted.”

Dylan gave an introspective nod, remembering lamprians had access to their host’s memories and life experiences. A sudden, sharp cramp tore through his gut, doubling him over with a strangled whimper. It felt like something was ripping him apart from the inside. It was powerful, and he feared they’d only get worse.

Echo was quick to pick up on his distress, and she rushed to the bars, gripping them with her sinewy, still-forming hands. “Are you alright?” she asked, sounding concerned. “Wait. Something’s wrong—your energy. It’s… muted, dwindling.”

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“I’m fine,” Dylan groaned, forcing a shaky smile. “Just a bit hungry. Nothing to worry about.” He tried to play it cool, even as his hands shook. The last thing he wanted was to burden her. She had enough to deal with.

“Me too,” she whispered through the bars.

He looked up, but she’d already withdrawn into the shadows, just out of sight. “Aren’t they feeding you?” Distracted by his own hunger, the question just slipped out.

‘Do lamprians eat?’ he wondered. He wasn’t sure how, or what, anyone could eat without a stomach.

“Lamprians don’t eat, and talking about it just makes me more hungry, so I’d rather not,” she said.

He strongly agreed as he adjusted himself on the uncomfortable bench, thinking of another topic—any topic. “What’s going to happen to you when we get back?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” Echo murmured. “I don’t have anywhere to go. Maybe…” Her voice faltered, the unspoken thought hanging in the air.

Dylan recognized it instantly, the shadow of an intrusive thought. He exhaled sharply, hesitating. Did he want to pull at this string?

“Maybe… what?” he asked.

“Maybe I should do what they’ve been telling me… Crystalis myself.”

“Can you do that? Just choose to enter crystalis?”

“No.”

His face flushed as anger flared again. If he understood correctly, crystalis was their version of a coma—temporary or not. “Wait, they told you to hurt yourself?”

Dylan shot to his feet, his blood boiling. He clenched and unclenched his fists as he started pacing, his boots scuffing against the floor. “What kind of asshole orders you to off one of your own and then tells you to off yourself?!"

“I volunt—”

“No!” Dylan spun toward her, pointing at the cell bars. “You don’t get to do that. Their blame isn’t yours to take.”

“They’re just trying to protect everyone!” She countered, raising her small voice.

“From what?” He stormed up to the bars. He was convinced that “everyone” didn’t include her.

“From me!”

Her shout echoed through the brig as she stepped into the light. She towered over him now, a grotesque mixture of glistening blue sinew and half-formed muscles stretching across her seven-foot draconi frame. But Dylan barely blinked. All he saw was Echo, the smallest lamprian—his friend.

He craned his neck to meet her still hollow eyes, shaking his head. “I don’t understand. How are you a danger to me?” He jabbed a finger at his own chest. “You’ve been nothing but nice.”

“Because…” She turned her skull away, her shoulders slumping in shame. “I’m hungry.”

Dylan scoffed. “Well, if that’s all it takes to lock someone up, move over. I’m coming in, because I am actually starving,” he said, the truth slipping out before he could catch it.

“How bad is it?” he asked, keeping the focus on her.

“Nothing compared to what A’lyce went through,” she said quietly. “But it’s always on my mind.”

Dylan turned and leaned his back against the bars, his eyes slipping shut. A loaf of flak floated through his thoughts—stale and salty, mocking his empty stomach. Hunger was easier to ignore when he was busy, like when he’d been adventuring with his team.

‘That’s it,’ he thought. Maybe there was another path for her. Something beyond being an airship mechanic.

“Hey,” he asked over his shoulder, “can lamprians become adventurers?”

“Yes,” she said hesitantly, “but I shouldn’t. It’s too dangerous.”

She shifted, leaning her back against the bars as well.

“What are you supposed to do with the rest of your life?” Dylan frowned, tugging at the waistband of his pants. ‘Down another inch,’ he thought. He’d have to add another notch to his belt.

“That sounds like torture,” he added with a chuckle. Her shrug sent a faint movement through the bars, her thin muscles brushing against him.

“I don’t know,” she said over her shoulder. “Until now, I had the ship to keep me busy. That helped. But now the work’s done, and I’ve nothing else to do.”

“You could become an adventurer and help people. It’d give you something to focus on,” Dylan said, trying to brighten her mood. “It’s not like you’d ever run out of people to help.”

Echo was quiet for a moment before replying softly, “I’ll think about it.”

She hadn’t outright dismissed him, and that was enough to give him hope. He exhaled, grinning.

“And I’ll help any way I can.”

He heard the faint smile in her voice as she said, “I believe you.”

His stomach grumbled again, loud enough to break the moment and prompt his next question. “And you’re one hundred percent sure we can leave tomorrow?”

“As long as you take care of that arc beetle. The Everafter will make sure you get home,” she said confidently, taking pride in her work.

That was exactly what he needed to hear. Dylan grinned again, leaning his head back against the bars. “If you weren’t behind those bars, I could kiss you right now.”

“I… don’t know about that,” she said, sounding embarrassed. “But I’m glad that it makes you happy.”

Dylan didn’t want to leave her alone, but Echo insisted she was fine and told him to go eat.

By the time he marched back to his cabin, his legs were trembling, the first signs of collapse. He threw the door open, grabbed the nearest loaf of flak, and shoved the door shut behind him. The kraft paper tore under his fingers as he unwrapped it. There was a tremor in his hand as he brought it to his mouth.

The flavor profile hadn’t changed, stale and overly salty, but he didn’t care. He stuffed his mouth full, chewing greedily. When he swallowed the first bite, he let out an audible moan, relief washing over him as his stomach finally held something other than acid, air, and discontentment.

“Dylan?” Eury’s voice came from the other side of his cabin door.

‘Shit.’ He froze, flak halfway to his mouth again.

“Sorry, I was just… uh.” He floundered, scrambling for an excuse. No way was he about to explain his dietary issues. “Enjoying…”—‘don’t say flak, anything but flak’—“myself.”

“Oh,” she said, her voice jumping an octave.

‘Goddamnit Dylan,’ he winced. ‘Now she thinks you’re a pervert.’ Which, honestly, was only slightly better than enjoying flak.

“Sorry… Guess I’ll… uh, leave you to it then.”

He heard her footsteps retreating down the hallway, followed by the sound of a cabin door opening and closing quickly. He sighed, shaking his head.

“Maybe she’ll forget,” he said to his flak. But the ache in his stomach wouldn’t wait. He shoved another bite into his mouth, stifling another involuntary moan.

“Dylan?” W’itney’s voice rang out from the hallway.

‘Can’t a man just eat in peace?’ he thought, chewing furiously as he grunted a reply.

After a moment of silence, W’itney called out, “You… need a hand in there? I could go see if Eury’s free?”

“I’m good,” he mumbled through a mouthful of flak, his breathiness betraying him.

The sound of W’itney stepping closer sent a spike of dread through him. Their voice dropped to just above a whisper. “It’s only natural to have increased… feelings after a near-death experience. I don’t mind helping, if that’s more your speed.”

‘Jesus, they’re absolutely shameless,’ he thought, resisting the urge to throw the loaf at the door.

“Nope!” he shouted. “I’ve got it!”

Draconi still scared him, and he didn’t see himself getting past that. But then the memory of Ni’ot standing close and hot next to him flickered in his mind, uninvited. A stirring followed. Dylan glared down at his pants. “Do you mind?” he muttered to himself. “I’m trying to have a meal here, man.”

He sighed and managed a bite without moaning—finally. Then came another knock.

“Dylan?”

He took a deep breath, rolled his eyes, and yanked the door open. “No, I’m not thinking about muscle mommies or princesses. I am not touching myself and no, I don’t need a hand. I’m just trying to eat this salty loaf of bread in peace!” He thrust the half-eaten flak into the air for emphasis.

Hay’len stood frozen, their expression an awkward mix of surprise, confusion, and regret. “Sorry,” they winced. “I just wanted to let you know the shower’s open.” Hooking their thumb toward the washroom, they turned and walked away, muttering, “Muscle mommy?”

“Fuck my life,” Dylan said, tearing another hunk from the loaf. At least tonight, he’d go to bed clean and on a full stomach. That alone brought a peace of mind he desperately needed.

He finished his meal and sat in the hammock, gently rocking back and forth. The simple rhythm, paired with the satisfaction of a full belly, brought a rare sense of calm. For the first time in days, his pain was gone. The flak was working, undoing the effects of malnutrition faster than he’d hoped.

As the brain fog lifted, he flexed his hand into a fist, testing the strength he could feel returning. Finally, he could think clearly again. He let out a slow breath, savoring the moment.

After a few minutes, he hopped down and made his way to the showers, his mood dipping slightly when he heard the water running. Someone had beaten him to it.

Not wanting to lose his place in line, he settled onto the empty bench in the washroom. The steamy air wrapped around him, softening the edges of his thoughts. Leaning back against the wall, he closed his eyes for just a moment, letting the warmth seep into his muscles.