Tyrial floated in the Void. The darkness was complete. It held him. It protected him. It left him so very alone. He floated within the nothingness and left the universe behind. A thought flitted through his mind, this is wrong. Before it could take hold, however, the Void swallowed it.

        Nothing could reach him, and he could reach nothing. Thoughts continued to float to the surface, one after another. They said he should not be within the Void. That he belonged on the outside. Those thoughts no sooner came than they were swallowed. The Void was all, the Void was nothing.

        Tyrial had no sense of time, he had no sense of self, no sense of existing at all. Worry, fear, determination, love; all these things no sooner came into being than they were reduced to nothing. He wished to be free of the darkness, he didn’t want its totalitarian peace. In the face of that unimaginably powerful all-consuming blackness, however, these thoughts had no meaning.

        The Void shook, a thought so powerful the Void could not swallow it all at once. A face, a name, Rella. He had to escape this black hole of absolute destruction. Desperation welled up in him, faster and faster, more than the Void could handle at first. He tried to move but the hold it had on him was complete. There was no escape, the uncaring pit of gravity seemed to say. Every effort he made, no matter how frenzied, was simply swallowed by the darkness. His strength waned, and again he was left with emptiness.

        Time passed, in this place where time had no meaning. Occasionally a thought would surface long enough for Tyrial to perceive its existence. Fear sometimes, despair others. Every so often, a red hot fiery bolt of determination. None survived the inevitability made manifest that was the Void. Tyrial floated.

        The Void shook again, stronger this time. A disembodied voice drifted to him from beyond the Void, “Tyrial.” His name, Rella’s voice. He had to escape. The thought this time was strong, desperate, frantic, almost hysterical. It welled up like a long-dormant volcano and with it a moment of clarity.

        He was doing this to himself. This Void was of his creation, and now it held him hostage within his own mind. He had promised Rella he would come back, he had almost broken that promise by dieing. If he was still alive he would be swallowed by the Void in person before he would allow the trappings of his own mind to cause him to break that promise now.

        With every ounce of his strength, he fought back. He pushed against the wall of gravity in his mind holding his consciousness hostage. He brought forth his thoughts and emotions in a torrential deluge, trying to overwhelm the black hole. He stretched his mind's eye, grasping desperately for the reality that always seemed just out of reach. As he fought, he began to realize the futility of struggling against a force that was by its very nature, infinite. Nothing could escape the inevitable pull of gravity by one of the most powerful objects in the universe.

        He could not escape the thing he had wrought, he had made it too absolute in his own mind. He had created a monster strong enough to swallow all of the painful emotions he had been plagued with throughout his tortured life. And now, somehow, he had fallen into it.

        As he began to lose the thread of consciousness the disembodied voice had given him, he realized that everything he had thrown at the Void in his struggle had only made it stronger. Just like a black hole in reality, everything it swallowed only added to its mass. There was only one way to end this impossible struggle. He had to let it go.

        With Rella’s face firmly fixed in his mind, he let go of the Void, and in a heartbeat, it evaporated. Emotions flooded his mind. Pain primarily, but mixed with it was grief, regret, and self-loathing.

        Standing on a rock amongst the torrent was a young Zyrtha girl, holding out her hand. Tyrial took it and held on desperately as wave after wave of emotion washed over him. Gradually the torrent slowed to a downpour, and then finally into a trickle. Looking around, he saw that he was surrounded by an ocean of pain and suffering. Below him, however, was solid rock, and standing next to him was Rella, still holding his hand. Smiling back, Tyrial woke up.

        The first thing he took note of was the pain. An entirely different type of pain from the one he had been enduring earlier, but it still hurt nonetheless. His arm and his ribs were sore, to say the least. But it was bearable, nowhere near as bad as that day however long ago when he lay bleeding on the ship’s floor.

        The second thing he took note of was the feeling of someone holding his hand. Smiling to himself, he opened his eyes. Dim light flooded his vision and slowly the world came into focus. Sitting beside him with her head laying on his cot and her hand in his was Rella, fast asleep. Tyrial wondered how long she had been there. Knowing her, she probably never left since that day.

        Tyrial tried to judge how long he had been out, but it wasn’t a simple matter. His ribs and arm felt well on their way to being healed, but this wasn’t the stone age when broken bones had to be left to heal on their own. Looking around he didn’t see any displays currently active, and the arm which usually held his PA was now in a sling. He shrugged to himself and gave up on that.

        Looking down at Rella, he couldn’t help but smile again. He still wasn’t entirely sure what he was going to do about that situation. He liked her quite a bit, but he knew he was in no shape to be someone else's significant other. But if she asked him, if it was either that or lose her. He sighed internally, he wasn’t sure what he would do.

        Removing his still good left hand from hers, he gently brushed a stray lock of hair out of her face. He felt like he would do anything for her, and if he couldn’t, he would probably do it anyway. Lightly touching her cheek, he watched as her eyes fluttered open. Her brief look of confusion was replaced by a broad smile as she saw that his eyes were open.

        “Tyrial,” Rella said. She took his hand and held it against her cheek as she sat up and continued, “By the Ancients, I didn’t think you were ever going to wake up.” Leaving his hand on her cheek, she moved hers to his cheek, lightly brushing it. “When I got into the cargo bay, you were lying there covered in blood and frost. You weren't breathing and… there was so much blood,” tears started to form in her eyes and her smile began to tremble as she spoke, her words got faster and they started to tumble over each other, “I thought you were going to die, even after you started breathing again. Liam looked so worried, he never looks worried. I put pressure where he said, but the blood kept coming. Then you passed out again and Liam started cursing, I’ve never heard him curse before.” As the tears started to fall she slowed down and said, “You were so pale and.. and…”

        Putting his hand over her lips, Tyrial tried to say, “I’m ok.” The croak that came out barely resembled speech, however, and it ended with a coughing fit that almost made him black out again. As he began to get the spasms under control, he felt something plastic touch his lips. Opening his eyes he saw Rella holding a cup with a straw to his mouth. Tears were still running down her cheeks and the look of desperate concern on her face almost made Tyrial want to cry himself.

        Taking the straw in his mouth, he took a few swallows of water. Rella put the cup back on the table next to Tyrial and tentatively sat on the edge of his bed. Tyrial reached up and brushed the tears off of her cheeks and said in a mostly normal voice, “I’m fine, Rella.” Looking at his still splinted arm, he corrected, “I’ll be fine anyway. I’m not going anywhere.”

        “I was so worried,” Rella said, putting her hand over his again.

        “I know, I’m sorry,” said Tyrial, letting his hand fall out from under hers and back to the bed. “I… I want you to know I wasn’t trying to sacrifice myself. I know it seems like I’m pretty careless with my own life. And in the past, perhaps I was. But because of you, all of you, I understand now that caring for someone doesn't mean sacrificing your life for theirs. It means doing whatever it takes to make sure you both survive.”

        With his words, Rella’s trembling smile began to strengthen. Finally, it made its way to her eyes and she started to shine like she always did. “You have no idea how happy it makes me to hear you say that,” she said. “I…,” she began. Pausing for a few seconds, she continued, “I care about you a great deal Tyrial. More than you probably realize.”

        “I care about you too,” said Tyrial. Taking a deep breath, he contemplated what to say next. He knew there was probably more that needed saying but he just wasn’t certain where to go.

        As the silence stretched on, Rella’s smile began to slip slightly and she began to lightly bite her bottom lip. Tyrial, thinking it was his fault for being too indecisive, began to say, “Rella, —”

        “No,” Rella said, putting her hand over his mouth. “Don't say anything yet, please. I… I need to…” Her lip started to tremble again and the once dried tears started to form in her eyes. “By the Void this is hard…,” she said.

        “Rella…,” Tyrial said.

        “Just… give me a moment,” Rella said, taking several steading deep breaths. Finally, she continued, “I… Sarah said I should have told you sooner. She said it wasn’t fair if you didn’t know.” Rella looked at Tyrial earnestly and said, “I like you a great deal. You… You mean more to me than almost anyone currently alive.”

        Tyrial tried to absorb that for a moment. He felt… hopeful? afraid? Perhaps confused was a better term. This was going exactly where he had always hoped it wouldn’t go. He knew he couldn’t be in a relationship with her, it would put her in far too much danger. Then why was he feeling almost euphoric from her words? The confusion must have shown on his face.

        Rella leaned forward and gently touched his cheek while saying, “You are perfect.” Seeing the look of incredulity that crossed his face, she said, “You are, don’t sell yourself short. You are the most amazing man I’ve ever met, my father would have loved you.” Leaning back, she looked at her lap and said haltingly, “There's just something I never told you. Something I should have told you from the start. It’s just that… I… um… I never expected this to um… I’m generally only attracted to… women…”

        Tyrial was still trying to figure out his own emotions on the subject of this potential relationship. He knew logically he should gently turn her down, but he honestly wasn’t sure if he could bring himself to do that. As his mind finally caught up with what his ears were hearing, his brain came to a sudden stop. Attracted to women? That last sentence rattled back and forth in his mind, seemingly unable to find purchase.

        “You have to understand,” she continued, still not looking at him. “I’ve never found men to be… you know. But you’re so perfect for me, strong, caring, kind, and best of all I can’t read your emotions. I thought if we spent enough time together that maybe I would want to…” Through the tears that began flowing down her cheeks again she continued, “I just… I don’t know —”

        Tyrial gently placed a finger on her lips. He finally managed to wrap his head around the whole thing. He had to admit he had not seen this coming, although several of Sarah’s and Gabriel’s comments he had not understood before started to make sense. Realizing he still had a crying Rella on his hands, he slowly removed his finger from her lips and took one of her hands. Tyrial gave her his best smile as she finally looked up from her lap.

        “I’ve never had a sister before,” Tyrial said, “but I’m pretty sure you’d make an awesome one.”

        With tears still flowing down her cheeks, Rella looked confused for a second. Then with a small frown still on her face, she looked back down and said, “Oh…,” then a few seconds later, “You… aren't upset?”

        He wasn’t entirely sure how he felt if he was honest with himself. “I don’t think I’m quite ready for a serious relationship like that. I don’t know,” he said then sighed, looking at the ceiling, “perhaps this is for the best.”

“My mind is broken,” Tyrial continued, “far more than you realize I think. I’m just not ready to have someone else rely on me like that. To be completely honest, I rely on you to keep me calm too much already right now. That's no way to start what's supposed to be an equal relationship. I… I wouldn’t even blame you if you didn’t want to be my friend.”

        The somewhat sad expression that had been on Rella’s face was replaced with one of hurt, as though he had just accused her of hating him. Then she leaned down and tried to hug him. Although the feel of her pressed against him should have been pleasant, the two soft orbs in front in particular, his recently broken ribs made him grown in pain. Quickly sitting back slightly, she said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” She reached up and held his face gently in her hands, “Tyrial, I’ll always be your friend. You can rely on me as much as you need to, I’ll always be here to help you, I promise.” Leaning forward carefully, she kissed him on the forehead.

        Smiling back at her, Tyrial said, “Thanks. I think you’re exactly what I need right now, and you’ll never know how grateful I am for that.” And the future he had just barely dared to dream of that was lost now? He would keep that to himself. She was still with him and that’s what mattered most right now.

        Smiling, Rella sat back, putting her hands in her lap. There was still a hint of sadness in her eyes that Tyrial had no idea how to fix. She said “I was so worried you were going to… um… resent me when I told you. Some people aren't very accepting of my… choices.”

        “Never happen,” said Tyrial, with a smile. Feeling the smile begin to slip slightly at the reminder of the lost possibilities, Tyrial said the first thing that came to mind in an effort to cover it. “Sarah said something about being married to William in regards to my being your friend. Does that make any sense to you?”

        Rella chuckled slightly and said, “Yes. She’s um… apparently attracted to either gender. Her and I almost kind of had a thing once. But William wasn’t interested in sharing.” She frowned to herself for a moment, then smiled again and continued, “It wouldn’t have mattered though, I like Sarah and William, but I don't think we would have been a good couple. I’ve tried being in a relationship with normal people before, it doesn’t usually work out.”

        So many questions there, Tyrial’s mind spun for a second. Sarah and William with Rella? Was she polyamorous? Perhaps Sarah was since Rella apparently didn’t like men. No, that was all too personal to ask about right now. Tyrial settled for the simpler question about the last thing she said and asked, “Why not?”

        Her already timid smile faded slightly as she thought for a minute, then said, “I had a girlfriend once, her name was Miranda,” Rella sighed. “I know I shouldn’t resent my heritage, my abilities have saved my life countless times. But they are a nuisance when it comes to trying to be close to someone. You’d be surprised how cautious people are around you when they know you can read their emotions, and that's not even counting how often I end up second-guessing myself because of what I’m reading. We ended up arguing all the time, maybe it wouldn’t have been so bad if she could have read my emotions too. Unfortunately, we only lasted a few months before we broke it off. That was before I joined the Osiris.” Rella sighed again, “Anyway, that's why I was… interested in you. I can’t read Mages.” This last part she said into her lap once again.

        “Interesting,” said Tyrial. “I’d heard rumors about Zyrtha but, well, you know how rumors are.”

        Rella nodded, still keeping her eyes down, she said, “I do, especially where Zyrtha are concerned. You have no idea how surprised, and happy, I was that you didn’t run away as soon as you saw me. Anyway, as far as Zyrtha go, we have Mages like the other races. The ‘Gift’ as we call it, appears to be related somehow, at least insofar as a Zyrtha with the Gift can’t read a Mage of any race or anyone near Ragnacite. Some of our Mages also have the Gift, some don’t. Most, like me, have the Gift but are not Mages. The Gift seems to be much more prevalent than being a Mage. And like a Mages power, the Gift comes in gradients.”

        “Gradients,” said Tyrial, “you mean different strengths? How does the strength of your… Gift, change its abilities?”

        “Well, if your Gift is on the weaker side like mine, the most you can read is a person's emotions, and only at medium range. If your Gift is extremely weak you might not get more than a hint and even that only with physical contact. If you have the Gift very strongly, however, you can read a person's actual thoughts as they think them, and at a great distance. If your Gift is extremely strong, as my mothers were, you can even pick memories or other inactive thoughts from a person's mind.”

        Tyrial’s eyebrows were trying to climb off of his forehead, “Read a person's memories?” he said incredulously. “You mean, like, scour their mind for absolutely anything you want?”

        “I can’t,” Rella said quickly, apparently trying to reassure Tyrial. “Even if I could, it doesn't work on Mages no matter how powerful the Gift. But yes, my mother could do that.” The last part, she said looking down at her lap again.

        “I can see why some people might be nervous,” Tyrial said. “You know, it’s funny, you talk about how surprised you were that I didn’t run away from you. I was thinking much the same thing when I met you. And now I’m even more impressed that you weren't afraid of me. Most people are, I mean, who could blame them. I have the power to end someone’s life with a thought, who wouldn’t be scared of that. And for you, it should have been worse. Not only do I have that incomprehensible power, but you couldn’t even so much as read my emotions. With no idea at all what I was thinking and all of this power, you should have been terrified.”

        Looking up from her lap again, Rella smiled and said, “Well, I wouldn’t say no idea. I’ve gotten pretty good at reading faces. It helps when you can actually know what someone is feeling and pair it with their facial expressions. Some Mages are scary, that's true. But not because of their power, it's usually because of their eyes. They usually look so… disconnected. Or sometimes completely empty.”

        “Is that how I look?” Tyrial asked with trepidation.

        “No,” Rella said, touching Tyrial’s cheek lightly, “you look like a man I could trust with my life.”

        Despite himself, Tyrial actually blushed at that. He was still conflicted about her recent revelations, but in some part, knowing that she would never be his lover actually made it easier to let down his guard around her. “What about when you first met me though, I don’t remember you showing so much as a glimmer of fear even when I told you my powers sometimes go rogue in my sleep.”

        Rella shrugged and said, “I don’t know. I just didn’t think you were a bad person. I’ve gotten pretty good at judging that kind of thing, and looking at you I just saw someone who was… lost. You just looked like you needed a hug.”

        Tyrial couldn’t help it, he started to laugh. He had been described by innumerable people throughout his life, often right to his face. The descriptions were often not complimentary. No one had ever in all that time, however, told him that he looked like he needed a hug. The laughing quickly turned to a groan as his ribs reminded him that he needed to take it easy still.

        Leaning forward, Rella said, “Shhh, I’m sorry.” She lightly brushed his cheek again, looking at him like he was in danger of dying on the spot.

        “I’m fine, I’m fine,” Tyrial said, laying a hand gently on his ribs. “Just need to lay off the laughing and coughing for a bit I think.”

        “Ya,” said Rella as she stood, “I should let you get some more rest. Liam will be very upset if I make you any worse after all the work he went through keeping you alive.”

        Tyrial opened his mouth to make further protests in regards to his vitality, but Rella put a finger over his lips. “Shhh, just rest for now. We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you’re feeling better. I’ll come back in a few hours.”

        “Promise?” Tyrial said. “I’m not sure how much of Liam’s bedside manner I can take.”

        Smiling down at him, Rella said, “He grows on you after a while. Besides, I think you’ve grown on him too. Now try to get some rest, ok?” She looked down at him for a moment, several emotions flitting across her face. Tyrial thought for a second he saw disappointment. But before he could figure it out, she bent down, kissed him on the forehead, and left.

        Left to himself, Tyrial’s smile slid off of his face like a mountain slide. Staring at the ceiling, he tried to get his thoughts in order. So many things today he hadn’t expected. On the one hand, he didn’t have to pretend to be normal so he could have a relationship with Rella. On the other hand, he could never have a relationship with Rella. At least not like he had imagined.

        All of that time the possibility had been looming in front of him and he had dodged it, been afraid of it, or wished that it would go away, at least for now. Now that it was gone forever, however, he found that he missed it. Somehow, in the depths of his mind, he had started to dream of what it would be like to be that close to someone else.

        Well, at least she was still in his life, if not quite in the way he had imagined. Perhaps this was for the best, at least he could tell himself that anyway. He did feel more comfortable talking with her now, and he was going to need her help if he was going to become the man this crew needed him to be.

        Pulling the covers up over himself, he laid back and closed his eyes. He wasn’t sure how tired he was right now, but he didn’t have much else to do at the moment. He didn’t think it was possible that he could fall asleep after laying here for who knew how many days, yet after a while he began to drift off.

        His mind screamed, abject terror gripped him. Hundreds of faces swam before his mind's eye, people he had killed, people he had failed to save, his parents. His mind screamed and his eyes snapped open. Staring at the ceiling panels, he breathed hard as though he had just run a marathon.

        As he began to calm down, he brought his hand up to his face. It was trembling badly. Holding his forehead with his one good hand, he didn’t dare close his eyes again. Glancing around quickly, he noted that nothing was out of order or otherwise destroyed. There was that at least. But if that was the horror waiting behind his closed eyelids, he wasn’t going to get much sleep any time soon. Finally getting his breathing fully under control, he dropped his hand back to his bedside.

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        He was about to see if he could persuade Liam to give him a tablet for something to do when the man himself walked through the dividing curtain next to his bed. His artificial legs made him as silent as an assassin when he wasn’t consciously trying to make noise. All recent events considered, it was no surprise to Tyrial that he jumped slightly at the man’s sudden unannounced entrance.

        “Sorry,” said Liam, “I didn’t mean to startle you. I saw your elevated heart rate and breathing on the monitors and thought you might be in distress.”

        Tyrial took a steadying breath and said, “No, no, I’m fine. Just… a nightmare.”

        Liam nodded and said, “I see, I have sleeping aids if you think that might help.”

        “Thanks, but no,” replied Tyrial, “I’d rather not be trapped in my own head right now.” Again, he thought to himself.

        “Mmm,” said Liam. “Well, perhaps if you're feeling up to it, you’d like to take a walk.”

        Tyrial looked at Liam incredulously and said, “Really? You’d let me leave?”

        Liam snorted derisively, “Bed rest is for the dying. If your legs still work, you should use them. As long as you don’t plan to do anything stupid…” Liam looked at Tyrial seriously for a moment, then said, “You aren't planning to do anything stupid, are you?”

        Chuckling slightly, Tyrial said, “No, I think I got that all out of the way earlier.”

        “Good, good,” Liam said. He looked undecided for a moment, then continued, “I don’t usually say this of any action that involves risking one's life, but I appreciate what you did. You saved a lot of lives last week, both ours and the Conclaves. Gabriel has told me how you feel about them and I think it's admirable that you were willing to risk your life to spare theirs. All of that said, however, I would appreciate it if in the future you would refrain from skirting death quite so closely.”

        The day of unexpected revelations continued. Liam actually said something nice to him. Tyrial wasn’t sure what to say in response to that. And then suddenly the entirety of what Liam had said sunk in, he had been out for a week. A week! That might explain the somewhat hollow feeling he was beginning to get in his stomach.

        Deciding not to waste the opportunity to stretch his legs, he simply said “Thanks.” With that, he sat up, very very slowly. Spikes of pain shot through his chest in protest, but he ignored them for now until he was fully upright.

        “You’ll want to take it easy,” said Liam. “Your ribs and arm are mostly mended by now but a hard bump could still cause a fracture if you're not careful.”

        Once fully upright, Tyrial slowly swung his legs off the cot and over the floor. Thankfully the cot was low enough to the ground that he was able to put his feet on the floor without hopping off. That done, he slowly, ever so slowly, stood up. His ribs continued to complain about the abuse, but nothing screamed at him as he stood mostly upright.

        “You look reasonably steady,” said Liam, “there's some fresh clothes for you in the locker at the foot of the cot. If nothing falls apart while you're out, you can return to your bed whenever you feel like it. Also I strongly recommend leaving that sling on for now, and I’d like you to stop by for a check-up in the morning.”

        Nodding, Tyrial slowly moved to the foot of the cot and the locker. Bending down, also slowly, he popped the latch and looked inside. He didn’t want to take any chances by moving quickly right now, the first gasp of pain might make Liam change his mind. With steady care and only one arm, he managed to get himself dressed. The shirt was the most challenging part and in the end he just settled for a front button shirt with his splinted arm left underneath.

        Turning he looked at Liam, who had been standing there observing the entire process. Nodding, Liam stepped forward and buttoned up a few more of the buttons on Tyrial’s shirt. “It’ll do for now I suppose,” he said. “Remember what I said about being careful.”

        Tyrial nodded and said, “Not a problem Doc, I’m not looking forward to a repeat visit. No offense.”

        Smiling for the first time Tyrial had ever seen, Liam nodded and said, “None taken.”

        Just as Liam turned to leave, Tyrial thought of one more thing. “Doc, I don’t suppose my coat happened to survive, did it?” he asked.

        “It was in rough shape last I saw it,” Liam replied. “I believe Rella said something about trying to repair it.” Without waiting for a further reply, Liam walked towards his office. “Take it easy,” he said as he stepped through the door.

        Taking that as his dismissal, Tyrial made his way to the exit of the infirmary. Once out in the corridor, he stopped for a moment. What should he do now? He certainly didn’t want to go to his own room, the memory of what lay behind his eyelids was going to keep him up for a while he figured. The rumbling of his stomach decided the matter for him. He turned right and headed down the length of the corridor to the mess hall at the other end.

        Inside, he found the room empty save for Kreshen sitting in one corner. Not that any room could truly be considered empty when it contained the massive Tartarin. Kreshen appeared to be reading from one of the many books that he dwarfed in his huge hands. Leaving him to his devices, Tyrial walked up to the food processor to see what was on tap this… morning? He suddenly realized he still had no idea what time it was. Looking at the food processors console, he noted it was two hours before midnight. That would explain the lack of people moving around. Did Kreshen not sleep?

        Tyrial shrugged to himself and went about punching up a bowl of hearty soup with bread and some sparkling fruit-based beverage he had never heard of. Taking his tray of food over to one of the many unoccupied tables, he began ravenously consuming the aforementioned food. The sparkling drink was actually pretty good, what little of it he actually took note of in between huge mouthfuls of soup and bread.

        As he was mopping up the last of the soup with a heel of bread, Kreshen sat down across from him. This was a startling development for two reasons. One, Tyrial didn’t think the Tartarin liked him very much. And two, for such a large individual, Tyrial had no idea how he had managed to move to Tyrial’s table without making a sound.

        Sitting back slightly, Tyrial was at a loss for what to say to the imposing four-armed red alien sitting across from him.

        Kreshen solved the problem for him by saying, “I wish to speak with you, Tyrial Novengrad, if you are amenable.”

        “Uhh, sure,” replied Tyrial. What else could he say? He almost reached out for his Will in the face of such a towering figure. Mastering himself, however, he decided he would not do the Tartarin such a dishonor. If Gabriel trusted him, then so would Tyrial. “What can I do for you?” Tyrial said, trying his best to hide his nervousness.

        “I wish to thank you for your efforts on our behalf,” said the Tartarin. “It is not often that I have encountered men who understand honour as you seem to, less so those men who wield the power known as Will.”

        It took Tyrial a moment to understand everything Kreshen was saying. He had a very slow, deliberate and surprisingly eloquent manner of speaking. For a race so well known for their startling displays of sudden and barbaric violence, Kreshen seemed to be very well educated and calm. His sentence complete, he simply sat there looking at Tyrial for a few moments.

        Suddenly Tyrial realized Kreshen was waiting for a response. Feeling foolishly inarticulate, Tyrial said, “Thanks… I don’t know about honor though, I just did what needed to be done.”

        “Seeing the right path is difficult enough in itself,” said Kreshen. “To not only see the path, but walk it without hesitation, that is one of the many essential parts of honor.”

        “I see,” said Tyrial. He didn’t, but he thought it was the polite response. Either Kreshen was a master of philosophy or he was spouting nonsense. He wasn’t certain which it was yet. Tyrial was no master of the spoken word, but he considered himself reasonably capable when it came to understanding the nature of the universe. Perhaps Kreshen’s meaning was just lost amongst the cultural differences. The Ancients knew that Tyrial didn’t know much about Tartarin culture. By the Void, he barely knew anything about human culture.

        “May I ask you a more personal question,” asked Kreshen.

        “Sure,” said Tyrial. It couldn’t get much weirder, he thought.

        “Do you believe in the Gods, Tyrial Novengrad? Any of them?” asked Kreshen.

        Tyrial was wrong, apparently, that was not the question he had expected. But then he hadn’t really been able to come up with an expectation for this conversation. Religion certainly seemed like an odd topic though, since they had just been speaking about honor. At least Tyrial thought that's what they had been speaking about.

        “Not in particular,” said Tyrial. Seeing the expectant look on Kreshen’s face, Tyrial realized he was waiting for more. Doing his best to tap into his inner philosopher, Tyrial continued, “Honestly, I’ve never given it a lot of thought. When you're busy staying alive from day to day you don’t usually have much time for introspective thought. Besides, there aren't many human religions left that still endorse any type of supernatural deity. The most prevalent one I can think of would be the Starmakers, and the closest thing they have to a deity are the Ancients. No one really disputes that the Ancients existed, although the number of things the Starmakers attribute to the Ancients does go a bit far afield in my opinion.”

        “I suppose if I had to pin it down,” continued Tyrial, “I would have to say that no, I don’t really believe in any type of supernatural beings. God’s or otherwise. But that shouldn’t really be a surprise I would think. I have the ability to manipulate the very fabric of space and time at my will. That includes the ability to know for a certainty the exact composition and configuration of any substance or phenomena I come in contact with. The universe holds far fewer mysteries for me than it must for most other people, not the least of which is the power I wield. I suppose it is those unknowns that have always driven others to seek answers though, no matter how fanciful or tenuous they might be. Most humans seem to abhour uncertainty. Personally, given how little of it is left for me, I find it somewhat exciting.”

        Kreshen nodded slowly as Tyrial finished. “For a man who has given it little thought,” said Kreshen, “you have a very well reasoned position on the matter. I must say, I am glad to hear it. All too often people place their faith in whatever answers their forefathers wrought, and give the questions no further consideration themselves.”

        Tyrial shrugged, “I don’t begrudge anyone else their unlikely beliefs,” said Tyrial, “so long as they don't negatively affect me or those I care about. Besides, it’s not like I could pretend to have all the answers myself. There are still plenty of things in the universe I don’t know. I have enough to weigh my mind down without concerning myself with whether other people are using critical thinking in their belief systems.”

        “I believe you have revealed the truth of the matter,” said Kreshen. “I am uncertain to what extent you might understand Tartarin culture. I will say that for one to renounce his belief in all God’s as I have done is more than an unusual occurrence. Our society revolves heavily around the pantheon of Gods we believe in, and the Shaman’s that represent them. Like you, I hold no enmity for those who wish to believe differently in the silence of their own minds. It is those who wish to impose their beliefs on others, by any method, whom I find distasteful. They remind me all too distinctly of the Shamans who use my people’s ignorant beliefs as a tool for power and control.”

        Nodding, Tyrial said, “I know what you mean. The Starmakers have on occasion put forth people they called Avatars who they claimed spoke for the Ancients. Strangely enough, almost everything these ‘Avatars’ had to say always seemed to perfectly coincide with the agenda of the party currently in charge. It seems to me, however, that some people will strive for power at any cost, regardless of the opportunities. If it's not a religion they're subverting, it's a government, or some other organization. The Conclave is a perfect example of that.”

        “You may be right,” said Kreshen. “Perhaps it is the people in charge we should resent, not the institutions they use for their ends.” Sighing, Kreshen sat up straight, “I would like to thank you for the engaging although brief discussion. I would talk further, but I find I am in need of rest. Perhaps you will also retire?”

        “No…,” said Tyrial, remembering the nightmare from earlier. “I’ve spent enough time sleeping lately I think. Perhaps I’ll go wander the ship for a while.”

        “Very well,” said Kreshen, “If you wish for company, I believe Zin’dar is still awake in cargo bay one.”

        Interesting, Tyrial wondered what the small Karachi could possibly be doing in the cargo bay at this hour of night. Then again, there was no telling what hours Zin’dar normally kept, so maybe this was normal.

        As Kreshen stood to leave, he paused for a moment and said, “Rella was right about you, Tyrial Novengrad. You are a good man.” Without waiting for a reply, the Tartarin turned and walked out of the mess.

        Sitting there staring at his empty bowl and tray, Tyrial remembered again what he and Rella had talked about earlier. The more he thought about the conversation the more conflicted he became. He knew it shouldn’t matter, she had never promised to be anything more than a friend to him from the beginning. Still, he had dared to dream, something he had not done in decades. The shards of those broken dreams now began to cut deeply.

        Shaking the thoughts from his head for now, he stood and brought the tray back to the food prep area. Stretching carefully he tested his ribs, seeing that they offered no renewed complaints he decided to go see what Zin’dar was up to in the cargo bay.

        He had to stop twice on his way to rest as his ribs began to complain from what should have been minor exertion. The second time he actually had to sit down on the stairs that lead to the lower levels. Not even a 30-meter walk and he was already having a hard time, the stairs had been particularly taxing though. Perhaps he should have taken the lift. Finally feeling the stitch in his chest relax, he stood and continued down the long hallways leading to the cargo bay.

        A few meters short of the cargo bay doors Tyrial heard the unmistakable sound of Zin’dar cursing, following by the sound of metal pounding on metal. Walking through the doors, Tyrial found the small Karachi wielding a hammer at least as tall as himself. Sitting in the center of the cargo bay were the remains of the Conclave station that had been left attached to the Osiris during their escape.

        It looked to Tyrial as though Zin’dar was doing his level best to disassemble the pile of scrap by main force. Not wanting to interrupt him, Tyrial walked over to a set of stairs to the left of the entrance and sat on the bottom one. Tyrial watched as the Karachi wailed on the durasteel with the hammer for a few more minutes, every swing punctuated by more cursing. Finally, he dropped the hammer and stood back for a moment, apparently observing his handiwork.

        Glancing around the room, likely for inspiration from some other implement of destruction, he finally noticed Tyrial sitting on the stairs. Smiling broadly, he walked over.

        “Well, my boy, so good to see you up and about finally,” Zin’dar said. Standing next to tyrial with one foot on a nearby crate, he removed a small metal flask from his shirt and offered it to Tyrial, “Drink?” he asked.

        Shaking his head firmly, Tyrial replied, “No… thank you. I remember the effects of the last drink you offered me all too clearly.”

        Laughing heartily, Zin’dar up-ended the flask and took a long pull. Smacking his lips, he recapped the flask and returned it to his shirt. “Well, can’t say I blame you. Anyway, I’m glad you stopped by, I wanted to thank you for the souvenir you brought me.” Zin’dar pointed to the enormous chunk of space station.

        “The thing was a right bastard to pry off the Osiris,” Zin’dar said. Walking back to the hunk of metal, he gave one of the long clamps a solid kick with his boot. “And you continue to be a little fucker every step of the way, dontcha.” Limping back to where Tyrial still sat, he flopped down on the crate he had previously used as a foot rest.

        Sighing with gusto, Zin’dar continued, “Void cursed Conclave don’t know how to make anything easy to service. Every Void blasted fastener on that pig is corroded solid. Durasteel… corroded! Do you have any idea how much neglect and abuse is required to corrode fucking durasteel… in space! Pha…” Pulling his flask from his shirt again, he took another long swallow before recapping and returning the container.

        Noticing the slight wobble in the Karachi even while sitting, Tyrial said tentatively, “Are you sure you should be using heavy tools with umm… that much… whatever it is you're drinking?”

        “Haha! This sure isn’t a job for someone who’s sober boy,” replied Zin’dar. Sighing again, Zin’dar continued, “Besides, it helps me get my frustration out at the fuckers for having the nerve to damage my ship.” Looking at Tyrial, Zin’dar’s face became serious and he said, “Speaking of that, I wanted to thank you, sincerely, for doing what you did. I know you were probably only thinking of the crew and I’m thankful for that too, mind you, but Gabriel was ready to tear off half the ship to get us out of there. I don’t think I have enough alcohol to fix a problem that big.”

        “Glad I could help,” said Tyrial.

        “Ha! You’re alright in my book Tyrial,” Zin’dar said, “Gabriel couldn't have picked a better Mage.”

        Zin’dar reached out a hand and gave Tyrial a forceful pat on the back. Tyrial’s ribs screamed in protest and he drew in his breath sharply.

        “Sorry, sorry. Should have known better,” said Zin’dar, looking very apologetic. Taking out his flask again, he held it out to Tyrial and said, “Sure you don't want some? It might help with the pain.”

        As the pain began to fade again, Tyrial started to breathe a little easier. Shaking his head, he said, “Thanks, but Liam already gave me some painkillers and I’d rather not get cursed out by him for mixing them with some mystery intoxicant.”

        Putting his flask away again, Zin’dar nodded and said, “Mmm, ya, probably best. Liam can be a bit of a hard ass when it comes to taking care of yourself. He’s always giving me no end of shit for my stash. He’s a good man though, when you get down to it. Cares about us at least. Anyway, this fucking junk isn’t going to disassemble itself, and you look like you could use a bed. Thanks for stopping by though, maybe you can give me a hand once you're feeling better. Feel free to stay and watch if you like, but uhh… no passin out on me eh? I’m not carrying your ass all the way back to the med bay.” That last part he said with a smile and a wink.

        Deciding that perhaps he didn’t want to push it any farther, Tyrial said, “Wouldn’t want to give Liam any excuses to put me back on bed rest. Good luck with that… thing.” Tyrial pointed vaguely at the remnants of the space stations docking port. As Tyrial slowly stood up and began making his way back to the cargo bay entrance, he saw Zin’dar take another swig from his flask then pick up his hammer and start sizing up the scrap for some more abuse.

        On his way back to the crew quarters he had to stop five times to rest his ribs. By the time he got back to his own quarters, he could tell he had overdone it just a little. Easing himself gently into a sitting position on his bed he ever so carefully unbuttoned the shirt he had put on earlier with his one good arm. By the time he had finished with that he didn’t think he had it in him to bother with his pants. Carefully laying down on his bed, he lay there staring at the ceiling as his aching ribs complained.

        He still didn’t dare close his eyes. He was tired, surprisingly, but he hoped to keep himself awake long enough so that when he did finally fall asleep he wouldn’t dream. That hope was dashed about fifteen minutes later when he fell asleep anyway.

        He had no idea how long he had been asleep, all he knew was he woke up to a terrified scream. As his senses began to come back online, he realized the scream had come from his own throat. He was breathing like a bellows and his chest hurt like fire. Sweat was beading down his forehead, waving his arm frantically; he triggered the automatic lights. As his breathing finally started to return to normal, his door beeped.

        Reaching over he tapped his PA laying on his nightstand to open the door. He was fairly certain who it would be, laying his head back he closed his eyes and concentrated on making his breathing normal.

        “Are you ok?” asked Rella sitting on the side of his bed.

        “Ya, just a nightmare,” replied Tyrial.

        “Liam called me, he said your stats were a little erratic and asked me to check on you,” said Rella.

        “Meddling doctor,” said Tyrial, only half-seriously.

        “Tyrial… what's wrong? Please tell me,” said Rella.

        Tyrial sighed, then immediately regretted it when his ribs creaked. Wincing, he started to say, “It’s —”

        “Don’t say it's nothing,” said Rella. “I’ve spent a lot of time looking at your face since I met you. There's a… darkness, a fear in your eyes that wasn’t there before.”

        Tyrial didn’t want to burden Rella with whatever was going on in his head. But it seemed that after whatever he’d done to escape his mental Void, his subconscious was constantly bubbling over with all of the emotions he’d been suppressing so reliably all these years. All things considered, Rella probably deserved to know anyway.

        Taking a slow deep breath, and wincing from the effort, he said, “I know I’ve told you about my past, at least some of it. It hasn’t been pleasant, to say the least. My father had taught me a method for dealing with my emotions, he called it the Mental Void. It gave me a place to feed any of my unwanted thoughts or emotions. My father warned me that it needed to be used sparingly, only when absolute mental tranquility was needed under pressure and that I would have to deal with whatever I fed it later. Once I mastered the technique, it worked quite well for that purpose. I used it whenever I needed to be level headed in stressful situations.”

        Tyrial paused for a moment. Finally opening his eyes, he couldn’t quite bring himself to look at Rella who was still sitting next to him with a worried frown on her face. Instead, he stared at the ceiling grates above him, he almost didn’t dare blink. If he saw their faces behind his closed eyelids, he wasn’t sure he could keep himself together.

        Stealing himself, he said, “When my parents died, I turned to the Mental Void to help me deal with it. I fed it… everything, from that point forward. Every day, for the last 50 some odd years. I’ve never once released it since then, never dealt with anything I fed to it. So much… pain and…” Tyrial stopped. Despite his best efforts, he could feel memories clawing at him. Things he never wanted to remember, but were now set loose. His eyes threatened to betray him, moisture beginning to form in the corners. Suddenly anger sprang up, how dare these long lost memories threatened to derail him now. Clenching his fist, he forced the threatening tears back.

        Even though his eyes were open, he had stopped seeing through them. Which is why he was shocked out of his mental battle when he realized Rella had laid down on the bed next to him and was in the process of cuddling up to his side. “It’s OK, Tyrial,” Rella said. “I’m here, I won’t let you go. You don’t have to keep it all bottled up inside, I’ll help you.” With one of her hands she held onto his and with her other, she gently touched his cheek.

        Before the revelations from earlier in the day, this would have had anything but a calming effect on him. Knowing what he did now, however, he found her close proximity to be more soothing than usual. Perhaps the shattered possibilities of what could have been still stung, but the comfortable closeness he now felt for this small Zyrtha was almost worth it.

        Feeling like he had control of himself once more, he shakily continued, “I fed it everything, what happened to my parents, what I… did afterwards. Every scrap of pain and suffering I’ve seen since that day went in. And then, last week when I… when you and Liam saved my life, I fell into it myself somehow. I fell in and it consumed me. On the few occasions I could even muster a conscious thought I tried to escape it, but I couldn’t. In the end, I realized I had made it too strong in my own mind. I kept making it stronger to deal with all the torment in my life. I think it eventually became a form of madness, and I almost let it destroy me rather than deal with what it hid.”

        Tyrial felt a dull pain in his chest and realized that Rella had moved the hand that had been touching his cheek to across his chest. She had been steadily tightening her grip on him throughout his narrative. Grunting, he gently took her hand and moved it up to his shoulder.

        “Oh, I’m sorry!” Rella said, moving her hand back to his cheek. “I’m sorry,” she said more softly.

        “It’s ok, just a bit sore still,” Tyrial said. Looking over at her and smiling, he squeezed her other hand still sitting in his one good one. Looking back to the ceiling, he continued, “Well, as evident by the conversation we're having, I found a way out. I had to let it go. Everything it had consumed from the last fifty or so years is now set loose, trying to do its level best to drown me or drive me insane. I don’t think I could sink them all back into the Void again now even if I wanted to. The only thing that saved me from the initial outburst was… you. You were my rock, you kept me from drowning. But now, every time I close my eyes I see the faces of people I couldn’t save or whose suffering I couldn’t ease or… of the people I’ve killed. The worst ones are… my parents.” Tyrial choked on the last word, realizing tears were starting to stream down his face.

        No longer caring about the tears, he let them fall and said quietly, “It hurts so much.”

        Rella put her forehead against the side of his head and whispered in his ear, “It’s ok. I’m here, I’m not going anywhere. Just hold on to me, I’ll be your rock.”

        Tyrial had almost never cried that he could remember over the last fifty or so years, barely even for the death of his parents. But now with Rella next to him and for the second time he let the tears flow down his cheeks unrestrained. He tried to keep the sobs to a minimum as they caused his chest to flare up in small jolts of pain. He lay there with Rella cuddling up to his side whispering soothing words in his ear. Thoughts bubbled up as he cried, how weak he must look sobbing like a little boy. How he had always sworn to himself he would never rely on anyone else again. How dangerous it would be for Rella if he fell asleep and she didn’t leave.

        That last one almost made him speak, but he just couldn’t muster up the courage to ask her to leave. He was ashamed of himself for that, he shifted uncomfortably as he wrestled with his selfish desire to be comforted by her and his concern for what he might do in the middle of the night.

        “Don’t bother asking me to leave,” Rella said softly, “I won't. I said I wasn’t going anywhere and I meant it.” She gently stroked his cheek with her hand, wiping away his tears, “I’ll be your rock, you just worry about getting some sleep.”

        The concern still rumbled beneath the surface of his mind, but fifty years of repressed memories trying to drive him mad was enough for him to give in to his selfish desires. So he lay there, feeling the warmth of Rella beside him, and let himself drift off to sleep as the last tears fell from his eyes.