The steady hum of the ship pulsed through Erik’s feet, a rhythmic beat that felt almost like a heartbeat. Every surface of the vessel; its starlight-imbued wood, the shimmering runes, even the ghostly sails that billowed in non-existent wind seemed alive, responding to the faintest brush of his will.

And yet, it didn’t feel entirely his.

Erik sat in the captain’s quarters, his elbows resting on a table carved from a single piece of luminous crystal. Before him floated a series of translucent projections, maps and glyphs written in a language he didn’t fully understand. The ship had given him access to its systems the moment he stepped aboard, but its responses felt... cautious. As if it were still deciding whether he was worthy.

The ring on his finger pulsed faintly in time with the ship’s hum, its glow casting shifting patterns across the room. Erik’s gaze drifted to it, his thoughts churning.

“What are you hiding?” he murmured.

The door slid open with a soft hiss, breaking his concentration. Vesper stepped in, her expression caught between awe and unease. “You’re talking to yourself again,” she said, crossing her arms. “Should I be worried?”

Erik leaned back in his chair, gesturing vaguely to the projections. “Just trying to figure out how this thing works. It’s not exactly user-friendly.”

Vesper glanced at the floating glyphs, her brow furrowing. “And you’re sure it’s safe? This whole ship feels... wrong.”

“It’s not wrong,” Erik said, though his tone lacked conviction. “It’s just... old. Aetherian magic predates anything we’ve seen before. This ship doesn’t need a crew because it is the crew. Every plank, every rune, every thread of those sails; it’s alive.”

Vesper’s eyes narrowed. “Alive? Like... sentient?”

“More like... aware,” Erik said. He hesitated, then added, “It feels me. Every command I give, every thought I have…it reacts. But it’s not just obeying. It’s... considering.”

“That doesn’t make me feel better,” Vesper muttered. She leaned against the wall, her hand resting lightly on the hilt of her sword. “And what happens if it decides it doesn’t like you?”

Erik’s lips twisted into a faint smirk. “Then I guess we find out how good you are at swimming.”

She didn’t laugh.

***

Erik, Vesper, and Berndhardt stepped into one of the ship’s grand corridors, their footsteps muffled by a floor that seemed to shimmer like glass but felt solid underfoot. The air inside was cool but not cold, faintly perfumed with something unplaceable… like the scent of distant rain. The walls pulsed faintly with a soft glow, their surfaces etched with intricate runes that seemed to shift and flow like a living language.

“What is this place?” Vesper murmured, her eyes wide as she scanned the corridor. “It’s... beautiful, but in the creepiest way possible.”

Berndhardt ran a hand along the wall, frowning. “Feels wrong,” he said gruffly. “Like it’s watching us.”

“It probably is,” Erik said, his voice calm. He gestured toward the runes. “These glyphs and runic scripts aren’t just decorations. They’re part of the ship’s consciousness. Aetherian vessels weren’t designed to be controlled like normal ships; they were designed to think.”

“Think?” Vesper asked sharply. “As in, like a person?”

“Not quite,” Erik replied, studying the runes. “It’s more like... instinct. These glyphs regulate the ship’s functions - navigation, defenses, energy distribution. But they also respond to whoever the ship recognizes as its captain.” He tapped the glowing ring on his finger. “Which, apparently, is me.”

Berndhardt squinted at the runes, his brow furrowed. “You’re saying this gibberish is running the whole thing? Looks like scratches to me.”

Erik turned to him, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “It’s not gibberish. It’s Aetherian script-an ancient magical language designed to interface directly with arcane constructs. Every symbol has layers of meaning depending on its arrangement, its glow, even its pulse.”

Vesper arched an eyebrow. “You can read this stuff?”

“Some of it,” Erik admitted. He ran a hand over a cluster of runes, his gaze intent. “This sequence here-it’s monitoring the ship’s structural integrity. And this one,” he pointed to another set, “is tracking our position relative to magical ley lines. The ship uses them like a map.”

Berndhardt’s skeptical expression deepened. “And you figured that out how?”

Erik glanced at him, his expression unreadable. “Runic scripts were part of my training as a Lethri. I spent years studying them-cataloging artifacts, maintaining wards, repairing containment seals. It was the one magic I was allowed to touch.”

Vesper blinked. “Wait, hold on. You? A runic scholar? I thought your talents were more... blunt force.”

“Surprise,” Erik said dryly. “Just because I prefer a sword doesn’t mean I can’t read.”

Berndhardt barked a laugh. “Alright, smart guy. What’s that one say?” He jabbed a finger at a particularly complex cluster of runes etched into the wall.

Erik studied it for a moment, his eyes narrowing. “It’s a security ward. Aetherian vessels were designed to defend themselves against intrusions-physical or magical. This sequence is tied to the ship’s outer hull. If it detects a breach, it can reinforce the area or activate defensive measures.”

“Defensive measures?” Vesper echoed. “Like what?”

Erik hesitated, his fingers brushing the glowing symbols. “I’m not sure,” he admitted. “The glyphs here are... advanced. They might be able to repel attackers or disable enemy spells. Or they could just vaporize anything that gets too close.”

“Comforting. On that note, I’m heading down that corridor. Doesn't every ship have a galley? I could use a drink” Berndhardt muttered.

***

The corridor opened into a vast chamber that took their breath away. It was circular, with high vaulted ceilings that shimmered like a starry sky. A massive crystalline structure rose in the center, its surface pulsing with threads of light that radiated outward like veins. The walls were lined with floating platforms, each displaying objects suspended in faintly glowing fields-artifacts of unknown purpose and origin.

“This is...” Vesper trailed off, at a loss for words.

“A command nexus,” Erik said, his voice hushed with reverence. He approached the central crystal, his hand hovering just above its surface. “This is the heart of the ship. Every function, every system, every decision it makes-all of it flows through here.”

Stolen novel; please report.

Berndhardt eyed the floating artifacts warily. “And what about those? They look like trouble waiting to happen.”

Erik nodded. “Probably. Aetherian ships were known to carry powerful relics-tools and weapons that could turn the tide of a battle. But they’re bound to the ship’s core. No one can use them without the ship’s permission.”

Vesper’s gaze lingered on one of the artifacts, a dagger that seemed to be made of liquid light. “So the ship decides who’s worthy,” she said softly. “Just like it did with you.”

Erik turned to her, his expression thoughtful. “It’s more than that. The ship doesn’t just want a captain-it wants a purpose. Aetherian constructs weren’t built to wander aimlessly. They were created for war, for conquest, for salvation. It’s waiting to see what I’ll do with it.”

Berndhardt crossed his arms. “And if it doesn’t like your answer?”

Erik didn’t respond immediately. His gaze drifted back to the glowing crystal, the light reflecting in his crimson-tinged eyes. “Then I guess we find out how good I am at improvising.”

“This place is starting to creep me out,” Berndhardt muttered, his axe resting on his shoulder squinting at the runes. “Looks like gibberish to me. How do you even know what any of this actually is?”

Erik hesitated, his fingers brushing the edge of the nexus. “When I was a Lethri, I read everything I could about magic and runes. Most of it was standard fare-stuff everyone learns about wards and glyphs. But there were a few... older texts. They called the Aetherians the Ancient Ones.”

Vesper tilted her head. “The Ancient Ones? Like the bedtime stories?”

“They’re not just stories,” Erik said. “These texts talked about Aetherian constructs—ships, weapons, cities…that could reshape the world. They described their runes as a language of pure magic, able to interface directly with reality itself. That’s why these symbols look like they’re alive. They’re not just writing; they’re commands.”

“And you just... read this stuff in the library?” Berndhardt asked, his skepticism clear. “What kind of library are we talking about here?”

Erik’s brow furrowed. “The archives had more than just books. There were fragments of scrolls, tablets, pieces of old texts no one could fully translate. I spent years studying them, trying to make sense of it all. But even then...”

He trailed off, his gaze distant.

Vesper frowned. “Even then what?”

Erik shook his head slowly. “Even then, some of it didn’t come from the texts. There are things I know-details, connections that weren’t written down. I don’t know where they came from. It’s like they’ve always been there, waiting for me to remember them..”

Berndhardt let out a low whistle. “That’s not ominous at all.”

Before Erik could respond, a familiar demonic voice slithered into his thoughts, rich with mocking amusement.

“Oh, this is getting interesting.”

Erik’s jaw tightened. “Not now.”

The demon laughed softly, a sound that felt like it was coming from the very walls around him. “Oh, but now is the perfect time. They’re asking all the right questions, aren’t they? You’ve got secrets even you don’t understand.”

“What do you know?” Erik demanded silently.

The demon’s chuckle was smooth, smug. “Let’s just say your knowledge of the Aetherians is more than coincidence. Their technology, their constructs, their ships..it’s all highly sought after. Most races can barely comprehend it. But a few... well, a few have managed to scrape together enough to make it dangerous.”

Erik’s eyes narrowed. “Who?”

“The Eldritch, of course,” the demon purred. “They’ve gotten... creative. Found themselves a way to use Aetherian portals to hop between worlds. Just small incursions, mind you, enough to attach their corruption to unwitting hosts. But it’s effective. And it’s spreading… as you well know.”

“Erik?” Vesper’s voice cut through his thoughts. She was watching him closely, her expression wary. “You’re doing that staring-off-into-space thing again.”

“I’m fine,” Erik said quickly, though the tension in his voice betrayed him.

Berndhardt crossed his arms. “Doesn’t look fine. You gonna tell us what’s going on in that head of yours?”

Erik hesitated, then let out a slow breath. “The Eldritch,” he said finally. “They’ve been using Aetherian technology-portal systems, specifically to spread their corruption. It’s how they’re getting to other worlds.”

Vesper’s eyes widened. “You’re saying the Eldritch are using these portals to infect people? To move between realms?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying,” Erik replied grimly. “They’re not just parasites. They’re organized. They’ve found a way to weaponize Aetherian constructs constructs like this ship.”

Berndhardt frowned. “And you know all this because...?”

Erik’s gaze shifted to the glowing nexus, the light reflecting in his eyes. “Because some of it’s in the texts,” he said softly. “And some of it... I just know.”

For a moment, silence filled the hall, the hum of the nexus the only sound. Then Vesper stepped forward, her expression hard. “If the Eldritch are already using Aetherian technology, that means they’re ahead of us. And if we don’t figure this out—”

“They’ll keep spreading,” Erik finished, his voice low but firm. “And this ship might be the only thing that can stop them.”

The next few days passed in a strange rhythm. The ship glided through the sky with eerie grace, its movements so smooth they often felt stationary. Erik spent most of his time in the captain’s quarters, poring over the ship’s systems, while Vesper and Berndhardt explored the decks. The vast, empty spaces felt both awe-inspiring and unsettling; there were rooms filled with strange, unidentifiable machinery, libraries stocked with books written in alien scripts, and halls that seemed to shift subtly when unobserved.

But the longer they stayed aboard, the more the ship seemed to... change.

It began with small things. The faint hum of the ship grew louder when Erik entered a room, the glow of its runes brightening as if in acknowledgment. Doorways appeared where there had been none before, opening paths that seemed tailored to his needs. Vesper swore she saw shadows flicker in the corners of her vision, shapes that dissolved the moment she turned to look.

And then came the voices.

Erik was standing on the observation deck, staring out at the endless expanse of clouds, when he heard it for the first time. A low whisper, barely audible, like the rustling of leaves in a distant forest.

Unworthy...

He turned sharply, his hand instinctively going to his sword. But the deck was empty, the only sound the soft flutter of the ship’s sails.

“Unworthy...”

The word came again, this time closer. Erik’s grip tightened on his weapon, his gaze sweeping the deck. “Who’s there?” he demanded.

Silence.

Then, the voice shifted, not from the air around him but from within his mind, threading through his thoughts like an unwelcome intruder.

“You wield what you do not understand. You take what is not yours.”

Erik’s jaw tightened. “This ship chose me.”

“Did it?” the voice asked, its tone laced with quiet mockery. “Or did you take the ring and assume that choice was yours?”

A flicker of doubt crept into Erik’s mind, but he shoved it aside. “Show yourself,” he growled.

The air in front of him shimmered, and a figure materialized. It wasn’t human; or even truly corporeal. Its form was a shifting mass of light and shadow, vaguely humanoid but constantly shifting, as though it couldn’t decide what it wanted to be.

“You are the captain,” the figure said, its voice layered, as if multiple beings spoke in unison. “But you are not the master.”

Erik narrowed his eyes. “Then who is?”

The figure tilted its head, the motion almost serpentine. “This vessel was forged by the Aetherian Founders, its purpose bound to their will. You are an interloper, a thief in a sacred hall. Your presence is tolerated…for now.”

“Tolerated?” Erik repeated, his tone sharp. “This ship responds to me. It follows my commands. That makes me its master.”

The figure’s form rippled, and for a moment, its presence filled the entire deck, an overwhelming weight that pressed down on Erik’s chest. “Mastery is not declared. It is earned.”

In the days that followed, Erik began to feel the ship’s resistance more keenly. Commands he gave were followed, but with a delay, as though the ship were testing his resolve. The projections in the captain’s quarters began to flicker, their glyphs shifting into symbols he couldn’t decipher. And the whispers grew louder, not just for Erik but for Vesper and Berndhardt as well.

“It’s testing you,” Vesper said one evening as they gathered in the galley; a strangely elegant room of marble and crystal that seemed out of place on a ship. “It wants to see if you’re worthy.”

“Ya.. No. I got that much.” Erik muttered, his frustration evident. “If I wasn’t worthy, we wouldn’t be flying.”

Berndhardt, who had been unusually quiet, finally spoke. “Maybe it’s not about being worthy to fly. Maybe it’s about being worthy to land.”

The words hung in the air like a storm cloud.

“What do you mean?” Vesper asked.

Berndhardt shrugged, his massive frame casting a shadow across the room. “Think about it. A ship like this isn’t just a tool. It’s a weapon. A fortress. Whoever controls it could reshape the world. Maybe the ship isn’t testing whether Erik can fly it; it’s testing whether he can wield it without destroying himself.”

Erik leaned back in his chair, his gaze distant. The thought had crossed his mind before, but hearing it spoken aloud gave it weight. The ship wasn’t just a means of transport; it was a crucible. And Erik wasn’t sure what it was forging him into.