A hooded figure spoke to his communicator, staring at a ripple in space before him,“It’s found.”
Another voice resounded with satisfaction, echoing from the device in his hand, “Good. But don’t claim it yet. I’m on my way. Unfortunately, time is not on our side. It is not easy to get out of meetings. Who knows how Elize received Vicar’s stamp of absence. No matter, If any come… Kill them all.”
The subordinate hummed silently, returning to the lofty trees surrounding the valley hiding the rift. Then, he clasped the communicator shut with a grin.
* Yet another forgotten dream of Tide-Seer Claudius.
A well-dressed gentleman strode confidently into the steel hangar, his grin pleasant and assured. With a swift, practiced motion, he hefted the briefcase at his side onto a nearby table, clicking it open before spinning it around for the crew of the mangled starship to inspect.
“One dose of Blythar,” the man refused to introduce himself, his voice dripping with polished eloquence. “Side effects include a shortened lifespan and the alteration of one’s Tide.”
“And that’ll work? It’ll save her?” Sonna’s voice broke the tension, though she hesitated, eyeing her unconscious companion on the nearby couch.
The man gave a curt nod, his gloved hand pushing the case closer to Sonna and Lucius. Rejo stood nearby, arms crossed, while Archimedes remained hidden behind the hallway’s door, watching with wide, cautious eyes.
“Yes,” the man replied with cold efficiency. “Blythar, a Soul Suppressor, forcibly acclimates both body and soul to the Lightsea by forcing the Qualae’s remnant into submission. Made straight from the marrow of an Anathema and sprinkled with a Caesar’s essence. Also, a Psion must be present in its creation to finalize the suppressive effects. Prohibitively expensive, might I add.”
He offered a slight bow, preparing to leave, but Lucius’s voice stopped him mid-turn.
“Are you one of Claudius’ men?” Lucius’s tone was sharp, testing the courier’s origins.
The man shook his head without hesitation, “No. This was a favor sent by Praetor Sun.”
Without another word, the Tianshe left the hangar, his gray skin barely a shade lighter than the ship’s steel, blending into the metallic ambiance as the roar of another starship’s engines filled the air.
A moment later, silence reigned over the hangar, save for the distant hum of the ship’s damaged systems. Dante’s crew stood alone on Keurgis IIII, a barren, lifeless planet of rock and dust, baking under a cruel sun.
Rejo’s eyes lingered on the thin syringe of mint-green liquid, curiosity creasing his brow, “You guys ‘hink if I took ‘hat, I could use my ‘ide?” His sincere question met silence as Sonna and Lucius exchanged uncertain glances.
Archimedes, from his hiding spot, gently tugged at Rejo’s sleeve, shaking his head softly.
Lucius reached into the foam-lined case, pulling the syringe out. While holding the container up to the dim lights, he inspected the gleaming liquid, a frown tugging at the corners of his mouth.
Sonna stared at it, too, sensing the processed, hardly contained power swirling within the vial. The Lightsea’s presence was palpable—a complex network of motes that surpassed anything she had ever encountered, except for that monstrous lady, however.
The soldier of the crew bent over and retrieved the medicine from the foam imprint in the case, holding it up to the overhead lights. Sonna, too, gaped at it, feeling the power wrestled within it.
She sensed the Lightsea itself and with an origin far more remarkable than her own mastery. It was difficult for her to comprehend, but it felt like a network of interconnecting veins, each powered by a mote of the ‘Sea. Beyond that, however, something within tickled her mind with a warning.
“We have no choice,” Sonna muttered softly, her voice tight with uncertainty. “Give it to her. We need to move soon. With fuel this low, we might even need to grab a bounty just to make it across the Wings to Gladius C.”
The woman bit her nail lightly as she recalled the recent ping from Dante’s chip. He was still on Crislend. Alive. For now. How long?
No one knew. And that’s why they were in a rush.
Lucius nodded and carefully injected the bile-like fluid into Joan’s neck. For several moments, the crew stood still, watching as the doctor’s body convulsed, her veins bulging grotesquely beneath her skin.
It had been a tumultuous past few days. At roughly every point, they had thought the Harenlar wouldn’t make it. And yet...
Her antennae twitched with a spasm as her eyes snapped open, gasping with a mix of relief and horror. Lucius took a step back as her skin rippled, the movement unnatural and foreign, like an inside creature grasping for escape. The Martian’s hand hovered over the pistol at his waist, but Sonna clutched his wrist, holding him in place.
“Joan? Are you... alright?” Sonna crouched closer, her voice thick with concern. The doctor’s lungs heaved in rapid breaths, inhaling sharply several times but not exhaling.
Rejo edged forward, curiosity etched on his face, while API lurked in the doorway, barely peeking around the corner. The boy’s eyes were stuck, lodged upon the brow of the unconscious woman. He felt as though he saw something there, but before he could discover it, Joan’s arms burst open, her skin tearing apart with a sickening crack.
Cries of disgust erupted from the crew as a sickly, yellowish-maroon liquid spurted from her open wounds, far too thick to be blood.
“What... the... fuck... is... that?” Rejo’s voice was bare with disbelief, and Sonna clapped a hand over her mouth, fighting the urge to retch. Conversely, Lucius knelt beside the doctor, dipping a finger into the substance.
The doctor couldn’t speak a word as she hacked her lungs out. Lucius, dipping a finger into the liquid, furrowed his brow, “It’s... like blood. But it’s not. Marrow? Joan?”
Bit by bit, the doctor brought her own symptoms into line by shoving a handful of pills into her jaws with a free palm. Then, beating her chest to speed up the medicine’s passage through her esophagus, her eyes met their stares with a crazed wildness.
“Yes,” the woman rasped, her voice hoarse. “It’s... marrow. Damn it. What did you give me? I feel... like I’m overflowing with power. Something’s twisting inside me. Wait... is that my Tide?”
Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings.
Her twenty fingers twisted in the air, moving as if they were drawing back the strings of invisible bows. The sickly liquid hovering in the air quivered and responded to her call.
Lucius took a cautious step back while Sonna and Rejo recoiled further, watching with a mixture of horror and fascination. Only Lucius remained relatively calm, for he had seen far worse.
“Are you better now?” Lucius asked, his voice carefully neutral. “And is that really your Tide? You’re a Necto? I can’t say I’m surprised...” He trailed off, watching as Joan manipulated the marrow-like fluid back into her open wounds. Nevertheless, her wounds remained open despite such bizarre motions.
Joan nodded, shifting to lean against the couch for support, “Yeah. But I’ll need a bit to walk. This, though... It’s amazing. Everything I’ve ever wanted. Another thing to appreciate Dante for, I suppose.”
The Harenlar knew well and above that whatever she was given to cure her was astronomically expensive. She was a doctor, and the prices of such specific and powerful medicines were...
Often… priceless.
It wasn’t her that whoever gave this was paying for, though. And it wasn’t anyone beyond her four eyes, either. It was the human that they had placed a bet on, the same human she had watched grow from a desperate sniveling brat into a cunning renegade.
Claudius. He was wagering that Dante could turn all of us into allies, powerful ones nonetheless.
A morsel of pride bloomed within the haughty woman’s heart, but she squirreled it away behind layers of cold ambitions, hoping to never have to deal with the emotions adequately. Joan wasn’t one to entertain sentiment. While closing her eyes, she talked over Sonna just as the latter started up, “Alright. Take us to Crislend, boy. I’ve got some things to work on.”
Archimedes flinched at the harsh demand, but before he could react, Lucius stepped in, “His name is Archimedes. You will call him by his name, and you will not order him around like that.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever. Let me work. I’ll get back to you on that,” Joan rolled her eyes, further instigating the soldier. Lucius wanted to strike the woman, but he calmed down, knowing that was not the answer here. Violence didn’t used to be his go-to. It pained him it was now.
Lucius clenched his fists, the urge to retaliate burning hot in his chest, but he exhaled sharply, choosing restraint through the inner turmoil, “Isaac,” he said, facing the boy gently. “Can you chart us for Crislend? Is a jump even possible?”
The young man shook his head while Sonna’s eyes fell in disappointment, not because of API, but from the overall situation, “No... Shields are too weak. If... I—I had powers... we could go anyway...”
“That’s alright, buddy. Just get us going if you can. Dante can last a while longer, I’m sure,” Luciuss, patting the air around the boy’s back, smiled. He treated the boy no different from his own children he so dearly missed.
Then, the two walked toward the Skull, heading through the trim hallways, leaving Rejo and Sonna together with the isolated Harenlar.
Four arms tiredly waved in the background while the Weren scrubbed her face with her palm, “Crislend? Is that such a good idea? What if the Caesar is still there?”
Rejo could only offer her a shrug before his own hands gathered at his chest. He wanted her to see the fruit of his training as a small orb of Lightsea motes gathered at his chest. Yet, they swiftly fractured, offering him only a brief nod from Sonna.
A long sigh emerged as she walked away, heading toward her own room. As she entered the main hallway, the thrusters on the Maiden shuddered, nearly making her falter because of the poor stabilizers on the ship.
Everything’s a mess right now. I doubt the Caesar is still on Crislend based on what we’ve learned about them, but we’ll still have to deal with countless Dirge. Maybe even a few Anathema. Can we do that?
In her undersized quarters now, Sonna sat cross-legged on her bed, her hands held out in front of her, palms upturned. Thin streams of mist curled from her fingertips, the ghostly tendrils expanding slowly outward as she practiced her Tide.
The decaying sublimation formed a thin glove around her hands, a decaying solid that spread across her flesh like frost creeping over a windowpane. Sonna stared at the ethereal mist, her brow wrinkled in concentration. She had been practicing, pushing herself to control her power more effectively, to make it last longer without draining her.
Arido, the rarest Tide.
And what did it mean? What did it make her?
The thin glove across her flesh was her Tide. She was an Arido. The rarest natural type. And why was that?
She had done some research on her own, but little turned up on the standard Starnet. She had some thoughts, though, but most of them were self-demoralizing.
The self-doubt gnawed at her as it always did. Cryos were powerful, bold, and confrontational. Hydros were cunning and adaptable, always finding the advantage. Thermos, too, had their own strengths. But Arido? Decay. Corrosion. What kind of power was that?
Sonna exhaled deliberately, focusing on the mist and feeling it respond to her will. She had learned to extend it further, let it fill the space around her, and reach out to sense the living beings aboard the ship. The mist was delicate, nigh-invisible, but she could see it without fault.
She had practiced this lately, focusing on lowering its draining nature and capitalizing on its ability to spread out. With such a focus, Sonna soon learned the hidden capabilities of her element.
The fog expanded further, entering the ship at large, and filled out the vessel after a few minutes. The process was slow because of her cautious nature, but once the near-invisible haze had reached all ends, the woman closed her eyes.
There, she felt them all, like a spider surveying its web. Still, she could only sense the living, not the dead or the environment of steel.
Rejo sat still, his two arms fashioned into a metaphorical orb’s embrace near his navel. Sonna never, absolutely never, understood that man. His devotion to Dante was unwavering, but... his methods were so odd.
Why is he doing that? What is he doing? How come he isn’t practicing his Tide?
Sonna was at a loss for words, but she moved on. The Araki’s Stigmata alone would make him an irreplaceable boon in any fight. He had already proven that.
Joan was the next the Weren divined with her senses.
The doctor cackled with laughter upon the couch, holding up a glove of... the Lightsea’s energy. Motes of her Tide wrestled above her fingertips, spreading into a gauntlet of blanched marrow. The fluid shifted, contorted, before suddenly gaining solidity upon her fingertips.
From what Sonna could tell, it didn’t become bone, but it was solid. And... that made her realize the difference between Nectos and the rest. They broke the rules. Every other element was stuck in one state of matter or one transitional phase.
But not the Unnatural.
Despite the oddness, Sonna bloomed with joy over Joan’s newfound power. A stronger doctor meant they were all more likely to survive, and the four-armed woman had already shown great strength.
No one knew what her Stigmata was yet, but they’d find it out in time, Sonna was sure.
After the wild excitement subsided, Sonna focused on the duo resembling a father and son. Lucius stood over Archimedes while the young boy rotated controls with one hand and used the other to connect wires.
Sonna listened to Archimedes’ words through her mist’s featherweight connection to his life-force, discovering that the boy could, in fact, speak without a stutter or stammer. Instead, Archimedes’ voice droned on in a soft, almost rhythmic monologue, his attention absorbed in repairing and preparing the Maiden for travel, “The engine is running at forty-three percent efficiency. Shields are at twelve.”
The young boy’s fingers danced across a wire as another terminal lit up, his other hand already typing at the pad, ”If I reroute the shields’ allocation into the engine, we can push it to sixty... maybe sixty-five percent, but it’ll strain them. The engines are old—too old. There is a risk we get stranded in space with the extra power, but if I don’t, then it’ll be an entire month before we’re even at Crislend.”
For all the knowledge the young genius possessed, he had little confidence in his decision-making, so he glanced up at Lucius.
Pythagoras never asked a question, but the Martian had an answer, “You make the choice, Isaac. I believe in you.”
A prideful flush colored Archimedes’ pallid face and he immediately returned to the droning. However, now he had a bit of excitement in his words. The core of his brain warmed as a violet light seemed to emerge from the depths of his eyes. His mind calculated an answer, grasping the correct path.
“Rerouting shields to engines. Leaking ionized gas from the Seacells. The plasma is only dangerous at high levels, like from a jump. If we need to jump, someone will have to contain it,” Archimedes paused, biting his lip. “It’s not a permanent fix. We’ll have to find decent materials if we want to jump again. It will not last twice.”
Lucius watched him work, a faint smile on his face. The boy was brilliant—far beyond his years. Archimedes’ mind was a marvel, able to dissect complex mechanical systems as simple puzzles. He rarely obtained a focus like this, but the soldier was proud of Isaac every time. Nonetheless, he was more than just the sum of his skills.
Beneath the near-incomprehensible words, the constant fear, and the hidden scars, Lucius knew there was a child still in there somewhere. The father would do everything he could to ensure it remained just a little stretch longer.
“Do you think we could make a jump away from Crislend? I doubt we’ll be leaving nicely,” Lucius asked, his tone soft but concerned.
Archimedes didn’t hesitate, “Yes. As long as I have some time to do repairs with actual parts that aren’t older than both of us combined, I can get the shields high enough for a jump. Though, it will be a slow jump, as I’ll have to re-divert the engines to the shields and the Seacells.”
The boy’s fingers continued to work, mapping the way ahead while rerouting individual power cells through damaged circuits, every motion methodical if not mechanical in nature. The ship’s systems were more familiar to Archimedes’ than his own frail heartbeat.
“Isaac...” Lucius began, hesitating for a moment before continuing his words. “You don’t have to do everything by yourself, you know. I can steer just fine.”
Archimedes glanced up briefly, but his eyes never reached Lucius, falling back down as if yanked, “I know. But this part... this is what I can do. The ship is my responsibility. If I don’t do this, we won’t make it to Crislend. Until I get powers...”
Lucius nodded, not pushing further as he saw the boy’s dream. It was the kind that every young man had, but Isaac’s was irregular. He actually had a chance of reaching it.
No more questions came from the soldier, for he understood the boy’s need to focus, to control what he could in a universe that often felt chaotic and unpredictable.
In some ways, the two were far more alike than Lucius would like to admit, for the boy’s sake, of course. However, instead of learning to control something unknown to him when he felt lost, Lucius went on a rampage.
Bloodied memories flashed in his mind before he sensed something tickle at his mind. His eyes flicked to the side as he spotted the faintest semblance of fog. Squinting, he put two and two together, and his pupils unveiled a threat toward the watchful mind.
“Stop watching us, Sonna. I can feel you,” pulling away in shock, the Weren held her hands against her chest as the heart within beat with trepidation.
Her breaths came in and out with frantic panic for several moments before she calmed down.
It’s just Lucius. It’s just Lucius. Everything is fine. You’re fine. You’re fine. Just breathe. Breathe. In. And. Out.
Slowly, glacially, Sonna relaxed from the sudden fear Lucius had burrowed into her soul. Her head fell back onto a pillow before her eyes slid back to her ghostly-clad hands.
More. She could do better.