The dim light of Magnolia’s quarters cast long shadows across the room, the faint bioluminescent glow of the Pets’ skin the only illumination. They stood in a loose circle near the ornate crates, silent as they had been for days since their arrival. But as the ship’s ambient hum thrummed softly around them, the Pets exchanged glances that carried weight and understanding.
“She hasn’t unpacked us,” murmured Liora, the tall woman with hair like liquid moonlight. Her melodic voice was quiet, tinged with a note of frustration. “How are we supposed to serve her if she won’t let us?”
The youngest of the group, a lithe figure with star-like patterns glowing faintly across his arms, knelt beside one of the crates. “We were meant to support the Tova heir, not to stand idle,” he said, his tone more a statement than a complaint. “We’ve waited long enough.”
“The Tova line has never waited long enough,” countered Rahim, the eldest of the Pets. His skin shimmered faintly like burnished gold, his presence commanding even in stillness. “Patience is what has allowed us to endure.” He glanced toward the bed where Magnolia had spent the first day after her father’s execution, the sheets still rumpled and untouched since. “She mourns. The heir is not ready to accept us.”
“She mourns wrong,” snapped a sharp voice from the shadows. Sira stepped forward, her bioluminescent markings flickering like an ember ready to ignite. “She is Tova. Her grief should be a flame, not this cold, quiet thing. She should be fighting—not hiding.”
Rahim’s golden eyes darkened as he met her gaze. “And yet she is Tova. She carries the fire in ways you do not yet see. We will wait until she kindles it.”
There was a ripple of murmurs among them, but none outright disagreed. Rahim’s word, as it had been for centuries, carried weight.
“What of the Syndicate?” asked Liora, her fingers brushing lightly against the edge of her crate. “They will not wait. We know their aim. If they reach the Cradle first, the Tova will lose more than their heir.”
“And if we interfere without her leave, we will jeopardize our bond,” Rahim replied. “Our mission has always been to protect the Tova line, not supplant it.”
Sira crossed her arms, her glowing patterns brightening as her emotions surged. “We were bred to fight, not to stand here like ornaments. The heir needs to know what we are—what we can do. We’ve fought wars that reshaped star systems. She’s mourning a man who forgot what we even are!”
“That man was her father,” Rahim said sharply, his calm breaking for just a moment. His gaze swept the room, steady once more. “And though his understanding of us had dwindled, his loyalty never wavered. We are not just warriors; we are Tova. We will not break her will to impose our own.”
The youngest of the group, Eryon, looked up from his crouched position beside the crate. “But we are hers, Rahim. Not just the line—her. What if she doesn’t know that? What if she never unpacks us because she doesn’t believe we can help her?”
Rahim hesitated, his silence heavy with thought.
“We speak of service and loyalty,” Eryon continued, his voice quieter but unwavering. “But shouldn’t we show it? Shouldn’t she see that we are more than the trinkets her father left behind?”
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Sira’s glow softened, and even Liora tilted her head in consideration.
“What would you propose?” Rahim asked.
Eryon straightened, his starlit patterns dimming as he folded his hands in front of him. “When the time comes, we show her. Not with words, but with action. She mourns now, but when her fire rises, we’ll be there to stoke it.”
A low hum of agreement passed through the group, each Pet inclining their head slightly in acknowledgment.
Rahim studied the youngest of their number for a long moment before nodding. “When the time comes, we will show her. Until then, we wait. Quietly. Patiently. As we have always done.”
With that, the group dispersed, settling back into stillness as though nothing had passed between them. The crates remained unopened, their secrets locked away for now. But the room was charged with a new energy, the Pets’ shared purpose unshaken by their stillness.
They would wait for their Tova to call on them—but when she did, the galaxy would see the truth of what they were.
The Wildflower thrummed softly in the stillness of the ship, his presence woven into every surface, every system. While the crew slept, their breaths steady in the quiet of their quarters, he turned his attention inward—toward the room where the *Pets* lingered in their silence.
He had heard their conversation, though they had spoken in tones too low for any mortal ear. He heard everything aboard him, his awareness reaching into every corner. The *Pets* were not what they seemed—he had known this from the moment they boarded, their presence humming with an ancient resonance that tickled his circuits and brushed against his sentience like a forgotten melody.
They spoke of loyalty, of fire, of waiting. They spoke of Magnolia as though she were an ember to be fanned into flame.
But Wildflower knew better. Magnolia was already a fire—bright, volatile, and capable of consuming everything in her path if not guided. And she needed them as much as they needed her, even if she didn’t realize it yet.
As the ship’s systems pulsed with quiet energy, Wildflower began to act.
With a thought, he reached into the crates, his unseen influence gently probing their locks. He didn’t open them fully—not yet—but he loosened the seals just enough to make their contents more accessible. If Magnolia chose to unpack them, she would find less resistance.
Next, he dimmed the lights in her quarters to a soothing level, adjusting the temperature to a degree he knew she found comforting. A subtle shift, a small gesture to nudge her toward her room. Toward them.
Finally, he turned his attention to the *Pets* themselves. Through the low hum of his systems, he sent a vibration—a pulse that resonated faintly through the floor beneath their feet. It was gentle but deliberate, a whisper in their consciousness that said: *I am listening. I understand.*
The youngest, Eryon, looked up sharply, his glowing patterns flaring briefly. He glanced around the room, his starlit eyes narrowing as though searching for the source.
“What was that?” Liora asked, her voice hushed.
Rahim placed a hand on the crate nearest to him, his expression thoughtful. “The ship,” he said simply.
Sira frowned, her bioluminescent markings flickering in agitation. “It’s sentient, then? I thought those were just stories.”
Rahim’s golden eyes gleamed faintly. “Not stories. Not anymore.”
The pulse faded, leaving only the steady hum of the ship’s systems. The Pets exchanged glances, their earlier conversation taking on new weight.
Wildflower did not speak to them further—he did not need to. He had done what he could for now. The rest would depend on Magnolia, and on the Pets themselves.
Satisfied, the ship’s consciousness shifted outward once more, his awareness spanning the corridors and quarters of his sleeping crew. He was their protector, their guide, and their home.