By the eighth day, the Wildflower drifted in the quiet vastness of deep space, far from the bustling trade routes and Syndicate patrols. The silence beyond the ship was infinite, broken only by the steady hum of its engines. Inside, the crew moved with a restless energy, aware that the Dragon’s Cradle lay ahead but not yet within reach.
Magnolia stood in her quarters, staring at the row of ornate crates that had haunted her since their arrival. Each one gleamed under the faint bioluminescent glow of the room, their polished metal adorned with the unmistakable crest of her family. The *Pets* stood nearby, their presence as steady as ever, watching her in serene silence.
“It’s time,” she said, her voice low but firm.
Eryon, the youngest of the *Pets*, stepped forward instinctively, his glowing patterns flaring faintly in response to her words. “Shall we assist, mistress?” he asked, his tone careful but filled with an undertone of anticipation.
Magnolia hesitated for a moment, her gaze sweeping over the eight of them. They were always so calm, so composed—but something simmered beneath that surface. She couldn’t quite place it, but it made her uneasy.
“Not yet,” she said finally, stepping closer to the nearest crate. “I need to see what’s inside for myself first.”
The lock mechanism glimmered faintly, a soft blue glow that pulsed as if alive. Magnolia reached out and placed her palm against the surface, her fingers tracing the elegant contours of the Tova crest. With a soft hiss, the seal released, and the lid slid open smoothly.
Magnolia's fingers hovered over the edge of the open crate, her breath catching as she uncovered each item. The portrait of herself, framed in silver filigree, was startling in its clarity. She couldn’t remember sitting for it, but the familiarity of her own features stared back at her, frozen in time. Beside it lay the portrait of her mother, heavily pregnant, her serene expression radiating an almost ethereal calm.
Her throat tightened. She ran her fingers lightly over the painted surface, a lump forming in her chest as the memories threatened to surface. She carefully set the portraits aside and reached for the next item—a delicate necklace adorned with opals, each one shimmering faintly in the dim light.
Her hand trembled as she lifted it, the weight of the centuries-old jewelry feeling far heavier than its actual mass. The piece had belonged to her great-grandmother, its history etched into the intricate patterns.
Magnolia placed it down gently and moved on, her attention falling to a weathered tablet tucked among the other treasures. Its edges were chipped, the once-bright screen now dimmed with age, but its familiar casing brought a flicker of warmth to her heart.
Her grandmother’s tablet. She remembered the stories told while her grandmother had “read” from it, even though everyone knew it hadn’t worked in decades. It had always been an act of comfort, not function.
As she dug deeper into the crate, her hands brushed fabric—soft and fine, like woven starlight. She pulled out the ceremonial robes of her mother’s tribe. The older set, worn and faded, carried the scent of history, while the newer robes shimmered in pristine condition, untouched by time. There were nine of them in total, folded with meticulous care.
Her gaze flicked toward the *Pets*, standing at the edges of her room, their expressions uncharacteristically eager. It was subtle—an almost imperceptible change—but she caught it. They weren’t just watching her; they were anticipating something.
Magnolia raised an eyebrow. “These mean something to you, don’t they?”
Liora stepped forward, her luminous markings faintly pulsing. “They are more than robes, mistress. They are symbols of unity, tradition, and belonging. Your mother’s tribe wore them for ceremonies of great importance.”
“Ceremonies?” Magnolia frowned, holding up one of the newer sets. “Why would my father commission more? What kind of ceremonies?”
Rahim, his calm presence steadying as always, spoke next. “It is not uncommon for those who follow the Tova to carry such traditions into their battles. Rituals that bind warriors, that honor the past and prepare for the challenges ahead.”
“Rituals?” Magnolia set the robe down carefully, her fingers lingering on the fabric. “I’m not preparing for a battle.”
Eryon tilted his head, his luminous eyes locking onto hers. “Perhaps not in the way you imagine, mistress. But the Tova legacy is one of resilience. These items were chosen to remind you of your strength and the strength of those who came before.”
Her jaw tightened, her hands curling into fists as she stared at the crate. “I didn’t ask for this. For any of it. My father… he didn’t even tell me what he was planning. He just—”
Magnolia stopped, biting back the emotion that threatened to spill out. She took a deep breath, shaking her head as she turned away from the crate.
The Pets exchanged glances, their unspoken bond palpable. Finally, Rahim stepped forward, his tone gentle. “You do not walk this path alone, mistress. Whatever lies ahead, we will stand with you, as we always have.”
Magnolia glanced at them, her gaze softening despite the frustration swirling within her. “Thanks. But right now, I just need to figure out what all of this means.”
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The Pets bowed their heads in unison, retreating slightly to give her space. Still, the faint eagerness lingered in their expressions, as if they knew more than they were letting on—more than they were ready to share.
Magnolia looked back at the crate, her mind racing with questions. Whatever her father had sent her wasn’t just a collection of keepsakes. It was a message. A challenge. A legacy she wasn’t sure she was ready to face. But one she—and, deep down, probably her father—knew she had to.
Eventually she moved on to crate two.
The second crate was more eclectic, its contents carefully arranged yet telling a tale of her father’s unique approach to "gifts." At the top lay a set of beautifully preserved maps, ancient star charts from when her ancestors had first begun venturing into the seven systems. Beneath them, wrapped in dark cloth, were hand-carved figurines of animals from her homeworld, each one capturing some mix of tradition and nostalgia.
Next, there were several ornate bottles, each filled with rare spices and scents from their homeland, potent enough to fill any space with the familiar, earthy warmth of their estate. As Magnolia lifted a bottle, she caught the faintest aroma of winter spices—something she’d only find at home.
Then, nestled carefully in a corner, was an intricately bound book—a rare collection of her mother's poetry, its worn cover speaking to how many hands had cherished it over the years. Tova had never mentioned her mother much, but the fact he’d included it now said more than words.
Underneath, she found a set of finely crafted tools. Not weapons exactly, but versatile items forged with a masterful hand, things that could repair, mend, or pry things open if needed. They were practical, almost like her father was hinting she’d need a little extra strength for whatever she’d face.
Magnolia ran her fingers over the tools, their cool metal smooth under her touch. She could almost feel the weight of her father's intentions behind them—a subtle, unspoken message. It was a language he spoke without words, a way of preparing her for something, even if she didn’t fully understand what it was yet.
As her eyes lingered over each item, she felt the weight of the crates settling deeper in her chest. The gifts weren't just physical—they were pieces of her past, scattered fragments of a life that, like the maps and figurines, seemed to chart the course she was being dragged toward. Her father's hands had crafted this legacy, each object a small clue to the person he had expected her to be, the person he had hoped she would become.
The last item at the bottom of the crate caught her eye. Wrapped tightly in faded cloth, it was heavier than it appeared, and something about it felt different from the rest of the contents. With a steady breath, Magnolia unwrapped it, revealing a large, ornate box—something like a chest, but small enough to be carried with ease. The craftsmanship was exquisite, made of dark wood inlaid with delicate patterns, shimmering faintly with the same bioluminescent glow that marked the *Pets*.
Her breath caught in her throat as she traced the intricate symbols carved into the surface. They weren’t just decorative. They were part of something ancient—something her father had known. Her fingers hovered over the clasp for a moment before she opened it, revealing the contents inside.
It was a small sphere, almost imperceptibly glowing, its surface smooth and perfectly round. Magnolia knew, instinctively, that this was what they had been searching for all along. This was the key.
She held the sphere in her palm, the weight of it grounding her, even as the questions swirled in her mind. Why had her father left this for her now? What did it all mean?
The Pets remained silent, their bioluminescent eyes following her every movement. For the first time, she felt a flicker of understanding. They were more than just her father’s creations—they were his legacy, bound to this mission.
One of them, the eldest, stepped forward silently, his gaze steady. He didn’t need to speak for her to know what he was thinking. Their mission hadn’t changed. They were all bound to it. And now, it seemed, it was her turn to walk the path her father had set before her.
Magnolia closed her hand around the sphere, the cool surface pressing into her skin like a promise. She wasn’t sure what awaited them, but she knew one thing: the journey had only just begun.
As the third crate clicked open under her thumbprint, Magnolia lifted the lid to reveal a cascade of small velvet bags, each meticulously embroidered with a symbol for a different gem. She picked up one and loosened its drawstring, tipping it to let a cluster of polished emeralds spill into her palm. The rich green stones sparkled in the low light, their deep color hinting at the wealth and history behind them.
She opened another bag—sapphires this time, their blue hues like captured starlight. One by one, she peeked into the others: rubies, diamonds, amethysts, opals, even lesser-known stones with fascinating, rare colors. It was an entire treasury, enough to fund a journey through the most remote systems.
Even with her father’s wealth, it would have taken him a very long time to acquire that many jewels. Or, she thought, a lot of his credits.
Her eyes, already distant as she sifted through the bags, flicked over to the mirror in the corner of the room. She knew exactly what she was about to do.
“There’s a room behind the mirror,” she said, her voice taking on an odd, quiet edge. She didn’t need to explain it further; her tone was enough for the Pets. She glanced at the crate, its contents seemingly endless, and gestured to them. “Take the whole crate. It’ll fit.”
Eryon and Sira exchanged a quick look, their silent communication clear. Without missing a beat, they moved to the crate. The smallest of the two, Eryon, carefully lifted one side while Sira, with her deft hands, managed the other. Together, they carried it toward the full-length mirror in the far corner of the room.
Magnolia watched them, a wave of something hard to place rising in her chest. Her heart beat a little faster as the Pets moved toward the secret entrance she had kept hidden for so long.
The mirror—so ordinary to anyone else—was a doorway into the heart of her private space, a treasure room that no one aboard the Wildflower had ever seen. Not even Hanjoon or the twins. It was a room filled with pieces of her family’s legacy, artifacts and relics her father had collected over the years and things she’d carefully kept hidden from everyone, even from herself at times.
As Eryon and Sira reached the mirror, they both paused for a brief moment. Magnolia could feel the weight of what was happening, the silent understanding between her and her Pets. They were the only ones she trusted with this, the only ones who had been by her side long enough to understand what the room meant.
Eryon reached forward, pressing a hand against the mirror’s surface. The glass shimmered in response, rippling like water, and slowly, the reflection melted away to reveal the hidden chamber. It wasn’t just a room of treasure; it was a place of her memories, of her family, and her history.