On day nine, the remaining five crates sat untouched, their contents still locked away. The three she had opened had taken their toll, and the room, once filled with treasures of the past, now felt heavier with their absence. Instead of continuing to dig through them, Magnolia sat in her navigation room, her eyes trained on the small orb.
It had rearranged itself while she slept—an oversized chair now occupied the center of the space, the old maps hung meticulously on the walls, and the antique telescope was placed in front of a porthole, as if ready for someone to look through it.
“What are you?” Magnolia murmured, her voice almost lost in the hum of the ship as stars slowly drifted by outside. Every passing minute brought her closer to the anomaly, and to whatever awaited them there. She couldn’t stop thinking about it, about what might be waiting for her, or what the Syndicate might be after.
As the minutes ticked by, Viera appeared at her side with a tray of food. Magnolia hadn’t expected anyone to come in, least of all one of the Pets. Viera, calm and poised as always, silently placed the tray beside her.
Magnolia didn’t take the food at first. She didn’t even acknowledge Viera’s presence right away, too focused on the orb. Viera stood motionless, watching her.
The silence stretched on, thick with the tension of unspoken thoughts. Finally, Magnolia looked up at the Pet, her face unreadable. “What do you think of this?” she asked, a flicker of frustration slipping through her controlled demeanor. She gestured at the orb, at the chair, the maps. “Does this feel like home to you?”
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Viera didn’t speak at first, her yellow eyes steady on Magnolia, as though considering the question carefully. Then, with a single fluid motion, she placed the tray of food on the desk beside her.
“You need to eat,” Viera said, her tone calm but firm, betraying no emotion. “You’re too focused on it.”
Magnolia frowned, her gaze briefly flickering to the food. "I’m not hungry," she muttered, then returned her attention to the orb. “But thank you.”
Viera said nothing in response, and simply stood at her side. She wasn’t here to offer comfort or companionship—not truly. She was here to do what she had always done: watch, listen, and be ready when Magnolia needed something more.
When the silence stretched too long, Viera spoke again, her voice softer but still carrying the weight of her words. “There’s something waiting out there. We all know it. But whatever it is, we face it as a team.”
Magnolia didn’t reply, but she could feel the weight of Viera’s statement hanging in the air, sharp and unyielding. The ship would carry them, but it was the crew that would decide what they did with what they found.
Finally, after a long pause, Magnolia’s fingers moved, reaching for the food. “I’ll need my strength for what comes next.” She picked up a piece, but it wasn’t the food that mattered now—it was the weight of the mission ahead, and the quiet understanding that Viera’s words were true: this wasn’t something she could do alone.