The Greko drops through the atmosphere with a roar, fire wrapping around her metal hull.
Hydraulics hiss and groan as the landing gear lowers.
Arthur fastens the last strap of a weather-cloak — silver thread dulled by years of travel. He checks the smooth velvet pouch at his belt, tightening the strap.
In the Void, Sarah sits on the red couch, surrounded by endless bookshelves. The violin in her hands sings low and mournful. She lets the last note die slowly, closes the case — the latches clicking too loud — and sets it beside her. Her feet slosh softly through the cold, shallow water as she stands.
“How long has it been?” she asks. “Since we stepped on a world that wasn’t burning?” Her face finds peace as best it can.
Arthur straps on a small brown leather pack as the ship touches down with a heavy thud, groaning under its own weight. “It does always seem like we’re running,” he says quietly. “Sometimes away. Sometimes toward. Never sure which.”
The hatch jitters open with a hiss.
Varhee steps into the loading bay, feet heavy, her expression a mix of fatigue and affection. “You’ve got a week, Hammond,” she says. “After that, I’m gone. My neighbor can only be trusted to feed my pets for so long.”
Arthur pauses, hand against the bulkhead. “Thanks, old friend. Not many would fly out here on short notice.”
“You call, I show up,” she replies. “Just like you’ve done for me.”
He pulls her into a firm embrace. “Leave the lights on,” he murmurs. “I’m coming back.”
Varhee snorts, masking worry. She slams her palm against the release panel. The outer hatch unseals with a sharp hiss, and blinding light floods the bay.
“Good luck.”
Arthur steps forward into the light — onto alien stone.
He’d come close to this place a century ago, during the war. Even then, the Allui were a mystical, kind, gentle people.
The air hums faintly. Wind carries the scent of citrus and ozone — clean and electric.
Ahead, the city unfolds — pale towers rising and rippling as though grown underwater. No sharp edges. Only curves. Only motion.
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Arthur’s mind drifts to when he first met Valuun: a recon mission gone wrong, the jungle itself tearing through his squad.
Vines like tendons.
Shadows that breathed.
The air thrumming like a warning.
Sarah’s voice cuts through the haze, soft but clear. “What are you thinking?”
“My squad,” he says as he steps into the undergrowth. “And how Valuun saved who was left. Their grace… their kindness. Even when they knew why we came.” He looks to the sky, centering himself.
Above, twin suns hang too close — one blue-white, the other dim and red — their blended light bruising the sky. Birdlike creatures wheel lazily overhead.
Arthur concentrates, thought turning to memory. In the Void, a thick book lands with a thud beside Sarah on the couch.
“Take a look,” he says.
She flips it open. “It’s beautiful,” she breathes. “And a little unnerving.”
In Arthur’s ears, children laugh in strange rhythmic bursts, vendors sing their prices, bells ring from nowhere. The city hums — not loudly, but constantly.
A stone mural ripples, like stone skipping water — pulsing lines changing when he looks away.
Glances follow.
Soft murmurs.
Curiosity… and something tighter.
Sarah hears it too. “Are they staring?”
“A little. I’m three feet shorter than almost everyone here.”
“Probably the jawline,” she teases — worry under the joke.
The plaza widens. The air tingles against his skin. He pulls his cloak tight.
He stops at a corner.
Linthera rises — coral in bloom, a city of domes and woven ivory spires. The tallest pulses faint color, slow and rhythmic.
Sarah notices his stillness. “What is it?”
Arthur exhales. “I’m hoping Valuun’s home. That’s all.”
“He will be,” she says. “The universe has a way of putting us in his path.” A beat. “Or him in ours.”
A raised pathway curves above a glowing sea of yellow and pink grass — bioluminescent and soft, its light washing Arthur’s face. He steps forward.
Each footfall answers with a note.
Locals pass — tall, furred Allui, voices lilting and melodic. Nearly singing.
Arthur walks carefully.
Like someone aware of every step.
“Even the silence sings,” Sarah murmurs.
Arthur watches an Allui child hum — the stone ripples for them, reshaping the path beneath their feet.
“Everything responds,” he whispers.
Sarah taps a key in the Void. A slightly out-of-tune piano stirs to life.
“You’re not scared?” she asks gently, tugging at his mind.
Arthur slows. The city’s song presses in around him — layered, constant, watching.
“No,” he says. “Apprehensive, maybe.” A breath. “Mostly just… tired. Broken like you — only in different ways.”
For a moment, Sarah doesn’t answer.
The piano stumbles, a note hanging too long before correcting itself.
He enters a vast glowing chamber — walls like shifting frost-glass, colors breathing through pale pink, green, lavender.
The floor pulses beneath him — not soothing, not hostile. A measured rhythm.
Sarah’s voice returns, quieter now. “I feel everything here. Like it’s touching me at once.”
Arthur doesn’t respond. He keeps moving.
His focus flickers into the Void. Water nearly to his knees, he checks the coin drive:
INTEGRITY: 36%
WARNING: DATA SECTOR THRESHOLD BREACHED
Sarah’s voice trembles, slightly distorted. “I’m feeling too much. Like everything’s touching me at once.”
He reaches out, steadying her.
Her tone softens. “Do you remember when you carried me through that crater on Yeste Vork? Through ash and blood? I wasn’t afraid.”
Arthur’s voice tightens. “Hell might’ve been friendlier.”
Memory pulls—
A cracked visor.
Breath too thin.
A Grek thrashing above him — teeth like shattered glass.
“Yeste Vork,” he murmurs.
“I wasn’t afraid,” she says. “Because I had you.”
Arthur touches his lips to hers—
—and returns to the present.
He palms the coin drive in its soft felt bag. A breath. “You will always have me.”
A deep harmonic chord rises — resonant, alien. The walls darken, narrowing focus.
A silhouette forms on the other side of the frost-glass — tall, blurred, approaching slowly, as if time bends around it.
Arthur steadies himself. Breath drawn tight, then controlled. “Someone’s coming.”
Sarah settles back on the couch, folding her legs beneath her. “Let them talk first,” she says. “See where it goes.”
Arthur waits — silent, still.
His mind drifts once more…
to his wedding day.
Sarah on the tile floor of a church bathroom — morning sick, glowing despite everything.
Nerves.
Laughter.
Light catching in her hair.
The memory fades.
The silhouette stops just beyond the wall.
The moment holds its breath..
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