The skies of Brynoth churned with clouds of vermillion red, acrid sulfurous smoke filling the air as the city of their king burned again as it had one hundred years ago. As it had one hundred years prior to that. For five millennia, a rift cut into the very realm had opened up and unleashed a scourged demon upon the lands, like a cursed ticking clock. A massive beast made of shadow and starlight, obsidian bone, and flaring suns for eyes. It raged, it scorched, it fed upon the souls of all it could pluck up into it’s gullet.
In the beginning there was no stopping it as it loomed across the continent and ate to it’s fill before it retreated back into the rift from where it came. With time those of magical prowess had come together, searching for a way to fight back against the massive beast. The Sidus Order was formed, a conclave of wizards, mages, and sorcerers from all over the world to combine their skills in a new arcane art. Through the centuries their knowledge and power grew, until no longer were the people of Brynoth undefended at the mercy of a ravenous demon. Every one hundred years they protect the people and send it back to the rift from where it came.
This day, with the skies tainted crimson and the air sharp to the lungs, things were different.
Thirteen members of the order stood outside the rift torn into the very fabric of the realm, battle worn and breathing heavy. All masters in their own right of the arcane arts.
With one in particular fuming with frustration.
“That’s it then? We just let it escape into the rift! Twiddle our thumbs until it returns again!” she shouted at the twelve others, eyes of ocean green practically icy. Like the others her robes were in tatters from the battle, stained with blood and dirt and singed threads. But unlike the others, there was an obvious youth and energy, that the rest of her companions did not share. For she was the youngest master to have ever earned a place in the Sidus Order.
“We have done our duty and sent the beast back, Master Joslyn,” explained the leader of their party, Master Melvienne, with all due patience.
“What does that matter if it is to return in a hundred years anyway! Until it is killed, Brynoth is never going to be safe!” she shot back.
A snort from nearby came from another of the order, Master Karolway. “We’ve sent it back swifter than any that have come before us and have saved thousands of lives. Do you expect us to jump into the rift after it and risk our very lives?! Leave it be, it is not up to you to criticize what has been done for thousands of years.”
Joslyn threw her hands up in exasperation, gesturing wildly at the silvered, wrinkled elven mage nearby. “Master Olgoff is eight hundred gods be damned years old! How is it better waiting for centuries only to fight it over and over again when we can chase after it and kill it for good! Look at him, he’s practically rotting away as we speak. If the lot of you are too cowardly–“
“Are you proposing that you will go through the rift, Master Joslyn?” asked Master Melvienne with a subdued amount of curious interest. “You do not know where it leads, and no matter how powerful you may be, you are still a singular one. There is likewise no guarantee that you will be able to come back.”
“A talisman,” croaked the elder Master Olgoff with a voice that sounded like the crunching of bark. “My talisman of realm hopping, I would give over gladly. If she wishes to try, by the gods, let her do it.”
That sent a curious amount of muttering through the twelve members of the order, with the Master Joslyn herself looking quite confident in this idea.
“…is that your wish then? To go through the rift and hunt the demon that’s plagued Brynoth for all of these millennia?” asked Master Melvienne.
“I’ll do it. Someone has to break the cycle. It’s madness to let it continue this way.”
“So be it.”
There was no time to think, no time to second guess. Though no one had stood up to claim it was a bad idea either! None declared their hesitation of sending the young master through the rift, or warnings that it might be a terrible idea. No encouraging words were given or tearful, heartfelt goodbyes. Master Olgoff gladly handed over the talisman he had tucked away in his ancient robes and the twelve mages of the conclave watched as the youngest master of the Sidus Order took her first steps into the rift and disappeared. Silence followed for several long, long moments and the rift itself then vanished as it always did.
“Do you think she will make it back?” asked a drow woman in the back.
“It was a fake talisman,” chimed Master Olgoff, widening up into a frizzly toothy smile. There were a few snorts and chuckles, but nary a one had a complaint about that either.
Only the Master Melvienne gave a heavy, heavy sigh.
“May the gods heave mercy on that realm,” he muttered.
She felt as if her inside had been torn out and put back into her body.
Joslyn hit the ground hard enough that the breath was knocked out of her. …wait, not the ground? In her stiff shifting, her hands splayed against flat metal instead of damp soil, and when she pushed herself up to her knees to glance at her surroundings, there was not even the signs of a rift at all. Just a narrow hall of metal, bolted together to form the floors, walls, and ceiling. The light was flickering strangely, not like fire or magic orbs would give a gentle glow. They were popping on an off along with a terrible shrill wail of a horn.
She must have landed right in the demon’s lair! What else would have such a terrible hellish home of cold metal and freakish lights!
Picking herself up off the floor, she narrowed her glance up and down the hall, gauging which direction would serve her best. Her objective first and foremost was to find that demon and kill it. …granted this space seemed a little small and compact to hold such a massive beast – but it was magic. A creature of magic that could travel across realms could just as easily also shift it’s shape. Best not to trust any being she came across!
She picked her direction and began her hunt, as quiet as a mouse, and ready to pull up the arcane from her fingertips.
The stars drifted by like dust on water—silent, scattered, eternal. Beyond the curved glass of the freight liner’s bridge, the galaxy unfurled in pale-blue scatterings and burnt-gold streaks, the light from a thousand systems blurring into ribbons as the vessel carved a gentle line through folded space.
The Kestrel Dawn moved steadily on autopilot, her engines humming a quiet lullaby deep within the ship’s frame. She was old, but loyal—weathered hull plates smoothed by time, repatched with care, and carried along routes that stretched between the lonelier corners of the galaxy. Her cargo was simple: crates of grains, spools of woven textiles, tankards of mineral water sealed in pressurized stasis. And in one of the aft bays, something softer, more delicate—livestock. Breathing, restless, warm.
Blue made his way down the main corridor with his usual quiet gait, fingertips grazing the cool edge of the steel bulkhead as he walked. Motion-sensors stirred awake ahead of him, lighting his path in dim gold and soft white, as if the ship had learned long ago not to startle him with sudden brilliance. He wore practical clothes—a worn tank and dark canvas trousers dusted faintly with salt and hay—and moved not cautiously, but carefully. Deliberately. Every motion held intent, calm and unhurried, as though the ship breathed in time with him.
He did not speak. He never had. But silence had never kept him from being understood.
The livestock hold greeted him with a gentle hiss of pressure as the doors parted. Warm air rolled out—thick with the scent of straw, earth, and living things. Inside, the artificial gravity shifted to something lighter, easier on creatures not born for spaceflight. Pens lined the bay in neat rows: long-haired goats from Glaren VI, soft-eyed avian creatures bred for medicinal feathers and song, and a single draft beast, six-legged and broad-shouldered, blinking up from its enclosure with slow curiosity.
Blue moved among them, a quiet sentinel. He offered no words, not even telepathic ones, only the comfort of presence. A hum of calm and familiarity seemed to travel ahead of him, settling the more anxious animals. The goats recognized his scent and routine, the way he gently checked the feeders, tapped on stubborn dispensers, and untangled fur snagged in static-laced straw. The avians fluffed themselves lazily at his approach.
He knelt by one pen—a spiral-horned goat with a pelt the colour of sunset pawed impatiently at a faulty feeder. Blue worked it loose with a soft clack, letting a fresh heap of compressed grasses fall into the trough. The goat bleated, nuzzling his hand in thanks. He smiled, slow and soft. There was no grandeur in what he did. No glory. No songs written about the quiet caretaking of ship-bound livestock. But in it, there was peace. In it, there was meaning.
Time, to Blue, was not something to be spent—it was something to be given.
He stood again, brushing hay from his palms, and drifted to the far window where the cargo bay’s reinforced viewing panel offered a glimpse of space. A nebula unfurled beyond the hull, distant and violet, its mist curling like a sigh across the stars. The ship’s navigation system marked it automatically—just a common observation waypoint. Yet from where Blue stood, bathed in soft shadows and the sound of sleeping animals, it was something more.
That was when he felt it. Not a sound. Not a shape. Not even a thought. Just a shift. A subtle change in the air. As though the ship had exhaled and something else had exhaled with it. A pressure where there had been none before—quiet, steady, moving. Not mechanical. Not familiar. But not frightening either.
Blue paused. One hand still resting on the coarse fur of the draft beast. Its gaze flicked upward to meet his for a moment, then returned to its feed, undisturbed. No alarm. No fear. Just a presence. Somewhere aboard. He did not know who. Or what. Only that someone else was there.
Rising up to his full height and turning, brushing his fingers lightly along the doorway as he stepped back into the corridor. The lights here ran soft along the floorboards, casting no shadows ahead of him, as if the ship understood that not everything needed to be revealed in harsh contrast.
His expression held no suspicion, only a calm, searching stillness—the look of someone familiar with strange company, who had chosen again and again to welcome rather than judge. His ocean-blue eyes glinted beneath the dim glow, steady and kind.
There was no need to reach with his mind. Did not press or pry. Only offered up the quiet tether of his presence, cast like a lantern’s light into the dark. Whoever wandered aboard would feel it eventually—that subtle thread of warmth drifting through the halls like smoke from a hearth: calm, patient, undemanding.
He would not chase. He would wait. And should the one who walked unseen choose to follow the ripple—should they pause and notice the strange gentleness of this place—they would feel nothing but welcome.
You are not alone.
It’s all right.
You’re safe to breathe here.
Joslyn had never seen a fortress quite like this. Granted, she was not one who had travelled the world to actually have seen fortresses up close and personal. As a noble born daughter with the title of Lady and cousin-by-blood to the reigning king, she’d spent half her life growing up in a grand manor home of beautiful wooden architecture and artistically wallpapered walls. When her aptitude for the arcane grew far beyond what her teachers could provide, she’d moved into the Sidus Conclave to be educated by true masters of their craft. That had been a glorious castle built of stone that rivaled even all of the royal lands across the kingdoms.
This? This was weird.
The lights were not made of fire nor of magic. It was… electricity. Lightning was her specialty as a storm mage, so when she was still and truly listened, she could feel the currents moving all around her. The place practically hummed with it too – loud. Disorienting, really. It gave her goosebumps and almost made her skin crawl. Almost as if it were a trap made specifically with her in mind.
A demon so ancient, truly it was a magnificent power that now knew someone of equal measure had come into it’s realm. Trapping her in a metal prison was genius!
And it was aware of her. Though… not in a way she expected. Almost as if the fortress itself welcomed her presence in it! Wished to greet her even!
What a twisted monster!
On edge, poised, she made her way through the odd passages. Finding archways and indentations that surely had to be doors, but Joslyn could not fathom how they were meant to be opened. Passing by them all until she turned the bend down to a new long corridor — and there he was.
Joslyn was not about to be fooled by a human skin.
The woman herself was barely five feet standing tall in her heeled boots, but that would not stop her from surely looking like a menacing fright! Covered still in the blood and grime of battle, navy robes tattered and the white and black of her clothing below just as stained. With hair the color of a midnight sky, even sheening a deep blue in the light, and eyes of a pale seaglass green she hoped that the mere sight of sent shivers of fear into this demon. After all, it had been her arcane magic that had struck the final blow to send it running back to it’s rift of hell.
Joslyn reached to her hip to pull out the long thin needle of a saber that was her preferred weapon, not ready to risk using a bolt when this prison of metal was liable to backfire it upon her. Pointing the sharp tip towards the demon at the end of the corridor with confident purpose.
“There will be no more running, Bane of Brynoth. We will end this here and now, just you and I! I’ll take your soul to the grave!”
The Kestrel Dawn hummed around him, steady as a heartbeat. Within the livestock hold, the warm breath of penned animals mingled with the familiar tang of straw and recycled air. Soft rustles, quiet bleats, and the occasional clatter of hooves marked the rhythm of life here—steady, grounded, and far removed from the vast silence of the void outside.
Blue crouched near the rear enclosure, brushing stray straw from the flank of a drowsing draft beast. Its six thick legs shifted beneath its bulk with the slow grace of something long used to weightlessness, ears flicking idly in the artificial breeze.
Then, something changed. Not the ship. Not the systems. The air. Before the sensors could announce anything, the animals reacted.
The avians near the back shrilled nervously, feathers flaring, wings half-extended in twitching defense. Goats shuffled and backed into the corners of their pens, low bleats hitching in their throats. Even the draft beast stiffened beneath Blue’s touch, its deep-set eyes locking on the bay door with uncommon focus.
Rising fluidly to his feet, brushing his palms clean with a practiced motion. His head tilted slightly. A faint crease formed between his brows—not alarmed, but curious. Like someone hearing an unfamiliar note in a melody they’d known their whole life.
The door hissed open. And there she stood framed in the soft light of the corridor—a small figure, not particularly tall, but burning with the presence of something much larger. Her robes clung to her in bloodied folds, all seemingly stained just the same. Her hair, the colour of a starless night, caught the ambient glow and shimmered faintly blue. Her eyeswere fixed on him with unwavering fire. Claiming him as a foe long before he could even defend himself as the opposite.
A saber was drawn in one swift motion, its gleaming point leveled at his chest.
“There will be no more running, Bane of Brynoth,” she declared, her voice cold and resolute. Making it clear to him that she had come to the wrong vessel, nor could he place the name either. “We will end this here and now. Just you and I. I’ll take your soul to the grave!”
The animals behind him recoiled again—feathers beating frantic against mesh, hooves striking floor panels, the sharp scent of alarm rising in the air. But Blue didn’t move. Not even a twitch. His eyes lingered on the saber for a moment, then calmly lifted to hers. Surprise flickered across his face—but it was mild. The kind that came from finding a book misplaced on the wrong shelf, or rain falling in the wrong season. Not fear. Not offense.
He regarded her the way one might regard a wild creature blown in by a storm, confused and ready to bite—not cruel, not evil, just frightened, and far from home. Daring not to speak. But his silence was full.
The ship held its breath around him—still and unshaken. The lights along the floor cast a soft halo at his feet. No force gathered at his fingertips. No spell coiled beneath his skin. There was only stillness. Thoughtfulness.
Normally, he might have stepped forward—just one pace, calm and open. But this wasn’t an animal from a starlit pasture. This was a person, potentially wounded and wary, standing in a freight liner’s heart with blood dried on her boots and a weapon in her hand. And he had learned, long ago, not to approach storms head-on.
His gaze lingered on her a moment longer, tracing her form—noticing the foreign fabric, the primitive steel of her blade, the unmistakable something more wearing upon her bones. She wasn’t from any system he recognized. Not from the Charter worlds. Not from anywhere close.
Somewhere far.
Somewhere lost.
He didn’t know how she’d ended up here. It didn’t matter. His expression softened; with the polished clarity of bright sapphire, his eyes moved once more from the blade to her—open, unguarded. There was no challenge in them. Only quiet concern. Not for himself. For her.
Are you all right? the look asked, with no words to shape it. Do you know where you are?
From him came a ripple—unseen but unmistakable. A warmth that drifted outward like the scent of something familiar from a childhood long gone. Not magic. Not a trick. Just presence. Calming. Honest. Inviting.
Not who are you, but you don’t have to be afraid.
Not prepare to fight, but you’re safe now.
Let her shout. Let her point her blade and call him monster. It wouldn’t change him.
He would not run. He would not raise a hand. He would only offer that same eternal stillness that guided freight liners through the stars. The same gentle patience that soothed beasts and kept old ships running smooth. Even if the animals hadn’t yet made peace with her scent—he already had.
What.
…
What.
The animals had stolen her attention first, strange creatures – beautiful even – in color and shapes, as they squawked and shuffled in alarm at the sight and presence of an intruder. (Not that she considered herself an intruder, but Joslyn could admit to them she was!) Making her very aware that she’d come into a barn of sorts, for it was quite large and spacious enough to echo the sounds all about the room. Her poise hadn’t wavered, however, sword still at the ready to move the second he made a motion.
Except he just stared at her.
Stood there.
With aura and Joslyn knew damn well one could not trust aura.
But by the gods, he actually looked genuinely bewildered by her presence and the doubt started to creep in it.
Then he spoke – not spoke! – a voice entered her mind and actually made her start, jolt on her own two feet as if she was some untrained welp fresh out of the university! Having to take a breath and fix her stance as if she hadn’t just been startled by something unexpected. Joslyn had just helped fight this damnable demon when he was in his largest and truest form, she was fearless. Powerful and fearless.
If it were not for these poor defenseless animals she’d have sparked up an orb within her free hand.
“Do not try to calm me with aura, demon, I am not a freshly born mage out of the womb,” she warned him, finally daring to take a few steps into the larger cavernous room. Warily, though, careful where she placed her feet and doubly so without making any sudden movements that might’ve alarmed the creatures he was keeping. Which was curious in itself, had he not already filled his gullet with enough souls!
“Nor can you fool me with this… sweetheart male form.” There was that hesitation, though. That uncertainty creeping in, as for all the ways this was strange and unusual – perfect for a demon from another realm – it somehow also did not feel… right. Joslyn was, after all, a genius. A prodigy. Lacking the experience of her elders, sure, but she’d surpassed all of them in skill and knowledge. Nothing here actually presented itself as some demon hellscape, even for all of the ways it was strange.
“I do not know where I am,” she admitted, narrowing those seaglass eyes at him. “So enlighten me. What is this prison you’ve conjured to twist and confuse my senses?”
With a slow lift—deliberate and measured, each movement purposeful to avoid any suggestion of threat—Blue raised a hand and pressed it gently to the hollow of his throat. Not quite touching the pale scar that lived there, permanent and quiet as breath, but close enough that its meaning was implied. A wordless acknowledgment. A truth offered without drama.
His gaze remained steady, bright with patience. Calm radiated off him the way warmth did from sun-soaked stone—effortless, natural, and ever-present. Curious, yes—but deeper than that, a flicker of quiet worry stirred within him. There was something about the woman that whispered of displacement. She didn’t belong to this quadrant, this ship, even this time per say. Her garb, the archaic blade, the stain of battle still fresh on her boots—it all suggested something ancient, otherworldly.
Had she been taken? Thrown through some rift and discarded here by cowards too afraid to finish what they started?
If the blade and blood were any measure, she had clearly defended herself well. Perhaps too well for those who had taken her. And now here she stood, raw and mistrustful, seeing demons in the softest corners of the galaxy. He didn’t know the truth. He wouldn’t presume to. But if any part of that fear was real—if she was a fish flung from her water into the bank—then that was terrible.
She spoke again, and Blue ensured his full attention was hers. Every breath, every heartbeat, still. There was no dismissal in him. Only deep and thoughtful listening—even if the terms she used rang like fiction in his ears.
Bane of Brynoth. It sounded like something from a holo-novel—worlds of mystica, gods and demons, mages and rift wars. Fantasy through and through. And in this story, he was the demon.
Anyone else might have been offended. But Blue only blinked, head slightly cocked in soft bewilderment, his expression touched with something like compassion. If anything, her certainty confirmed what he feared—that she came from a world far different from this one. A place where belief shaped reality. Where light and shadow wore names, and she had been raised to hunt what he happened to resemble.
She looked exhausted. Wild. Alone.
And oh, did he have to stop himself from finding a blanket and wrapping it around her shoulders with a there, there. It would be foolish. Invasive. Possibly dangerous. But the instinct lingered. Instead, his eyes widened slightly at one of her comments—an odd one, about his “sweetheart form.” He blinked again, lips parting slightly, lost for context. Some item or relic, perhaps? A shape she expected him to be in? The animals behind him were still on edge—startled, yes, but not chaotic. Still, their distress only cemented his next decision.
When she finally admitted—tense —that she didn’t know where she was, his expression softened even more. Not pity. Just deep, quiet understanding.
She didn’t need correction. She needed grounding. That required care. His lips pressed briefly into a thin line as he considered his options. Words—verbal ones—were lost to him. But there were other ways.
Raising both hands with visible intent, he opened and closed his fingers once, then slowly touched his collarbones. His eyes never left hers, not for more than a blink. Not with that blade still in her hand. Not because he feared her—but because he respected her unease.
“Can I show you instead? I do not know if I can explain it well enough for you to believe me.”
The words moved not from his mouth, but across the quiet thread of telepathy. A soft tether, steady and unforced, that brushed her mind like the trailing hem of a curtain on a warm breeze. His “voice” was calm and low, like the hush of dusk settling over a long day.
“The animals are uneasy,” his presence said gently, “And I’d rather not see them frightened. You can keep your weapon, of course. I understand. But I’d like to show you, if you’ll allow it. That door—” he pointed to the corridor she had entered through, careful not to make the gesture sudden, “—leads to the cockpit of the freight liner. I’ll walk ahead. You can follow at your own pace.” No pressure. No push. Just a calm, enduring invitation.
To truth.
To safety.
To trust—if she chose it.
And he would not rush her.
These long silences were agony. Yet she allowed, pensive, waiting, watching him with a gaze that was cool and examining. Piecing together information as best she could, when this prison of metal and all of it’s electrical currents were making her head feel fuzzy and the odd man’s own aura was so strong, it was taking her conscious effort not to be swayed by it. Folly would be in acting too quick, snapping immediately to violence and making assumptions before she’d fully accessed exactly what was going on here.
…as she was already starting to gather that this may not be the demon she was seeking. Granted, it’d been this strange fortress that she was afraid would backlash on her, and the animals surrounding him that was the only reason why Joslyn hadn’t just directly attacked him. She might be impetuous and a little reckless at times, much to the annoyance of the Order, but she wasn’t stupid!
He’d made a gesture at his throat and she’d finally noticed it then, the long scar along his neck – unfortunate. Explained why he now leaned on telepathy to help himself speak. Perhaps even this aura as a means to protect himself when he could not shout. Natural magic, perhaps, not the arcane though… curious but not important. If he were not the demon she was seeking, he was no one. Callous of her to think so, but Joslyn was not here to be kind and compassionate towards every soul she met. This was a mission to save the lives of people an entire century in the future!
When he “spoke” again, Joslyn made a soft dubious sound in the back of her throat, but did finally lower her saber and shift her posture to one not ready to attack, yet still poised enough that she’d shift the second he made a sketchy move.
“I have already gathered you are not the demon I am seeking,” she did answer, failing to do so without this air of superiority. Though making an softly confused expression at the sound of cockpit, as she could not quite understand the colloquialism! A pit of roosters? For what purpose? Unless it was referencing the peasant slang for a man’s penis, then well… how was that any better!
She was not about to make a fool of herself and ask! Better to just see and find out!
“I do not mean to make the animals uneasy…” came next, a reluctant admittance at well. Enough that she did finally put the needle saber away. “Be aware that if you try to trick or bewitch me, there will be a storm of trouble down upon you. I simply wish to be shown the door out of this fortress and I will be on my way.”
It was probably too easy.
The second she clarified that he wasn’t the demon she was hunting, Blue offered her a bright, authentic smile—radiant and unbothered, as if she’d just complimented the weather. Of course he wasn’t the Bane of Brynoth—he wasn’t even sure where in his quiet, routine-filled life he might’ve found the time to go gallivanting through some magical war, even in the wildest of virtual realities.
But there was no need to say any of that.
She was tense—anyone could see that—and clarifying details rarely helped when someone’s entire worldview was being shaken apart at the seams. No amount of logic unraveled panic. And semantics weren’t exactly useful when one had just been accused of being a soul-devouring creature of myth. Still, as she began to lower her sword, consideration flickering behind her eyes, he nodded once in subtle acknowledgment. A clear, thoughtful gesture: I understand. Not defensive. Not smug. Just recognizing that her posture had shifted—and so too, perhaps, her discomfort.
If she had meant harm, she likely would have struck him down long before now, and with little care for what the animals might have thought about it. And they would’ve known. Blue believed firmly—deeply—that animals and children always knew the nature of a soul. The goats, still startled but not panicked; the birds, watchful but silent; even the old draft beast had settled its weight back onto its haunches. No snarls. No wild terror.
Just alertness.
And in that, he found quiet reassurance.
His brows lifted slightly when she warned him—warned him—about the dire consequences of deceit, something about being flung into the heart of a storm? He blinked once, then gave a polite dip of his head, smile still intact. “Yes, ma’am,” he replied, lips quirking in mild amusement but free of mockery. By no means was he going to argue.
Whatever this moment was, whatever strange path had led her here, it was still hers. And he wasn’t about to strip that away from her by overexplaining things she hadn’t asked for. When she finally said she wanted to be shown the way out, he paused—not from reluctance, but from thought. The “way out” might prove… complicated.
The ship’s hull opened to the stars. The Kestrel Dawn drifted between systems, far from any breathable atmosphere. Beyond that door she sought so badly was nothing but cold void and lightless silence. He considered telling her as much. But no. Better to show her. One thing at a time.
He raised a single finger in a polite indication that he was about to move, then turned with that same practiced grace, offering her a generous berth. No rush. No expectation. Just the gentle invitation of a host giving a stranger the space to follow if she wished.
The door spiraled open ahead of him, tucking neatly into the slats of the wall, and he stepped through without fanfare. Keeping that of gait easy, deliberate—boots thudding gently on the metallic floor as he moved through the winding passage of the ship. The industrial steel gave way gradually to signs of comfort: the faint shift beneath their feet as carpet took over the plating, the warmer tones of soft lighting over the corridor.
They passed through a compact canteen-style kitchen—clean, organized, still carrying the faint scent of a recent lunch, something herbed and hearty—and into another hexagonal door. It opened automatically as he neared, sliding back into its frame.
To reveal the destination he had indicated. The cockpit.
It opened wide like the bow of a chapel, where gods were replaced by stars. The grand viewing pane swept above them, clear and curved, offering an unbroken view of the universe beyond. Specks of light shifted steadily past, and far off in the distance, a soft-hued planet came into view—blue and green, gleaming like a marbled jewel in the dark.
The nebula, once brilliant in its violet light, had faded from view behind them. Now, only the hum of the autopilot, the gentle rhythm of beeping consoles and blinking holoscreens filled the space. Blue stepped aside, making space for her to enter fully. To see. To take it in.
This was his world. No fortress. No dungeon. Just a freighter, full of livestock, wandering its way between stars. He watched her quietly for a moment, his posture relaxed, voice still silent—until, with a soft breath, he reached again across the telepathic thread between them. The contact was featherlight, respectful.
“If you have questions,” his mind said gently, “I’ll try to answer them. I apologize if the answers aren’t… particularly elegant. I’m not a scholar. Just a common long-haul worker.” A pause, then a small, sheepish shrug of his shoulders. “It’s not every day I have a atavistichuman on my ship, after all. I’m doing my best.” And there was no mockery in the words. Earnest and easy, the way only someone who had nothing to prove could be.
Joslyn could not explain why his behavior made her uneasy – it simply did. The smooth politesse was expected from peasants, of course. Being noble born, there was a certain level of expectation that others were to be accommodating. …not that she had the same experience in the Conclave. With the Sidus Order, she’d been mostly treated with derision, side-eye and general displeasure. Which in itself was also to be expected, as most in the order were older than her by several decades so it was natural for them to be jealous of her skill and intelligence.
One could not become a Master otherwise.
So as she followed at a safe distance, quietly observing the shift from the more metallic build of the fortress through odd moving doors to rooms that were of greater comfort, Joslyn could not shake her sense of unease. It’s not as if everything was so wildly strange that it was beyond her comprehension. He was a man. There were tables and chairs and rugs. A kitchen country and a pantry. Familiar smells and enough constants that belied a life she could recognize.
Then he led her into a new room with a window curved and wide that show only a beautiful starry night sky. Easily she assumed they were at the very top of a high tower. At least until her eyes followed the sea of stars to the gleaming jewel of blue and greens, looking very much like the very globes of the world scattered around the libraries and studies of the conclave. They were so high up in the sky the could see the very curve of the world – almost the whole of the world.
This was a new feeling. The way a zip of horror shot up the back of her spine and she could feel the creeping crawl of goosebumps along her skin. This was so high up. Too high up. No tower could ever be built tall enough to reach into the stars! No island mass or castle had ever been enchanted to float beyond the blue barrier, as everyone knew if you flew too far past the clouds the air became thin and one could not breathe!
He spoke in that quiet way inside her head again and for a moment she had to close her eyes. Certain that now she’d realized where they were, all the air in this strange fortress was gone.
No. She was fine.
She was fine!
Joslyn was a Master. The youngest Master to ever be. The first to dare go through the rift. This was… this was a hiccup. Nothing she could not work her way through.
Still, someone could tell that to the woman’s face.
…wait, did he just call her atavistic? Archaic. OLD?
That snapped her back to the present moment, straightening up in her heeled boots to narrow those seaglass eyes at him again.
“I am assuming that because your fortress still stands and you are not already devoured that you have not seen or encountered the monster I seek. Consider yourself blessed to have never met such a fate. As such, I need nothing further from you, beyond back to solid ground where I may continue the hunt.”
He could only superficially imagine what it might be like to be in her boots.
To come from a world still wrapped in fantasy—of mages, arcane blades, and shadow-slick demons. A place he didn’t understand, not truly, but one he had read about in the curious works of writers who painted myth into meaning with words alone. Ideas once chalked up to nonsense. Flights of fancy. The dreams of madmen.
And yet—there she was. Real.
Taken from that world. Absconded with. Dumped unceremoniously onto his freighter, cast adrift in the vast and ever-expanding theatre of stars. Now faced with the impossible: that space, in all its cold grandeur, was no theory. No story.
It was real. It surrounded her. Cradled her in orbit.
And still—she hadn’t panicked.
Blue let himself be quietly impressed. She hadn’t screamed. Hadn’t broken down or collapsed under the weight of it all. Perhaps her world had prepared her more than most for the extraordinary. Perhaps her imagination had always brushed shoulders with the impossible—and now, finding herself among the proverbial heavens, she simply… adapted.
He didn’t let the prideful warmth rise too far outward—didn’t want it mistaken as mockery—but his smile remained intact. Subtle. Sincere. His hands settled loosely behind his back, posture straightening as his eyes turned to the view beyond the cockpit’s glass. A beautiful, living planet spun in the distance, hues of sea-green and cloud-white shifting across its curve. It was a breathtaking sight, even to him.
“Oh, uh—no. I haven’t,” The words crossed to her mind on a gentle wave of telepathy, accompanied by a soft boyish rub of his cheek—sheepish, almost apologetic. “I’ve never even heard the name Bane of Brynoth, or anything close to it.” His grin widened with a touch of sympathy, shoulders lifting in a shrug. Sorry, I think you’ve got the wrong guy.
When she mentioned her need—to be brought to ground—he nodded slowly. A fair and honest request. But something about her tone made it clear: she wasn’t just asking for a landing. She was chasing something. Someone. And Blue, ever the realist beneath all that hope, knew just how big a galaxy could be.
A demon. A being. A name. She was searching for a single soul in the endless night. It wasn’t a needle in a haystack—it was a flicker of shadow across a field of stars, among billions of planets and uncountable lives. Friendly. Hostile. Indifferent.
Still, there were things more important than odds. First came manners. He pressed one hand gently to his chest, straightening a touch in that old-fashioned way that implied sincerity, not ceremony. “I’m Beyon Vayne,” he said, his voice soft and pleasant within her thoughts, as if spoken across a still lake. “But most people call me Blue.”
A beat passed, and he motioned toward the window, to the brilliant sphere growing larger on the horizon. “I’ll be landing there—in about two hours. Finishing a delivery.” Making it clear he was likely not staying on the planet. “But if I had to guess, whoever you’re looking for… they’re probably a lot farther off than that planet alone.”
His gaze drifted back to her, brows drawing together in gentle concern. “You’re in Charter space now, ma’am. That’s… well. It’s over five hundred known terrestrial planets. And that doesn’t include the ones we can’t walk on. Some are water worlds, some gas giants, some molten, or frozen, or… just not made for beings like us.”
He paused—not to overwhelm her, but to give her space to breathe. Then he asked, as delicately as he could: “Do you remember your home planet? What quadrant of space it was in? Where you were before… all this?” Not interrogating. Not demanding. Just a man standing beside the stars, hoping to help a stranger find her way home.
“I imagine one would not call themselves by the name given to it by the ones it devours,” she muttered in a soft unamused response to him never having heard of this Bane of Brynoth. Where ever that beast was, it likely had it’s own name here in this realm, in this world. Finding herself frowning at that sheepish smile and the easy way he just seemed to be. No cares of his own, no worries or fear. Only that warm aura, that truly might’ve been comforting to someone else.
It made her uncomfortable and even more so when she could not figure out why it made her so uneasy.
When he introduced himself she straightened up all the more, setting the name Beyon Vayne into her mind along with his face, making the smallest of wrinkled nose expressions that most called him Blue. What a ridiculous nickname. It did not seem to reflect him at all!
However it was the following statement that caught her attention, of that planet. Not the world. That planet. Sending her mind into a spiral of thoughts, where she was perfectly aware of the celestial bodies that traveled across the night sky. Their position and alignment were often paramount to all sorts of important things. But he was moving on to explain not just this single world beyond the window, but multiples.
“Five hundred… planets. Worlds.”
Oh, damn it all, there was that new feeling again. The one where all her limbs were going tingly and numb, and her vision was just a little blurry as it was feeling all so difficult to breathe.
She had not gone through a rift into the Underworld of demons. Not even stepped aside into a realm parallel to her own. Somehow she’d been shot right into the stars! Where it was not just the world, it was many, many enormous worlds…! What had she done, just willy-nilly deciding to follow through on chasing that demon, without stopping for ten minutes to just think about what it could actually mean! Now she was lost out here amongst the stars, with no idea exactly where she was, for Brynoth was a continent, not the whole of the damned world! Who named worlds!
The quiet, squeaky sound she made likely sounded like one of those birds in his barn slowly perishing.
And yet… her hand brushed against the pocket of her robe where that talisman given to her by the Master Olgoff lay in wait. Slowly, oh so slowly, she let out a calming breath. She was fine. At any moment she could use it to return to her homeland. Therefore, she was not lost.
“I am Lady Joslyn Integra Ulrich the Third of my name, Master of the Arcane, Member of the Sidus Order,” she introduced herself first and foremost, as it was only fair to reciprocate the gesture. “My home… planet… does not have a name that I am aware of. It is simply the world. I hail from the continent of Brynoth, where ever one hundred years a massive demon crawl’s it’s way out of a rift to stuff it’s gullet full of souls before it escapes back through the rift again.”
There was a frown there, mostly because he was giving her one of those soft, calm looks again and she wasn’t sure she liked it.
“…I am the first to dare follow it back through the rift. But I am here in this fortress with you and no ginormous demon is in sight. If it is not below on this… planet.. of yours, then I will search the others.”
At her stunned reaffirmation of just how many planets he’d listed—five hundred and counting—Blue gave a gentle nod, calm but affirming. That number didn’t even account for the undocumented ones, the wild spheres tucked in pockets of dark space, or the ones still in the slow churn of development. Nor did it speak to those that had already died, their atmospheres faded into cosmic dust, their histories silenced by time.
And he only delivered within this stretch of the galaxy. A single region. A small current in the much greater sea. Even Aelora—his home world—was still considered young in the grand scheme of things. Advanced enough to sit among the stars, to share trade and culture with other systems, but humble in its age. Peaceful. Cradled in gentle evolution. A place where people took their time.
Not every planet had that luxury.
There were others—primitive, fragile, still walking their first steps toward understanding flame or steel or thought. The Charter forbade any interference with such worlds. Touching their trajectory too soon was not just frowned upon—it was a sentence. A hefty one. Tampering with natural evolution was among the greatest of galactic crimes.
And Blue had no desire to break something just by understanding it too soon. Still, his thoughts returned to the woman beside him. He’d watched as she straightened her posture and declared her name—Joslyn of the Sidus Order, Master of the Arcane. There had been no hesitation in her voice, no shrinking uncertainty. She held her title with the grandeur of someone who had earned every syllable, who had fought for it. Survived for it.
The edges of Blue’s eyes softened in response, the corners crinkling ever so slightly as he smiled. It was warm. Earnest. A beaming sincerity that bloomed silently, wordlessly. He didn’t know what the Sidus Order was, nor what being a master of the arcane entailed. He could guess, of course—but guessing felt dangerously close to assuming. And he’d never insult her pride with that. More than that, she’d admitted something else—something softer. That her world had no name.
No name?
To Blue, that told him more than anything. It was likely still in development. Early-stage evolution. A place where the stars were stories and not science. If it was inside Charter space, it probably had a numerical designation—a sterile code locked in some cold file—but the denizens hadn’t named it themselves. Not yet. It was, perhaps, still in its age of wonder. That thought settled with a mix of awe and sorrow. So much beauty, untouched. So much danger, too.
Her story about demons and rifts lingered in his thoughts longer than he expected. Rift travel wasn’t a common thing. Not natural. And the way she described the creature she hunted—it didn’t sound like a native lifeform at all. It sounded like something worse.
A Riftborn.
Rare. Extradimensional. Cataclyst-level entities that weren’t from any known system. They slipped between tears in space-time, feeding on organic life and vanishing without trace. The Charter taught about them in quiet tones—more legend than curriculum. Cautionary tales to explain silenced colonies and barren moons.
But perhaps not myths after all.
He turned away briefly, drifting over to a console on the right wall, fingers tapping gently across the screen. The blue glow lit the side of his face as he keyed a civilian request into the open-access Charter files, asking the system to search for anything connected to Brynoth. A name. A planet. A battle. Anything.
“I haven’t heard of anything that devastating in this quadrant,” his voice came again—steady, apologetic. “But that’s not to say it doesn’t exist. It might be recorded under a different name.” He glanced back at her as the console searched. He wasn’t trying to dismiss her. But he wasn’t ready to tell her his theory either—not yet. Not until he was sure. He didn’t want to assume when she had lost so much. “It’s not always easy to find information on other planets,” he continued gently. “The Charter is… very particular. Travel between worlds is regulated. Everyone needs a passport—not just for record-keeping, but to prevent cultural interference. To avoid imposing on worlds that aren’t ready for contact.”
He turned back fully, offering her a look that was all empathy and no pity.
“I can take you to Aelora after my delivery, if you’d like,” he offered softly, gesturing to the screen. The planet beyond was closer now, its colours growing more vibrant. “This one isn’t my home, but it’s a lovely place. Great museums. Good food. The people are kind.”
He paused, letting the words settle like dust in sunlight. “It may not be the world you’re looking for, but it’s a safe place to start.”
Joslyn watched his expressions carefully, finding the whole array of them confusing and unsure if that was simply because she herself was so confused by all of this, or if he was something of an oddity himself. People with true aura were so rare. Plenty enough had presence, born in confidence or ego, some might be brooding or unapproachable. Those who were so gloomy it hung on them like a curtain, or people that were full of so much good natured cheer they could light up a room. This man, this Blue had true aura that went beyond just a vibe. It filled the space around him as if it in itself was a physical thing one could touch.
That in combination with the telepathic ability… what a strange combination.
And he was nice. Too nice. If his aura was not a lie, what sort of soft trusting idiot reacted to an intruder in their fortress like this! Joslyn had threatened to kill him right off the bat and he hardly even blinked an eye! He should at least have some sort of self preservation to be more wary!
He shifted away to the long tables and started poking about, sending her thoughts into new bewildering directions when light and words and symbols appeared at this beckoning. She’d have thought he was drawing arcane symbols in the air, except there was no magic being used here. It remained the electric currents that buzzed annoyingly under her skin.
Joslyn need to resist this feeling of overwhelm that threatened to remind her that she’d made some hasty choices all too fast, and now absolutely no damnable idea of what she was doing anymore.
It must be kept simple in her mind.
Get on stable land, out of the blasted stars.
Search this world.
Get back in the stars? Search the next?
…how far could her rift tracking spell even work? It had been designed for the whole of Brynoth, not for entire worlds and beyond. What if the beast only stayed on a world long enough to jump to the next. How long did it stay in each? Did it rest? Did it visit some worlds more often than others, or was it one hundred years for all that it plagued?
That queasy dizzying sickness was threatening her stomach again with a twist and a churn. Forcing her to shove it aside as she approached the odd console of notches and buttons to start poking curiously at it herself. Anything to not get buried under the weight of what was now seeming like an impossible task. A fool’s errand.
“I appreciate the assistance,” she did deem to say. “Though, truly, you ought to be more suspicious and careful than you have been. What if I had not been smart enough to assess my situation and then attacked you? You’d be dead in an instant, it’s not safe to be so trusting.”
The soft patter of feet not his own—and the curious blip-blop of unfamiliar fingers poking at nearby consoles—drew Blue’s attention briefly away from the Charter system’s search bar. He glanced sidelong, careful not to startle her, his gaze flicking toward the woman with the arcane eyes and worn blade, now wandering just far enough to satisfy her curiosity.
She was poking at illuminated buttons with the measured boldness of someone exploring a new world—a world entirely foreign, one that moved with machines instead of magic, stars instead of gods. He understood the impulse. Deeply. Wonder, after all, was far better than panic. He’d rather see wide-eyed awe than shaking hands and held breath.
Still, some of those panels could stall the ship, or worse—kick the autopilot into manual override. Blue straightened, his body a quiet silhouette against the backdrop of stars, and tilted his head gently in her direction—an unspoken careful, tempered not with caution, but camaraderie. A shared moment between two travelers in strange times.
She spoke then—offering her thanks, though not without critique. Her words came with the weight of experience, sharp and pragmatic. Gratitude, yes—but undercut with a scolding tone, as if his earlier warmth had been reckless. Naïve and foolish, something to remove as quickly as possible for it was too easily used in the acts of cruelty and malice.
Blue didn’t flinch.
He’d heard similar sentiments before. Many times. And would again. Probably within the week. His response was simple: a warm grin and an easy shrug, as if she’d just commented on the weather rather than his worldview. “Then the situation would have had to be handled differently.”
The words threaded into her mind with calm resonance, his “voice” as gentle as ever. He lifted a hand, gesturing without emphasis, as though his thoughts drifted like falling leaves from one idea to the next. “You may not think it wise to trust—but most people want exactly that. To be trusted. To be respected. Even when things spiral. Maybe especially then.” He paused, rolling his wrists loosely in the air before folding them back behind him, voice still humming across that telepathic line with thoughtful cadence. “Life’s an echo. What you send out, comes back. What you sow, you reap. What you give, you get. What you see in others… lives in you, too.”
He wasn’t preaching. Not offering doctrine. Just a soft truth that had kept him afloat in places colder than space. He didn’t expect it to change her. She came from a different world, likely built on different rules. But Blue wasn’t going to rewrite his view just because someone entered with a drawn blade and expectations born of fire. If anything, her presence had only reinforced what he already suspected: Joslyn was remarkable. And entirely out of her depth.
But that didn’t make her fragile. Still, he couldn’t help a quiet, soundless chuckle. His shoulders shook with it, the ghost of a laugh that never found his throat—only the gesture remained, open and sincere. “But I’ll take your advice into account. Thank you.”
Then, with the bright clarity that earned him his nickname, his eyes met hers again, thoughtful and unguarded. “Would you like to rest?” His tone, if it could be called that, was careful—never patronizing. Just an honest invitation. “The cockpit’s not much for comfort, but the kitchen area has seats. The replicator can make tea or coffee. Or something more filling if you’re hungry. I’d be happy to share whatever I’ve got to make this easier for you, ma’am.” The offer lingered, warm and open.
Joslyn was more than ready to continue poking at anything she could poke just to see what it did, only pausing over a particularly shiny little sigil on the console when he gave her what must’ve been the most subtle, most… inoffensive warning look that she should mind where her fingers were poking. Enough that she’d given him a single raised brow in response and almost, almost dared to press further buttons anyway.
This was not the conclave where she might get away with pushing those boundaries just to see what would happen. After all, like the way she’d oh so kindly warned this man, one should be wary.
Besides, she did not wish to cause trouble for someone who was so obviously just a simple lower class worker doing his job and living his life. He said he was here to deliver things – likely meant he was a trader or a… what were they called? Cargo haulers? Caravans?
…this was a sky caravan! That was interesting!
See, she was perfectly fine here. Figuring things out quickly, as she always did. That twist in her stomach could go away.
Of course he gave her the sort of retort all soft hearted simple people did. That everyone just wishes to have someone to trust. You get what you give. Reap what you sow. It was so blissfully naive, absolute hogwash. There was no balance or fairness in life. It was naught but chaos and happenstance – what happened, happened. And you either delt with it to the best of your knowledge and your abilities, or you plop yourself down, give up and die.
Joslyn almost even told him as much, but he was giving her these statements in such dead earnest, even thanking her for the advice given and she could have heavily sighed. The man was an innocent of the highest of caliber. It would be best once they landed that she took her leave of him, so he wouldn’t get wrapped up into her most dangerous of missions.
It was a dubious, soft frown on her face up until he asked if she’d like to rest. Then her expression faltered, glancing about this cockpit of his (not full of any kind of cocks she could see, so there was no telling how it got such a name) until she was giving the state of her own self a slight examination.
There had not been time to stop and rest before she’d gone into the rift. Damn it all, not even time to change her clothes! Or think twice! At least by the sounds of a replicator, she could tell by context of what it was. A thing that replicated sustenance.
“…I will accept your hospitality,” she acquiesced in that slow, doubtful way. Uncertain if this was even the best idea, but for now she did not have many options. At least she’d landed with an innocent, that would give her chance to breathe and learn more about this new world… many worlds, she had come into.
With a hand and a motion that belied just how noble born she actually was, Joslyn gestured for him to lead the way. Fully expecting him to fulfill his roles and duties as her present host.
There was probably a clever retort somewhere—some half-witted line he could’ve delivered if she’d looked him straight in the eye and said he was so innocent it hurt. Something dry and self-effacing. Granted he wouldn’t have used it. He would’ve just smiled.
The same smile he always wore when people made assumptions. That easy, unbothered curve of the lips that accepted misunderstanding like one might accept rain through a cracked window—unexpected, but not worth fixing. After all, one couldn’t know a person just by looking at them. That was the truth of it.
There was always more beneath the surface. Layers to people. And him? He was no exception.
Still, he noticed the slight shift in her lips when he offered her a place to rest. Not a sneer—nothing that unkind. Just a movement, brief and telling, as if the very idea of accepting comfort was at odds with her pride. His head tipped slightly to the left in quiet thought, his gaze soft but watchful. Noticing. Processing the sort of mannerisms presented so he might be aware and able to react positively.
She didn’t speak right away. Instead, her eyes took one more pass over the cockpit—the singular pilot’s station, the humming panels, the view of stars stretching endlessly into silence. And then, slowly, she turned her attention inward.
Eventually, she agreed and declared it verbally. Only adding on a sort of mannerism that he found familiar enough. That, more than any threat or declaration, told him who she was.
Aelora had nobility too. He’d seen how they moved—their angles, the measured cadence of their words. The weight in their gestures, their expectations. Joslyn had that in her. Not the politics. Not the sharp-clawed council dealings. But the posture. The training. The understanding that someone like him—a long-hauler who carted trade across dead zones and dusty planets—was someone born to be beneath her.
And that was fine. He was hardly about to find a reason to take offense. If he ever did, it wasn’t today. Instead, he smiled in the eyes more than the mouth, and took her faint wave of a hand as the cue to move on. To him moving to step through the spiral door first, the panel receding with a soft, efficient hiss into the wall.
The galley was only a few steps away, tucked just outside the cockpit—a narrow space, clean but worn, designed for function, not comfort. It had everything a long-hauler needed: a kitchenette with minimal dishware, a small sink for rinsing, and a disposal chute embedded into the counter for breaking down refuse into raw base materials—organic, synthetic, mineral, or exotic. All of it reprocessed. Nothing wasted.
Above the counter sat the replicator: a square inlet in the wall, faintly lit, humming with quiet potential. To her, it might seem impossibly advanced. To Blue, it was just breakfast.
He stepped over to the table in the centre of the room, a small oval with only two chairs bolted to the floor. He nudged one with his boot, catching the magnetic latch with a soft clunk and releasing it from the floor’s grip. Without ceremony, he pulled it out in a gesture that might’ve passed for gentlemanly grace if one was inclined to see it that way. Then he turned back to her.
“What may I bring you?” The question came through the same gentle tether as before—soft and genuine. There was no performative tone. And an clear lack of posturing. Having no reason to even dare attempt it.
Just an honest question, wrapped in genuine hospitality.
He stood patiently beside the chair, his posture as calm as the stars humming outside the hull. Still in no rush. Still willing to offer her whatever small comfort he could—food, drink, rest, or quiet—within the boundaries of what she was willing to accept. And in his gaze, there was only compassion. Because no matter what world she came from, or what titles she held, she was the guest.
These self moving doors… their sudden movements made her stiffen, but it did seem they were automatic. Some of the lights shared this interesting function too, in that proximity appeared to trigger them. (She even tested this with the cockpit doors, a few steps back before trudging forward again. Fast to catch up on his heels.) Truly a magnificent sort of craftsmanship, all done just with the currents flowing behind the walls?
Dangerous, though. Magic could be self sustaining – what was sustaining this flow of power here? What would happen to this traveling caravan if the electrical flow stopped! Would it go crashing down into the world they were approaching, or would it fly off into space.
Oh… oh no. Joslyn may have discovered something newly terrifying so she quite promptly put that as far out of her mind as she could get it.
Instead she followed him back to that galley kitchen with nary a word. Tilting her head to the side with curious observation as he popped some latch on the floor to release the chair. Why on earth would one stick a chair to the floor? …Unless perhaps sailing the stars was like sailing the ocean! There must be wind currents this far in the sky, strong enough to set the vessel into tilting this way and that. One cannot have furniture sliding about in that case, it would surely damage the fragile function of the electric currents behind the walls.
This was a great deal of new information all at once. Joslyn might’ve been a prodigy and quick learner to be sure, but even she had a limit of what she could take in. When she accepted the offered chair and slid into the seat with all the grace of a very, tired queen, it became abundantly clear just how weary she truly was.
What had she done. She’d chosen madness in her efforts to stop the cycle of other madness.
“Tea is a familiar drink, I would like that please,” she answered simply, folding her hands together on the tabletop, sitting as straight and elegantly as one should. Not failing to watch his every movement. All that he touched and tinkered with so she might see how it worked too. The more she could pack away into her brain, the faster it would be for her to get used to this strange realm.
“This is your work, sailing the stars? Is it you alone here in this vessel, you are it’s captain?” Important questions as well! Joslyn was an accidental intruder, and now his guest. She would not be rude. …threatening him once was enough.
Once she’d settled into the seat—her posture precise even in rest—Blue stepped away, giving her the space she hadn’t asked for but likely appreciated. It was a courtesy he rarely had to think about, and never failed to offer.
At her quiet acceptance of tea, he gave a nod—grateful, thoughtful. She’d said it was familiar, which didn’t surprised him. Magic and science, after all, might not be so different in the quiet places where the stars listen. However, he was careful not to get overly adventurous with his selection. No exotic blends that shimmered too much or changed flavour mid-sip. Instead, he crossed the narrow galley to the replicator set into the wall—tapping a finger to his chin once in thought, then reaching toward the small, numbered panel with deliberate familiarity.
Starbloom tea, he decided. A light floral blend. Faintly sweet, reminiscent of chamomile and elderflower with a clean touch of mint. It finished with a subtle warmth, like cinnamon bark steeped beneath a clear night sky. A comfort drink. Soothing. Known well enough thanks to folk back in Morrow’s Hollow who favoured gentle teas for long evenings.
He opted not to serve it in a transparent mug—foregoing the quiet show of petals unfurling and the bioluminescent swirl near the base. As potentially curious as Joslyn may be, he had a sense that beauty which moved without logic might unsettle rather than soothe.
Leaving fingers to key in the sequence—recalling it easily from memory—and grabbed a ceramic mug from the shelf to place on the replicator’s base. Better to catch it there than deal with clean-up from the grates below. “I wouldn’t call myself a captain,” He tapped a final button and let the machine whirr to life, heating and brewing with the soft hum of precision engineering. “I just work for the Wayfarer Freight. An employee, is all.” Saying so with an easy shrug, already turning to collect the mug before it overfilled.
“It’s a cargo hauling company that runs through Charter space. Modest work. Basic insurance. Lets us haulers operate with a fair bit of freedom.” A thumb pointed to himself, the ever-unfussy labourer in the stars. “It’s good for those who prefer solitude. Or those who don’t mind it.”
He didn’t linger on the last line—didn’t dress it with meaning—but there was something quietly knowing in the way he said it. An understanding that telepathy, even as soft as his, could make people feel unsettled. Distant. It wasn’t terribly common from what he had discovered in his years.
The replicator beeped gently. He lifted the mug carefully and walked it over to the table, setting it down in front of her with the careful steadiness one used with delicate things. “Milk, honey or sugar?”
He straightened again, tone still thoughtful. “I don’t stay on the ship all the time, either. I go home every few days. Otherwise…” He smiled faintly, eyes drifting somewhere warm. “The animals are good company. They don’t talk much, but they listen well. And they need care. That’s enough.”
There was no loneliness in the words. Only a steady kind of gratitude. The kind that came from knowing one’s place and not needing to prove it. Blue leaned gently against the counter’s edge, not crowding her, but clearly not rushing away either. Then, after a small pause—gentle and entirely free of pressure—he asked: “If it’s not invasive… may I ask what the Sidus Order is?” His gaze met hers, clear and curious. “I’m not familiar with magic or mages outside stories. And yours is the first I’ve met who was real.”
It seemed like arcane magic, really, the way his fingers moved over lit buttons to make up this brew of tea straight out of some device instead of a simple kettle and stove. While she didn’t understand how it worked, she could at least grasp the basic concept of it. Another time, another place she’d want to take it apart, ask a dozen questions on just how it – and everything else in this strange vessel came to be. It was simply too much to think about in the hear and now.
Instead, Joslyn listened as he explained he was not the captain of ship caravan, merely one who worked it… on his own though, so as far as Joslyn was concerned that made him the commander and captain of the starship. Even if he were a wheel in the cog of a clock, this was his to turn and there was a certain amount of respect he should be given.
The solitude, though…. that left a question hanging in the air. One she was not yet ready to ask, if she even should at all.
“Milk and honey, thank you,” she answered instead. Listening still as he went on to explain that he didn’t always stay here on this ship – he visited his home. Well then. Not as solitary as it sounded at all then. The animals aboard this vessel kept him the company he needed on his journeys, while he occasionally visited home. This was, at least on the surface, as it should be for one such as him.
His return of questions was no unexpected in itself, as that was what one did in polite conversation. Though, the specifics caught her a bit off-guard, lending her to giving him a subtle examining gave with those seaglass green eyes and a slight tilt of her head. Magic was not a common thing here in this realm, then? Not unusual either, she supposed. What was normal in Brynoth was not the case in the rest of the world either.
“The Sidus Order is a conclave of talented magic users from all over Brynoth,” she explained easily. Too easily, because it was very clear in the way she straightened and smiled, this was something she was incredibly proud of. “It began as a place to gather research on how to fight and stop the demon that’s plagued us. Over time it grew into a collection of the greatest magical scholars in the world. In fact, one cannot study there unless you are exceptional with magic. Even fewer rise to become a Master Mage. I happen to be the youngest to have ever made it to Master.”
“Milk and honey,” he repeated softly, more for himself than her—a quiet echo to anchor their rhythm of communication. It wasn’t the kind of exchange most people were used to. No voices. No overlapping chatter. Just thought and gesture. Mind and motion. But it worked well enough. Closer to song than conversation, in its own way.
Turning back to the replicator, Blue keyed in the additional commands with the soft focus of someone tending a ritual. Button presses, a flick of his wrist, a slight shift as he grabbed two suitable containers from the overhead shelf. When the items finished processing with a gentle hum, he placed them on the table beside her tea—milk in a ceramic pourer, honey thick and golden in a small vial-shaped jar. Quiet offerings with no fuss.
Then, satisfied, he leaned gently against the counter once more. Arms relaxed, expression bright with open curiosity—eager, but never invasive. He knew she didn’t have to answer him. He expected she might not. Some people held their stories too close to share, especially when the stars were unfamiliar and the walls still strange. But if she did speak, he’d treat every word like something delicate. Something important.
Her gaze turned to him again—scrutinizing, as if she were still trying to catalogue all the ways in which he didn’t quite make sense. And still, she spoke. And what she shared? It was something.
The Sidus Order. The greatest magical scholars in her world. A collective of the arcane elite. Even the phrasing held weight—the greatest, not great. And she was one of them. The youngest among their ranks. It was vast. Foreign. Maybe even mythic. He couldn’t quite wrap his head around the scope of it. Not fully. Her pride, however, was unmistakable—evident in her tone, her posture, even the faint upward curl of her lips when she spoke of it. Earned pride. And Blue, ever the quiet listener, made no attempt to diminish it.
He took a moment before speaking, letting her words settle. Letting them breathe. “A collection of the greatest magical scholars in the world,” he echoed with quiet awe. “A world without a name…” Came the latter half private to himself. Unspoken towards her.
Brows knit slightly as he considered it all, fingertips stroking thoughtfully along his jaw. “That’s… mind-boggling.” He meant it. It wasn’t just flattery—it was the honest expression of someone trying to map ancient forests onto star charts. Trying to find a thread between his own humble life and something that sounded like it had been pulled from an epic.
Still, he worked at it. Piecing together the parallels where he could.
“So then… magic users—less exceptional ones, I mean—they’re common?” he asked gently. “Not everyone’s in your order, but magic is still known. Understood?” He tilted his head, trying to align it with something he knew. It sounded almost like a prestigious institution, or one of the Charter’s elite academies—a place where only the best were chosen. Those with talent, drive, and proof. “Like a high-caliber school,” he murmured. “Or a… specialized rank.”
His gaze warmed again, the corners of his mouth lifting slightly in admiration. “You are very impressive.”
There was no teasing in it. No smirk or challenge. Just quiet, honest awe. Spoken like someone who rarely said such things—but when he did, he meant them entirely. But then his head tilted again—just enough to suggest something softer lurking beneath. Producing a strength of soft concern. “Isn’t it important,” he asked gently, “That you be with your order?”
His tone hadn’t turned accusatory. Just thoughtful. Wondering. “Jumping through a rift like that… it sounds risky. Dangerous, even.” He met her gaze again, all polished sapphire and patient steadiness. Just a hint of something tender beneath the surface—something like the mirrored reflection of her earlier words. A ginger suggestion that perhaps even those who are strong, wise, and sharp should be cautious about what they place their trust in.
Not all things you leave can be returned to easily. But he didn’t say it. He didn’t have to. The implication hung quietly in the space between them, balanced by the warm scent of tea and honey.
That device of his could spit out milk and honey too just as simply? What a marvel that was! Even Joslyn, who had seen many amazing and impressive things in her life still found this astonishing enough to be wide-eyed and gently amazed. Picking up each little cup and container to sniff it’s contents, taking a sip from each one separately as well to see if there was anything unusual about them… nay! A floral tea, a creamy milk, and a sweet honey.
It was with a bright easy smile that she added the milk and honey to her cup and gave it a stir. Agreeing with an affirming and oh so proud nod that such a place of magic was indeed mind-boggling. Even in her own realm, it was something that impressed anyone that had ever paid it a visit.
“Magic is common, yes. It flows in the blood of some, others must learn through craft. A school is an apt name for it, perhaps a bit more in depth… a university? A member of the order lives their entire life in the conclave researching magic and then teaching magic.”
Being called impressive? Of course she was. Joslyn did not need the affirmation, yet of course she appreciated having someone actually say it out loud for once. Without a reluctant sigh or a sarcastic lit.
And then with one simple question that bright smile slowly faded, drifted downwards into this straight line before turning south into the softest of frowns.
“…I was with the other Masters tasked with beating the demon back into the rift. The same thing Masters had been doing for thousands of years, even some of the current Masters, those of long lived races had been in several of those battles. Something different needed to be done and I… was the only one willing to make the choice.”
A choice made in the heat of the moment – not that she regretted it. Joslyn stood by it even now, here in this strange new realm where nothing was quite recognizable. …but still. She’d have thought others would’ve come to. That someone else would’ve recognized the need to finally do something differently, even if it just meant seeing where that damnable demon came from.
Yet here she was. As the Master Melvienne had warned her… she was a singular one.
“I accepted the danger and the consequences of my decision,” she muttered with a shrug of her shoulders. Picking up that ceramic mug to take a long drink, and oh what a soothing drink it was. Almost made a dent in her churning stomach and that now painful twist in her chest. Even if her mission was doomed to fail, she’d made a choice that broke the cycle. At the very least she would learn things here and go back with more knowledge than the Sidus Order had ever obtained before.
So that confident smile returned as if it had never left her face at all.
“Do not worry about me, gentle courier. I learn quickly. I would demonstrate, but your vessel is made of metal and I am a storm mage. My element is lightning and that… well, needless to say that can be quite dangerous. I can feel all of the currents here in… everything. Actually, it is making my head feel a little fuzzy. I do not wish to do any harm here, even by accident.”
Blue was immediately, thoroughly enthralled.
Magic—actual magic—so common in her home world that even those without immense talent could access it in some way. Not a rarity, not some whispered gift handed to the chosen few, but a living part of society. It gave unintended truth to the holo novels of his youth. All those dramatic tales once dismissed as imaginative nonsense—maybe not so ridiculous after all.
He thought, briefly, of Celes. Of how she’d marvel at Joslyn’s existence. The questions she would ask. The endless notebooks she’d fill trying to map the logic of something so wildly beautiful and impossible. She’d love this, he thought with a soft, wistful tug at his chest.
As Joslyn continued, she clarified that the Sidus Order wasn’t merely a school—it was more akin to a university. A place of higher learning and elevated mastery. Beyond anything Blue had ever known, but not so far that he couldn’t understand its gravity. And that understanding only deepened when she spoke of the other masters—elders who had been battling the demon for centuries.
His mind couldn’t help but circle back to the idea. Could it truly be a Riftborn? A creature of myth, spoken of in hushed tones by Charter scholars as cautionary whispers? There had never been evidence. Just scattered loss. Silent colonies. Vanishing worlds.
There was no proof. Only possibility.
It made her cause—her decision to leave everything and follow such a being—all the more staggering.
He leaned forward slightly, gaze still soft, still bright. “A noble cause,” he murmured, the words forming along their quiet thread of communication like stones placed gently in a river. “It would be devastating to lose someone of importance… of strong conviction. Especially someone fighting for hope.”
It wasn’t criticism. It wasn’t veiled caution. It was genuine admiration. A recognition of what it truly meant to know the risks—and step forward anyway.
Most people wouldn’t. Most would flinch. Pull back. Try to make the weight someone else’s. But Joslyn hadn’t. That kind of soul was rare.
“Oh, I don’t think you need my concern,” he added softly, with a smile that bloomed again—open and sincere. “You sound… and appear… remarkable.” He meant it. There wasn’t a single inch of his voice, posture, or expression that carried anything but truth. “I was just thinking how clear it is you’re a very special sort of person. A rare one.”
The kind stories try to capture. The kind people remember, even in galaxies far from home.
When she eventually revealed that she was a storm mage, he blinked—just once. Then laughed silently, head dipping slightly with a good-natured grin as he absorbed that small, critical truth.
Lightning. Electricity. “Ah,” he thought aloud, light and unbothered, “You must be feeling the power core.” There was no fear in him. Just practical consideration. “It runs the entire ship. I appreciate your restraint in not flexing your prowess while we’re in flight.” A small chuckle stirred at the edge of his mind. “I don’t know how long we’d be stuck adrift if the Kestrel Dawn lost her power systems. I’m not an engineer—I just know what buttons not to touch.“
He tilted his head then, fingers resting lightly on the rim of the table, clearly still thinking.
“Most advanced planets are full of electricity. You might feel it everywhere—streetlights, transit rails, communication towers. It’s as common as oxygen.” His tone softened even more. “If it’s that overwhelming… or tempting…” A pause. Then, sweetly, earnestly: “Will you be alright, Madam Joslyn?”
The title wasn’t mocking. It was offered with the same quiet grace as everything else about him—a man who had nothing to prove, and every reason to care.
Yes! Her cause was noble, Joslyn was indeed someone important with strong conviction that believed that something better could be done than just fighting the same beast over and over again. That pride and confidence that bordered on ego burned bright as any star… and his compliments still continued. Remarkable. Special. Rare.
Genuine compliments meant with all earnest… and against all odds, a creeping blush found it’s way to the surface. A strange, unwanted, unwarranted shyness to hear it all spoken out loud by someone who was so blissfully unbroken by the world. This quiet man had a gentle soul and a heart of gold, and suddenly Joslyn wasn’t so sure she actually deserved such high praises at all. Accomplished and intelligent as she might be… but she didn’t deserve praises from someone like him, who was living his humble simple life. She’d done nothing for him or his own realm.
For all he knew, she could’ve been lying about it all! She wasn’t, but still, he was too naive! Too accepting! This ridiculous man!
Taking another gulp of tea hoping to brush those embarrassing thoughts aside, she took in his next statements with thought care. Plucking out the pieces that made sense, mulling over the ones that didn’t. A power core? Perhaps that was like a charged crystal fueled with a spell or magic. This vessel drew the energy from there to power all of these strange devices. Instead of magic it was… engineer? Engineering. Lightning architecture!
A dubious wrinkle of her nose followed at the sounds of entire planets full of electricity. That… that might be a cause for concern. Of course metal was common in her world of wood and stone, but it didn’t make up the whole of how things were constructed. If worlds here were covered in metal, teeming with electricity everywhere she turned… she would be just as liable to fry herself than she would someone else, if she weren’t careful. Joslyn had seen other mages get cocky enough to believe they could just step directly into their own element as if it could never hurt them. Fire mages thinking they’d not be buried by molten lava. Water mages forgetting they were still capable of drowning.
As powerful as she could be, Joslyn was still made of flesh. She was not indestructible.
…but oh was she intelligent. Smarter than any other mage. If she could not figure her way around all of this, then was she even worthy of the Master title?
“It is concerning,” she did admit with a nod, but that unwavering confidence was there, tried and true. “But as I said, I do learn very quickly. I will try my magic once we are on stable land, so that I might avoid killing us both. If you have books, I can study on engineering and make myself useful for your kindnesses.”
His brows lifted, gentle awe tracing across his features like sunlight touching water.
She had suggested—not only with conviction but with a spark of eagerness—that she could learn the fundamentals of engineering. That she wanted to. That she could be useful somehow, in response to his kindness—a word he’d never expected to be repaid in such a way.
It drew another of his soundless chuckles, warm and breathless, sealed in the lines of a slow, grinning gaze. “I didn’t realize your world was so advanced,” he mused aloud, soft with amusement, “That it would know the functionality of fusion systems or stabilizing plasma cells.”
His hand drifted, brushing fingers lightly over the opposite elbow—a thoughtful gesture more than anything else. “I mean, I’d settle for just knowing how a modular core converts hydrogen into clean, steady power across the decks.” Fingers unfurled, illustrating the thought with the ease of someone used to explaining complex things in simple ways. “Even understanding how to route that power properly—without convincing the heating coils that they deserve more priority than the oxygen scrubbers.”
A smirk tugged faintly at the edge of his lips, though there was no bite in the humour.
He didn’t mean to dismiss her. Quite the opposite. There was admiration written in his posture, in the way he watched her, bright-eyed and openly curious. Still, part of him wondered if she assumed spacefaring systems could be fed with raw power alone. That they were machines as hungry for lightning as any conjured ritual.
But these ships they required a subtler hand. It wasn’t just electricity. It was regulation. Diagnostics. Finesse. Calibrated balance over brute force. Things not easily found in old grimoires or instinctive spellcraft. Still, he opened his hands gently, palms up, expression softening again into something entirely sincere. “But such things aren’t necessary either,” he added, voice gentle in her mind. “Wayfarer Freight has engineers if I ever need them. And I’m hardly expecting anything.”
He held her gaze a beat longer. “In fact, I don’t expect anything. Kindness… comes with no price tag.” And he meant it. Every word. There might have been more said—but the soft, patterned beeping from beyond the spiraled cockpit door caught his attention. The navigational systems calling for adjustment.
It was important enough to draw his focus—but not before he turned back to her with that same calm, pleasant smile and offered a polite, respectful dip of his head. “Please, make yourself comfortable. If you need anything, don’t hesitate to ask.” His tone was cordial but warm. A host, yes—but never a servant. “I’ve got to make a few adjustments—need to prep for docking in a bit.”
And with that, he slipped quietly out of the galley, the low hum of his boots against the flooring fading into the subtle hush of the ship, leaving her alone with the still-steaming tea and the quiet, beating heart of the Kestrel Dawn.
Well, there were a whole lot of words Joslyn didn’t understand. A slow furrow of brow as he went on about fusions systems and plasma cells, modular core converts and oxygen scrubbers. She was nearly about to interject and make it clear that she didn’t know about engineering yet – it would take her the time to study up on it first – until she realized he was making a jest of it. He’d done it so softly, without the sort of sarcastic condescension that Joslyn was used to it and it nearly slipped right by her.
He had humor then. Joslyn would keep that in mind so she wouldn’t miss it a second time and end up making a fool of herself!
She had something perfectly poignant about kindness not having a price tag – she could argue that for certain – but a beep beep beep had drawn her immediate attention to go glancing around and seeing what manner of bird, instrument, or otherwise was making such a strange sound. An alert of some sort that was important enough to draw his attention too, though not of such a dire emergency that it broke that aura of calm he always portrayed.
Joslyn merely nodded her acceptance of staying put while he went on to do his job. Watching him as he walked out, leaving her alone in this small kitchen made of weird contraptions.
Her seaglass eyes went downwards to stare at the steaming mug of amber tea between her hands. Frowning first at the faint glimmer of her reflection and then splaying her fingers out flat on the tabletop, to see the flecks of battle that still remained clinging to her skin.
That rift had opened up into the stars and by pure luck of chance she’d landed inside this vessel instead of out there in the sky. Pure luck as well that the captain of said vessel was not some villainous pirate. She could’ve died immediately upon coming through the lift or presently be fighting for her very life. These were important things she needed to acknowledge and remember.
Reckless. She’d been reckless.
Joslyn closed her eyes and took in a deep breath, holding it for a long moment before allowing it to release. Trying her damndest to stave off that sense of overwhelming panic, to remind herself that as long as she was still breathing, there was nothing she could not do. No one was going to come rescue or save her, that was always something she had to do for herself. She’d escaped her home to join the conclave and rose quickly through the ranks of mages, throwing away old dreams upon the discovery of new ones. So what if she had come into an unfamiliar realm? Joslyn would learn and do it all over again.
A singular one. Always a singular one.
With a weary sigh she lift her mug for another drink. She was fine. If Joslyn hit a moment where it became too much, she would simply return back to the conclave. Her ego battered and bruised maybe, but she’d return to recover and resume her duties as a Master.
With duties returned to and his place retaken in the pilot’s seat, Blue eased into the familiar rhythm of docking preparations. The controls welcomed his touch, panels lighting softly beneath his fingertips as the Kestrel Dawn began her gradual shift from free drift into guided descent.
There was nothing dramatic about it—just steady procedure.
Order.
Repetition.
He pulled up the virtual manifest first, the interface blinking open across the holoscreen. One by one, he began logging the details: crates of preserved grains, water tanks, rolled textiles, sealed nutrient compounds, and the penned livestock in the aft hold. Each item catalogued, weighed, tagged, and queued for surface delivery.
It was standard procedure before entering regulated airspace.
Ahead of them, the glimmering blue and green planet swelled into full view, its atmosphere rimmed in silver where the sun caught the curve. A thin haze of orbital traffic began to flicker across the viewport—small crafts zipping in coordinated paths, larger haulers like his lining up near the orbital terminal that hovered like a silent sentinel above the world.
The docking hub came into focus—a vast floating station, anchored with rotational stabilizers and broadcasting three open lanes to inbound vessels. Each lane led to a designated customs booth, operated by Charter port officials whose job was equal parts inspection and interrogation.
They were looking for the usual: contraband, unclaimed stowaways, unsanctioned tech, biohazards. Blue had nothing of the sort. Nothing to hide. He sent the preliminary ping to declare his queue position and continued the slow approach, hands making minor course corrections as the ship began to join the outer pattern of waiting craft. Nearby vessels blinked with transponder lights—some sleek and silver, others patched and scuffed like his, all tethered to purpose.
He took a deep breath, the process so ingrained into him it no longer demanded effort. His attention flicked briefly to the customs form being populated with automated data—waypoints, registry codes, prior stops—and his eyes drifted back to the lanes ahead.
Passenger entries were sorted elsewhere, far from the freight lanes. Those arriving for tourism, emigration, or diplomatic entry were shuttled to separate terminals for more in-depth processing. The Kestrel Dawn wasn’t here for that. She was here to deliver. Nothing more. The cargo was scheduled to offload planetside—assigned to a ground depot just outside the capital city—before Blue would begin his return leg. He had no intention of lingering.
Not this time. His route was already planned, and the moment his manifest cleared, he’d set course for Aelora.
He thought of Morrow’s Hollow, of the warm sprawl of its quiet homes beneath a pale sky. Of the simple pacing of days that never rushed and never needed to. It had been his next stop before the unexpected twist in his journey—and now, more than ever, he felt the pull to bring them there.
He didn’t presume to know what she needed. But he had a sense she might find comfort in the slowness of a place like that. In the way the trees leaned. In how the stars felt closer there, even if the technology was decades behind.
Blue made the final adjustment to the ship’s vector, slotting her neatly into the waiting line as the docking bay signalled readiness. A soft beep confirmed the automated stabilizers were synced, and the Kestrel Dawn eased into position behind a lumbering agricultural freighter.
With that, he exhaled, letting his back settle further into the seat.
This part, at least, would be easy. Just let the process carry them forward. And once the offload was done, back home. Idly somewhat curious what would that of maternal parent have on the stove and if he could invite a second person without her raising an eyebrow.
Actually, better safe than sorry.
Pulling a new screen to input a visual file that would be sent off promptly to forewarn that of maternal parent that he would have a visitor and that he would appreciate if she would allow an extra seat at the table. Sure she wouldn’t mind, but he was hardly daft enough to know that his mother would take this as a silent invite to be nosy. Practically hearing the tone that he wasn’t getting any younger and she had expectations.
You’d think for a retired midwife, she would have had her fill with babies.
Luck was with the Kestral Dawn as well, for the glorious Lady Joslyn Integra Ulric the III, Master of the Arcane, was exhausted of both body and of mind. Were she not, her hands would be getting into every single little nook and cranny. Poking buttons, opening doors, peering behind hatches. She’d touch and tug wires, follow the flow of electricity. Even in her tired state, it was there being pondered.
There was a core for the power, that was the vessel’s heart. Then in turn, this vessel also had a brain. A place where all of the instructions lived to operate it. Sea faring ships were sailed manually by the labor of hands, but with all the automation in this structure – not operated by magic – that had to mean something had been created to work as a thinking mind would.
That was so unbelievably interesting that even in the wake of her bigger mission, Joslyn could not help but come back to pondering it. She was at her own core a true scholar. A seeker of knowledge. To find out there was not just a world beyond her own but the ability to travel amongst the very stars themselves? How could that be anything less than extraordinary!
Alas, she was exhausted. Frustrated with it as well, drinking the last of the tea to set it aside and give her cheeks a few quick smacks to attempt a shock of energy back into her body. Eventually allowing herself just a single moment of resting her head down on her arms to block out the soft glow of light and give her tired eyes a rest. A long inhale and exhale of breath to find some ground.
A mistake, for if she thought she’d sit right back up again it didn’t happen. It was a gradual, insidious slip into an unwanted nap. A quiet loosening of limbs as this wretched place of calm safety did it’s work of lulling her to be still longer enough to let her guard down. That one tiny moment was all it took for the weight of a long battle and a reckless choice finally had it’s chance to catch up, finally capturing her into the trap of rest.