The flame hovered before him, suspended in darkness. Not resting on any surface, not anchored to anything at all. Just... existing. Pulsing with golden light that cast long shadows across the ancient chamber walls.

  Carson reached toward it. The flame didn't burn—it beckoned.

  Protect it.

  The voice came from everywhere and nowhere, resonating through the stone chamber in a language he shouldn't understand but somehow did. The walls around him were etched with symbols that shifted when he tried to focus on them, rearranging themselves into new patterns that felt simultaneously alien and familiar.

  It seeks you.

  The flame pulsed brighter, its golden light intensifying until it illuminated the entire chamber. Massive stone pillars stretched upward into darkness, their surfaces carved with the same shifting symbols. The air smelled of ozone and dust, undisturbed for millennia.

  Carson took a step back. The flame followed, drifting closer.

  You cannot escape what you are.

  "I don't want this," Carson whispered, his voice echoing strangely. "I'm nobody."

  The flame surged forward, enveloping him and not burning—connecting. Golden tendrils of light seeped beneath his skin, tracing his veins, illuminating him from within. The weight of responsibility pressed against his chest, making it hard to breathe. The chamber began to tremble, with stones grinding against each other.

  Find the others. Before the shadow—

  Carson jerked awake, gasping. His thin mattress was soaked with sweat despite the station's regulated temperature. The familiar hum of Celestia Station's environmental systems replaced the whispers from his dream, but the weight on his chest remained.

  He pushed himself upright, running a hand through his damp hair. The sterile white walls of his quarters—barely four meters square—had never looked more comforting. No ancient stone. No mysterious symbols. No floating flame demanding things of him.

  "Lights, twenty percent," he croaked.

  Soft illumination filled the room, revealing the organized clutter of his small personal space. Mining equipment schematics covered one wall. A half-disassembled drone sat on his desk beside stacks of technical manuals.

  "You were dreaming again." Maeve's voice emanated from the small projector beside his bed. His customized AI assistant didn't bother manifesting her holographic form this early. "Same physiological responses as the previous occurrences."

  Carson swung his legs over the edge of the bed. "It's nothing."

  "Your heart rate peaked at one-forty-seven. Cortisol levels suggest significant stress. This is the third occurrence this month, with increasing intensity each time."

  "Thanks for the diagnosis." He pressed his palms against his eyes. The golden light from the dream lingered behind his eyelids.

  "Would you like me to schedule a consultation with the station's psychological services?"

  Carson snorted. "And get flagged in the system? No thanks."

  The last thing he needed was TITAN administrators taking an interest in him. He'd spent years carefully cultivating his mediocrity, making sure his test scores remained just good enough to keep his current position but never high enough to attract attention. Another psych evaluation might reveal what he'd been hiding—that he could run circles around most of the station's engineering staff if he wanted to.

  "The dream persists because you refuse to process its psychological significance," Maeve said.

  "The dream persists because I ate Link's mystery protein stew before bed." Carson stood, his legs still shaky. "Speaking of which, what time is it?"

  "Five-twenty-three. Link messaged seventeen minutes ago. The shift supervisor has moved your team's start time to six hundred hours."

  Carson groaned. Another day in the mines, another opportunity to be exactly as unremarkable as he planned to be.

  But as he stepped into the shower, he couldn't shake the lingering sensation of golden light flowing beneath his skin, or the whispered words that seemed to follow him into waking.

  You cannot escape what you are.

  * * *

  Carson stood at the edge of his tiny bathroom, swiping away persistent water droplets from the shower's temperamental pressure system. The station's water recyclers had been operating at ninety-three percent efficiency for the past week—a fact not mentioned in any official announcement, but evident in the subtle mineral tang that lingered on his skin.

  He dressed methodically in his standard-issue mining coveralls, worn thin at the knees and elbows from years of use. The TITAN logo on his chest had faded from countless wash cycles, an unintentional form of rebellion he quietly enjoyed.

  "Daily announcements," he said as he fastened his boots.

  Maeve's voice filled the room. Unlike the standard station AI's monotone, he'd programmed hers with subtle Irish inflections—another small act of personalization that skirted regulation boundaries.

  "TITAN productivity across the Jupiter sector up twelve percent this quarter. Maintenance scheduled for Level Three atmospheric processors, sections seventeen through twenty-two. Theist delegation arrival delayed due to 'diplomatic considerations.' Ration adjustments in effect for hydroponics staff following cultivation tank failure."

  Carson's ears perked up at the Theist delegation mention. Diplomatic considerations usually meant someone important enough to make TITAN executives nervous.

  "Any details on the delegation?"

  "Official channels limited. Unofficial chatter suggests royal involvement."

  He nodded. Maeve's information-gathering subroutines were another customization that would raise eyebrows if discovered. "Interesting timing."

  "Indeed. Also, you've received your quarterly aptitude assessment results."

  Carson paused. "And?"

  "Sixty-four percent. Engineering specialist Kwan noted your 'adequate but uninspired approach to mechanical problem-solving.'"

  A smile flickered across Carson's face. Perfect. He'd deliberately reversed the polarity connections on the test unit—an error obvious enough to be noticed, subtle enough to seem like carelessness rather than sabotage. Sixty-four percent kept him firmly in the middle of the pack, invisible to promotion algorithms and talent scouts.

  The door chimed as he grabbed his tool belt.

  "You look like hell," Link said when the door slid open, his broad frame filling the doorway. "Dream again?"

  Carson shrugged, stepping into the corridor. "Just the usual nonsense."

  Link fell into step beside him, their shoulders occasionally bumping in the narrow passageway. No further questions, no probing concern—just quiet understanding. This was why Link mattered. He knew when to push and when to simply exist in the same space.

  The mess hall buzzed with pre-shift activity, miners and support staff huddled around tables under the blue-tinted lights. Carson felt the subtle vibration through the soles of his boots—the station's massive smelting fuse processing yesterday's haul, a constant reminder of Celestia's purpose.

  They joined the queue at the food dispensers, ID chips automatically scanned as they approached. The machine chirped, dispensing Carson's standard breakfast—protein porridge with synthetic fruit, calibrated to his metabolic profile and work requirements.

  "Heard Supervisor Tallen's on the warpath," Link muttered as they found seats. "Quota's up ten percent this week."

  Carson stirred his porridge, noting the slightly grainy texture that indicated the protein synthesizers needed recalibration. "When isn't he?"

  "Team Four found a new vein yesterday. Rich stuff. Administration's excited."

  Carson nodded, absorbing the information while maintaining his expression of mild disinterest. New veins meant potential reassignments, shifting team dynamics, opportunities for attention he didn't want.

  The propaganda screen above their table cycled through images of TITAN mining achievements—smiling workers, gleaming facilities, the promise of Earth's restoration. Carson knew the statistical improbabilities behind those promises, the fundamental flaws in current terraforming approaches. He'd written a paper on it once, then deleted it before submission.

  "Morning brief in five," Link said, checking his wrist display. "Tallen wants equipment suggestions for the new sector."

  "Great," Carson muttered.

  In the transit tube to operations, packed among bodies smelling of industrial soap and recycled air, Supervisor Tallen caught Carson's eye.

  "Craft! Heard about your assessment. Sixty-four percent? I expected better."

  Carson adopted a sheepish expression. "Sorry, sir. Got confused about the load-bearing calculations."

  "Well, we need ideas today, not confusion. That brain of yours working?"

  "I'll do my best, sir."

  Tallen moved on, shaking his head. Beside him, Link suppressed a smile. They both knew Carson could redesign the entire drilling operation if he wanted to. Instead, he'd offer a workable but unremarkable solution, maintaining the careful mediocrity that kept him exactly where he wanted to be—with Link, away from scrutiny, and free from the burden of expectations.

  Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.

  As the transit tube accelerated toward the mining operations center, Carson felt the station's rhythm through the soles of his boots. Celestia Station—his deliberately chosen prison and sanctuary. The perfect place to be nobody special.

  * * *

  The asteroid field stretched before them—massive fragments suspended in the void, illuminated by Celestia's external floodlights. Carson adjusted his exosuit's temperature regulator, finding comfort in the familiar embrace of the reinforced fabric. The suit had been modified subtly—nothing that would trigger inspection flags, just small adjustments to improve mobility and reduce joint strain during long shifts.

  "Team Six deploying to Fragment 37-C," Link's voice came through Carson's helmet comm with perfect clarity—another of his unauthorized tweaks.

  Carson pushed off from the airlock platform, the gentle thrust propelling him into open space. The sensation never got old—that brief moment of absolute freedom before duty reasserted itself. His body instinctively adjusted to zero gravity, muscles remembering patterns that had become second nature after years of mining operations.

  "Right behind you," Carson replied, activating his maneuvering jets with practiced precision. The asteroid loomed ahead, its surface pockmarked with previous mining operations.

  They landed with magnetic boots engaging automatically, anchoring them to the metallic-rich surface. Link immediately deployed the mineral analyzer, its blue scanning beam sweeping across the rock face.

  "Picking up high concentrations of palladium and trace iridium," Link reported, tapping the analyzer's display. "Should hit quota by mid-shift if this vein runs deep."

  Carson nodded, unfolding his cutting equipment. The plasma drill hummed to life in his hands, its weight perfectly balanced. He positioned it against the marked section and began the careful process of extraction.

  This was the part he genuinely enjoyed—the methodical rhythm of the work, the immediate feedback of skill translated to results. No politics, no expectations beyond the immediate task. Just him, Link, and the rock.

  "You hear about the Theist delegation?" Link asked over their private channel.

  "Maeve mentioned it. Royal involvement apparently."

  "Rumor has it Prince Roman himself. Tallen's been in meetings all week about security protocols."

  Carson adjusted his cutting angle, carefully following the vein's natural contours. "TITAN must be thrilled about that."

  "About as thrilled as finding water in their air processors," Link laughed. "Team Four said they've doubled surveillance in the Inner Ring. Apparently, they're—"

  The plasma drill sputtered suddenly, its energy signature fluctuating wildly. Carson frowned, watching the diagnostic panel flash amber warnings.

  "Power coupling's destabilizing," he muttered, more to himself than Link.

  Without thinking, Carson's fingers moved across the tool's maintenance panel, bypassing standard diagnostic protocols. He recalibrated the energy flow, rerouted power through secondary systems, and implemented a harmonic dampening sequence that wasn't in the standard repair manual.

  The drill hummed back to life, its performance actually improved beyond factory specifications.

  Link cleared his throat pointedly. "Nice basic restart there, Carson. Good thing you remembered the, uh, standard procedure."

  Carson froze, suddenly aware of what he'd done. Standard procedure would have been returning to the station for equipment replacement—not an elegant field modification that revealed far more technical knowledge than a sixty-four percent aptitude score should possess.

  "Yeah," he recovered quickly. "Just got lucky with the timing."

  Link positioned himself to block the security camera's view. "Hey, Team Eight is requesting assistance with their transport drone. Something about calibration issues."

  "Tell them we're too busy hitting quota," Carson replied, grateful for Link's intervention. "Not our problem if they can't run basic diagnostics."

  As they continued working, Carson overheard fragments of conversation from another team working nearby.

  "...said the Theists are gaining support in the outer rings. My cousin on Mars says their temples are everywhere now."

  "TITAN won't allow that here. Not with what happened on Europa Station."

  "You sure about that? I heard three executives converted last month..."

  The conversation faded as the team drifted to another section. Carson filed the information away—political tensions were always worth monitoring, especially when they affected station dynamics.

  Two hours later, they'd extracted nearly thirty kilos of high-grade ore. Carson secured the final sample container while Link prepared the transport drone.

  "Maeve," Carson subvocalized, activating his personal AI through the neural pickup in his helmet. "Any updates on station activity?"

  "Security protocols elevated in docking bay four," Maeve's voice whispered directly into his auditory implant. "Additional personnel deployed to residential sectors. Unusual energy consumption in the Core Ring research facilities."

  "Interesting. Keep monitoring."

  As Carson handled the final mineral sample, something strange happened. The metallic fragment seemed to warm in his hands, despite the insulation of his gloves. For a brief moment, he felt a peculiar resonance—almost like the rock was humming at a frequency just beyond hearing.

  "You okay?" Link asked, noticing his hesitation.

  Carson blinked, the sensation already fading. "Yeah, just... nothing. Thought I saw an unusual formation."

  He secured the sample quickly, dismissing the odd feeling as fatigue or imagination. Yet as they prepared to return to the station, he found himself glancing back at the asteroid fragment, an inexplicable sense of connection lingering in his mind.

  * * *

  Carson weaved through the Middle Ring commerce district, his muscles aching from the day's extraction work. The sterile corridors of Celestia Station gradually gave way to the more personalized storefronts of the commerce sector, each attempting to distinguish itself within TITAN's rigid aesthetic guidelines. Most failed, achieving only minor variations of the same corporate-approved design.

  Bowie's shop was different.

  The moment Carson stepped through the doorway, the station seemed to fall away. The air here carried textures absent elsewhere on Celestia—hints of aged paper, preserved wood, and something earthy he couldn't quite identify. Dust motes danced in the warm amber lighting, so unlike the clinical blue-white illumination that dominated the rest of the station.

  "Ah, Carson! Right on schedule." Bowie emerged from behind a towering stack of bound paper books—actual books, their spines cracked with age. The older man's weathered face creased into a genuine smile. "And Link too. Perfect timing."

  Link nodded, already gravitating toward the music section where Bowie kept functioning pre-Collapse audio equipment.

  "Rough shift?" Bowie asked, eyeing Carson's posture.

  "Standard extraction. Nothing special." Carson rolled his shoulders, feeling the lingering tension. "Though TITAN security's been acting weird. More patrols than usual."

  Bowie nodded knowingly. "The Theist delegation has everyone on edge. Even more since Princess Mira's apparent disappearance."

  "Disappearance?" This was news to Carson.

  "Overheard some TITAN officials earlier," Bowie lowered his voice despite the shop being empty except for them. "Apparently she vanished from her quarters last night. The Theists are claiming TITAN interference, while TITAN suspects she's gathering intelligence."

  Carson filed this information away. Political tensions always created opportunities—or dangers—for those navigating station life.

  His attention drifted to a glass-fronted cabinet he hadn't noticed before. Unlike Bowie's other displays, this one stood empty, its interior illuminated by a soft golden light.

  "New display?" Carson asked, approaching it.

  "Ah, you noticed." Bowie's eyes twinkled. "Reserved for a special acquisition arriving soon. Something truly unique, even by my standards."

  Carson felt an odd pull toward the empty case, a sensation he couldn't rationalize. He placed his hand against the glass, surprised by its warmth.

  "Speaking of unique," Bowie continued, moving to a nearby shelf, "I've restored something I think you'll appreciate."

  He carefully lifted what appeared to be a sphere of clouded glass, roughly the size of Carson's palm. When Bowie pressed a concealed switch, the sphere illuminated from within, projecting a three-dimensional map of Earth's continents as they had existed before the Collapse.

  "Pre-Collapse geographical projection," Bowie explained. "Shows Earth before the final coastal shifts."

  Carson cradled the device, transfixed by the miniature world rotating above his palm. The landmasses appeared alien yet somehow familiar, like a face distorted just enough to become uncanny.

  "They called this configuration 'home,'" Bowie said softly. "Before the waters rose and the plates shifted."

  Carson studied the projection with analytical precision, noting the continental formations. "These fault lines don't match natural tectonic movement patterns."

  "Very observant." Bowie seemed pleased. "Some researchers believed the final configuration wasn't entirely natural. There are patterns in the destruction that suggest... intervention."

  "Intervention by whom?" Carson asked, his curiosity piqued.

  "That's where history gets murky. Some TITAN archives suggest an advanced civilization—predecessors they called the Architects—might have attempted to stabilize the collapse." Bowie shrugged. "Or perhaps that's just humans looking for meaning in chaos."

  Link called from across the shop, "Carson, check this out! Actual vinyl sound reproduction."

  As Carson moved to join his friend, his personal comm chimed with an alert. He glanced at the notification: "ID VERIFICATION ERROR: CRAFT, CARSON - TEMPORARY ACCESS RESTRICTION."

  Strange. His identification had never glitched before. He dismissed the notification, making a mental note to run a diagnostic later.

  "Seems to be happening all over the station today," Bowie commented, noticing Carson's frown. "Systems acting up. Probably related to the security upgrades for our royal visitors."

  As Link experimented with the ancient music player, Carson found his attention repeatedly drawn back to the empty display case. Something about its waiting emptiness resonated with him in ways he couldn't articulate—as though it had been prepared specifically for his arrival.

  "When does your new acquisition arrive?" he asked Bowie casually.

  "Any day now," Bowie replied, his expression unreadable. "The courier was quite insistent that it would find its way here at precisely the right moment."

  * * *

  Carson eased himself onto the edge of his narrow bed, the mattress yielding with a familiar creak. The quarters assigned to mid-level miners were deliberately small—TITAN efficiency at its finest. Fifteen square meters of living space, just enough for a bed, storage unit, hygiene cubicle, and a fold-down desk. The blue-tinted lights dimmed automatically as he sat, sensing his evening routine.

  "Performance metrics retrieved, Carson," Maeve's voice materialized before her holographic form did. Her appearance—auburn hair pulled back, features sharp but kind—was entirely his design, one of the few personalization allowances TITAN granted its workers.

  "Thanks." Carson rubbed his eyes. "Show me."

  Floating data streams appeared beside Maeve, numbers and charts detailing his last quarter's performance. Extraction efficiency: 63%. Safety protocol adherence: 88%. Innovation initiatives: 22%. Leadership potential: 47%.

  All carefully, painstakingly average.

  "You could have scored at least thirty points higher in extraction efficiency," Maeve noted, her voice pitched low enough that the room's ambient monitoring wouldn't catch it. "The recalibration technique you used on Bay 7 alone would have—"

  "I know what it would have done." Carson's fingers traced the edge of the only personal item on his otherwise empty shelf—a small, scratched metal disk. Not a photograph. Nothing so revealing. Just a trinket he'd had for as long as he could remember, etched with a pattern he'd never been able to identify. "Advancement means reassignment. Reassignment means separation."

  "From Link," Maeve finished.

  Carson nodded, rolling tension from his shoulders. His gaze drifted to the small viewport that offered a slice of the vast darkness beyond the station. Somewhere out there were answers about who he was, where he came from. Parents who'd either abandoned him or died trying to reach him.

  "Station announcement," the TITAN public address system cut through his thoughts. "All personnel are advised that Theist diplomatic vessels will be docking in Sector 4 tomorrow at 0800 hours. Increased security protocols will be in effect."

  Carson snorted. "More Theists. Wonder what they're after this time."

  "Their delegation includes members of the royal family," Maeve offered, accessing the public information feed. "Prince Roman himself, according to preliminary manifest data."

  "Great. More entitled mystics." He stretched out on the bed, staring at the featureless ceiling. "Recite my application history."

  Maeve's expression softened with understanding. This was an old ritual between them.

  "Age sixteen: Advanced Engineering Corps. Application withdrawn. Age seventeen: Orbital Specialist Program. Test scores deliberately altered. Age eighteen: TITAN Leadership Initiative. Interview deliberately sabotaged. Age nineteen—"

  "That's enough." Carson closed his eyes. The familiar litany of paths not taken settled around him like a blanket—uncomfortable but known.

  "Link would follow you, you know," Maeve said quietly. "If you actually tried."

  "Maybe. Or maybe they'd decide he wasn't qualified. Split us up anyway." Carson turned on his side. "Not worth the risk."

  The room fell silent except for the constant low hum of the station's life support systems. In the darkness behind his eyelids, Carson saw brief flashes of what might have been—officer quarters three times this size, engineering labs where he could build rather than merely extract, a life beyond the constant dust of mining operations.

  As sleep began to claim him, the dream flickered at the edges of his consciousness—a flame, golden and defiant, burning where no fire should exist. His hands cupped around it, protecting it from winds he couldn't see.

  "Sleep well, Carson," Maeve whispered, her holographic form fading.

  "End of another perfectly average day," Carson murmured as consciousness slipped away. "Just how I like it."

  The flame in his mind grew brighter.