Chapter 11: Point of No Return

  After Zeth left, I remained seated on the exercise bench by the wall.

  The four harsh lights overhead burned across the gym like interrogation lamps, illuminating a scene that now looked less like a training session and more like a murder scene.

  The air was too still, the silence too heavy—the echoes of violence lingered without sound. But my breathing had finally steadied.

  I hadn’t noticed during the fight, but small blood spatters littered the room like spilled paint—erratic, uneven. Some shaped like my footprints.

  A grim, abstract artwork, painted not with brushes, but with her unrelenting strikes.

  I was in awe looking around the room. The largest stain was where I had been left standing—alone—after the artist had departed.

  A large circular puddle.

  Luckily, I had stemmed the bleeding, but my shirt was already soaked through—dark, stiff with blood and sweat.

  With the edge of my tongue, I traced the gap where one of my front-left teeth used to be again.

  I spotted it after I sat down—lying near the wall where I’d crashed after her palm strike, a small, broken offering to the gods of my foolish pride.

  My thoughts drifted like wreckage after an explosion—fractured, spinning.

  Her absence pressed onto me even harder than her presence had.

  And my emotions pressed heavier than her blows.

  I didn’t know whether I should feel pleased. Or ashamed.

  The look she gave me before turning away replayed again and again, searing itself into something deeper than memory.

  On one hand, I was furious. Furious she had dismissed me. Furious she had held back. As if to say: you don’t even deserve to lose properly.

  Her exit hadn’t been a retreat. It was an erasure. I hadn’t just lost the fight. I had failed as an adversary.

  And yet—

  There had been something else in her starlit eyes as she left. Something just shy of pride. Acknowledgement.

  Caught up in the moment, I hadn’t realised the damage she was inflicting. Hadn’t realized I was still standing against serious odds.

  Exactly as Eli said I would.

  Exactly as she had demanded.

  Like I had passed the test perfectly.

  I should have felt proud. But the pride was heavy. Complicated.

  I looked down at my uncovered hands, raw and swollen even through the gloves.

  I should go to Medbay. But instead, I lingered. Letting the silence stretch. Letting the pain settle with every calming breath.

  And for the first time that day, a crooked smile found its way across my face—small, bloodied, broken, but real.

  The kind of smile that only comes after you’ve been utterly humbled. The kind that tastes of blood and renewed clarity.

  I was never going to beat her. Eli was right. I had been a fool to think otherwise.

  But I tried. Her words, not mine.

  And now—now I knew what it took just to stand beside her as an equal.

  I was still here. And that meant everything.

  Even if I didn’t yet know what for.

  Even if all it meant was the ability to stand. To spit blood. To keep going.

  Because I refused to give her the satisfaction of seeing me quit.

  Even if I had nothing left to prove.

  Even if I had nothing left at all.

  The door hissed open again—sharp, loud, jarring. Two pairs of boots this time, their rhythm somehow heavier than the silence they'd broken.

  I didn’t look up right away.

  I knew who it was—who it had to be. And part of me was already bracing.

  "Bloody hell Varr. You look like someone backed a shuttlecraft over you," Rhai muttered, crouching beside me—white hair flowing. Her voice carried its usual sarcasm, but her blue-steeled eyes searched my face like she was trying to read something deeper.

  Eli stood just behind her, taller—arms folded and silent. Observing the wreckage of the scene with unmistakable glee. That shit-eating jackaled grin stretched across his face again. He just looked... impressed.

  "As Ashur’na weeps… Still breathing, Human? She made a mess of the room!" he yapped, looking around—amber eyes wild and wanting. Like he was admiring a battlefield with morbid curiosity.

  "Apparently so," I said, smirking faintly through cracked lips.

  I coughed, spitting onto the ground—it was still thick, and red. I grimaced at the sight.

  Eli stepped forward, giving me a once-over with his large eyes.

  "You’re less injured than I expected. That’s... a fucking feat in itself Varr. Ha!" His ears softened slightly with the cackled laugh—a quiet gesture of respect and camaraderie.

  Rhai offered her hand, passing me a bottle of that blue electrolyte solution—cool, sharp, tinged with artificial citrus. Yet again, exactly what I needed. I took it without speaking.

  With Eli’s help, they eased me up just enough to sit straighter and drink.

  "You don’t need all that," Eli scoffed, eyeing the bottle. "Water or beer’s fine…"

  Rhai rolled her eyes. "You’ve got two livers, Eli. Let the rest of us rehydrate in peace." She grinned as she muttered, "Bloody Khevarin..." under her breath.

  "My ears work just fine, Rhai!" Eli snapped, ears flicking sharply towards her in protest.

  I smirked and took another sip, but the liquid caught in my throat.

  Something had been twisting inside me since she walked away, and I couldn’t hold it back any longer.

  "Feels like I'm dying," I said—quieter than I meant to.

  They both stilled.

  "Then you're ahead of schedule, and right on track" Rhai said softly. The edge was gone from her voice now, sarcasm stripped clean. "You're doing well, Varr. Seriously well."

  Eli stepped closer, his voice low. "Zeth doesn’t give this kind of attention to just anyone." He gave a short laugh. "She actually looked... pleased when I saw her in the security office just now. Almost scary, for her. I steered well clear. Ha!"

  The idea of that hit different. Should I be worried? Or pleased?

  I blinked, caught off guard. My knuckles were still trembling, my mouth tasted like copper—but their words cut through the haze.

  "We see it too," Eli said again, softer. "You’re hung on. You didn’t break."

  And… They were right. And I wanted to enjoy it. I wanted to feel proud.

  But the pride tasted bitter. Twisted with anger I couldn’t explain.

  Because no matter how battered I was, part of me still hated that it wasn’t enough.

  Still hated how she looked at me before walking away—not as an equal, not even as a threat—but as something... incomplete. Or was it just in my head? Something I needed to come to terms with?

  Either way: I clenched the bottle tighter—the plastic cracked—the ache in my hand grounding me.

  Still, I gave a small nod. It was all I could manage. Maybe, for now, it was enough.

  Rhai nudged my foot lightly. "Go to Medbay. Get stitched up. Then meet us at Bulkhead Nine this evening. You know where it is?"

  I looked up, catching Eli’s amber eye. He winked, flashing that mischievous grin.

  "I might’ve heard of it," I said, matching his grin, bloodied and raw.

  "We’ll save you a seat—and something strong," Rhai added, already sounding lighter, like the idea of the bar was better than Medbay.

  Eli grinned wider. "Just try not to show up looking like that. Might scare off that female again."

  Rhai flashed him a questioning look, but Eli just shrugged—innocent as a dog caught chewing on furniture.

  I looked at them—these strange comrades, bruised and battered, carrying their own shadows but still managing to laugh.

  They weren’t offering pity—they were offering firelight. And this time, I didn’t want to shy away from it.

  "Alright," I said. "I’ll be there."

  Rhai smiled. "Good. Just don’t bleed on the synthales. Ruins the flavour apparently."

  I listened to them bickering as they left—their voices fading down the corridor, easy and familiar. A volatile match made in Zeth’s idea of heaven.

  For the first time in hours, I let my eyes close.

  Pain and pride burned together under my skin, tangled so tight I couldn’t tell one from the other.

  But at least I was still standing.

  Still breathing. Still in the fight.

  And for now—that was more than enough.

  It was supposed to be a simple trip to Deck 11—grab my repaired uniform, maybe new boots that didn’t smell like blood, sweat, and adrenaline.

  I hadn’t been in Medbay long. No lecture, no sympathy. Just disinfectant, dermal sealant, and a med tech who barely looked me in the eye. The silence in there was different—clinical, cold, like I was just another case file to patch and move along.

  The walk back had been heavier. The skin under my collar still stung. I could feel the bruises blooming beneath the new uniform they’d handed me. My now-replaced tooth ached—the bleeding had stopped. Yet the weight of the last few days clung to my shoulders like gravity had tripled.

  I looked like hell. I knew it. Not just the damage to my face—but something deeper, carved into the way I moved. The way I didn’t meet anyone’s eyes.

  Then, the lift doors slid open as I walked past, and the silence shattered.

  "Kalen?"

  I turned. It was Lira Schade.

  Engineering Division and the Solari Academy, but one year older. Long dark hair, always a little tangled, like she'd been working under a console and liked it that way.

  Lira had the kind of edge that didn’t need explaining—she'd smirk and complain during lectures. Talked like she’d rather challenge the rules than follow them. We’d spent nights talking about Fold mechanics and distant stars like they were ours for the taking. Once dreaming of The Reach like it was ours for the taking.

  But now, she looked at me like I was a ghost.

  "Lira..."

  Her presence hit me like a punch to the chest. For a moment, I felt something close to relief—something warm.

  But it twisted fast, like a knife.

  I didn’t want her to see me like this—a living reminder of who I used to be. Not like this.

  Her smile wavered darkly. "Damn. You look like hell, mate."

  I tried to respond, but her eyes were already scanning me—taking in the blackened bruises, the stitched lip, the sunken hollows where my eyes used to be.

  I just stared at her. Empty. Pathetic.

  Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  The part of me that smiled was gone in that moment. Maybe the part that joked, too.

  "What happened to you?" she asked, softer now—but the look in her eyes said more than her voice.

  It wasn’t pity. It was recognition. Of something lost.

  "Training," I said, flat.

  She blinked. "That’s training? You look like absolute shit, mate. Are you sure you’re, ok?"

  I didn’t answer. Her gaze lingered, unsure.

  "Wait—you were in security at the Academy, right?" she asked slowly, squinting.

  "You mean, you’re the new one training with Commander Zeth?"

  I nodded once. That was all I could give.

  Her face changed—just for a second.

  A look of terror.

  She masked it fast, tucking it behind a crooked grin, like she could joke it all away. Like pretending if I was still the same, it might pull me back somehow.

  But I could still see it behind her eyes. Looking like a deer held at gunpoint.

  "You look... different," she said, voice faltering. "I hardly recognise you Kalen…”

  Her voice softened further, something flickering across her face—almost like worry. But quieter. She didn’t name it. She didn’t have to.

  I forced a breath, agitated. "It’s not just me. She does that to everyone Lira."

  She shook her head slightly—slow.

  "No. It’s not just that. Your eyes Kalen... you don’t look like someone training for duty. You look like someone bracing for the end…"

  I almost laughed. But the sound wouldn’t come.

  "So, what if I am," I said, voice low.

  She blinked, searching my face for something that probably wasn’t there anymore.

  "You used to light up the room," she whispered. "Everyone looked up to you, Kalen. But… seriously mate, I don’t even recognize you…"

  I just looked at her.

  And she looked back, confused and almost exasperated.

  But beneath that: she knew me for years. And what she now saw in my eyes, it was genuinely frightening her.

  "Kalen, you made it all feel like it was worth something. You… You know that’s why I stayed at the Academy, right? Why I’m still here? Kalen, are you sure you’re, ok?"

  I stared at her. The words barely landed.

  And foolishly I spoke.

  "Maybe beliefs are for people who haven’t had their lives kicked out of them yet."

  Her expression tightened—confused, maybe hurt.

  I didn’t care. Not anymore.

  "You’re not in the Academy now," I said. "Grow up Lira."

  She flinched, the spark in her eyes dimming.

  "I’ve got places to be."

  She nodded eventually, but didn’t move. Just watched—like she wasn’t sure who she was looking at anymore.

  "I hope whatever this is... I hope it’s worth it, Varr." Her eyes were shining slightly with tears.

  I said nothing.

  Just turned, and walked away.

  The corridor felt too clear, too clean—too untouched by me. Her voice lingered like another bruise against my chest.

  I kept walking—harder than I needed to—as if I could outrun the feeling.

  But I couldn’t. And as the silence closed in again.

  I hated how badly I wished I’d said something else. Something better. Something less defensive to hide my vulnerability.

  Something she could’ve carried with her, instead of more wreckage I’d left behind.

  I walked in a haze, Lira’s face still etched behind my eyes.

  I hadn’t meant to be cruel—but it landed like a thrown fist anyway. Everything I said felt edged, like I didn’t know how to hold anything gently anymore. The feeling scared me.

  Her face when I walked away—that pause, that wounded confusion—kept circling back. The tears in her eyes.

  I’d forgotten this wasn’t a one-off encounter. We’d be on this ship together for months. Maybe longer. That look she gave me, like I was already someone she used to know—maybe that was all I’d get from her now.

  And I deserved it.

  Deck 1

  My mind and legs were wandering, still dwelling on the shame clawing its way through my chest.

  I turned a corner—and nearly walked face-first into them.

  Commander Avari—the First Officer—and Theven, the ship’s well-being officer.

  But, also to my horror…

  Alastor McCarthy himself. Distinguished Captain of the HCS Resolute.

  It was like time in the corridor had dilated, everything moving into slow motion.

  Oh no… Oh, fuck me...

  I stopped dead, like I’d slammed into a bulkhead. Eyes wide. Every muscle scrambled to look formal.

  A cold rush punched through my ribs, sharp and electric. My body locked up, instinct screaming to run, but there was nowhere left to go.

  This was, without exaggeration, the worst possible situation I could have imagined.

  And the worst way to meet the ship’s Captain.

  All three froze mid-conversation.

  Three sets of eyes locked on me—wide, startled.

  For a heartbeat, we were just four figures in a silent hallway, caught like a herd of deer in oncoming traffic.

  Except for McCarthy.

  He didn’t freeze. He just… smiled. Slowly. Eyeing me up and down like a soldier inspecting battle damage.

  I snapped to attention, jaw clenched, chin high—trying, failing, not to grimace at the protest of my ribs. Thank the stars at least my replacement uniform was clean.

  "Captain McCarthy, sir. It’s an honour to finally meet you," I said, voice firm despite the crack of desperation hiding under it.

  McCarthy regarded me over the rim of his coffee mug, stirring it absently.

  That easy calm of a man who'd seen far worse—and maybe expected worse.

  But out of the corner of my eye, I caught it:

  Avari and Theven. They weren't looking at me. They were staring sideways at him—eyes wide, mouths slightly open. Shock. Real, unguarded shock.

  Oh god…

  I swallowed, throat tight.

  "At ease, Ensign," McCarthy said, waving the formality away like a warm breeze. "No need for all that Vanguard starch here."

  I dropped into a looser stance, but it was a lie. Inside, I was coiled tight like a macaque—like I was facing Zeth again, waiting for the next strike. If anything, that was easier…

  The Captain studied me thoughtfully, tapping his cup against the edge of his palm with a soft ‘clink’.

  His uniform was immaculate—gunmetal grey with red trim, the upper and chest bright white, his four gold pips gleaming on the collar. He reminded me so much of Professor Rannos it hurt—same battle-worn frame, same neatly trimmed white beard, same sharp, calculating smile. It was almost uncanny.

  "Looks like Zeth’s done a number on you," McCarthy said, voice rich with experience—and amusement. "How you holding up, Ensign?"

  I forced a swallow.

  Theven’s eyes flicked nervously between us like a man watching a growing uncontained Bridge fire. I felt like I was in a Spaghetti Western standoff.

  "Good, sir," I managed.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Avari’s gaze.

  Her face—so composed during my Tesseractor trials—was now cracked wide open. The fear radiating from her wasn’t subtle. Her eyes and taut jaw, looking almost as identical as after Zeth broke my arm on that forested floor. She was nervous. And surprised.

  McCarthy sipped his coffee nonchalantly, entirely unbothered by the drama unfolding.

  "Commander Zeth spoke highly of you during our meeting this morning," he said casually, as if discussing the weather. "Very impressed. Counting on you, in fact. No pressure!"

  The floor tilted under me like gravity cut sideways. The words barely registered.

  But I caught the side glance made between Avari and Theven as they looked at each other, their faces contorted into disbelief.

  They hadn’t been told. They hadn’t even suspected.

  This was news to them. As it was to me.

  "Thank you, sir," I said automatically.

  The weight of what he was implying hadn't fully landed—but my skin was already crawling.

  McCarthy grinned wider. "I hear the medics have been cursing your name. Always a good sign. Haven't seen a face like that since I crashed a Vanguard fighter in the Viren War—canopy shield right across the face! Ah, good times…"

  He laughed, deep and jolly, the kind of laugh that belonged in a war story told over dark ale, not in a bright steel hallway.

  The contrast between his expression and theirs—Avari's and Theven's—was almost maddening.

  I smiled thinly. I couldn’t laugh. The absurdity of this situation had me half-nauseous.

  "Whatever you're doing, keep it up," he said warmly. "Zeth's not easy to impress—and she’s damn near impossible to please. Been tugging my ear red, asking for good recruits, for weeks!"

  My stomach sank further. I couldn’t tell if I wanted to run or double over.

  "Anyway," McCarthy said, draining the last of his coffee and tossing the cup into a nearby recycler, "we’ve got a meeting with Helion Command. Gotta share the good news about you. Well done, Ensign!"

  He clapped me on the shoulder—firm, almost friendly—and walked on without another word.

  I stood there, stunned.

  Avari stood equally as frozen—staring after him, jaw slack like mine. Just like me, I don’t think she knew about any of this.

  Then, finally, she turned to me.

  No anger. No confusion. Just a look of mild admiration—laced equally with surprise. But she masked it fast, smoothing her face back into something neutral.

  "Well done, Ensign," she said softly—almost too softly. Then she turned and followed the Captain, quick and silent, leaving me alone with Theven.

  The well-being officer lingered a moment longer, his face shadowed with something heavier than shock. Grave. Sympathetic. Unmistakably human.

  He met my eyes looking between each one—and something in him saw me.

  Saw the hollowed wreckage inside me. The look of quiet concern—just like Lira.

  "When you have time," he said quietly, "come to my office, Kalen. We need to talk."

  I nodded. Couldn’t even find my voice to answer. His eyes were unsettlingly knowing.

  Then he turned away and followed after them, disappearing into the corridor.

  I stood there, blinking at the spot where they turned the corner out of sight. Still trying to process what had just happened.

  My pulse hammered in my ears. My hands were shaking. Everything had shifted so fast, I couldn’t even find my footing.

  I wasn’t ready for this.

  But ready or not—apparently, it was now already happening.

  And now, I dreaded what was waiting for me around the next turnstile.

  At that very moment: I needed a fucking drink.

  By the time I stepped into Bulkhead Nine, I wasn’t even sure how I got there.

  The walk had burned itself away—just smoke in the aftermath of everything that just happened.

  The lights were low. Music hummed in the background, something old and worn down to its bones. For the first time all day, the air didn’t feel like it was trying to crush me.

  I didn’t need noise. I didn’t need distraction. I needed desert-fire. I needed them.

  They were exactly where I hoped they’d be—tucked in the back, low lighting, quiet corners, and a bottle of something banned on half the outer colonies. Three glasses. Already waiting.

  "Thought you could use a night off from bleeding," Eli said, waving me over with that toothy grin. "Or at least... bleeding less. Ha!"

  I hesitated for half a heartbeat. Then the chair took me like a lifeboat.

  Rhai poured without asking. Something golden and furious. The kind of drink you don’t sip—you endure.

  "You made it through," she said, raising her glass.

  "You’re still standing. You’re one of us now."

  Eli tapped his glass to mine. "To blood."

  "To spite," Rhai added.

  I looked at the drink. My hand felt too steady.

  "To not dying yet," I muttered darkly.

  We drank.

  The burn didn’t just hit. It bloomed—hot and sharp enough to carve the rawness out of my chest. Numbing the pains.

  The ache in my ribs, the hollow behind my eyes, even the crack where my pride used to be—it all blurred for a moment under the fire.

  Not healed. Not forgotten. But bearable.

  I wasn’t thinking about Lira. Or McCarthy. Or even Zeth. Just the burn, and the bottle.

  Rhai set her glass down with a thud. "You’ve got that look now," she said. "The dead-eyed one. Means you get it. Means you’re ready."

  "Or ready to get cooked alive in the desert-sun," Eli added, sniggering.

  I smirked faintly. The sharpness of the drink cut through the last of my hesitation.

  I flipped my empty glass upside down on the table with a sharp slap.

  "Let it burn," I said. Voice low. Steady. The words surprised even me.

  They leaned in—something electric sparking between us across the table.

  Rhai grinned like she was admiring a pillaged village. "That's the spirit."

  Eli poured another round with a snarl, unceremonious. Ritualistic.

  We drank again. Harder. Louder.

  Somewhere between the second and third—or maybe it was the fifth—Rhai spun her empty glass lazily, the dim light catching the strands of her white hair like a blade. She rocked back in her chair, one boot planted on the edge of the table, a dangerous grin creeping across her face.

  "You know she’s not trying to train us, right?" she said, her voice low, almost amused. "She’s trying to dismantle us." She looked at the ceiling with a smile, almost longing.

  Eli laughed darkly, his grey eyelids blinking slightly out of sync with the drink clouding his system. "Even I don’t know how I’m still standing! Ha!" he barked. Then he added, flashing his teeth, "Besides, I think she just likes you for your looks, Rhai. Apparently, they’re not bad—for a Human."

  I snorted into my drink just as Rhai slammed her fist hard into Eli’s shoulder.

  The blow knocked him sideways out of his chair, yelping in pain, ears flattened tight against his skull, grimacing like a wounded dog.

  "Take it back, you son of a bitch!" she barked, half-laughing, half-threatening.

  Eli writhed dramatically on the floor, clutching his shoulder. "Takes one to know one. I regret nothing!" he groaned through a crooked grin.

  I doubled over laughing, clutching my ribs before they cracked apart for good.

  This wasn’t pity. This wasn’t pride.

  It was acceptance. A grim, feral kind.

  And for the first time in my life, it felt like home.

  "You’re past the line now," Rhai said, with only one eye open. "You don’t walk back from this."

  "I’m not planning to," I muttered.

  The table jumped violently as Eli slapped it, clawed and cackling. "That's it! No guard, no mercy!" I laughed at his manic expression.

  But at the sound of it, something in me clicked—something I hadn’t even realized was coiled so tight. And by this point, I was way passed sensible thought.

  I thought of her words again.

  Bring a mouthguard.

  And I laughed—quiet, broken, and real.

  "She told me to wear one tomorrow," I said. "A mouthguard."

  I drained my glass and slammed it upside down on the table. The room was swimming.

  "I'm not going to," I said. My voice was ragged, but certain. "Just to spite her."

  They both froze.

  Then Rhai let out a bark of laughter. Eli whooped, thumping his glass against the table hard enough to rattle it.

  "Fucking madman," Rhai said, grinning wide. "That’s dumb shit, I can respect that."

  "If she wants more teeth," I said, leaning back against the chair, "she can take them."

  "No guard," Eli said, raising his glass like a blade.

  "No quarter," Rhai added, matching him.

  "No surrender," I finished.

  I raised my glass—battered hands and all.

  "To more shattered teeth," I said.

  "And unbroken wills," Eli finished.

  The glasses clashed together—sharp, brutal. The corner of Eli’s chipped slightly.

  Across the room, a few heads turned. We didn’t care.

  We drank. We howled. We fed the fire over desert sands.

  And whatever storm was coming next—

  We would meet it open-mouthed, grinning through fire and blood.

  .