-A Ruined Plaque, at an Arnan Planet
Aevel and Eura plunged into the might of the Arahal world, their soul instantly flooded with raw and unfiltered Psionic power. It was as if a parched wanderer had discovered the purest spring and drank deeply until every fibre of his being brimmed with life.
The two opened their eyes and found themselves standing in the Arahal realm for the first time. A vast, vibrant landscape stretched before them—forests, mountains, and endless grasslands bathed in a violet hue, a world mirroring reality yet distinctly otherworldly.
Awe swelled in their chest. But then their eyes widened.
Massive cracks tore through the ground and skies above, rending the beautiful world asunder in a deep rumbling sound. Trees, creatures, and entire swathes of landscape tumbled into the chasms like grains of sand slipping through an hourglass.
Aevel and Eura exchanged a fleeting glance, their perpetual rivalry momentarily forgotten as the desolate panorama before them unfolded.
“Something is wrong here,” Aevel murmured, more to himself than to her, his voice barely rising above the keening wind.
“You think I hadn’t noticed?” Eura said, her tone sharp enough to fracture the uneasy quiet.
Around them, the air hummed with a Psionic dissonance, as though the realm itself recoiled from whatever lurked beyond the horizon.
They approached a cliff’s edge and peered down. An infinite darkness stretched below, seething with a harrowing miasma of raging vermillion. Deep rumbles and muffled screams echoed from the abyss, a creeping, endless dread. Yet, beyond the cracks above, a soft, pristine blue sky moved like serene clouds on a tranquil day, its mere sight a balm that momentarily stilled their trembling heart.
“Well… what happened here?” Aevel asked.
A rasping, feeble voice answered from behind. “A lot.”
Instinct surged in him. He whirled, flaring his Psionic might as violet energy ignited in his right hand like a living flame.
But instead of a monster or some Human-speaking abomination, a man stood before him—a young-looking Psion with dark hair and weary eyes. His aura, dim and flickering, told of his fading strength. His attire, though worn, was far more advanced than anything Aevel had ever seen, even with the finest suit the Arnan could offer.
Then, he noticed something else: Eura had not drawn her weapon.
In his mind, such an occurrence could only mean that she was, in fact, dead. Yet as he glanced at her, he saw her body seemingly frozen in time—a peculiar blend of confusion and shock stirring on his face.
“Do not worry; she remains unharmed. I merely wish to speak with you,” the man said. “And it is imperative that no one else knew about this, at least for as long as possible.”
“Who are you?” Aevel demanded, his eyes narrowing.
“That doesn’t matter,” the man replied softly. “I’m here to offer you a trade.”
Aevel’s brows knit in suspicion. “A trade?”
With a weak smile, the man revealed what he carried—a Primordial Psionic crystal.
“I’ve been watching your people hunt for these,” the man murmured. “A relic of our ancestors, something left behind before the Great Psionic War against the Dark One. However, this one is special—it’s a Primordial one.”
Aevel’s eyes widened, disbelief washing over him. The very object of his trial lay before him—no, far more than that instead.
“What… how do you…” Aevel stammered, then faltered, his eyes narrowing with suspicion. “You’re not real, are you? You’re an abomination trying to deceive me!”
The man looked at him with quiet intensity. “Why do you think so?”
“The Psionic crystal can grant wishes,” Aevel shot back. “And the Primordial one can grant everything! No one would trade it away for anything.”
A faint, weary smile tugged at the man’s lips. “You haven’t heard the rest of my terms,” he said softly. “If you agree, you must also absorb this.”
He extended his hand, revealing something dark and ominous, a shard of crystal unlike any Aevel had ever seen or feel in his life.
“What… what is that?”
“It’s better you don’t know for now,” the man said. “Although one day, you probably will.”
Aevel’s stance relaxed slightly, but his mind raced. The shard’s presence simply felt…… wrong.
“If that shard is worth a Primordial crystal…” he mused aloud, “then it’s something I’d rather not touch.”
“Understandable.” The man nodded, his weary eyes dimming further. “Then, may a miracle aided you in your endeavour.”
An average person might have easily overlooked the man’s remark, but Aevel, ever meticulous, discerned that it implied that finding another Psionic crystal—let alone a Primordial one—would be nearly impossible.
A flicker of dread took root in Aevel’s heart at the realisation.
“Why a miracle?”
The man gestured broadly to their surroundings. “Look around. The universe is unravelling, and the Psionic realm—this realm—is dying.”
Aevel turned. To his horror, the cracks in the earth and sky weren’t static. They were spreading. The land beneath him trembled with a force that threatened to tear everything apart.
“What…?” he breathed, his voice barely a whisper as he tried to digest the magnitude of the revelation.
“I’m not here to trick you,” the man said. “I would keep this foul shard within myself, but I’m not going to live for long, and I can’t safeguard it any longer.”
A torrent of emotion surged through Aevel all at once. The grim reality of the Psionic realm’s collapse drained the blood from his face, while the dubious bargain offered by the enigmatic Psion set every instinct in his body screaming with alarm. Yet, above fear and suspicion, one feeling swelled and eclipsed all others—pity.
The man before him was dying, and Aevel could feel it as clearly as the pulse of his own Psionic energy. The stranger’s essence, fragile and fleeting, was slipping away with each passing moment, like the final embers of a fire consumed by the night.
“If I absorb it, what happens to me?”
“You become its Sentinel,” the man replied. “And you must never let the Dark One claim it.”
“The Dark One?” Aevel scoffed. “He was defeated long ago in the Great Psionic war. His forces scattered. Why fear him now?”
For the first time, the man’s composure cracked. He stared at Aevel, stunned.
Then, slowly, a sad smile formed. “I envy your blissful existence.”
The tremors intensified. The ground beneath their feet fractured further.
“So,” the man said, his voice rising above the chaos. “Which path would you choose?”
Aevel stood at a crossroads, torn between instinct and necessity. Every fibre of his being recoiled from the idea of making such a perilous exchange, yet his heart thudded with the grim realisation—the Arahal realm was dying, breaking before his very eyes, and with it, the fate of his quest to find the elusive Primordial crystal.
After a moment that felt both fleeting and eternal, Aevel made his choice.
“Very well,” he said firmly. “I accept.”
The man smiled and murmured with weary gratitude, “Thank you.”
Without further warning, the two crystals—one radiant as daylight, the other dark as midnight—rose into the air. Their opposing auras swirled like mirrored destinies before hurtling toward Aevel.
As they made contact, they dissolved into him, vanishing without a trace. A deep, visceral pulse surged within, marking the moment he had absorbed them both.
A crushing pressure soon seized him, stealing his breath. He collapsed to the ground as if burdened by a mountain.
“What… is… this?”
The man knelt, placing a hand on his shoulder. “A burden few can bear. Stand, Aoto no Aevel.”
With effort, Aevel rose. The weight lifted slightly, enough for him to move.
“Remember my warning: do not let anyone else know about it.” The man repeated the phrase, his tone growing more insistent with each utterance, “Do not let anyone else know about it. Do not let anyone else know about it.”
Aevel cast a perplexed glance, pondering what catastrophe might befall them if another soul were to learn of it—so dire that the man felt compelled to repeat his admonition thrice.
“What would happen if someone else knew?” he asked.
“Then, perhaps you’ll die, and your world would be destroyed—just as this one has been.”
At these words, Aevel merely stared, unable to fathom the implications.
“Your journey will be hard, happy is a man who avoid hardship,” the man then said in a soft tone, almost as if giving a farewell, “But how fine is the man who is afflicted by it and shows endurances.”
Suddenly, the earth beneath them split wide, and soon it began to consume everything around them.
With swift reflexes, Aevel leapt aside and carried Eura who remained still with both of his arms. Meanwhile, a vast chasm now separated him from the man.
“Come with me to safety!” Aevel called.
The man only smiled softly, his expression a mixture of fulfilment and sorrow.
“No,” he replied. “I cannot go back. It is my time to die, and I will not flee from it.”
The cracks deepened once again, rumbling ominously.
“Go now!” the man urged. “Return to your world!”
Aevel hesitated, torn between the man’s plea and his own instincts.
“But—”
Before he could finish, a sound cut through the chaos—his portal closing, its finality unmistakable.
Faced with an agonising choice, Aevel made up his mind. He turned and sprinted toward the disintegrating portal.
“Thank you… kind Psion,” the man said quietly with gratitude and finality.
The earth roared, its tremors threatening to swallow the crumbling landscape. Aevel’s psionic finesse, though honed to near-perfection, almost faltered as fissures spiderwebbed beneath his boots—a humbling reminder of nature’s indifference to mortal prowess.
It was at this precise moment that Eura’s paralysis disappeared. Her eyes flew open, twin pools of outrage and disorientation, as two truths struck her simultaneously: the arms cradling her belonged to her most loathed rival, and the Psionic realm was disintegrating like ash on the wind.
“WHAT HAPPENED?” she snarled, fingers clawing into Aevel’s forearm with enough force to bruise even a Psion’s enhanced flesh.
“I explain later!” he barked.
As Aevel ran, his breath ragged, he dared a glance over his shoulder. Just in time, he saw the man dissolve into a cascade of golden particles, scattered by the wind like fleeting butterflies, before vanishing into the heaven.
With his heart heavy, he focused ahead, leaping between the jagged cracks in the ground. The air that had once brushed against his face now stilled, and the Psionic aura around him turned foul, thick with the same oppressive essence of the black shard he had absorbed.
A sense of urgency surged within him, pushing him to go harder. With one final, desperate leap, he crossed the threshold of the disintegrating portal, escaping the dying realm just before it collapsed entirely.
*
Aevel and Eura burst from the portal side-by-side, their bodies colliding with the ground, leaving Aevel gasping for breath. Dazed and disoriented, he forced himself to his feet and scanned his surroundings, a growing sense of unease creeping over him.
They were now in a vast courtyard, with a circular portal standing at the centre—its Psionic glow faded rapidly before vanishing into nothing.
At the first glance, the place looked similar to the trial chamber. But the domed roof was gone—crumbled into piles of rubble that now lay scattered across the floor. Overhead, an endless expanse of clear blue morning sky yawned where the ceiling seemed to once stood.
The walls, too, were crumbling ruins, their grandeur marred by the scars of battle. Bullet casings littered the ground like fallen leaves, scorch marks blackened the stone, and deep gashes from blade strikes traced jagged lines along every surface.
The air hung heavy with the silence of an aftermath.
“Now, can you explain what happened?” Eura’s flat, dispassionate voice intruded like an unwelcome guest.
Aevel turned toward her, prepared to offer a straightforward explanation, but then the man’s warning echoed in his mind:
“And it is imperative that no one else knew about this.”
Those words repeated thrice choked his throat, leaving his mouth agape. For a fleeting moment, he resolved to reveal only half the truth.
“Well… during our journey, you suddenly became paralysed, and I managed to find the crystal while carrying you,” he confessed hesitantly.
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
At once, Eura’s eyebrows knitted in scepticism, and her expression became one of the most doubtful Aevel had ever seen. Although his explanation was still somewhat truthful, it did little to dispel the lingering doubt.
“Hah? Really?” she retorted, her once neutral demeanour shattered. In a slightly sarcastic tone she added, “So, you found a Psionic crystal all by yourself?”
In response, Aevel summoned the crystal into his palm.
Then, not even mentioning its Primordial status, it seemed as though a loose screw had detached in Eura’s mind; her mouth fell open as she struggled to comprehend the sight before her.
“You what?” she said, blinking in disbelief, as if the crystal were but an illusion. “How!?”
“Well… it’s complicated,” Aevel began.
But Eura, ever perceptive, pressed on, her tone edged with suspicion. “How? Explain yourself. Did you truly carry me all through the realm for months, dodging abominations like some misguided hero?”
“Erm… no,” Aevel replied haltingly. “It was, I suppose, merely half an hour.”
“HALF!? That makes no sense at all!” she snapped. “Explain properly, Aevel, how did you acquire this crystal?”
In that moment, Aevel’s thoughts flashed with the image of him smacking his own head, lamenting the daughter of the Ryuusei Daimyo’s cunning. He wondered whether to confess the details of the trade he had struck, yet even the mere mention risked exposing the foul shard he had absorbed.
“I don’t know why, but I found it while the entire Psionic realm was disintegrating,” he finally said.
Eura fell silent, her eyes fixed on him with a perplexed expression.
Her mind teemed with perhaps a dozen questions. But after a pause, she rose and simply strode towards the portal gate, her gaze lingering on its empty entrance.
“Disintegrating, you say?” she said, running her hand along the vacant portal without stepping through.
The call that once tugged at their souls had vanished, leaving behind a hollow void. Then the realisation struck her—the realm was indeed no more.
“Well, we have the crystal now. All we need to do now is to return to Adina, whatever happened back there, maybe we could have some explanations for it.” Aevel said, his voice echoing in the stillness.
“So, where are we now?” Eura asked.
Aevel soon staggered to his feet, brushing dust from his nano suit as his eyes scanned the place. “Well, we should be back in Adina right now,” he asserted.
“Doesn’t look like Adina to me,” she retorted, grinding her boots into the rust-hued soil.
Without hesitation, Aevel activated his Arnan Virtual Tool—known simply as the V-tool hugging his right arm like a band. A shimmer of light flared before him, and a translucent map materialised in midair.
He squinted at it, hoping it would reveal his location on the wider galaxy.
Harita ni Dinarafira, ni Littasil li Vaniya
[Map Unavailable, not Connected to the Database]
“Really? Where are we?” Eura asked as she stepped towards the projection.
Aevel promptly switched off his V-tool, shaking his head. “Maybe we’re at the edge of the galaxy—that would explain the poor connection.”
In due course, they instinctively sought a vantage point from which to survey the surroundings—the highest perch available atop the ruined walls.
Yet, for a moment, neither moved.
Their eyes flickered towards one another in a silent exchange, each hand resting lightly upon the hilt of their psionic sword.
However, their legs propelled them forward as if disapproving their old feud—until Aevel, in an unfortunate lapse, kicked a stray piece of metal.
In that instant, both unsheathed their blades, pointing them warily at one another.
A heavy, tense silence descended, thick with unspoken intent, before Aevel spoke first.
“If I am not mistaken, we agreed not to kill one another while we remain in the trial, did we not?” he enquired.
“Correct,” Eura replied with curt precision.
“Then, shall we kill each other now?” Aevel asked, his tone laced with a wry humour.
A look of unwavering resolve overtook Eura’s features, and Aevel felt, deep within his chest, that she was poised to strike him down.
Yet, as swiftly as the resolve had kindled, it waned—dissipating like a firework that fizzes out before its grand display.
“Not yet,” she began, her voice steady, “after all, you had the chance to leave me behind, yet you did not—you saved me. Until I have repaid that debt, I shall not attempt to kill you again.” With that, she gently sheathed Imraa.
“Fair enough,” Aevel conceded, mirroring her gesture as he too returned Antara to its scabbard.
*
Not long after, Aevel and Eura made their way through the rubble, pushing aside stones and broken alloys as they navigated what appeared to be a long-forgotten walkway, swallowed by the overgrown forest and scattered debris.
Aevel scanned his surroundings, endeavouring to ascertain their present location as they strolled along. Meanwhile, Eura proceeded ahead, deliberately maintaining a measured distance once again.
Soon, the two found themselves at a crossroad.
“Stay here; I’ll look from above,” Eura declared.
With determined grace, she ascended a colossal tree, its sprawling roots having long claimed dominion over this secluded area.
Meanwhile, Aevel’s eyes scanned the street signs, but he quickly realised that their holographic projectors had long since stopped functioning. Frustration crept in as he searched for any other way to make sense of his surroundings. It was then that he spotted a faint inscription on a piece of twisted alloy.
A smile briefly tugged at his lips as he leaned in, eager to decipher the message. However, with each passing second, it became clear.
The words were written in the Arnan language.
Li Fanani
[To the Space port]
His smile slowly faded as the realisation sank in.
First, he recognised how the Arnan never left even the most distant outposts in disrepair. Second, this place was far from a small outpost. The sign indicating the presence of a spaceport suggested it was once a thriving colony—an idea that seemed utterly at odds with the word ‘abandoned’.
This led him to a more unsettling question:
What had happened here? And why had the Arnan allowed this place to fall into ruin?
Whatever the answer, perhaps he would uncover it once his V-tool synced with the Arnan galactic network.
It was not long before Eura came down, leaping from the tree and landing with a resounding crash.
“Found something?” she inquired.
Aevel then revealed the sign to her.
At first, a smile flickered upon her lips at the sight of the Arnan markings; yet as the wheels of her mind turned, she found herself sharing Aevel’s suspicion.
“A spaceport, is it?” she mused. “This place appears far too abandoned to have one.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Aevel queried.
“Stop—do not say another word,” she snapped. “I would rather die than entertain the same thought as you.”
With a resigned sigh, Aevel replied, “Come on then; we shall soon find out something once we arrive there.”
Thus, the two continued their journey, with Eura leading the way.
But then, Aevel’s foot hovered mid-stride as he felt something skittered through the skeletal remains of the ruins—like a sound that bypassed the ear to needle at the primal marrow of instinct.
He wheeled, muscles coiled like springs beneath skin, his gaze raking the jagged geometry of collapsed structures and fractured forest.
Yet the place offered no answers: only dust motes pirouetting in the pallid light, undisturbed by any visible trespasser.
Curious, he glanced ahead and noted that Eura—despite her similar formidable Psionic prowess—appeared utterly oblivious to any unseen presence.
Perhaps it was merely a gust of wind, or something of that nature.
He soon walked forth, proceeding to ignore the sensation.
*
The sun rose atop the horizon as Aevel and Eura were about to break free from the dense forestry into an open expanse. The tall, broken structure he had glimpsed earlier was not just any ruin—it was the spaceport itself.
Aevel glanced backward once more, eagle-sharp and unyielding, dissecting the broken forestry with forensic precision.
The uncanny presence continued to unsettle him, yet the ruins still betrayed no hint of its existence—no ripple of movement, no shadow straying from the wind’s idle dance.
Whatever thing had brushed the edges of his awareness earlier now eluded even his honed instincts, leaving only the gnawing ambiguity of its nature.
“What?!” Eura’s voice sliced the air as she exited the tall grasses.
Aevel’s gaze soon sharpened ahead, his eyes widening and jaw slackening in tandem.
An ocean of wreckage and remains stretched around the base of the spaceport. Evidence of a fierce battle scarred the landscape. Arnan battle constructs lay in twisted, humanoid heaps, their once-imposing frames torn apart. Shredded armoured vehicles, their carcasses hollow and rusting, were scattered like fallen giants across the ground.
“What… happened here?” Aevel whispered under his breath, the words carried away by the evening breeze.
At last, Aevel and Eura exchanged their first true glance in a while, each silently harbouring the same unspoken thought once again.
Defeat was a rarity for the Arnan—at least upon the galactic plane.
But this.
Was it the remnants of a forgotten Arnan colony, or perhaps an even older Human settlement from an era when the Avon was still known as Avalon, and the Ashen still called themselves Japanese?
Undoubtedly, there was but one way to find out.
They advanced cautiously toward the inner perimeter. What greeted them next shifted their sense of doubt to sombre reflection.
Graves. Rows of them, each marked by a blade or a rifle standing solemnly above the mounds of earth. The weapons, symbols of both war and remembrance, seemed to stand eternal guard over the dead.
Though they knew nothing of the tragedy that had unfolded here, the two’s steps softened with reverence.
Then, Aevel spoke quietly.
“Peace be upon you, denizens of the graves. May we, too, find rest when our time comes.”
Eura glanced at him, her eyes silently conveying approval for once.
Eventually, they reached the sea of broken ships. Things had not been kind to this forsaken place, layers of dust and dirt coated their hulls, the vessels bore signs of age or damage—robbing them of the Arnan brilliant craftmanship.
Finally, the two stood before the entrance to the spaceport. As expected, the colossal structure lay dormant, silent as the graveyard outside.
Eura flicked her finger, evidently attempting to invoke her Psionic power—yet to no avail.
“Huh?” she muttered, snapping her fingers repeatedly.
“What are you doing?” Aevel inquired.
“I’m trying to create a Psionic fire, you silly!” she replied, though her efforts yielded no flame.
Observing her repeated failure, Aevel suggested, “Perhaps we should simply use the V-tool light.”
As he stepped into the darkness within, Aevel activated his V-tool’s illumination. A miniature flashlight flared to life from his right arm, casting its beam across the shadowed interior.
Inside, the destruction deepened. Scarred walls bore the marks of relentless combat. The space elevator lay in ruin, its mechanisms shattered.
They navigated carefully, his steps echoing faintly in the hollow corridors, until they reached the ground control room. Here, lay the secondary power backup system.
“Is that the main generator?” Eura gasped upon seeing the enormous engine block in ruins.
Meanwhile, the sound of her fingers flicking continued to echo through the room. Aevel examined the generator more closely.
“I’m afraid so,” he said.
His eyes swept the area, only to reveal that most of the generator had been destroyed.
Then, at last, he discovered an intact unit—a nuclear generator, the ultimate backup of all backups.
“Really? A nuclear one?” Eura exclaimed. “Of all the advanced Psionic generators, why should only the sluggish nuclear one remain?”
“Well, it is better than nothing,” Aevel replied as he switched the generator on.
The surge of power rippled through the spaceport’s veins, filling its reserves with a burst that would last mere minutes—but it was enough.
Suddenly, for a split second, Aevel experienced a peculiar sensation emanating from the top of the spaceport. It vanished as swiftly as it had appeared, leaving him to ponder its mysterious nature.
Soon, the unfolding scene turned his attention back.
With a mechanical hum and a flicker of ancient lights, the port’s ground level groaned and shuddered back to life.
The lighting now shone its light for the first time after a long sleep. Then a large virtual screen appeared, its surface stretching across this room.
As they watched, the display surged with data, lines of text and symbols streaming in diagnostic reports. Countless warning indicators flared crimson, bathing the place in a relentless pulse of alarm.
But amidst the sea of flashing alerts, one line burned brighter than the rest. It captured the two’s gaze and gripped their heart with cold chill:
<
[<
“What?” Aevel gasped, his breath hitching in disbelief.
He stepped closer, eyes fixed on the terminal as if proximity might change the reality before him. But no, the words remained unaltered. It was indeed a self-destruction command.
Questions surged in his mind like a tidal wave, each clamouring for attention, but one echoed louder than the rest:
What had driven the Arnan people to destroy their own spaceport?
Before he could begin to process this enigma, another revelation struck him like a hammer blow—one that froze him in place, his heart pounding in his chest.
There, displayed in stark clarity, was the name of the spaceport:
Fanani Il-Adina
[Adina Space port]
Seeing the name, his eyes widened in disbelief, his heart thundering in his chest.
That couldn’t be right.
Panic surged through his mind. He had been within the Psionic realm for barely an hour. How could this place possibly be Adina?
Desperation gripped him as his trembling fingers flew across the terminal, searching feverishly for more information. The cold sweat trickling down his spine now seemed to freeze in his veins, the chill of dread settling deep into his bones.
Adina, 14-11-21
<
<
[Adina, 14-11-21]
[<
[<
That was more than two years after his supposed final trial.
“What!?” Aevel exclaimed, his voice rising with disbelief. “Eura, are you seeing this?”
Turning his head, he observed that a ghostly pallour had overtaken her features. The daughter of the Ryuusei clan stood motionless, a statue frozen in place.
Then, she summoned the station’s artificial intelligence.
A virtual projection flickered to life—a figure of a man with a monotone expression, suspended in mid-air.
“Vahlan (Hello). Special user designation detected. Enacting the conversation in Common Tongue. Hello, I am the station’s assistant. How may I assist you?”
“What happened here?” Eura demanded.
The AI paused momentarily. “Apologies. I am unable to connect to the galactic network. My responses are limited to the most recent available data. The planet came under attack by Psionic creatures on 21-03-19 A.C. The planetary defences were overrun shortly thereafter before the port’s self-destruction protocol was activated.”
“What?” She gasped, her breath caught in her throat.
“How did that happen?” Aevel asked.
“Data unavailable.”
A chilling fear surged through them. Their mind raced to another question.
“Battle report!” Eura uttered.
“Report: The Planetary Defense Forces were caught off-guard. No reinforcement arrived in time. Estimated casualties: 59 billion.”
The number hit them like a physical blow. Both of their jaws hung open as they struggled to comprehend the magnitude of the loss.
“Were any Fiddari killed?” Aevel asked another.
“Data unavailable.”
“Why can’t you connect to the galactic network?” Eura inquired, tinged with frustration.
“Explanation: Connection handshake initiated with the main network. No response received.”
Their thoughts churned, countless questions colliding, but an important one surged above the rest.
“What happened to the Arnan? Why is the planet abandoned?” Aevel asked in a careful tone, as if not wanting to know the answer.
“Data unavailable.”
They inhaled deeply, fighting to steady their nerves.
Aevel’s mind tried latching onto another question—until something struck him as odd.
“The spaceport’s self-destruction sequence was triggered on 21-03-19 A.C.,” he said slowly. “So how was your date last updated two years after that event?”
“Explanation: My date was manually synchronised by another V-tool. Username: Karitha.”
The two’s heart leapt upon hearing the name.
“Karitha-sama?” Eura breathed. “Really?”
“The user briefly accessed the station’s connected V-tool history before disconnecting.”
Disappointment flickered across their faces.
“Did he do anything else?” Eura asked.
The AI paused again. “He said, ‘Co si? sta?o, to si? nie odstanie, Aevel, Eura.’”
They furrowed their brow, frustration tightening their expression. Karitha’s archaic language left them grasping for its meaning.
Nevertheless, Aevel jotted down the phrase in his V-tool, determined to decipher it later.
Soon, as he finished, one more question pressed on his mind. He slowly glanced at the A.I. with widened eyes, as if his entire existence hinged on the answer.
“What is the current galactic date?”
Another long pause ensued. They waited, breath held, as though time itself had stopped.
“Data unknown. Manual triangulation unavailable.”
The answer drained the last of their strength. They sank into thought, the full weight of everything beginning to crush down upon them.
*
Aevel and Eura emerged from the spaceport’s darkened maw into a world gilded by dusk. The sun hung suspended at the horizon’s brink, its retreating glow a smouldering ember that stained the heavens amber and ochre—a mute testament to time’s inexorable march, unheeding of their absence in the Psionic realm.
The streets they previously walked were those they had traversed mere hours prior, yet rendered spectral by their hollowed silence. The building from which they had materialised stood as the selfsame chamber through which they had first enter the Psionic realm, now without its crowds.
Their gaze then swept the wasteland, clearly now. Where Arnan’s gargantuan forest canopy had once cradled the city in jade-dappled sanctuary, only its huge ashen skeletons remained, their splintered boughs soaring through the sky of the new and lesser forest like talons.
“At least now there’s no one left to annoy me,” he muttered.
Then, a scared voice reached his ear—Eura’s voice, a sound he had never before heard from her, one that told nothing but ill omens.
“Aevel…” she cracked.
“Yes? What is it?” he replied.
“Could you do me a favour?” she asked.
“I’m not about to kill myself if that’s what you have in mind,” he retorted.
“No, not that,” she answered. “Use your Psionic power.”
“Huh?” Aevel looked at her, puzzled. “What do you want me to do?”
“Anything! Just do something with it!” she snapped.
Resolutely, Aevel attempted to summon something his mind thought of now—snow.
“What…” he gasped, as his hand's gesture yielded nothing.
He tried again, focusing his mind even more—yet still, nothing happened.
Eura then sank to the ground. “No… that can’t be,” she murmured.
Glancing at her, Aevel instantly comprehended their true predicament. In that moment, he realised why Eura was so frightened—their Psionic power was not working.
Now, a paleness overtook him—for what was a Psion without his Psionic abilities?
“Aevel?” Eura asked. “What shall we do now?”
Caught off guard by her question, Aevel had no answer.
“That forest we traversed—a tree usually takes decades to reach full maturity—so, how many years have truly passed?” she mused.
Again, Aevel was at a loss.
Eura continued, “Adina was also no ordinary planet; it was second only to the capital itself. Suppose two years have passed and the Arnan have yet to reclaim it—do you think something might have happened to them? And if so, what of our clans, or the entire galaxy?”
“I do not know,” Aevel finally admitted. “There are many possibilities, but I suppose stressing over it changes nothing.”
Eura’s gaze sharpened, her eyes narrowing—but this time, the anger radiating from her was different. It was not the fleeting irritation he had grown accustomed to; this was a fury that transcended mere frustration, raw and unbridled.
“Aevel,” she hissed, her tone trembling, “do you truly feel nothing at the thought they might be gone? The Ashens were scorned elsewhere, but here in Arnan—here, we were welcomed. Were those years of kindness meaningless to you?”
Aevel arched a brow, his expression impassive. “Why should they matter? My duty is to become a Fiddari. All else lies beyond my concern.”
“Because they cared for us!” Eura’s voice cracked as she flung an arm toward the distant spires of Arnan. “The Arnan, the Fiddari, Karitha-sama—even our friends! They cherished you, and you…” She faltered, her rage dissolving into disbelief. “You speak as though they were illusions. Had they meant so little to you?”
For a heartbeat, Aevel said nothing. Then, almost imperceptibly, his fingers twitched at his side. A flicker of unease crossed his features, as though her words had prised open a door he had long sealed—a door behind which something restless stirred.