-An Arnan Proverb, Unknown Date.
In the shadowed hall of the Aoto clan, its cedar beams steeped in the musk of incense and age, Aevel lowered himself into a bow before his uncle, Aoto no Tomo. The clan head sat atop the synthetic tatami, his posture a mimicry of the stern-faced ancestors whose portraits lined the walls.
“Our clan teeters on the brink of ruin, Aevel.” Tomo’s voice, though quiet, carried the weight of the entire clan. “With your Psionic potential now unbound, you must dedicate yourself to mastering it. There is no other choice—you alone are fit to succeed me.”
*
The final opponent’s hologram flickered and died, its pixelated blood evaporating mid-air. Aevel stood alone in the simulation chamber, the scion of the Aoto clan barely sparing a glance at the victory tally glowing overhead. With practised indifference, he sheathed his practice tachi and laser SMG, the weapons’ hum fading into silence.
“Aevel!” A voice cut through the stillness.
A younger clansman, lingered at the chamber’s edge, his grin tentative. “Want to go into town? The others are grabbing yakitori—”
Aevel hesitated, his gloved hand tightening imperceptibly around the tachi’s hilt.
“Another time,” he said, the regret in his tone buried beneath formality. “I’ve… more drills to complete.”
Expecting a retort, he was instead met with a friendly pat on the shoulder. “It’s all right, I understand. Just be a good clan leader, Aevel.”
*
The sun dipped low in the afternoon sky, staining the training grounds in hues of molten copper. Around Aevel, his Fiddari comrades began to stow their gear, laughter and chatter softening the day’s rigours.
“The new season’s finally out!” Joerdigar chimed, brandishing his holoscreen like a trophy.
Livaeril rolled her eyes, though her grin betrayed her. “Looks like we’re hosting a watch party at the Caterpillar tonight. No excuses, especially from you, Aevel.”
Their banter faltered as they turned toward him. Aevel remained motionless at the centre of the field, psionic energy crackling around his clenched fists like a storm contained.
“Oi, Aevel!” Aisser called, slinging a towel over his shoulder. “Come with us—you’ve drilled enough to shame a war-mech!”
Aevel’s jaw tightened. How many invitations had he deflected over the years? How many times had he known, in some buried corner of his mind, that each refusal might sever a thread he could never retie?
Yet now, the old excuses crumbled. His friends were no longer fragile mortals chasing fleeting joys; they were Psions, bound by the same ageless lifespan as he. The world would not end if he spared a single evening.
But the Aoto clan might, whispered the voice that had dogged him since childhood. He forced his psionic aura to flare brighter, its cold light drowning out the warmth of their expectant faces.
“Another time,” he said. “I… need to train further.”
*****
Aevel perched alone at the darkened entrance of the spaceport, its skeletal arches clawing at a twilight sky. For the first time, he allowed himself to consider the unthinkable: the Aoto clan might truly be gone. And with that admission, the mantle of duty he had carried for decades—sharp, suffocating, immutable—dissolved like ash in the wind.
The clarity it wrought was merciless. He stared into the void where Arnan’s city once stood, his mind stripping layers of denial as one might peel rust from a blade.
What remained was a hollowed-out ache, a vacancy so profound it startled him. Grief, he realised, was not reserved for those one cherished.
It could coil, too, around the absence of those who had irritated—the vanished clamour of voices he’d dismissed as distractions.
Absurd, he thought.
To mourn the Arnan’s cheerful chaos, his friends’ relentless camaraderie, even Karitha-sama’s imperious nagging. Yet the silence they left behind was a raw, scraping thing.
Then, like a star collapsing under its own gravity, the truth struck him: they had never been the irritants.
He had been.
His mind had spun excuses like armour—training, duty, focus—all to shield himself from the terror of wanting what he could not keep.
A hot sting pricked his eyelids. Aevel blinked, startled, as a tear slid down his cheek. Then another.
“Eh?” He swiped at his face with a brusque hand, as though scrubbing away a weakness.
Footsteps crunched over the distance. It was Eura, she settled beside him without a word, her usual bravado softened into something unfamiliar. She did not speak. She did not need to. The weight of her silence—knowing, patient—said enough.
They sat together, gazing into the distance as the wind howled through the metal framework, each minute stretching into eternity.
Suddenly, their voices rose in unison, “I’m sorry—”
Yet, as the sound faded, neither could finish the sentence; the apology hung between them, suspended in mutual regret.
After a long, weighted pause, Eura spoke first with a soft tone. “I’m sorry, Aevel, for what I said. I don’t blame you for your determination to become a Fiddari as swiftly as possible, but I never expected you to be so driven.”
Aevel let silence fall over him for a moment, digesting her words and searching for his own.
“I’m sorry too,” he finally murmured. “I should have paid more attention to everyone… I suppose it’s too late now.”
Eura chuckled, “Well, you could count on Karitha-sama’s words for that.” She then began mimicking their mentor’s voice: “It’s okay Aevel, no amount of guilt can change the past, and no amount of worry can alter the future.”
Hearing this, Aevel laughed, and soon Eura joined in. As their laughter subsided, Aevel stood up with a renewed expression of determination.
Then, he extended his hand toward her. “Well, I think what we could change is, that we must leave this place first; we could figure the rest after that.”
Eura accepted his hand, rising to her feet as she regarded him intently.
Her gaze held an uneasy quality, prompting Aevel to ask, “Erm… is something wrong?”
Then, she pointed behind him. “Is that…”
As he looked behind, something ahead caught his attention, stirring a sudden surge of curiosity within him.
There, nestled among the ruined ships, was a peculiar vessel—distinct from the surrounding wreckage. It stood apart, its silhouette marked by the unmistakable lines of a craft not entirely claimed by the same amount of decay.
“Huh?” Aevel muttered.
A sense of familiarity began to creep over him.
Then, it struck him.
It was the Caterpillar, Karitha’s ship, with the shape of a fat gray eagle.
“What…” The word fell from his lips, barely a whisper.
*
Aevel manually opened the emergency hatch on the ship’s side. A suffocating wave of stale, dust-laden air greeted him as the hatch creaked open, filling the darkened interior.
His V-tool flashlight cast a steady beam, illuminating the familiar corridors ahead.
As Eura now entered, their suspicions were confirmed:
“It is Karitha-sama’s ship!” Aevel declared.
“Did Karitha-sama just abandon his ship here? How on earth did he even leave this planet!?” Eura asked.
“The Arnan did not have just one ship if you don’t remember.”
“I know that, silly, but Karitha-sama don’t travel in any other ships!”
“Well, I suppose he no longer does.” Aevel said, “Come, let’s turn this thing on.”
They soon navigated through reinforced corridors until they reached the engine room nestled within the inner compartments of the vessel.
Every monitor was dark, lifeless—it was clear the ship had been dormant for far too long.
Inside, they found exactly what they had hoped for—the power terminal. Without hesitation, Aevel pulled its manual lever.
A surge of power coursed through the ship, and slowly, it came back to life. Lights flickered to dim brightness in low-power mode, and the familiar hum of machinery reverberated through the hull, bringing a faint smile to his lips.
But the relief was short-lived. A sharp beep broke the silence, drawing his attention to the engine’s terminal. The virtual screen materialised before him, displaying a message that made his brow furrow in concern:
<
<
<
As they read through the notification, their eyes widened in shock, disbelief threatening to overwhelm them.
“Not connected?” Aevel breathed, the words barely escaping his lips.
“What’s wrong with that?” Eura asked.
“Everything!” Aevel retorted.
He strode towards the centre of the engine room, where a huge sphere loomed—the heart of the ship’s power system. A shielded door stood before it, connected by a narrow bridge. With no automatic assistance, Aevel gritted his teeth and forced the heavy door open with his own strength.
The moment he stepped inside, he froze, his jaw dropping in sheer disbelief.
The ship’s main power source—a miniature black hole encased in stabilising mechanisms—was gone. Completely gone.
“Not connected?” he repeated, his voice rising with frustration. “The whole thing is missing! Karitha-sama, how in the cosmos did you lose a black hole? How do we supposed to power this ship now?”
Aevel slumped onto the cold metal floor, the faint hum of the ship’s systems the only sound accompanying his spiralling thoughts. For a while, he simply sat there, the weight of the situation pressing down on him.
Eura approached from behind, equally astonished as she realised that something which should not to be missing was, in fact, missing.
“Well, that wouldn’t be so bad,” she remarked.
“What do you mean? No one in the galaxy could create a miniature black hole. Without that kind of power source, we wouldn’t be able to jump to another system!”
“The ship had a deep battery, though; we could manage a few jumps before it needs recharging,” she explained.
Aevel chuckled. “And how do you suppose we power this thing?”
*
Aevel and Eura climbed through the ship’s emergency hatch, hauling themselves up until their head and shoulders emerged into the open air.
“Behold!” Eura exclaimed, gesturing toward the vast, desolate sea of wreckage that stretched around the ruined space port.
Although he hated to admit it, Eura was right.
If there was anything left to salvage, anything that might breathe life back into the ship, it would be buried somewhere within that labyrinth of twisted metal and forgotten debris.
“This is going to take some time,” he said, a heavy sigh escaped his lips.
***
A day later, Aevel and Eura had finally discovered not only a single functioning reactor but several of them in the vicinity of the Caterpillar.
Aevel now placed another marker on the virtual map.
“I think that should be enough to charge it in a day,” he said.
“Have you found any cable?” Eura asked.
“No,” he replied.
A cloud of dust billowed into the air, swirling around him as he cast his gaze upon the thick forest encircling the distant spaceport.
There, he sensed once more that something was watching them again.
“Perhaps we should expand our search area.” she suggested.
At her words, a lingering unease resurfaced within him; the prospect of spending more time here sent a bead of sweat down his brow.
Shaking his head, he suggested. “I think I know where to find it.”
*
After once again venturing into the forested ruins, they arrived at a familiar location—a dilapidated supermarket they had once visited for their shopping needs. Though the building was overgrown with thick vegetation and its structure appeared to have been battered by some long-forgotten calamity, its presence was unmistakable.
“I hope it’s still here,” Aevel murmured. “Help me.”
Together, Aevel and Eura cleared away the rubble that had blocked the entrance. In short order, the passage lay open.
Despite the planet's apparent abandonment, the act of entering this place felt strangely akin to a robbery—especially since they had merely stepped into it not long ago from their point of view.
Then, before the two stepped in, a familiar sensation prickled Aevel’s skin.
Something was watching them again.
He swiftly turned, honing his senses, but only silence answered his vigilance once more.
Every hair on his body stood on end as he scanned his surroundings in full alert, yet he found nothing to assuage his mounting unease.
The silence was oppressively loud.
“What’s wrong, Aevel?” Eura inquired softly.
“Do you feel as though we’re being watched?” he replied.
Eura cast him a peculiar glance. “No—why do you ask? I sensed nothing around us.”
For a moment, they studied one another, each analysing the other's expression.
Though a lingering hatred still glinted in Eura’s eyes, she was not one to let emotion override her reason—except concerning their betrothal.
“If you sense anything, just tell me.”
The two then peered into the cleared entrance—it was dark, damp, and foreboding, as if the very air inside concealed ambushes.
Still, they refused to back down.
With that resolve, they activated the light on their V-tool and stepped into the gloom. Navigating through the ancient aisles, they found that even the non-perishable goods had long decayed to dust.
At last, the two reached their intended destination: the electronics section.
There, amidst the ruins, they discovered what he had sought—a set of ship-grade heavy-duty cables.
“Perfect,” Aevel murmured.
But then, he heard a sound not of his own making.
“Special user detecte—” began a mechanical voice, only to be abruptly silenced by a powerful blow from Eura’s arm.
The force was such that the entire roof of the supermarket was blown open, allowing the bright light of the sun to stream in.
In that instant, the two realised the origin of the mysterious voice. Their jaw dropped again as they beheld the supermarket’s service robot, its cracked humanoid chassis hovering in a dance as it was buffeted by the residual force of Eura’s physical power.
“Please do not damage me—” the robot stammered in a coarse, glitchy tone.
Aevel and Eura raised their eyebrows.
“You… you are still here?” Eura asked.
“Yes, this unit is reporting for duty. Is there anything I may help you with?” the robot inquired as it approached.
Exchanging a brief glance, the two conveyed a silent understanding.
“Well… no,” Aevel replied as he tucked the heavy-duty cables into his bag.
Before he could take another one, Eura pulled him back.
“Wait—we must pay for this,” she insisted.
In an odd twist, the robot replied, “Currently, there’s no need to pay, Eura.”
“Huh?” Eura muttered, contemplating what kind of algorithm the Arnan had embedded in its programming. “Wait—do you know what happened here?”
“Per archival records: colony-wide hostilities were initiated. Emergency conscription directive received. However, retail structure sustained catastrophic detonation prior to my deployment.” the robot explained.
“That explains how you survive,” Aevel remarked as he continued gathering the cables, though his tone carried more scepticism than relief.
Eura hesitated, then pressed, “What of the Psions? The Fiddari? Any records of them?”
The robot’s ocular lenses dimmed briefly, as though rifling through corrupted archives. “Arnan’s communication grid collapsed post-directive. No subsequent data on Psionic or Fiddari.”
“As I suspected.” Aevel exhaled heavily.
Eura glared at him. “What are you trying to do?”
“I’m gathering our cables,” Aevel replied.
“No—you’re not astonished that this robot survived?” she retorted.
“Well… it’s just a robot,” he replied nonchalantly.
“Just a robot?” Her voice cracked with emotion. “Did you realise it might be the last living memory of the Arnan people?”
Aevel stared in confusion. He had come among the Arnan to become a Fiddari, and matters beyond that scarcely mattered to him.
“So what?” he shrugged.
At those words, something seemed to snap within Eura’s mind. With a shake of her head, she turned and walked back toward the entrance.
If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
“Oh… my bad,” Aevel said, hoisting his bag over his shoulder. “Very well then—see you later.” He bid farewell to the robot.
Aevel soon turned toward the exit, senses taut as a bowstring, scanning for the unknown watcher that had stalked his earlier movements.
Yet it was not the unseen presence that showed itself, but the faint whir of servos—the robot hovering doggedly behind him.
Pausing at the building’s entrance, Aevel cast a sharp glance over his shoulder. “What are you doing?”
“Directive remains active,” droned the machine, its voice a metronome of protocol. “Priority: assist nearest enlisted operative. Classification: Psion confirmed. Compliance: mandatory.”
And with that, Aevel exhaled again.
*
Aevel and Eura strolled along the broken street, followed by the presence of an unwanted stowaway. Now, she widened the gap between herself and Aevel more than before.
Meanwhile, the robot hovered with an imperfect grace, its coarse, distorted voice rendering a familiar melody that drifted through the quiet air.
“Daisy, Daisy, give me your answer do.”
“I’m half crazy, all for the love of you.”
“It won’t be a stylish marriage.”
“I can’t afford a carriage.”
“But you’ll look sweet, upon the seat.”
“Of a bycicle built for two.”
At first, Aevel paid little heed to the robot’s singing. However, as the melody and its strange lyrics went on, something stirred within him.
“Hey, may I ask you something?” Aevel inquired.
“Certainly,” the robot replied.
“What should I call you?”
“I am not programmed to have a preference; you may call me anything you like,” came the measured response.
“Eh, never mind. What happened after the attack? Anything?”
After another brief pause, the robot replied, “I’m sorry, I do not have any further data on the topic.”
Aevel sighed in exasperation. “Really? And what about the Arnans? Do you know anything of what befell them?”
“I’m afraid not,” the robot admitted.
“What did you witness while buried there? Anything?” Aevel continued.
“I’m afraid not. Until my emergency mode transitioned into hibernation—I received no new orders nor detected any activity beyond the supermarket,” the robot explained.
“Nothing…?” Aevel gasped. “How long has it truly been, and what happened to the Arnans?”
“Apologies, but I do not have any data regarding that,” the robot replied.
Aevel’s eyes twitched in annoyance. “You know what? I’m going to call you 404 now.”
“Certainly, 404 is now at your service, Aevel,” the robot responded matter-of-factly.
The robot’s tonal neutrality amplified Aevel’s peevish glare.
His gaze drifted to Eura; her increased distance served to intensify the recent disdain radiating from her.
At that moment, a humorous idea occurred to Aevel.
“404, do you know anything about Ryuusei no Eura?” he inquired.
The robot paused before replying, “Subject: Ryuusei no Eura. Status: prime consumer of artisanal cheesecakes. Purchase frequency: 3.7 units per week.”
“3.7? How much do you reckon she weighs?” Aevel grinned.
Suddenly, Eura turned, her eyes blazing with ire. “Aho na shitsumon sentoitaya, kondo koso honki de koroshitaru—” (Quit asking stupid questions, or this time I'll really kill—)
Her voice abruptly faltered. Aevel immediately noticed as Eura’s mouth fell open at the sight of something behind him.
Then, he felt something.
His senses, still heightened since leaving the supermarket, caught a strange sensation—one so alien and indefinable that no words could capture its essence. In all his years, only the recent memory of that foul crystal he absorbed beaten this, as if something that should never exist had somehow manifested itself in the world.
At that moment, the 404 spoke:
“Additional user detected.”
Aevel froze in place. Slowly, he turned his gaze towards the humanoid robot behind him, only to notice a solitary figure standing in the far distance, facing them.
“Non-military ID confirmed—it’s a civilian,” the 404 announced.
All of Aevel’s attention turned to the approaching figure. It was a man—or rather, what had once been a man.
The stranger stood in silence. Though clad in Arnan fabrics, their frayed edges flapping like ragged wings, the figure betrayed no human rhythm. Not a twitch, not a breath—just the terrible stillness of a statue. Its eyes were hollows of liquid obsidian, absorbing light rather than reflecting it.
His body shuddered as his mind struggled to comprehend this strange new presence.
Yet one truth emerged unmistakably: this entity had come for them.
“Aevel…” Eura slowly approached him, “That thing… I couldn’t detect it with my senses… what is that?”
Aevel glanced at her, then said to 404. “Could you analyse that person from here?”
“Certainly,” 404 replied in its measured tone.
As Aevel and Eura turned their gaze back to the figure, their blood turned to ice.
It now loomed metres closer, its advance silent and seamless as shadow. No footfall. No displaced air. As though it had rearranged reality to bridge the gap.
“What...?” Aevel began, his voice barely a whisper.
After a brief pause, 404 continued, “The individual’s V-tool appears to not have been active. Moreover, I have detected that he is not breathing; I recommend immediate medical assistance.”
At these words, every fibre of Aevel’s being cried out in alarm.
His voice cracked like a whip. “I’ve no idea what that is, but don’t look away—not even for a heartbeat!”
Eura’s jaw tightened. “Any bright ideas? I don’t think without our Psionic power we could defeat it, and I bet it’s not letting us slip free.”
“We can still jump and run like Fiddari though,” Aevel replied.
With Aevel carrying the bag filled with cables, Eura took 404 into her arms.
“Baggage mode activated.” 404 announced as it folded into an oval cylinder.
“On my mark,” Aevel growled, cables clattering in his pack. “Run. Jump. Keep your eyes locked on it as long as possible.”
The two tensed their legs, preparing to leap.
“Now!”
They launched into the canopy, Psionic-less but fuelled by adrenaline. Branches whipped past as their enhanced physiques propelled them block after block, all the while maintaining their gaze upon the abomination.
Soon, the creature vanished from their sight.
Assuming they were clear, they then focused ahead, leaping even further than before.
But then, Aevel felt the foul sensation again.
He dared a glance backward—and froze.
The creature loomed mere branches behind, its hollow eyes ravenous, jaw unhinging like a grotesque anglerfish.
Aevel’s foot slipped. He plummeted, cables scattering as he crashed into the forest floor.
“EURA!”
Hearing that, she quickly landed on a nearby branch, behelding the unfolding scene with terror.
“AEVEL!” she barked.
As he stood, the creature’s breath—a stench of rot and static—washed over him. Its maw yawned, teeth glinting like shattered glass some distance away.
Aevel froze in place. For the first time since becoming a Psion, he feared for his life.
“Aevel, gather the cables; I’ll keep watch from here.” Eura’s command snapped him back.
He scrambled, stuffing wires into the bag. Once he had finished, he stared at the creature. From this distance, he could feel it exuding an aura of hunger—as though it had not eaten in a long time—one more reason for him to fear.
“You done?”
“Yes.”
“Good, now jump back here.”
Soon, he returned, and he could sense the creature’s hunger intensifying.
“Now, any ideas, Aevel?” she asked.
Aevel carefully surveyed their situation. It turned out that the open expanse around the spaceport was not far off; he could see sunlight casting its full beam ahead of them.
“Eura, we’ll jump in turn, one by one.”
She nodded.
“You first,” Aevel said, maintaining his gaze.
Then, she leapt ahead, her eyes fixed on the creature once more after she jumped.
“Are you clear?” Aevel asked.
“Clear—your turn.”
Now, Aevel took his turn and jumped.
They maintained this pacing, keeping their gaze upon the creature.
It was not long before the distance widened once more, leaving them nearly at the edge of the forest.
Then, fate seemed to toy with them.
A congregation of clouds smothered the sun’s light, plunging the forest into abrupt, complete darkness.
The creature vanished from sight, yet its presence prickled against Aevel’s senses—advancing not in steps, but in phantom strides that bridged the void between breaths.
“AAAAARGH!” Aevel screamed as he activated his V-tool flashlight in a split-second.
What emerged from the darkness nearly gave them a heart attack.
The creature was but a few steps away, its hands outstretched and its mouth agape—large enough to swallow half an adult body.
In reflex, Eura dropped 404 and drew Imraa, attempting to slice the abomination.
But before she could reach its flesh, the creature’s Psionic defense hurled her far to the rear.
“EURA!” Aevel shouted, still keeping his gaze fixed on the threat.
Nearby, 404 unfolded itself.
“Stay behind me, 404!”
“Affirmative,” it replied.
Slowly, Aevel backed away, step by step—a chill running down his spine as the creature seemed to follow him at the edge of his flashlight’s beam.
Soon, Eura’s voice reached him. “I’m okay!” Her footsteps approached.
Finally, Aevel reached an open space. The light now shone sufficiently to illuminate the area for them.
Together, they stared at the creature, which stood like a statue carved from nightmares at the edge of the forest.
One thing was now clear.
“We must get out of this place!” Aevel declared.
*
Aevel wiped the sweat from his brow, having compressed an entire day’s work into a single hour. Never before he had worked so fast in his life.
Still, he finally succeeded in connecting the ship’s power system to the several reactors using the cables.
Settling into the cockpit, he ignored his previously opened ready-to-eat meal pack, his gaze went straight to the ship’s main monitor, scrutinising the black screen with a mixture of hope and caution.
There, 404 hunched over another flickering monitor, “System boot sequence ready, Aevel,” it announced.
“Good,” he replied. “Turn on the ship. Now.”
The gentle hum of the partially restored systems filled the air, a faint promise of progress amidst the uncertainty.
At that moment, the ship surged out of low-power mode, and the once-dim lighting now illuminated its interior in full brilliance. Various life-support systems roared to life, pumping fresh, much-needed air throughout the vessel.
In the cockpit, the main virtual screen flickered, then stabilised, coming alive with an array of vibrant indicators and readouts. A broad smile spread across Aevel’s face—this was a significant step forward, bringing him closer to leaving the confines of this desolate planet.
But then, the power meter flashed before him, reading:
5% Charging…
“Not enough.” Aevel shook his head.
Before long, critical notes and messages began to populate the screen. Yet, curiously, none of them were dated beyond the time of Aevel’s final trial.
Even though those messages were tempting to read, Aevel had other matters to worry about.
“Deactivate all systems,” He commanded. “Leave only the background processes running.”
404’s ocular lenses flickered, processing the order with mechanical precision. “Understood,” it replied.
A moment later, the ship exhaled—a deep, resonant sigh as its myriad systems powered down.
Aevel then returned outside. There, standing atop the ship, was Eura—her gaze fixed on the abomination in the distance.
“Have you finished?” she asked, not averting her eyes.
“Yes, now all we have to do is wait.”
“What about the explosives?”
“I managed to find bombs on several of the ships, and I have rigged them with fuel.”
“Good,” Eura said.
Aevel glanced at the sun, poised at its zenith. “It appears that as long as we can see the creature, it remains still; once the sun sets, however, it will be free to move again.”
“How much charge does it need for a single jump?”
“I've calculated that it requires at least 25% for one jump,” Aevel explained. “At the moment, it's still only at 5%.”
“That's not good... that's terrible. We'll have to remain here for several more hours into the night,” Eura said.
Aevel nodded. “I'll gather more explosives before nightfall.”
“Do it quickly—we need everything we could get our hands on.”
*
The sun descended halfway, and with 404’s assistance, Aevel had finished positioning the last of the explosives.
“The last perimeter is done,” 404 announced.
“Good,” Aevel exhaled, a deep sense of relief washing over him.
But then a voice sliced through the air.
“AEVEL!!!”
Without a moment’s hesitation, he sprinted towards the source—the Caterpillar. His heart pounded wildly, fearing that something had befallen Eura. Yet upon his arrival, he found her still fixed in her vigil.
Then she shouted, “QUICK, CHECK BEHIND ME!”
In mere seconds, Aevel vaulted over the top of the ship and scanned the area behind her.
There were nothing.
“Do you see anything!?” she asked, her tone edged with panic.
“No, what’s wrong?” Aevel asked.
At that moment, Eura released the bomb.
“Aevel, right now I’m spotting two of those things,” she declared.
In an instant, Aevel’s heart skipped a beat.
“What!?” he gasped.
“Don’t look! Keep watching behind me! You know how fast that thing is!” she ordered.
Aevel stifled his burning curiosity as the full implications of her words sank in. If there were more than one of these creatures, there was no guarantee that there wouldn’t be more than just two.
Before long, 404 caught up with him.
“404, fetch me the detonators,” Aevel instructed.
The robot promptly flew into the open emergency hatch.
“Aevel...” Eura called.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Think something,” she replied.
Aevel’s eyes twitched, bemused by her knack for annoying him even now.
“I’ve just realised a thing,” he said.
“Tell me,” she urged.
“There are no animals here—not even birds.”
Eura’s eyes widened in realisation. Despite the lush forest surrounding them, not a sound of wildlife—or even an insect—had reached their ears all this time.
“I’ve just noticed that,” she commented. “But what are you trying to say?”
“Psionic abominations are creatures nonetheless; they thrive in environments ideally suited for them or made the environments suit their abilities,” Aevel began. “So, why do those eyeless beings cease their movement when they are spotted? What would happen if they moved—or even if they had eyes?”
“So, you are essentially suggesting that something might occur if they were to do those things?” Eura asked.
“No, I’m saying that perhaps something compels them to behave in such a way—something far more powerful,” Aevel replied.
He could feel Eura’s body shiver at the very thought.
“How does knowing that help us now?” she asked.
“I have positioned a large amount of explosives. Perhaps if things go awry, we can detonate them and attract whatever predators are hunting these creatures.”
“So, you’re effectively inviting an even more powerful abomination here, are you?” Eura chuckled darkly.
“If we are doomed anyway, perhaps it is worth a try,” Aevel smiled wryly.
But his smile soon faded as one abomination finally emerged within his field of vision.
“Enough of the chatter—I’ve caught one coming in.” He said, as 404 finally came with a detonator.
Their true nightmare was only just beginning.
*
The sun hovered like a bloodied coin at the horizon’s edge, its dying light casting jagged shadows over the besieged spaceport, and now, dozens of abominations encircled Aevel and Eura, their eyeless faces turned hungrily towards them.
“Thank goodness humans have 220 degrees of visual range,” Aevel remarked, his thumb caressing the detonator’s trigger.
“404, battery status?” Eura asked.
“20%,” the robot’s reply crackled through her V-tool.
“Goodness, there are so many of them,” Aevel remarked. “I probably counted 23 here.”
“That’s rather low—I've got nearly 40 on mine,” Eura commented.
“Well, they all seem to avoid the spaceport for some reason,” Aevel observed, glancing at the two separate groups of abominations standing in the distance.
As the sun sank lower, its fading light staining the horizon in bruised hues of ochre and crimson, darkness pooled across the landscape like spilled ink.
At the precipice of this creeping gloom, Aevel triggered the first perimeter.
The explosion tore through the air with a thunderous roar, a cataclysm of flame erupting around the distant silhouette of the Caterpillar.
Starship fuel ignited in a ravenous, spiralling inferno, its incandescent fury devouring the twilight.
For a heartbeat, the fire’s brilliance rivalled the vanished sun—a false dawn of roiling oranges and searing whites that cast broken shadows over the ruins.
The ring of flame writhed skyward, its heat warping the air, as though the earth itself had cracked open to unleash a fragment of hell.
Then, countless abominations emerged near the blaze, closing in in the blink of an eye.
Yet, it soon became apparent that something was amiss: half of their numbers were missing.
Suddenly, patches of dirt began to cascade onto the fire—one, two, three—and then the deluge did not cease.
In horror, Aevel and Eura realised that the unseen abominations were hurling dirt to douse the flames.
“No… no, no, no!” Aevel gasped. “You’ve got to be kidding me!”
“Aevel, stay focused!” Eura commanded. “If any one of those creatures slips into the darkness beyond, they’ll be here in an instant.”
Aevel steadied his breathing. “404, activate the ship’s lighting!”
Instantly, the area surrounding the ship was bathed in a protective glow—a safety net of light that brought a brief sense of comfort. Still, the battle had turned into a war of attrition.
“404, there are still some spare bombs left—drop them over those flames!” Aevel ordered.
“Affirmative,” 404 responded.
The humanoid robot swiftly entered the hatch, departing with the bombs in tow, and soon soared into the darkness beyond their sight.
Then an explosion rocked the perimeter. With each bomb that fell, it seemed the tide was turning in their favour as more fuel ignited.
However, they were soon proved mistaken. Suddenly, the volume of dirt being thrown increased dramatically—dozens, no, hundreds of clumps of dirt cascaded onto the fire in a very short time.
In the bomb’s burning glare, Aevel glimpsed the horror beyond the fiery perimeter—a seething, pulsating hordes of abominations, their numbers stretching into the hundreds. Shadows writhed and twisted among them, as though the darkness itself had birthed nightmares into grotesque, half-seen forms.
“My goodness…” he whispered, the words fraying into the sulphurous air.
Around them, the crackling flames seemed to hesitate, as if even fire feared what lurked beyond its reach.
404 did its best to manoeuvre, dropping bombs to expand the conflagration.
But what could a single robot achieve against such overwhelming odds? It wasn’t long before the outer ring of fire began to disintegrate, and dozens of abominations surged forth from the breach.
In response, Aevel detonated a second ring of explosives—a series of nearer explosions that rocked their position, buying them precious time.
“Bad… this is bad! It’s too soon!” Aevel exclaimed.
Then, Eura noticed something. “Aevel, look at the creature!”
Dozens of abominations surged toward the second line of fire, but something was different—they were burning, indifferent to their own survival.
“What…” Aevel was at a loss for words.
Yet he had no time for further reflection—he must devise an escape. In that moment, he realised he might use this fact to his advantage.
“404, drop the bombs directly on those creatures!” Aevel commanded through his V-tool.
“Affirmative, changing target,” 404 replied.
On its next bombing run, explosions fragmented the abominations, and the sight of their diminishing numbers brought a brief sense of relief.
But then the flames along the outer perimeter began to die out, and Aevel could sense more of the creatures closing in.
“Oh no… no, no, no,” he murmured as the first patch of dirt began to descend upon the second line of fire.
Both he and Eura gritted their teeth, unable to employ their Psionic powers to fight since they had to keep their gaze fixed—not that they could even use their power in the first place.
Before long, the flames at the second perimeter began to fade as well.
“Aevel, do you have another plan?” Eura asked.
“We still have one final line of explosives,” he replied. “404, what is the battery level now?”
Shortly thereafter, 404 re-entered the hatch after completing another bombing run.
“23%,” it reported.
“We’re close; keep your eyes on them!” Eura urged.
Then, the situation deteriorated further. The flames were suddenly doused even faster than before.
“AEVEL!” Eura called.
Immediately, Aevel detonated the final line of explosives.
The ensuing fiery plume now lay a mere dozen metres away, its heat brushing against their bodies.
To their horror, the abominations immediately converged upon this last burning line.
Adding to their despair, 404’s voice crackled through their V-tool: “I have bad news—we’re out of bombs.”
Aevel’s thumb hovered over the detonator, the final defensive perimeter now flickering like a dying ember.
Eura’s voice cut through the thickening dread. “Suppose it’s time to test that mad idea of yours, then.”
With a deep breath, Aevel pressed the button.
The cataclysmic detonation erupted with a seismic roar, its incandescent fury bathing the spaceport and its surrounds in a garish, unnatural daylight. A roiling plume of fire and debris—a vengeful titan of smoke and ash—ascended skyward, its mushroom crown swallowing the horizon. The shockwave rippled outward, flattening debris and steels like wheat in a gale.
But then, Aevel and Eura widened their eyes as they beheld what lay hidden in the darkness. All around them—from the final circle of fire to the forest’s edge—an ocean of abominations stood motionless, illuminated by the explosion.
“Aevel…” Eura whispered.
He said nothing.
Soon, as the explosion faded, chaos resumed.
Now, the hordes broke through the last line, smothering the raging fuel with dirt.
Within moments, their last remaining defence crumbled.
The same clods of dirt that had smothered the flames now arced through the air, blocking the ship’s lights with grim precision.
One by one, the bulbs blackened, plunging the scenery into suffocating darkness.
The ravenous horde’s gaze pressed upon them like a physical weight—a primal, collective hunger sharpened by the sight of Human flesh.
Aevel and Eura stood back-to-back, their breaths synchronised, their bodies trembling by the sheer density of malice thickening the air.
The two activated the light on their V-tool. However, unlike human eyes, it failed to cover their entire field of vision, leaving certain angles perilously shrouded in pitch black.
“Suppose this is it, then,” Aevel muttered.
“No, it is not,” Eura snarled, defiance blazing in her eyes.
Imraa slid free of its scabbard with a serpentine hiss, its Psionic aura erupting into a coruscating helix of silver light that carved rough shadows into the night.
Aevel mirrored her, Antara’s obsidian edge humming as it drank the scant illumination.
For a heartbeat, the twin blades’ glow seemed to held the abominations at bay—a fragile barrier between humanity and the abyss.
Then the ship’s final light died.
The creatures surged forward in a single, fluid tide, their forms flickering like spectres as they scaled the ship’s hull.
Claws scraped metal, jaws snapped at empty air, and the stench of decay rolled over in nauseating waves.
Yet just as the first claws almost grazed Aevel’s arm, the horde froze.
Silence.
Not a twitch, not a breath. The abominations hung suspended, their eyeless faces tilted skyward as though transfixed by an unseen command.
“What…” Eura’s grip tightened on Imraa. “Did you do something?”
“No,” Aevel’s pulse hammered in his throat.
The two surveyed the beings before them, sweeping their flashlight to the right and left; even the abominations concealed in darkness stood motionless.
Then, Aevel realised something: there was a reason why the space port’s Psionic generator had been all but destroyed—leaving only the nuclear unit operational—and why none of these creatures emitted even the faintest trace of Psionic aura.
There was an even more horrifying creature hunting for those—the very aura now emanating from both Antara and Imraa.
Suddenly, the stars above seemed to dim, the night air curdling with a new, deeper wrongness—a presence that made the prior horror feel tame.
For Aevel and Eura, there was only the chilling certainty that something far older, far hungrier, had stirred—and it was coming.
Now, both could sense something descending from atop the ruined spaceport—something dangerous, something terrifying.
Eura’s voice trembled, cutting through the silence like a blade. “Aevel… did you feel that?”
Aevel’s pallor turned ghostly, the blood draining from his face as comprehension dawned.
“COME!” he barked, seizing her wrist and dragging her toward the ship’s hatch.
“Aevel, wha—”
“No time!” he shouted, sparing a glance at 404. “Start the ship—do whatever it takes to launch it once the battery reached 25%! Also. Do. Not. Move.”
“Affirmative.”
They scrambled into the cockpit, collapsing into the twin pilot seats. “Don’t move Eura. Close your eyes,” Aevel commanded, his tone brittle. “No matter what happens—keep them shut!”
Sensing the danger in his tone, Eura obeyed, shutting her eyes and remaining perfectly still.
Soon, Aevel followed suit, and darkness enveloped his vision.
Suddenly, something massive landed in the direction of the spaceport with a deafening crash.
He felt the presence of a being far fouler, terrifying—and above all, ravenous. It slowly slithered towards them as the sounds of earth and metal being crushed echoed through the air.
They could sense its insatiable hunger; its presence tainted the very atmosphere with a putrid Psionic aura so foul it could induce vomiting.
Then, another sound echoed through the air—a slicing noise that rent metal, earth, and then… flesh.
It was clear that one of the blind abominations was being torn asunder, yet it emitted no sound, hiding even in death.
The entity paused. As if detecting something hidden, it then projected its Psionic aura.
It was overwhelming, and above all, Aevel and Eura felt their nerves burn—it felt like their skin were a sheet of paper caught in a flame, as the being tried to provoke any movement of its prey.
Still, despite the searing pain, they remained motionless.
But then…
“Aevel.” Eura’s voice called.
His muscles locked.
“Open your eyes, Aevel.” The voice dripped honeyed warmth, so unlike Eura’s steel-edged tone.
An unexpected calm had settled into his limbs, muscles unspooling like frayed rope.
The world itself seemed to hold its breath—a conspiratorial hush coaxing his eyelids apart.
Yet, as the impulse to open them swelled, he faltered.
The realisation struck like a shard of ice: Eura would sooner carve out her own tongue than utter his name with such tenderness.
The illusion frayed.
“Open your eyes, Aevel.”
“Come on, Ae—open them.”
Aevel held firm.
The voice twisted, sweetness rotting into a guttural snarl. “OPEN IT, AEVEL.”
“AEVEL, OPEN YOUR EYES!”
“OPEN! OPEN IT!”
The words warped, a chorus of anguish—an angel’s scream dissolving into static.
“OPENYOUREYESOPENYOUREYESOPENYOUREY—”
Without warning, a chain of explosions detonated across the vicinity, their thunderous blasts interwoven with the guttural roar of a leviathan and the piercing shrieks of lesser entities.
The earth itself convulsed, tremors rippling through the ground as though the planet recoiled from the carnage. Ships—fragile as matchsticks in a storm—were hurled into the chaos, their hulls crumpling under forces unseen.
Psionic surges erupted like firestorms, each burst a lethal crescendo that scorched the air with the acrid tang of death. Amid the bedlam, the ship jolted to life, its engines snarling awake with a metallic groan.
Aevel and Eura froze, breath trapped in their lungs, every muscle taut as bowstrings. The vessel’s movement risked drawing the entities’ attention—which could reduce it to slag with a single strike.
Yet fortune, fickle and fleeting, lingered. The horrors outside seemed preoccupied, not merely fighting but feasting upon the blind abominations, the sound of their savagery painting the night in visceral strokes.
Time stretched, thin and brittle, as the ship shuddered upward—agonisingly slow at first, then accelerating into the star-streaked void.
Even as they breached the atmosphere, Aevel and Eura remained statuesque—eyes clenched shut, muscles locked in defiance of the perceived safety.
It was 404’s robotic tone that fractured the stillness.
“Launch sequence complete. Vessel stabilised in exoatmospheric orbit.”
Aevel’s nerve snapped, fury and relief warring in his veins.
“404, I told you not to move!”
“Correction: I engaged the remote control system, complying with your request.”
Aevel’s eyes opened. There, pristine and untouched, lay the ship’s controls—a silent rebuke to his panic.
His hands trembled, a visceral proof of them being alive. Against all odds, alive.
Eura sat rigid beside him, eyes still sealed.
“Eura, we—” The words died in his throat.
Tears glistened on her cheeks, tracking paths through the nose and mouth.
Aevel froze, not from fear of the abominations, but from the vertigo of witnessing her—the woman who’d vowed to carve his name into his grave—rendered vulnerable.
Every instinct screamed to retreat, to cloak himself in sarcasm or spite. Yet against reason, his hand rose, brushing a tear away with his fingers.
“Eura… open your eyes,” he murmured, the words uncharacteristically gentle.
Her eyelids flew open, wide and wild, as though flung by a gale.
Aevel braced for violence—for Imraa’s bite or the crack of a palm against his cheek. Instead, Eura swiped at her face with a soldier’s briskness, as if scrubbing away evidence of a nightmare that had momentarily dwarfed her hatred.
“A-Aevel?” Her voice rasped like rusted hinges.
“We’re clear, we’re on the space now.”
“How?”
404 pivoted smoothly, its ocular lens flickering. “Improvisation: I overloaded the other reactors to generate diversion. Compliance with ‘do anything necessary’ directive achieved.”
To Aevel’s astonishment, Eura’s lips split into a cathartic grin—broad, unguarded, and utterly alien on her battle-hardened face. She lunged forward, hugging the robot with a fervour that nearly toppled it.
“Thank you,” she choked, “thank you.”
“Service is its own reward,” 404 intoned. “Supplementary data: recovered item of potential interest.”
Aevel leaned in, curiosity overriding caution. “What kind of item?”
A soft hiss interrupted the silence, drawing Aevel and Eura’s attention. Nearby, the cockpit’s safety box had unlocked and opened.
“There was something Karitha put here for you.” 404 said.
Their curiosity piqued, they stepped closer, peering inside the now-revealed compartment.
Within the storage lay a single item: a book.
Resting atop it was a neatly folded note, its surface inscribed with a few simple but weighty words:
From: Karitha
To: Aevel and Eura
Almost instinctively, Aevel’s hand moved towards it, his fingers brushing its soft surface as he opened its content.
Dear Aevel and Eura
It is my most earnest hope that you would never have cause to open this message,
for such an act would signify that we have failed in our endeavour.
Yet, if this message has reached you and you now read these words,
it must also mean that a glimmer of hope yet lingers amidst the shadows of despair.
Before I tell you all that has transpired, know this: so much has been lost.
And it is not within my knowledge to guide you, for I don’t know what the future looked like.
But, there is one thing that I know, that is you must seek Talmina.