(Dylan)

  “Sorry, this area is off limits,” the deckhand said as Dylan approached him. The black bandana was the only reason Dylan knew him to be a member of the deck crew.

  “I was just on my way to check on Echo…” Dylan said, unable to tell which Echo he was speaking with. He couldn’t distinguish one draconi skeleton from another, and his voice wasn’t familiar.

  “Echo von A’lyce, I know. Still, I can’t let you pass. Captain’s orders,” he said, unmoving from the middle of the hallway.

  “Can you at least tell me if she’s alright?” Dylan leaned around the skeleton to peer at the door out of habit.

  The lamprian shifted to block his line of sight, which wasn’t terribly effective as a naked skeleton. “No, she isn’t. Not in the slightest, and you seeing her won’t change that.”

  “You don’t know that.” Dylan jabbed a finger at the draconi skeleton. “I want to see my friend,” he said, more insistent this time.

  The deckhand sighed, which was weird, because he didn’t have any lungs. Then again, he also talked. Dylan was still getting used to the whole beings-of-pure-energy thing.

  The deckhand’s stance softened, as if he understood. He reached out and placed a bony hand on Dylan’s shoulder, lowering his voice. “She isn’t your friend anymore.”

  But the deckhand was wrong and didn’t truly understand. Dylan didn’t want to be patronized. He wanted to see his goddamn friend!

  Dylan shrugged off the skeletal hand, balling his own. “I’m going to see my friend. Now get out of my way.”

  Two flaming orange spheres ignited around the deckhand’s fists as a warning. “You’re going to get hurt.”

  ‘Shit,’ Dylan thought. ‘He’s got abilities.’

  His friend could need help, and he was literally powerless to do so. But he didn’t want to fight the deckhand—the poor guy was just doing his job. More importantly, he’d probably wipe the floor with Dylan if they got into a tussle. It was another reminder of why he needed to pass this trial and start training to be an adventurer, so he could at least be on the same playing field.

  They stood off against each other in the middle of the hallway. One incredibly determined Dylan versus a lamprian with flaming fists, each unwilling to yield.

  “Look,” the deckhand said, extinguishing his hands. “If you really want to see her, go talk to the captain. It’s her ship, her rules.”

  “Fine.” Dylan narrowed his eyes at the deckhand and declared, “But I’ll be back.”

  He marched all the way back to the upper deck and then climbed the stairs to the Captain’s Suite, just behind the bridge. His fist pounded twice on the door and then he waited. He heard someone approaching from the other side. The door swung open and Captain Echo appeared.

  “Yes, what?” She paused, realizing it wasn’t one of her crew. “A passenger?” Her skull angled down to regard him. “If you need something, please see First Mate Echo. I’m sure he—”

  Dylan barged his way past her, walking through the door and into her personal suite.

  “Excuse me?!” the captain demanded, spinning around after him. “Who—”

  Dylan cut her off, pointing a finger at the captain. “I’m here to see you!”

  “Ah, you’re the round one with a penchant for trouble. Dylan, if my manifest is correct, which it always is.” There was a tone of superiority in her voice, the kind that felt dismissive, and it ruffled him the wrong way.

  “Yeah. Why can’t I see my friend Echo von A’lyce?” he asked, placing his hands on his hips.

  Her skull sat slightly askew. “I thought her self-imprisonment would’ve made that clear—she’s dangerous.” The captain’s bony hand still held the door open, as if he might take the hint and leave.

  “Whatever she is, it’s because of what you did to her.” The anger from last night found him again as he struggled to keep it to a simmer.

  “It wasn’t forced on her,” the captain said, gesturing at him. “You saw it yourself. She volunteered of her own free will.” But they both knew that was only half true, and just barely better than being voluntold.

  “Fine,” he said, conceding the point. “She volunteered to help fix the ship so we can all get home. So, why are you being a jerk to her?” If anything, the captain should be grateful for Echo. She’d saved the captain from the guilt of having to give the command to take a life.

  “Have you considered the possibility that Echo doesn’t wish to speak with you?”

  ‘All the time,’ he thought. Not only had he considered it, but that was exactly what he was desperately trying to prevent. There wasn’t much anyone could do if she gave up on herself—a painful lesson Dylan’s cousin had taught him a few years back.

  “Why?” he asked, bracing himself for the answer. “Is that what she told you?”

  “Not with words, but with her actions.”

  ‘Good,’ he thought. All she had was speculation. He shook his head at her and said, “That doesn’t work for me.”

  The smallest lamprian would need to say it to his face for him to believe it, and even then, he’d still beg her to change her mind. Letting someone walk that dark path alone was a mistake he’d never make again.

  “That… doesn’t work for you,” the captain repeated, her shoulders bouncing as she chuckled, genuinely amused by his answer. She took a moment to compose herself.

  The door closed behind her with a click as she took a step toward him. “Oh, my boy, you must be confused. Let me put it simply.” Like most draconi, she was two heads taller than him, and he had to crane his neck to meet her eye sockets.

  The captain glared down at him and said, “No one on this ship works for you. But continue your petulance and I’ll withdraw my efforts to save you from this mistake.” Dylan detected a hidden burden in her words besides the warning.

  “You can’t treat her like this. You can’t ask her to kill someone, use her, and then throw her away because she’s an inconvenience. It’s—it’s not right.” He shook his head as his voice wavered and he repeated, “It’s not right…”

  She broke their stare and walked over to the round table in her room, her movements refined, calculated—proper, taking a seat on a comfortable-looking leather-bound chair. She’d expertly withdrawn herself from their increasingly heated conversation.

  It disrupted Dylan’s focus enough to allow him to take in the room. The walls were barren, as was the furniture. There was a distinct lack of knickknacks, photos, or anything else that represented someone capable of emotional attachments who lived there. A dozen boxes were scattered about the room as if she were living out of them or hadn’t finished moving in yet.

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  Captain Echo crossed one skeleton leg over her other, resting both bony hands in her lap. Her skull turned to regard the window displaying a gorgeous view of the jungle. The sun had set, but from what Echo had told him, the captain didn’t need light to see.

  “Do you even know why lamprians, who give in to nekralis, are considered so dangerous?” she asked as she stared out the window.

  “No, but—”

  She cut him off, continuing to gaze eyelessly out the window. “Then take a seat and let me edify you.” She lifted a hand, gesturing to the other large leather-bound chair across from her.

  She let out a small sigh, turning her skull to focus on Dylan, and then asked, “In your culture, do you have a monster who nests under your bed?”

  He nodded, trying to drag the wooden chair back. It didn’t budge. So he tried harder, grunting with increased effort.

  Unwilling to watch him struggle, she said, “The furniture is affixed to the ship, so it doesn’t become a projectile during turbulence.”

  ‘That makes sense,’ Dylan thought, remembering all the seats bolted along the walls and the long, unmovable benches bolted to the floor in the mess hell. Come to think of it, there hadn’t been a single stray chair in any of the rooms he’d been in, including the brig.

  Dylan took a seat; it was every bit as comfortable as it looked. The chair dwarfed him, designed to seat a draconi, making him feel even more childlike as he listened to the captain tell her tale.

  “We also share this cautionary fable with our children. Except it’s not just a monster. It’s our mother, husband, son, or perhaps even an aunt. Inside every one of us slumbers a terrible hunger, waiting for the first sip of energy to awaken the nightmare. Are you familiar with crystalis?”

  Dylan nodded again.

  “Good, now let me tell you the story of my people. It’s a long and bloody one. We’ve worked diligently, sacrificing much to get where we are. There was a time when lamprians were considered a universe-level threat. Back then, we were the monsters nesting under your bed. Chances are, your folklore and legends are about us.

  “Energy leeches, mana vampires, soul devourers, there are many names for those of us who awaken the hunger within. My ancestors were opportunistic cannibals with an appetite for power. It’s that taste that knocks on the door and awakens the hunger.

  “We don’t need to drink or eat, but we have the memories and experiences of our hosts. I’ve read that the hunger starts small, like you’re not quite full anymore. A new urge—a need—that wasn’t there before and can’t ever be satisfied? That would drive me mad.

  “While it starts small, if they sate the hunger, it grows quiet for a time. But consuming energy is insidiously addictive. The cycle perpetuates until a critical mass of energy has been collected, then terrifying new powers emerge. They can feed on lamprians outside of crystalis, eventually getting strong enough to feed on any lifeforce.”

  “Nekralis is how monsters are created; powerful, intelligent, insatiable monsters.”

  “The debate persists whether we did more harm or good by uniting the universe against us.” She waved her bony hand dismissively. “Regardless, my ancestors lost to the might of a unified universe.”

  “They were presented with two choices: hunted to extinction, reduced to mere footnotes in the histories written by their exterminators, or hand over their unborn children for a newly discovered procedure called symbiosis.

  “Back then, we didn’t have hosts and existed as beings of pure energy without corporeal form. Symbiosis allows our host to imprint on us, ideally showing us how to live and co-exist with the rest of the universe before we emerge as individuals after the host’s death.

  “Some chose a future for their unborn children, handing them over to join the rest of the civilized species. Offering their children didn’t earn them a pardon, though. They were purged along with the rest of them.

  “The purges were costly, both in resources and lives. Not all lamprians agreed to surrender, most went out as they lived, fighting to the bitter end.

  “Their obsession with power and a penchant for betrayal were natural barriers, preventing them from organizing and fighting back. You’ll hear rumors that the strongest of them are still in stasis—crystalis without a host.

  “Nekralis isn’t just about murder. It’s a dangerous step backwards to a time when we forced the universe to see us as a threat and bring my people to the cusp of extinction,” she said.

  The captain sat in silence with Dylan as he processed her people’s history. After a couple of quiet minutes, she asked, “Do you understand now?”

  He sighed. That sounded like some grade A nightmare fuel—grand space opera level shit. But he wouldn’t condemn one person for the sins of an ancient empire.

  “I want to hear it from her,” he said finally. The leather from his chair creaked under him as he adjusted himself.

  “You want to hear what from her?”

  “I want to hear Echo tell me she doesn’t want to talk to me ever again.” He crossed his arms, having decided.

  She sat back in her own chair. “After everything I’ve just said, you still want to speak with her?” Her skull stared at him in disbelief. If she thought a cautionary tale of what might happen would change his mind, she’d sorely misjudged his resolve.

  “Echo’s only ever been kind to me. She’s scared right now and you’re not helping her.” He leaned forward, appealing to her decency.

  “I’m afraid you’re not helping her either,” the captain sighed, “but you just can’t see it.”

  Nothing? She’d shut him down again, feinting this whole isolation business was for Echo’s own good. He had enough of her fear mongering, heartless bullshit.

  “She’s done nothing. She’s not a monster.”

  The captain scoffed, turning away from him. “I don’t think our previous mechanic, Echo von Lee’ah, would agree with that statement. If she were still alive…”

  Dylan’s fists clenched at her words, anger bubbling to the surface.

  ‘You fucking bitch,’ he thought as his nostrils flared.

  “She fixed your goddamned ship!” he shouted, slamming his fist down on the table.

  Her skull snapped back, locking onto him. Her words were swift and carried a warning tone. “This path does not end well for her.” For the first time, her voice faltered, revealing an edge of concern. Maybe she wasn’t heartless after all?

  “Don’t you understand?” he asked, sensing she was close to seeing his point. “That just means she needs friends even more.”

  He leaned back in his oversized chair, thinking his latest point might have gotten through to the captain when she didn’t immediately refute or challenge him. Her bleached skull focused on him for a few moments, as if she was taking in the weight of his words.

  She disengaged from the conversation again, getting up and waltzing over to peer out another window with a view of the ship. She stood with her hands clasped behind her back. Her skull moved to track the various crew members as they offloaded unnecessary weight and ran the new rigging under her command.

  In reality, it was only about a minute of silence, but to Dylan, it felt like an eternity. There were half a dozen times he wanted to interrupt, but caught himself.

  She broke the silence, speaking to herself as she continued to window-watch, her skull tracking the slow movements of a crew member hauling rope.

  “Dylan, I’ve tried my very best to dissuade you from this path.” She sighed. “Your exceptional obstinance is only matched by your compassion.” He frowned, unsure whether that was a compliment.

  She continued her monologue. “While another might confuse it for determination and loyalty. Yet, perhaps it’s all semantics. Merely two sides of the same coin?”

  Captain Echo slowly turned to face him again. “I’ll allow you to ask Echo von A’lyce your question on one condition.” She truly was indomitable. Even her capitulation came with a final salvo, assuring neither of them got exactly what they wanted.

  “And that is?” he asked, hoping the request was something he could afford.

  She crossed her bony arms. “That you listen to her answer and respect her wishes.” She hesitated, before adding, “Even if that answer isn’t what you wanted to hear.” To see his friend again, he’d have to accept the possibility of letting her go forever.

  “Fine,” he agreed. But what choice did he have? At the very least, he’d be able to say goodbye. Something fate hadn’t afforded him with his cousin.

  Finally, Captain Echo removed her hat and took two steps toward him. “Take this,” she said, holding out the hat to him, her black tricorn with a crimson feathered plume.

  Dylan started to argue. “I don’t—”

  When she saw he wasn’t getting up from his chair at the table, she took another step toward him. “Put it on,” she insisted, still holding it out to him. “None of the crew will stop you from doing as you wish as long as you wear it.”

  Dylan stared at the captain’s hat. He imagined it would act as a literal token from the captain to let him see his friend. He hesitated at first, doubts gnawing at him—was this really the best way? The captain patiently waited for him to decide. Skulls were hard to read, and he dismissed the sense of desperation he thought he was getting from her. After a terse moment, he accepted her offer.

  She returned to the window to watch her crew. There was something different in her steps—they seemed lighter.

  “Hand it to the First Mate when you’re done or keep it for all I care,” she said as she continued to stare out the window. “I don’t want it anymore. Your friend isn’t the only one departing the crew.”

  Dylan looked around at the boxes of stuff with a new perspective. It was painfully obvious to him now; she’d packed up all of her things because she was moving on. He hadn’t realized this trip had affected her to the point of quitting.

  He got up from his seat and made his way to the door before he heard her voice again.

  “If you do decide to keep the ship, that hat is a lot heavier than it looks.”

  Dylan glanced back at her. The sight of her standing at the window, framed by the scattered boxes and bathed in the soft glow of the twin moons, stuck with him as he stepped out the door. He wondered, ‘Perhaps I treated her too harshly…’