“I still don’t understand what you’re looking for out here.”
The starless void beyond the bridge of the light-skipper Tharkesh provided little answer – nor did the posthuman currently occupying one of the nearby seats, gazing out into the black. “The Wound has been uninhabited for cycles, ser Celan. There’s nothing but ash and ghosts for light-years.”
“I was informed you knew of a world known as Serphyros,” Kye said after a moment, golden gaze landing on the skipper’s pilot as they turned from the vista. “I was not aware I’d have your counsel, as well.”
The pilot simply lifted his hands in a gesture of supplication, palms outstretched. “Merely curious, is all. It isn’t often I’m chartered, much less for journeys to the far edge of the Spur. Something about these places are setting my teeth on edge.”
To that, Kye could agree.
Serphyros, a name they only half-remembered. Imparted by the Tide in a moment of communion, whispered in their dreams for nights uncounted. It tugged at their consciousness, urging them forward across the stars, promising answers to questions unasked and questions to answers always known.
First impressions of the world were not promising. Gray and still, it was a tomb long sealed – slagged continents and shattered mountains, buried cities and ash-choked seas. This world had not gone quietly.
Still, as the skipper slid from the embrace of the Tide, something about the world called to them – an echo brushing against some part of them they’d never felt before, rhythmic like heartbeats.
The pale half-moon of Serphyros loomed large ahead as, with the whisper of rustling cloth, Kye stood.
This world had no sun, no atmosphere. A rogue casualty of wars lost to history, the surface was pocked and scarred. Suit affixed, Kye set off alone – trusting the Tide to guide their path.
A vast plain of unbroken gray stretched away in every direction beneath a pitch black sky. The Tide felt almost suffocating here, as if the Real was fighting to maintain a hold. The only light here was their own.
They began to walk.
Ruins dotted the surface, shattered and broken – but one in particular seemed to call out to the rabbit, drawing them in like a moth to a flame. The Tide was heavy, flowing in and around this place like whirlpools in a stream – and, as they cautiously started to report back to the Tharkesh they’d likely be losing contact, they received only dead air. The Tide whistled, a not-wind against their mind.
Sighing, they reached out with their senses, trying to get some sense of what waited within. Something pushed back.
“There is no need, Little Prince.”
Kye paused.
“Come.”
Their feet moved, carrying them onwards. Darkness fell, lit by only the suit’s lights and the faint glow of their holite displays.
Whispers pooled about them, an impossibility through the vacuum of the airless surface and the thick protection of the suit, drifting lazily around them. Names. Places. Futures. Pasts.
The hallway opened, suddenly – a vast atrium, exposed to the suffocating nothing of Serphyros.
Their mind buzzed, static feedback washing over their comms like rhythmic ocean waves.
As if in tandem, the whispers spoke – a chorus of voices, some closer, some distant.
“Why have you come?”
“I seek answers,” Kye said plainly, peering into the dark.
“Serphyros only offers questions to those who bring them, Little Prince. Answers are not the way.”
“I was guided by the Tide,” They replied uncertainly, now certain they weren’t alone here. There was no recipient on the comms broadcast – yet they’d been answered, nonetheless.
The whispers said nothing concrete in reply, swirling about.
Something moved in the dark.
Kye, nerves on edge, turned – lights flashing across something enormous, unfolding from the spot in the corner of the ruin to tower against the faintly lit walls.
A marble white mask hung high above like a half-moon, ritual marks scratched into it. Terror gripped their mind, but they forced it down, standing straighter.
“You are brave, Little Prince.” The chorus intoned, layered thickly with… something. Their mind felt naked, laid bare as the Ovelle peered within.
“I shall answer your question.”
Perception of the Ovelle made their vision hazy, the very bronze it was constructed from hissing with the void. Its voices slammed into their psyche like thunder, chittering and tugging at every nook and cranny.
Their mind was wracked with agony, sending the posthuman to their knees. Scenes flashed through their mind, faster than they could parse. The flag of the Eventide League, alight. Jayne Illor atop a throne. A ship, drifting through golden-tinged clouds. A crystal sun, as cold and dead as glass, surrounded by worlds of ice. Kye, dead on the cold earth. Kye, alive on their throne, unhappy.
Kye, cloaked in gold and blood, shouting something they couldn’t hear.
“Y-You…” They finally managed to stand, panting against the pain.
The Ovelle remained silent.
Courage rising, Kye took a step closer.
“The Little Prince asks much indeed,” It intoned, tilting its head. The mask leered down at them, a mocking half-visage of a man. There was something behind those eyes carved into the mask, a cold regard that spoke of interest.
“Seek the folly of the ancients, in the worlds you know as the Far Spur. You will find your answer there, and a new question. The answer shall not be to your liking.”
The whispers grew louder, a chorus of cackling reverberating through their mind and speakers as the chittering colossus raised one of its many arms and began to ascend out of the light of their suit, bone-white mask receding into the darkness.
Silently relieved, the rabbit gave a quick Carriganite bow, and hastily retreated.
The walk to the ship was silent. Takeoff was silent. Once or twice the charter captain had started to say something, but… thought better of it – Kye clearly had a look he recognized.
Still, as orbit was achieved and the running lights of the light-skipper twinkled beyond the cabin, Kye’s mind was awash in thought. The Ovelle had strengthened their vision – clarifying some things, adding others. What was the crystal sun? Why had Jayne Illor been there? It hasn’t been a memory, this time – many of the events had yet to occur, if they would at all.
Why would-
“-r Celan, ah, a moment?”
Kye, opening their eyes, sat up slightly straighter. “Yes?”
“Well, it’s just… where to next, I suppose? You’d chartered for a tad longer than one measly expedition into the Wound…”
The Captain seemed… antsy.
“That won’t be necessary. What is the nearest port to us?”
The man thought for a moment.
“Kurin. Triarchy space.”
“Take me there. Please.”
The Captain looked as if he was about to say something, wrinkled visage tightening up, before, with a simple shrug, he turned and headed for the bridge.
Kye, summoning forth a holographic map of the Spur, frowned. The Far Spur was a long, long way…
They needed a ship.