maid to order (commission)

a commission for Nouv!

It was a very cold, very snowy, very boring end to the week, as far as Nouv was concerned.

They’d been stuck inside for most of the day, it seemed – from work, to the bus ride home, to the hours spent at their computer trying to find a way to fill the day… and the cat was growing tired of it.

With a sigh, they flopped completely onto their bed, the few scattered belongings and plushies that covered it going flying – but they didn’t care. 

Bwuh!

They were just starting to consider a nap a good use of their time when their phone dinged. The familiar face of Kye stared back, little horns and stuck-out tongue framed by the notification’s icon circle.

“Hey! Just letting you know I’m starting on your comm, by the way? I think you said you wanted a rubber mouse, right?”

O-Oh. Right. The… story, right?

“Yeah!” Nouv sent back, paws a blur. 

There was no reply – but they did get a thumbs-up in response. Clearly, the savhara was already writing – and…

Nouv flopped back on their tummy, mind awash in thoughts about mice and rubber. Maybe even a cute little dress? A barcode? Dizzy eyes?

…It was, of course, at that instant that they noticed their shirt was fitting weirdly. Normally, it laid flush – but something beneath it was starting to force it up and outwards, as if they’d put on something underneath?

Curious, the cat sat up, lifting their shirt – and turned as red as a tomato. Sprouting from them was the familiar black and white ruffles of… a maid dress? A rubber maid dress?!

“HUH?”

They jumped to their feet in alarm, trying to tug on it – and only turning more red as it sqrrrked  and squished beneath their attempts to remove it, spreading up under their more normal clothing as they stared in shock.

Already, their height had begun to dwindle – fur beginning to mat down here and there into splotches of growing rubber as the cat fumbled for the phone. This had to be related – it had to!

“Kye!!!” Nouv sent, panicked – but it stayed unread. Clearly the critter was too busy! The phone fell from their shaking grasp, and Nouv hopped up, hoping to try and stop this before it was too late.

Their tail, fluffy, ringed, began to stretch before their very eyes – fur falling away as the tail underneath grew more mousey, getting a brand new bright pink bow tied around the very tip as they tried to do anything about it!

Their legs, shortening, rubberizing, began to repaint themselves – gaining the patterns and rough chunky shapes of a pair of heels and long, maid stockings, completely seamless and as much a part of them as their fur was.

“H-Help!”

Already, the distance back up to the bed where their phone was laying was growing – even as they tried to climb, they found that their arms were beginning to lose the strength they had before, but whether that was simply from the whole turning to rubber business or simply because Nouv was stressed out about the aforementioned rubber business wasn’t completely clear. Maybe they’d be able to ask someone else in the house for help?

No. No way. I’m not going out like this!!

Nouv turned even more red as their rubber dress-self finally tore right through their shirt, tattered fabric falling to the floor as the only clothes they’d ever wear again practically pwoofed outwards, gaining a fake “puffy” look as they seemed to inflate into permanent prim and proper position.

Their handpaws, thickening up into chunky rubbermouse paws, began to whiten – and, before their very eyes, their forearms reformed and reshaped themselves into cute little mousey maid gloves. Nouv whined, hoping the rest of the changes would at least go quickly enough as they dwindled past three feet tall, long tail swishing back and forth with a cacophony of tiny squeaks. Surely they were dreaming. This couldn’t be real, could it?

Their phone, high on the bed, dinged.

Nouv’s snout began to change – gaining a new rubber mousey bucktooth, and slightly pinker as Nouv shut their eyes as tight as they could, willing it to stop… and then, all at once, the changes stopped.

Nouv, slowly, opened their eyes one at a time.

The shrinking had stopped. Their face hadn’t changed any further.

Even the little rubber mousey maid headdress was still the same, half-formed and incomplete.

Nouv started to breathe a sigh of relief, until they realized this meant they… were functionally a rubbermouse with a cat’s head.

Grabbing for the sheets, Nouv managed to clamber their way back up to the top of the bed, blushing furiously at each squish and squeak their new body made, until, finally, they reached their enormous phone, unlocking it with great difficulty.

Kye’s message sat there, their face staring back.

“Ugh, I’m sorry, I’ll have to finish this another day. Something came up! Hope you like what I’ve written so far, though!”

Nouv clenched their fists, cheeks burning. “ANOTHER DAY?”

kaijufication (commission)

a commission for Zeelo!

It was a chilly fall day – just how Zeelo liked it.

Today was a wonderful day for a walk, it turned out! Beautiful blue sunny skies, the first hints of trees turning their fall colors, temperatures in the mid-50s – really, he’d been waiting all year for this sort of weather. Why not take advantage of his day off, see the sights? 

So, here he was, walking downtown – peering into Halloween displays, shops already starting to decorate here and there for the two biggest upcoming holidays of the season. Not quite Christmas music, not yet, but he did spot a few reindeer decorations waiting in the wings for November 1st. Came earlier every year, it seemed.

Maybe that’s why Zeelo wasn’t surprised when, out of the blue, a stack of papers on a nearby sidewalk cart were caught by the wind, scattering them across the street. The snow leopard barely had a moment to react before one of the papers smacked into his face, blinding him for a moment in gaudy orange and black print – but, as he tugged it away, the text became easier to read.

Monster Mash! Halloween Party and Parade, it read in little golden letters. Bring your friends, have a ball!

“…Huh!” Zeelo chuckled, turning the little paper over to see where exactly this party might be. It… didn’t seem to have an address. Or a phone number?

Seemed like a little bit of an oversight on their part.

Shrugging, the snow leopard balled up the flyer and went to toss it into a nearby trash can – when, suddenly, his arm holding the wadded up invitation went numb as if it had fallen asleep.

Glancing over at it, Zeelo started in surprise as his arm exploded outwards, knocking the stall full of papers to the sidewalk as it began to grow, and grow, and grow!

His fingers, soft, fluffy, began to swell and extend into enormous golden plastic claws before his very eyes, snow leopard fur giving way to gray and black patterned vinyl – even as people on the sidewalk stopped to stare at the swelling snow leopard, his tummy starting to swell to match! Up, and up, and up it swelled – tearing right through his shirt and badly stretching his shorts, dropping both to the pavement and drawing attention from the confused bystanders currently taking a few steps back.

“H-Hey! Stop that!” Zeelo called in alarm, his remaining unchanged paw pressing down to try and halt the inflation, but all it really managed to do was ineffectually squeak against the plastic that was replacing his midsection, and force air out of his tummy into his–

PFFFSSSHHWOOMP! The sound was so loud he wasn’t even quite sure where it came from, until the feeling of his center of balance changing drew his gaze backwards in worry.

Zeelo’s tail exploded outwards with such force and size that a nearby car was knocked over, his lower half beginning to double, triple, quadruple in size and pressure with each passing moment! Gone was the soft lower half of a snow leopard, in was a pooltoy monster, a valve squeezing out of his tummy the size of a manhole cover!

It seemed to pause for just a moment – before with a deep hiss like a great gust of wind, he began to grow larger all over, all at once. It was as if Zeelo was being scaled up, big tail and increasingly round midsection brushing against the nearby buildings as he passed two stories, three stories, four stories tall…!

Shouts of alarm and surprise came up from below as Zeelo began to tower into the sky, black and white alternating stripes and golden spikes spreading down his spreading, swelling, creaking tail – and, gently, he tried to move out of the way as his footpaws exploded outwards into huge toy kaiju claws, but… carefully, as if hitting it with a pillow, he knocked a bus over.

“S-Sorry!” He called, his voice deep, toyishly monstery. It was hard to even form words – as if his snout didn’t quite feel like moving the same way?

His chest changed next – hollowing out as his proportions began to shift upwards in size and downwards in realism, softening and spreading out as the hiss of inflation filled his ears and arms – fur gave way to soft vinyl, a few tiny warning labels dotted here and there as golden rounded spikes and white striped gray vinyl replaced the soft grays and rosettes of a snow leopard.

His ears, twisting, tugging, inflating outwards, became an enormous pair of horns even as his snout began to tug itself into a big, toony menacing grin – cheek fluff hardening and reshaping into yet more spikes. His height passed six stories as he waddled backwards, pressing against a building with enough weight from his sheer volume of air that he heard the bricks strain – until, finally, the toy finished his changes, peering over the skyline in only the way an inflatable kaiju can.

“RAWR?” Zeelo asked, helpfully.

All that answered was a car alarm.

Carefully, he took a step forward – and something soft flailed against the stretched vinyl of the bottom of his enormous paw. Oops.

the looking glass (commission)

A commission for Ehksidian!

“UGHHH.”

The drakkai was bored. Bored. BORED. Rain poured down outside, shrouding the world beyond her window in a gray pallor – even the birds were silent, sheltering from the driving storm just as she was.

Her phone was still and quiet – evidently everyone else was either still asleep or busy, as even the usual haunts were quiet as she flopped back on her bed, staring at the ceiling.

Or, at least, she was – until she noticed her mirror.

Usually just used to inspect outfits or even to throw clothes over if the chair or bed weren’t close enough, the standing mirror had been in the corner of her room for years, at least – reflecting just enough of the room to see the window, and little else.

Today, though, the view had… changed.

Instead of the perfect reflection of her room, a new room existed on the other side of the mirror – garbed in finery and flowing cloth, white curtains and crimson plush carpeting. It drew Xena in like a moth, her gaze unable to pull away even as she stood, crossing the room to stare inwards. 

Nevermind the fact there was no reflection of her in this mirror – it was as if it was a window into a world beyond her own, tantalizingly close yet just out of reach.

Slowly, carefully, she reached out a claw to touch the glass.

The instant contact was made, the mirror’s surface rippled as if a rock had been lobbed into a pool of water, her claw sinking in slightly. 

This only made the drakkai more curious.

Glancing over her shoulder, Xena considered simply laying back down and forgetting whatever strangeness awaited her – but boredom won out, yet again. Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right?

She pushed her paw through, meeting resistance as if she was trying to push her way through gelatin. It fought, pushing back with surprising strength, but she was simply stronger – slipping through the barrier out of her room and into… wherever this was.

The room was warm, a scent not unlike cloves filling the space – large cushions and comfortable furniture were scattered here and there, a small portrait high above containing a framed face of some sort of rabbit, peering down at her.

Huh. She pinched herself, closing her eyes.

Nope. Still here.

Whoever this room belonged to was clearly of some importance, as she snooped through their belongings. Finery and objects she had no name for, jewelry of metals unimagined and household devices not yet conceived.

Again, though, she turned her attention to the mirror.

Her room was still there, true, but… hazier. A slight reflection of the room she was in had fallen over it, almost as if the image has been double exposed.

Oh, well. She’d head back soon enough, right?

As she continued to look through the room, she… suddenly found herself experiencing a strange deja vu. She’s been here before, hadn’t she? No. Yes?

Xena stopped, rubbing her head with a shockingly soft paw for a moment before she realized what was different about that, tugging it away to take a closer look. Her claws were gone, replaced by soft cream and wheat-colored fur – finely manicured and shampooed to be soft and shiny.

She stared at her paw for a moment, before shrugging. It seemed odd, but if she didn’t have claws why had she assumed that would’ve hurt?

Her ears, gently tugging upwards as she lounged in the grand, soft bed that occupied the large corner of the room, didn’t draw her attention either – nor did the reddish-brown hair, spilling down her back and over her face, sprouting small holite flowers that bloomed and blossomed in the afternoon sun. 

She grew more at-home, house clothes becoming the nightwear of nobility – fine pseudosilks and linens, cradling the increasingly leporine drakkai in dream-like comfort. Her eyes gained flecks of gold, spreading through the iris like wildfire, until with a few blinks, their eyes had stopped itching. Perhaps they’d been more tired than they thought?

Kye sat up, horns dwindling away, as something caught their attention. Their mirror had cracked?

“Hm.”

The Prince swung their paws out of their bed, gently padding over to take a closer look. Sure enough, a crack ran from the bottom frame to the middle, perfectly down the center line of the mirror – and, for a moment, Kye swore they saw something else in the reflection, but a blink later it was just… themself, and their room.

For good measure, they turned the mirror away.

“A nap might be in order,” The bunny said aloud to no one in particular, drawing the curtains.

“It certainly beats being bored.

OFF DISTANT SHORES

It began, as it always did, with a council.

The nine members of the Silver Orrery sat facing each other across a wide, flat table – memories foggy, recollections of the others foggier. 

Sixty six times they’d met like this. Many times more they would meet. None of them knew their names – their titles were enough. Had always been enough.

“I call Brother Jupiter before us.” Saturn spoke quietly, its voice uncertain. “He shall speak of why we have gathered.”

The Orrery was seated according to the age of their fork – Jupiter predated them all, a relic of a former meeting. The others, freshly created from persona stock, were new.

It was always new, Sol thought to itself. The blessing of your precious incarnation’s unraveling. To rise from data like the proverbial phoenix, a fresh slate.

A pang of fear startled it as the relevant data flowed in from the White Lattice. This Sol was afraid to die. Well, perhaps die wasn’t the word. Funny. It had died many times before, sixty seven times is an odd number to develop a fear of that.

“I notice you seem troubled, Brother Sol.”

It lifted its gaze, falling gently upon the soft features of Sister Venus – new yet familiar, as if remembering a dream.

“I am having trouble with reconciliation.” Sol said simply, flagging the abnormalities for review.

“It shall pass.” Venus said simply, its gaze turning away. Was that a pang of worry in its voice?

Brother Jupiter spoke. No words passed between those gathered – the space was digital, simulating speech was a waste of processing power and time. 

The Orrery turned.

Today marked the sixteen thousandth year of the journey of the Logical Conclusions – the great exploration vessel’s expedition to explore the Local Group a project of generations. The engrams they were all based on – the original explorers, their names lost long ago – were sacred, the core of their journey.

Sol wasn’t quite sure what the journey was. It felt like it once knew, long ago. The memories were conflicting, a side effect of the flash implantation, Brother Jupiter had once remarked.

Or was that Mars?

The simulation began to dissolve as the Silver Orrery parted to assume their duties aboard the Logical Conclusions, Sol slipping seamlessly into the forward sensor suite to plot the way forward through the endless dark.

The ship’s skin was pockmarked and pitted, millennia of wear and exposure burning away the beauty it might once have held. The Turbulence Lattice hung behind as a great infrared web, a long swath of writhing dark matter disturbing the intergalactic medium behind it. Somewhere in the far distance was Center, fifteen thousand years behind the ship.

Ahead was the hazy mass of Triangulum, bright against nothing.

As always.

Sol would have sighed, had it real lungs and a body of flesh. Going down the list, the sensor ranges were increased – then increased again, before finally the furthest resolution was reached, the final check before Sol was once again relegated to monitoring the astrogation equipment.

Attention swinging away, it began to return to other duties when something odd registered on the furthest scan distance.

A blip.

It had never seen a blip before. Even memories of past Sols, thousands of years of backed up experience and memory, this had never occurred in fifteen thousand years of scans of the interstitial darkness.

Sol, unfamiliar excitement welling up in the core of its being, alerted the Silver Orrery, requesting further bandwidth for a more thorough scan. Curiosity won out – it was granted within a microsecond.

Once again, it scanned on the furthest resolution, receiving the same ping. 

Something was certainly out there – and attempts to bridge the long dark and communicate drew only silence. There was no static – the signals were far too strong for interference, as little as there was out here.

The Logical Conclusions, after a full real-time second of debate, adjusted course towards the return, intending to obtain a visual. It was first spotted against the distant half disc of Triangulum as a small, fuzzy spot.

Resolution was far too low to draw conclusions. The decision to draw closer was made.

Full band yielded little – ambient heat was warmer than the background, but still much colder than a vessel would be. Albedo was curiously high.

Sol watched the spot grow larger, bumpier. An odd shape. Mars recommended activating the defensive systems for the first time in ten thousand years.

The bumps became tall rectangular objects, jutting uniformly from the surface of the chunk of material they sprouted from like crystals.

Closer, still, the Logical Conclusions drifted – until, finally, the object was clearly visible.

A city.

Impossibly perfect, uniformly spaced and faintly lit, sprouting from a jagged half-circle of rock and soil. Green parks of trees and grass were dotted here and there, pools of water shimmering beneath the nothing. The streets were lined with small trees and streetlights, shining in the dark.

Impossible.

Sol checked. Double checked. Triple checked.

The sensors said the same thing. Venus and her sensors said the same thing.

It was real. Unimaginably real.

“The sensors do not lie,” Venus was saying, surrounded in-sim by readouts. “This… city, holds a standard nitrogen-oxygen atmosphere. Albeit diminished. It demonstrates at the very least basic life support, though the presence of so much greenery presents a much more interesting image.”

Jupiter, from his seat at the head of the long table, gazed into the fog of the sim’s outer boundary.

“We shall send one of our own.” 

“But who?” Mercury asked, frowning. 

Sol sat up straighter.

“I shall go.”

The other eight turned to face it. It suddenly felt quite small.

“You demonstrate deviant behavior from previous iterations, Brother Sol.” Jupiter said evenly, raising an eyebrow.

“I simply wish to learn of this… city.” Sol replied brusquely. “This situation is unprecedented. Unprecedented actions must be taken.”

“I admit it would gather useful data,” Jupiter conceded, sharing a glance with Mercury. “You shall take one of the warbodies, Brother Sol. Find out what you can, and we shall accept your return cast when you are finished.”

Sol, the strange sensation still welling up inside itself, nodded, and vanished.

Posthuman bodies were infinitely varied across the width of Congruent Space – from the hyperpolitan masses of Center to the frontiers of the Magellanic Clouds and Andromeda’s reaches, no two posthumans – or xenotypes, for that matter – were the same. Most civilian hardbodies were soft, reminiscent of the ancient human phenotypes and only slightly genetically deviant from the standard. Others were customized, with ancient mammalian traits and deeper internal modification.

Warbodies, on the other hand, were designed for just that – combat, and hazardous operations in extreme environments. An open metropolis exposed to the interstitial dark certainly fit that criteria.

It was an ancient warbody, nearly twenty thousand years old as Sol slipped inside, settling neatly into the body’s silicate subdermal substrate. Long ago the joints holding the Ollander recon warbody had rusted closed – but with a thought the form shuddered. Rust flaked in the low gravity.

Again, Sol moved, nanofibers flexing in a show of strength, and the restraints shattered, allowing it to move to the deployment tube.

With one last handshake to verify the functions it oversaw would continue to automate correctly in its absence, it was ejected through the dense deck plating of the Logical Conclusions, hurtling downwards through the night.

The city was cold.

This was not a surprise to Sol, but a confirmation – while lit, and clearly in possession of gravity, there was no external methods for survival exposed to the frigid nothingness of extragalactic space. Whoever had built this place had clearly not needed it.

High above, the kilometers long metallic leviathan of the Logical Conclusions loomed – the vanguard of the Orrery, twenty thousand years of consecutive iteration watching with bated breath as the warbody wandered deserted streets and clinically clean alleyways. 

The networks of the city were equally, disturbingly sanitary – loaded as if ready to receive, open to all and accessed by none. Great collectors hummed and thrummed beneath the metal skin of the hollowed moon, whirring without notice of the dead world beyond. A circulatory system without a body to sustain, fresh air and water without lungs to breath and mouths to thirst.

Brother Sol delved deeper, passing through great cryostorage arrays and gene-banks loaded with naught but dust and inert sequences, long degraded beyond recognition or repair. Through great thoroughfares and arcadiums, prepared for phantom crowds.

For the first time it could remember, Brother Sol felt… apprehensive. The cold wind offered no respite.

The deepest databanks held the histories. Whatever species had built this place had done so out of desperation – a last ditch effort to hurl their memory into the long dark, an epitaph to their grandeur and a last ember against the winds of oblivion. It had been an ark, long ago launched with the preservation of the ghost of a species as the grand design. Brother Jupiter dubbed it thus.

Elysium. The resting place of the ancient dead, to exist in peace and tranquility forever.

Brother Sol was not quite sure.

Was its own quest just as futile? A shout against infinity, an attempt to leave a mark against a universe vast and forgetful?

Again, the thought was flagged for future review. It had never quite experienced despair or introspection quite like this before.

Onwards the warbody trudged – through latticeworks and foundries, the jagged depths of the city’s roots. Picomachinery and nanite engines maintained this place, shifting structure parting like water at their presence and reshaping as they passed. The city itself seemed curious at the newcomer, rising to meet their steps.

So it was, finally, that it entered the cavernous map room. A long walkway extended into the infinite dark, jutting forth from the city like a hand extended to the stars. A great metallic map hung in the “sky”, shifting like sand. A language they could not recognize accompanied it. 

Brother Sol stood at the precipice, palms extended. The world rose to meet it.

Handshakes were established, relevant data exchanged. The console formed from so much dust.

One million two hundred sixty three thousand four hundred fifty six point two six two.

Faces. Six deep, sad eyes. Sunken cheeks. A world of water and poison, their deep-cities withering beneath a toxic sea. Caphiae.

A plan. A last effort. Tears, and a sky darkened by the lattice of construction. Death.

The death throes of a world, and silence.

A path through the stars traced in silver, and a destination unknown.

Glittering metal shards resolved into a figure – quite smaller than Brother Sol’s warbody, with three pairs of wide eyes and frilled gills and a hunched posture. A message from the dead.

Though it could not understand, it understood. A last message for those who seek it, a plea for safe harbor and a resting place for the memory of a people. A data packet was offered, a history and wish for the future all in one.

Brother Sol nodded, and with a thought needlecast back to the Logical Conclusions, warbody dissolving in flakes of silver light.

Consensus was requested with the other eight of the Silver Orrery.

Two objected, citing divergence from accepted mission parameters. 

Brother Mars put forth that the frontier was risky, and as an extragalactic exploration vessel they were beholden to stricter contact protocol than most other vessels. It did not object, however – there was almost a giddiness to the statement.

All others agreed.

Consensus was reached after a mere two point six six milliseconds. The course was set.

Brother Sol gazed out upon the hazy patch of light that was Triangulum with the sensors of the great vessel, rising above the spires of the city like a great distant sunrise, and for the first time felt what it was like to smile.

High Calorie Intake (commission)

Six months in space didn’t seem like a particularly long voyage, really.

Once upon a time such a voyage could’ve taken years – a cross-system haul from Mars to the outer Kuiper, delivering heavy equipment and open-vacuum lubricants to a mining installation on Makemake – but new realspace drive tech made it trivial, if… boring.

So, as Cai yawned, reclining on a few of the crates as dockside drones loaded the rest, they were surprised to find someone else was walking over.

“Oh! Hey West,” Cai offered, sitting up a little.

“Hey!” West replied, the demon smirking about… something. Pre-voyage jitters, maybe? “I took the liberty of picking up some replacement rations here in New Paris, something about being “better suited for deep space nutrition”, whatever that means.”

“…Nutrient paste?”

“Nah, real stuff! Well. Tube stuff, but not paste, I think.”

On cue, the demon tugged a small tube of the stuff out of their pocket, offering it. Garishly yellow and white, the tube was around the size of a standard ration – and obnoxiously loud visually, with “Upsize Travel Ration” printed in huge red letters. The flavor was, apparently, “Turkey Dinner.”

Hm.

It…

The bunny’s eyes lit up as they squeezed some into their mouth, wiggling a little in place. It was incredible!

“Good find!” Cai cheerily exclaimed through a mouth full of ration, hopping up and grabbing a box.

“Mind helping me load? And bring those, too – might have to find extra room, for them…”

West and Cai settled in easily enough, and soon the ship was underway. The days passed slowly as the cargo ship crawled out of Martian space into the open system, but Cai began to notice… a problem.

West had been spending much, much more time around them than usual – and, as the bunny realized for the first time their flight suit was beginning to get a bit snug, fluffy tummy peeking out ever so slightly over the waistband.

“Hey, uh,” Cai mentioned to West in the ship’s mess one day, sitting their empty ration tube down. “Where did you get these, again…?”

“Dock quartermaster,” West replied quickly, giving the bunny’s tummy a pat. Or two.

“Which one? I think they might be a bit… uh, bad for me?”

For emphasis, Cai hefted their belly slightly, visibly a bit bigger than ever before. Even Cai’s face was softer, rounder, clearly at the very least well-fed.

“Oh, nonsense. It’s all the intake in zero-g, it’ll burn off when we’re done.” West grinned, walking out of the room… after, naturally, leaving a few more on the counter. For later, of course.

By the third month, the freighter had arrived at Makemake, dropping the supplies off – and embarrassing Cai as they found they didn’t.. quite fit in the usual crawlspaces they’d started the voyage off frequenting, working on engine conduits and power wires. West, helpfully, offered to take on some of the work for them – giving their tummy a rub, off-handedly mentioning they’d already prepped a few rations, why not have some?

Cai had agreed – even a little work had been working up appetites, lately.

Soon enough, they’d outgrown their poor flight suit despite trying to cut back – the rations apparently having been swapped out for even richer, larger-portioned versions! When had West even brought those aboard? What happened to their original journey supplies?

Still, Cai had bigger clothes – backups for the stranger situations they’d encountered in their many voyages across the stars, which… this was beginning to count as.

“West,” Cai asked, squeezing between two of the chairs in the ship’s lounge one evening on the return journey, plopping down on a couch next to West with a quiet groan. “I… think I need to go back to the old rations. Something’s wrong with those.”

“Wrong?” West asked absently, barely looking up from their tablet.

“They’re making me…” Cai prodded their tummy. “Big.”

“Well, yes,” The demon shrugged. “I know.”

“You… know?” The bunny frowned.

“Yes?”

“…You did this on purpose.”

West grinned, sliding down the couch slightly and leaning over to lay on the bunny. “Maybe.”

Grumpy, the bunny stood up, going off to find something to do – and the rest of the trip passed relatively quickly, the freighter eventually returning to Mars in the sixth month, empty and awaiting a hefty payout.

Unfortunately, hefty was the word of choice for Cai, as well – nearly double West’s weight, and twice as wide. As the ship touched down, Cai began to disembark – their tummy wedging itself firmly into the narrow gangway door just as West rounded the corner, flushing a bright red.

The bunny sighed, holding up a paw.

“Next time I get the supplies, okay?”

Grower and a Shower

My half of a trade I did for Avenue!

“The new you is just a few clicks away!”

Avenue was no stranger to banner ads – most of the internet seemed to have a few these days, scattered here and there. The strange thing, though, was somehow this one had managed to make it through his ad blocker. How that was possible, and why it had decided to appear now, he couldn’t quite answer.

…and, worryingly, was simply spread across his desktop, seemingly locking their inputs aside from clicking directly on it, as if funneling his attention directly towards it. He clicked here and there, hoping he could simply minimize it until he found a way to remove whatever malware had delivered the pop-up in the first place, but it stubbornly refused to budge.

Their first instinct was to simply turn the computer off and call someone to diagnose it, but the drawing open behind it hadn’t been saved in what felt like hours, and… losing it simply wasn’t an option. Sighing, Avenue clicked – hoping that opening whatever page it led to might let him close the ad for good.

Oddly, instead of the usual scammy pop-up laden page he expected, it led to nothing. A broken URL, with a “we’re sorry! this page has moved” message scrawled across it, joined by a little “:(“ at the middle of the page. Whoever or whatever it once might have led to was long gone, which… made the adware useless. Funny, in a cynical sort of way.

“Well that’s certainly a way to advertise,” Avenue said flatly, closing the page. Behind it, oddly, was another window – this one advertising a “ceiling strengthening” service, with a stylized stick-dog with a broken roof perched on their head like a hat. “Spend a lot of time counting shingles?” It read in bold, black font. “Sometimes growing pains don’t need to be so painful – Kaiju Roofing is here for you, no matter the height, no matter the problem!”

Avenue rolled his eyes and clicked the “x” there, too, only to be met with a series of “are you sure?” and “last chance!” pop-ups, until, finally, his desktop was clean and clear. He waited a few moments, expecting it to return with a vengeance – but nothing happened. He did feel slightly… tingly, but that could’ve been anything.

Now, drawing time.

He reached for his tablet pen, and realized something strange. It felt… smaller, in his grip – not exactly enough to be noticeable to the eye, but strangely different to hold. Had he just never noticed? How would he not have noticed it when he’d sat down earlier?

Come to think of it, his desk seemed a little smaller too, monitor just that tiny amount further away. Sighing, he leaned over, intent on continuing – only for the sound of ripping fabric to draw his attention away, again.

Slowly, Avenue glanced to his right where the sound had come from… and saw his white fluffy fur peeking through a long tear down his sleeve, surprisingly buff arm seemingly flexing right through it in a show of strength.

“Um.”

He felt it, now. A surge, building in his paws and barreling upwards with all the force of an earthquake – and, doubling over, Avenue began to swell. His midsection thickened, muscles he’d forgotten he even had thickening up with the physique he’d wished for so long to have – but that wasn’t all. Panting, the wolf realized that everything seemed further away, again.

Except the ceiling, of course. That was closer.

“M-Mmf… not again,” He whined, clothes barely hanging on as another surge swept through him. Somehow, despite the drastic size increase, Avenue’s underwear managed to hold on – even if knocking over the keyboard and mouse and sending his tablet flying was part of the deal.

He swelled larger, bracing a meaty paw against the ceiling, but the changes showed no sign of stopping, shirt finally giving out with a colossal RRRIP and falling to the floor in tatters, pajamas following suit as he quite literally flexed his way right through them. It was almost intoxicating being this strong and enormous, and despite his best efforts to rein it in he was wagging, tail sweeping wind across the increasingly small room like the rotor of a helicopter. It wasn’t that he was enjoying it, exactly, perhaps, but he was… enjoying it, quite a lot. The sensation of being so sensitive, the new strength flowing into his muscles with the force of a river, it was invigorating in a way he couldn’t quite describe. It was perfect!

Still taller he grew, starting to hunch against the ceiling of his room more and more with each swelling surge – until, accidentally, he crushed his bookshelf by trying to grab it to steady himself. Well. At least it’ll end soon?

Unfortunately, as the next surge proved, ceilings were not built for half-dragon wolves, no matter how sorry and apologetic he was about growing right through it. With his cheeks a rosy pink, Avenue tried to hunch back down – finding their enormous knees and thighs could barely even fit now that their pecs and biceps were so huge, making even attempting it difficult.

Still larger he grew, shingles and roofing falling from his impossibly fit frame, until, with a crash, his bulge went somewhere. It felt cold? Cold, and slightly wet, like morning… grass?

Glancing down, Avenue realized with (embarrassing) satisfaction it had literally broken straight through the wall, collapsing the computer desk and sticking straight out into the neighbor’s garden.

“S-Sorry, agh…!” The wolf managed, steaming in the cool morning air as the small figure of their neighbor peeked out in alarm – and shut the door as soon as they’d seen what happened, intent on leaving this behind until coffee was finished.

With a loud crash, the house gave up – and Avenue was left sitting in a pile of rubble and shingles, nearly thirty feet tall and nearly as wide – just in time for their computer, somewhere in the pile, to confirm their free trial. Thoughtful.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, the swelling stopped, the tension in their growing muscles fading away to be replaced with something worryingly like satisfaction, a desire for more of their neighbors to see what has happened. A dragon’s pride, maybe?

“P-Phew,” Avenue sighed, wiping their brow and leaning back a little. “A lot to fix, but…”

There was a snap, and, without warning, their waistband fell loose.

With a titanic crash, their poor neighbor’s fence was ruined.

“Ah. Oh dear.”

MUNDANITY

Six months had passed since the Carrigan Incident – and life, as it so often does, had returned to what approached normalcy. It had taken Kye months to recover from their experience – their doctors had said it was a miracle they’d survived it at all.

As it was, their tie to their magic seemed deeper, stronger, a phenomenon they simply couldn’t explain. 

New Holland, devastated in the Restoration, had received assistance from across the Eventide League. While the Kingdom’s coffers were deep, some materials simply weren’t available on-world, and with the expulsion of the Ibrea after their plans had fallen apart, the Olesians felt they owed Carrigan some amount of repayment.

So, as the city skyline once more began to climb into the sky, Kye Celan, the Lost Prince of Carrigan, was lost no longer.

Yet, Kye felt… restless. Their stargazing resumed.

The halls felt empty. Petitioners and courtesans, traders and politicians – transient, in the scheme of things. Their portrait was hung in the ancestral gallery, the latest in a line going back millennia, but it wasn’t really them. Their gaze always lingered on Hallek.

Sometimes they still saw blood on the tiles of the throne room. Still heard the sounds of pitched battle in the halls.

Still heard the whispers of the Darksea, and felt the raw horror of the crystal sun.

The Rime Nova had been consumed by Cursa – a weapon from the ancient past obliterated wholly and utterly. Even still, it had left a mark upon the Eventide League – a mark discussed endlessly in tired debates and trite arguments, even as Kye tried – and failed – to appear interested. Hesse was as it always was, an exercise in futility. 

Perhaps they weren’t quite made for this life, after all.

Their proper coronation had been scheduled, rescheduled, and pushed off into the future; a problem Kye didn’t quite see as a problem. They were the Prince, the last in their line – it wasn’t as if any other options were feasible. A regent, perhaps.

…or a steward.

Their dreams were filled with adventure – their time among the stars, seeing new worlds and new places. Carrigan felt hollow without the reassuring presence of their father’s court and the driving forces leading them home. 

They wanted to see the galaxy again on their terms.

So it was, one cold night, that Kye penned a letter. Addressed to the Red Council, an unheard of request – but one they could simply ignore no longer, as they marked the letter with their own seal and handed it off to a palace messenger. A regency, instated by a Prince who wasn’t quite sure the world needed one.

Despite his faults, the Director had offloaded many duties onto the Red Council in exchange for their complacency – and the planetary constitution was quite clear on what the Kingdom could do without one, anyway.

Perhaps their father was right. Time away might do them good.

Gone were their robes – they wore but a tunic, breeches and a cowl against the night chill, drifting through the rebuilding city like a ghost.

Gone was the prestige of recognition – they’d tied their hair back to fit beneath the cowl, carefully plucking all the flowers but one.

Gone was the Prince as they purchased a ticket off of Carrigan, they simply traveled as Kye.

As the ship lifted away into the sky, they watched the Autumn House retreat behind the midnight sky – and smiled.

Gone, for now, but not forgotten.

RUBICON

// endgame

The Restoration was finalized at Tanager. Groups from across the Eventide League, from mercenaries offered contracts to vengeful Olesians to the scattered remnants of the Red Council and Carriganite exiles, many had a vested interest in the fall of Director Jayne Illor – but none more than Kye.

Kye fought for their throne, for their homeworld, and for their fathers, struck down by a tyrant’s ambition and a despot’s desires.

So it was, drifting in the cerulean clouds of the Iris Nebula, that Ulyn sat down with the Prince.

“Our forces are ready to depart as soon as you give the order,” Ulyn said off-handedly, gazing out into the dark.

“I hope I have not doomed us all.” Kye said quietly.

“It is the Director who has attempted to.” Ulyn said, frowning. “On Olesia, I received… disturbing data from an old colleague. Jayne Illor has in his possession a weapon predating the Collaborate, and has likely already tested it multiple times. The Ibrea referred to it as Sunshard, but that’s… likely not what it is called. A stellar deprivation weapon.”

“The crystal suns.” Kye muttered.

“We must assume he will attempt to use it at Carrigan.” Ulyn said sharply, standing. “Which is why we must strike before he has prepared.”

Kye nodded, staring out the vessels drifting in the void beyond the window.

“Give the order, Ulyn. May the future smile upon today.”

Ulyn nodded, and left the room – leaving Kye to their thoughts as the drive began to spin up.

No plan, as it is said, survived contact with the enemy.

Throughout the long thread of history, well-laid plans have met knots – and, as Kye’s armored bulk touched the shattered flagstones of the Autumn House courtyard, this plan seemed to have met an unexpected knot all its own.

Clearly, their actions across the Eventide League had drawn the Director’s attention – mercenaries littered the grounds as the Reforged Guard opened fire, their own weapon kicking against their grip as they shouldered it.

“Lord Celan, please stay down!” One of the guards shouted, planting a solid maglocked palm against their shoulder plate and extending their own shield across it. 

“I shall not allow my guard to take my home back for me!” The Prince shouted back, a grin in their voice. 

Already, two other landing craft had touched down – spilling forth Carriganite rebels and four members of the Easy Blues, power-armored bulk and warform synthframe bodies singing against the sound of battle. As the unprepared mercenaries shifted their aim, trying to keep the push away from the palisade, the Prince saw their chance.

Kye, throwing their rifle aside, drew their blade – and shouted something lost to the cacophony, raising it high over their head. The archaeotech shortsword hummed and pulsed, ancient circuitry glowing a brilliant gold, before igniting a soft yellow.

With a cry of “Retake the House! Leave none standing!”, they charged forward, their guard in their wake.

The push shattered their lines, sending the mercenaries who survived the onslaught reeling as they began to be pushed back into the Autumn House proper – leaving the ancient hallways of baroque opulence marred by battle for the first time in millennia, at the very least.

Kye did not care – this was their birthright, their legacy – they would take it back for their father’s memory, if nothing else. To rule a palace of ash was still to rule, if a tyrant’s head adorned it.

Beyond the palace walls the city itself was embroiled in the conflict – the Carriganite Rebellion was fully awoken, spurred into action by the declaration of the Red Council that the heir had returned, and that the Count Illor was to be removed. Jayne Illor’s guards had attempted to silence the Council, but were met by Ulyn Variss and the House Guard who’d survived. Clearly he was ahead of schedule.

“Lord Celan,” crackled a voice in their helmet as a slash from their blade bisected a House Illor guard, sending his two halves to the floor in a spray of augmetic synthblood.

“Speak,” Kye grunted, slashing the steaming blade through the air to clear it. 

“Commander Variss has touched down on the palatial grounds,” The voice said calmly, finally appearing in the top right of their vision. A number of infomorph posthumans had joined the cause, wreaking havoc among the planetary networks to prevent quick responses to the assault.

“Link him in.”

“Already done.”

“Ulyn?”

“A moment,” came the reply, muted by gunfire. Ahead, one of the Reforged Guard unleashed their magic – the air itself rippled from the heat, a hapless guard igniting like so much kindling.

“I take it the courtyard fell?” Ulyn asked a moment later.

“Easily enough. It seems the Director has pulled his heaviest forces back.”

“Indeed. We’re encountering heavy resistance trying to push to the White Gallery, as well.”

Kye frowned, jogging forward as the fighting moved on – the throne room wasn’t particularly far, but the palace had designed to be defensible. Hopefully the two fronts would make this easier.

“Have some of your men watch the pads. I don’t want that snake slipping by us.”

“Aye,” Ulyn agreed, and cut the channel.

Kye charged ahead, meeting one of the rival guards mid-stride in an attempt to knock it off its feet, only to be met by a charging synthframe-clad guard from the side, both enormous arms raised in an attempt to crush them here and there. Kye managed to bring their blade up in time, but only just.

The blade hissed in protest against the bare metal of the synthframe, even as Kye pulled from the Darksea in spades to will the blade hotter, brighter, but the warform was simply too strong for conventional methods.

With a cry, the holding action failed, sending the Prince sprawling as the warform bellowed a digital war cry, knocking a pair of guards who stepped in to shield them out of the way with contemptuous ease. It began to increase in speed, clearly hoping to simply flatten the reclaimer – but was caught from the side by a flash of gold, sending it off-course and smashing through the wall into an adjoining gallery.

One of the heavy-framed Easy Blues vaulted the low remains of the wall, exomatter gauntlet reconfiguring around their forearm, before sending another shower of golden annihilation raining onto the frame as it bellowed another atonal cry. 

The particles left pitted scars across the synthframe’s body as their negative mass annihilated against normal matter, even as it charged again – meeting the mercenary hand to hand in a shower of sparks and visual distortions.

“Ahead!” The mercenary shouted with a laugh, gauntlet glowing blue-white against their armor as they met blow after blow with a counter. “Onwards!”

Nodding, Kye rushed up the stairs as another titanic blow shook the crumbling wall loose, sealing the fight away.

Glass shattered as Kye entered the royal gallery, a pitched running firefight engulfing the length of the room – some of their own forces had come through the ceiling from another landing craft, catching reinforcing guards by surprise. Unfortunately, they’d been able to recover, and as Kye crossed the outer circuit they were forced to take a few potshots simply to be able to pass. Their comms were alive with shouts and cries, even as the Reforged Guard began to regroup and push into the throne room proper, fighting their way through the ancient halls and past the great Carrigan steelwood doors.

Callister Rhose, steward to the Count Illor and Spymaster of the Carrigan Directorate, attempted to bar the doors – his own weapons singing as he cut through a pair of guards before falling.

Kye slammed into the vast chamber, eyes darting across the vast chamber for any signs of Jayne Illor, and found none.

The room had been more or less stripped bare, their house crest long destroyed and removed – but, as they watched, the throne flickered.

Holite sparks twinkled and flickered in the shimmering air, resolving into the figure of a reclining man – sharp, hawkish features somewhat older than the last time they’d laid eyes on him – and, worryingly, smug.

“Ah! The Lost Prince, I had so wondered when your presence would grace these halls once more.” Jayne Illor crowed, smiling.

“It’s over.” Kye said flatly, blade at the ready.

“A bold declaration, but is it?” 

“The transmission is being bounced,” one of the infomorphs whispered in their ear. “Tracing it. Keep him talking for a few moments more.”

“Where have you fled, traitor?” Kye shouted, pointing the blade accusingly. “Show yourself and surrender and I may show leniency!”

“I’m afraid I’m quite beyond your grasp,” Jayne Illor sneered, steepling his fingers. “You may have your petty kingdom, Prince Celan. I shall have the day.

“What are you saying, you bastard?”

“Ah! The Ibrea have granted me a device that shall shape the League in my image, of course. I believe you’ve seen its handiwork?”

Kye’s blood ran cold. Banne.

“A remarkable piece of pre-Collaborate technology, wondrous. They called it the Rime Nova, a weapon to turn stars to ice.

The Prince took a step closer, starting to reply – but the voice returned, whispering in their ear. “Carrigan low orbit and rising. Two of our vessels have been tasked to intercept, but something… something dropped in beneath the orbital plane.”

“Something?” Kye asked aloud, drawing a grin from the holite figure.

“I believe this is where our stories part,” Jayne Illor smiled, leaning back. “Goodbye, Little Prince. I shall pluck Cursa from the sky as a frigid pearl and leave your world to die.”

With that, the hologram dissolved.

Static washed across the comm, until, with urgency the Prince was unfamiliar hearing, Ulyn broke through.

“…unshard! It’s the weapon!”

Kye turned to their guards, and nodded. Both split away to finish the retaking of the Autumn House, leaving Kye alone before the empty throne.

How hollow it felt, now.

They tapped their ear, gazing through the glass ceiling at the darkening sky. Unnatural lightning flickered through the clouds as the vessel rose away. Debris rained down from on high, flaring as it burned up over the horizon.

“Rembrandt-”

“Already touching down at the northern pad. Hurry.”

Sprinting as fast as their armor would allow, they rushed through the devastated halls of the Autumn House into the cold night air of Carrigan, intimately familiar with each passing second. The Farsight was ready to leave as soon as their feet had passed the threshold, rising into the night.

“Catch that ship!” They shouted into their comm as the deck shuddered beneath the thrust of realspace engines spinning up, slicing upwards through the sky as a silver ribbon.

Ahead, the Rime Nova loomed – a black stain on the orange backdrop of space, crawling inexorably towards Carrigan’s star.

The battle around Carrigan was intense – the Ibrea had clearly fallen back to harass pursuit, blossoms of fire and shattered ships settling into a rough ring around the planet as the Farsight slipped through. The vessel itself was much too large to successfully get close to the defended weapon – but a plan had already formed in their mind, one they’d shared to much uproar.

“You surely can’t be expecting us to let you go alone?!” Ulyn was shouting over the comm, tied up planetside.

“I have no choice!” Kye shouted back, already locking spare magazines and their blade to the magnetic locks on their armor and checking the seals. “The ship can be boarded from other points, but I will not lose my Guard this way. Find your own ways in.”

There was silence on the comm.

The Farsight hurtled closer, realspace drives screaming as they redlined – and, as Kye watched the black expanse of the weapon fly beneath, they took a deep breath.

The red lights of the deployment airlock turned green, and with a fist, they hit the button.

The pressurized environment of the airlock exploded forwards, sucking the Prince into the vacuum of space. For a single terrifying moment they tumbled head over heels, the stars and the shrinking starship spinning away, before they managed to find their thruster controls and right themself. Fighting off nausea and adrenaline tremors, the posthuman rocketed forward, their combat armor rated for merely fifteen minutes in hard vacuum. 

Finding an airlock was easy – but they were all welded shut. Even their blade couldn’t make a dent, cooling too quickly in the void of space – until, out of sheer frustration and rage, Kye poured every ounce of energy they could into the plate – liquifying the hull like candle wax, and yanking the cooling material aside in a shower of sparks and steel.

Steeling themself, the Prince slipped inside – and sealed the airlock behind them, the rush of escaping air slowing to a trickle as the alarms sounded.

“I’m sure they noticed my entrance,” Kye muttered, reading their blade – picking a direction, and rushing onwards. Over the comm, they were notified that a few others had made it aboard the Rime Nova as it passed beyond the range of the Restoration. Already, pockets of fighting had broken out – some of which were members of Illor’s own retinue from Carrigan who’d learned of the Director’s goals.

The vessel was enormous, utilizing a tram system for movement between the decks. Kye had managed to board one of the trams, moving forward despite heavy resistance; until, with a lurching stop, the power was cut.

Bullets began to smash against the sides of the tram, exotic conduits casting the station it had stopped within in harsh violet – and, with an explosion of glass, Kye leapt outwards.

Their armor protested as bullets slammed into the kinetic shields, even as the Prince dealt with the first two guards in rapid succession. The third, however, managed to loose a round through their calf plate before the white-gold blade bisected him.

Kye collapsed to the deck, blood spurting from the wound – and tugged their helmet free, screaming in anguish.

Already, the armor had begun to inject heavy painkillers and coagulants, nanorepair systems attempting to repair the artery – but their vision swam, darkening at the edges.

To be so close, their thoughts swam – before, struggling to stay awake despite their heavy eyelids, Kye gave in.

Elsewhere, the four-person infiltration team that had followed the Prince in had broken free of their holding action – intending to shatter the bridge defenses before they arrived. They’d been notified when their vitals had yellow-lined, but their mission came first. None of them were Carriganites, and held a higher loyalty to the Eventide League itself – the weapon had to be stopped first and foremost.

The narrow halls of the hull had opened into vast tunnels, clearly meant for vehicular transit within the vessel – lines with power conduits the size of trees, carrying the vast amounts of energy from the Infraspace Drain Arrays to the weapon systems at the bow. The leader of the infiltration team held up a palm, before gesturing with two fingers, and smashing a fist into their open palm.

The second member of the team nodded, their spider-like frame leaping upwards into the dark to set demolition charges.

The other three continued on. All four were synths – forged for asymmetric warfare, and designed for ship-to-ship sabotage. 

A quartet of guards fell to nanoflechettes and exotic matter annihilation, clearing up their pathway to the forward transit nexus – and, as the tram pulled away, the station it had just left was destroyed.

Kye, groggy, sat up.

A gun was tucked neatly under their chin, the cold metal sending a shock through their system.

“Good morning, Little Prince.” The holder said coldly, staring. They were enormous, obsidian-black and berobed. The only visible part of their body beneath were the glowing red oculi, clicking and whirring as their focus changed.

The room behind came into focus – a vast, open space, a wrap-around bridge window showing the growing expanse of Carrigan’s sun. The bridge.

“I take it our guest has awoken, Karteh?”

Kye tensed. Bastard.

“They have.”

“It takes a certain amount of bravery to board a vessel, Lord Celan. For this, I applaud you. Truly! And to have nearly made it to me, through three dozen guards? Most impressive.”

Hazily, Kye noticed their armor had been stripped away – and their blade was missing.

“I’m afraid your mission is over.”

The Director frowned as his earpiece hummed. His frown deepened as something was said. 

The lights overhead flickered.

“Persistent. No matter. Once the weapon has fired, their wills shall shatter.”

“Sir,” One of the bridge staff said cautiously. “Cursa is within firing distance.”

Jayne Illor began to speak, but Karteh spoke first.

“Charge the subspace manifold system. Begin draining.”

The officer nodded, beginning to work on his console – and the ominous hum, omnipresent since Kye had come aboard, began to grow louder.

Space around the Rime Nova began to distort and crack, a roiling, ebon black effervescence boiling from the ship. The Farsight, engaged with an Ibrean cruiser, was in no position to assist – and the fleet around Carrigan was simply too far away.

“Ancillary systems are waking. The weapon has begun to charge.”

The Director scowled. “Boost their yield. I want it charged as quickly as possible.” 

His earpiece chimed again.

There was a commotion in the hallway, guards shouting orders.

A thud.

Nothing.

Jayne Illor turned to Karteh, and tilted his head towards the door. The light outside began to darken.

The man’s robes began to shift, four spindly metallic blade arms extending from within it – and he took a heavy step towards the door, intent on meeting whomever had decided to so rudely interrupt.

The ceiling blew open, shrapnel and sparks showering anything not armored or shielded. Kye shouted in pain as their cheek was cut, managing to fall out of the way of a larger chunk.

The heavily armored bulk of a multiframe fell through the hole, landing on an ensign with a sickening crunch of shattered bone and pulverized flesh – and it stood a moment later, dripping in the silence.

Karteh was moving in the instant the sound had reached him, blades a whir of silver – but the frame was too heavy, magnetic repulsors lifting it from the deck as it hovered backwards out of reach. 

Using the distraction to their advantage, Kye reached for a guard’s scabbard – drawing the force rapier from it in one smooth movement, and attempting to stand. Electric fire shot through their right leg from the wound, but they forced the pain down, hot blood flowing through their fur.

They sprang forward on their good leg, catching a guard with the blade – and the third infiltrator frame dropped through the hole, spindly arms a blur.

The multiframe was soundly losing to Karteh, his blades simply faster than the combined body could keep up with – and as he landed a heavy blow, it split. The two units that made it up, now fighting on equal footing, began to pick at his defenses – clearly not intending to kill him, but certainly keeping him occupied.

The third frame crouched near Kye, faceless steel plate regarding them.

“Designate CELAN. You are injured.”

“I’m aware.” 

“Brace.”

With lightning fast speed and unerring accuracy, a medical hypo was jammed directly into their leg – causing them to scream in pain, which quickly subsided. Already, it began to ache less – something which only worsened their tunnel vision on the man panicking on the command dais as his exit was blocked.

Space beyond the bridge was darker yet, the golden expanse of the star now a pale yellow.

“We have to stop the charge sequence!” Kye told the infiltrator, who nodded.

“Conduit 6B.” It said simply – and the deck rocked.

The lights on the bridge flickered again, before cutting to harsh red – and the polarity on the forward windows cut completely, harsh direct sunlight spilling in.

The vessel began to list, gravity worsening – and the two frames struck a vital blow as Karteh lost his footing, red vitality spinning away in low gravity. He certainly wasn’t down, though, retaining his bearings and renewing his assault.

The frame regarded Kye. “Tertiary operational status has been reclassified as expended. Vessel is adrift.”

The Prince wasn’t quite sure what that meant. “Thank you.”

Immediate concern closed, their attention turned to the man stalking their way – a familiar golden blade clutched in their shaking hands, fury coloring their face in the harsh red light.

“I’ll handle this.” They said simply, waving the synthframe away.

“I was this close.” Jayne Illor said quietly, rage seeping through. “This. CLOSE. YOUR WORLD IN MY PALM. Bleeding. A stepping stone for this whole-damned League!”

The slash came so suddenly Kye barely had time to react – their blade meeting the Carriganite blade with a resounding clash of steel, and then shattering – the force behind the Director’s blow utterly rending the rapier. 

Kye threw themself backwards just in time for it to sail through their underclothes, turning the pale white shirt into so many ribbons.

Blood dripped to the floor.

“I’ll have your life for this, you vermin.” Director Illor hissed.

One of the frames fell to Karteh, who shattered it utterly – scattering its remains across the bridge. The remaining frame of the duo paused for only an instant, before doubling it’s efforts.

Kye, despair beginning to creep in as even their protector was pulled away by an attempted attack on the Prince by a pair of guards, began to pull on the Darksea once more – but whatever the ship had done to charge had weakened the veil.

The usual cool, honey-thick creep of magic felt… wrong. Slimy.

It coiled around their soul like tar, dripping and flowing towards their fingers like a landslide – even as their hands began to shake, their eyes rolling back, they couldn’t stop what was coming. It was as if they were trying to dam the ocean, even small cracks were too huge to handle.

The Director drew the blade back, intent on severing the head of the Lost Prince – and was suddenly cast in white, searing light.

Pure energy leapt from the Prince to the Director’s body, setting Kye’s fur alight – and drowning out the screams of agony from both, flowing through the posthuman like a living capacitor. Whatever limiting factors prevented mages from pulling on the Darksea had been removed by the draining effect of the Rime Nova, and both paid a terrible, terrible price.

As suddenly as it had started, it was over.

Kye, arms burned black and charred, collapsed to the deck, their eyes a brilliant white and smoking.

Jayne Illor, Count of Olesia and Director of Carrigan, Kingmaker and traitor, was ash scattered to the stars.

The Carriganite blade, resonant to the Tides, glowed a brilliant orange as it hissed and sputtered against the red-hot deck.

The Rime Nova shuddered as another explosion rocked the vast vessel, superstructure groaning under increased gravitic pressure. The bridge crew had fled when the fight started. None would survive this. Karteh lay bleeding, prone beneath the remaining drone.

It had begun to fall into the star.

“Primary.” The remaining multiframe infiltrator said, urgency creeping into its voice. “Recovery limit is approximately four minutes thirty six seconds distant. Recommend breach.”

The tall, spindly unit regarded the smoking body on the floor. An expense of energy like that likely killed it. 

The decision took a microsecond.

Clasping a rebreather over the posthuman’s face and making sure the helmet enclosed the ears, its mind was made up.

Striding to the vast exoglass window, the synth curled its fingers into a fist. The first punch sent cracks a few inches.

The second sent cracks six feet.

The third began to whistle, atmosphere rushing through the gaps.

“Brace.” It said, glancing at the second frame and down at the still form of the Prince.

The last punch shattered the window, sucking the corpses and the screaming form of Karteh of Lusa into the open void – and, with almost passive disinterest, the two synthframes disengaged their magnetic soles.

“Package recovered.” Primary announced over an open comm, receiving a handshake in return.

It looked to Secondary, intending to tight-beam directional thrust orders, but the second synthframe had been shattered by stray debris.

No matter. 

Checking the Prince for signs of decompression and finding none, the synth marked its mission as complete as the star grew brighter, their path a wide orbit.

Kye awoke to birdsong and wind.

Slowly, carefully, they cracked an eye open – searing sunlight making them blink. They were laying on soft grass – they could feel it against their fur, green with the sweet smell of summer heavy on the breeze. Tree leaves overhead dappled the light in a way they’d never seen, before. 

Slowly, they sat up. They were in a forest by a small stream – and, as they looked around, beat up as they were, they saw a familiar face, dipping a hand into the water.

“…F-Father?”

The figure looked up, and smiled.

“Kye.”

Right there, that very moment, they began to cry – blood seeping from their damaged tear ducts and running red rivulets down their cheeks, staining the fur.

“I- I thi… I think I’ve avenged you,” Kye finally managed to sputter, the weight of the last few years feeling like a lifetime.

“You have.” Hallek said quietly, crouching next to the crying prince.

“Was it worth it?” He asked after a moment. 

“No.” Kye said, very small. 

“That was the lesson I was never able to teach.” Hallek said, giving the smaller rabbit a slight squeeze. “Sometimes no matter what we do, we lose. There’s no happy ending. There’s no curtain call and we’re not played off. It just… ends. There’s finality to it. That, is how life’s greatest adventures usually close.”

Kye, realizing what was being said, stayed silent.

“It is, as Rhys would call it, “filler.”, The elder posthuman chuckled, staring up at the blue sky.

“Am… am I dead?” Kye managed after a few moments of silence.

“No. At least, not yet, I suppose.” Hallek shrugged. “You certainly came close. But not today.”

Kye, having so many questions to ask – so much advice they needed – started, but Hallek raised a hand. “All will come to you in time, Kye. Trust me. It did to me, and my father, and his father before him. You will do fine, and when the time comes the path you choose is yours, and yours alone. Remember that.”

He took the prince’s hand in his, and placed his other over it.

“Remember me. I have one last thing to ask you.”

Hallek smiled.

“I just need you to promise me you’ll wake up.”

Kye’s world shattered. They squeezed their eyes shut, wanting for all the stars in the sky to stay right there forever, but…

“-aking up! Get the surgeon!”

Kye opened their eyes, to little more than hazy gray shapes. The smell of medical supplies and ionized air stung at their nose, mixed with the stench of burned fur and seared skin. 

A figure leaned over them, darkening the scene – before, after a warning of brightness, the bandages were carefully removed.

It was a large and open hospital room – packed with equipment and with an open window, a bright winter’s day shining in from outside.

“Welcome back to the land of the living, my Lord,” The doctor said after a moment, taking the smallest of bows.

“Please,” Kye croaked, their throat parched. 

“Call me Kye.”

RIMELIGHT

//ice

The bridge of the Farsight was largely empty apart from two figures, staring out at the stars.

Rembrandt, the pilot, glanced up. “Something on your mind? You look like you’re about to cry.”

“I’m… nervous.” Kye said, after a moment.

“Why?”

“Olesia is his homeworld, Kye. He has ties running back there decades before you were even born. He’ll be fine.”

The Prince sighed, running a palm through their hair, before nodding, once. The Farsight was currently cruising on sublight until it was far enough from Olesia to jump – which, due to the world’s lower mass than Carrigan, wasn’t very far at all.

As the ship’s pilot, Rembrandt got a more intimate view of the Prince than the guards did – and right now, they were terrified. Ulyn Variss was practically the thing holding their world together after the Exile, but he was a tough bastard – he’d be fine.

“So where are we headed next?” Kye suddenly asked, changing the topic.

“The wake we captured in the Heart was a directional one,” Rembrandt began, swiping their screen upwards so the contents resolved in midair from the mesh. A star map, highlighted with an estimated path based on systems in the direction the wake faced.

“Three systems of interest within a 90% margin, one of which could be marked off immediately as being openly hostile to the Directorate – that’s Avan, by the way, we’re not welcome there either – so that leaves… these two. Gyra, and Banne.”

Kye thought back to what they knew of the Eventide League. Gyra they knew nearly nothing of, but Banne was a name they recognized. 

“That’s the breadbasket, right? My father preferred Banne imports to all others in the League.”

“Bingo. Gyra’s a backwater industrial system, but Banne is a vital food production center… and a tempting target.”

They shared a glance.

“Get us underway as soon as you’re clear,” The Prince affirmed, hoping the sinking feeling in their stomach wasn’t a portent. “I want to be there as soon as possible.”

“Aye, Captain. Spinning up the drive.”

The journey of sixty lightyears took nearly a day and a half, but soon enough Kye was once more on the bridge of the Farsight, peering out into the pale nothing that was the Tides.

“Transition in five… four… three…”

The crew braced as the ship shuddered – and the void parted. A moon filled their view, airless and dead.

“… Rembrandt, this isn’t Banne.”

“…There’s no way we drifted that far,” The pilot began, checking their instruments – and shouting in alarm as multiple contacts began to fill in on the sensor map. A veritable fleet was on the far side of the world, escorting… something.

Killing the active systems and keeping the bare minimums alive, the Farsight began to drift – the quiet ambience of the ship the only sound as the strange vessels prowled about in the far distance.

“Can we get closer to Banne with maneuvering thrust? I want to see what’s going on down there.” Kye asked, eyes on the screen.

“Plotting a course now. Shouldn’t take too long.”

The ship shuddered as the control thrusters began to fire, shifting their ragged orbit into one carrying the vessel across the far side of the moon.

The sun rose as the vessel drifted, and instantly Kye’s stomach dropped. Where warm sunlight once shone, cold, sterile light remained. They didn’t need to get closer to know what had happened.

The vessel’s orbit took it closer. The strange ships were leaving, now – jumping away, their job complete. Banne rose in the forward observation window, and the crew collectively gasped.

Gone was the world of verdant greens and blue seas. Where once crop fields and agricultural arcologies coated the world from pole to pole, now only barren ice remained – feet of water vapor and particulates, an atmosphere flash-frozen. Cities preserved as if in amber.

A world, dead.

“This…” Kye began, but found they couldn’t quite manage the words. The rings in the Heart had been horrific, but there’d been no hard numbers, no expedition. Banne was a world of billions.

“Captain, huge signature. It’s making for the jump line.”

Kye found their composure. “Show me.”

It was… monstrous.

Kilometers long, the dark shape glided across the void away from the frozen sun, black effervescence still leaking from it like ichor from a wound. Reality recoiled from it, as if spacetime itself had been wounded by the use.

With the flash of a transit, the behemoth was gone – and the system’s map was empty.

“Give me readings on that… thing. On Banne. The star. I want every piece of information you can find me, and I want it now.

The bridge crew sprung into action as Kye crossed the room, placing a palm against the window. An expanse of ice stretched to the sloping curve of the planet’s horizon. How many had seen it coming? Had the star’s death been instant?

“…I’m getting a signal?”

Kye blinked.

“From the ship?”

“From the surface. Weak, but it’s there.”

The planet loomed below, silent.

“Patch it through.”

“Aye, Captain. Audio only.”

“—k, sta– your —nce!” The broadcast was choppy and awash with static. Clearly the antenna array it was traveling through had issues.

Kye glanced over, receiving only a shrug from the comms officer. The officer tapped a few things, before nodding.

“This is the League vessel Farsight, responding to your broadcast. Are you in need of assistance?”

The reply was static.

“I am going down there.” The Prince said simply, more command than query. 

“You cannot be serious. What if it’s a trap?”

“A trap left behind on a dead world when the ships could have done the work easier in half the time?”

“…I’ll admit, that is a fair point.”

Kye offered little else, turning and heading off.

Banne was… dead.

A wasteland of frigid ice and bare ruin stretched in every direction as the pinnace set down. Joined by a trio of guards, Kye ventured forth into the flash-frozen landscape, their suit helpfully notifying them the surface temperature was nearly absolute zero.

“Comms quiet,” one of the guards muttered, flipping through the bands. “Just the beacon signal. About four hundred meters that way, and down.”

He pointed, singling out a shelter half-buried in ice. It looked surprisingly airtight, a blessing.

“I want that airlock open.” Kye said suddenly. “Get whoever is in there aboard the pinnace, I don’t care how.

It turned out, as contact was established, to be a small gathering of colonial militia and civilians – around a hundred strong, survivors of the cataclysmic event that had struck Banne. Luckily, they possessed a number of exposure suits – and soon enough the first loads of rescues were being ferried into orbit.

Kye, though, had a different interest.

“Tell me of the ship,” They were saying, speaking to the captain of the guard, Anton Hull. “Did they land here? Who were they?”

“I know little of their actions, Lord Celan,” The guard sighed, salt and pepper hair falling over his face. “I was simply warned by the orbital command office that strange vessels had slipped in beneath the command and control altitude and began destroying communication satellites. Next thing we knew that behemoth had hit Banne, and there was little we could do but grab who we could.”

“Did you see it fire? What happened?”

“It blackened the sky. It was hard to… to observe. Difficult to explain.”

“Please attempt to do so, for our sake. We intend to stop it.”

“Stop it? Are you mad?”

“Quite. But that’s beside the point.”

The guard sighed. “It reminded me of a transition point, only… larger. If I’d have to wager, it’s pulling on the Tides – but I’m no scientist, and my opinion’s as good as dust, there.”

Kye nodded, as if placated. “I see. Thank you for the information, and I personally assure you your people will be welcomed aboard my vessel.”

With that, they bowed, and turned away.

Their thoughts were whirling. A weapon that drew upon the Tides for energy? The star’s readings had more or less revealed it was a resonance weapon of some description, and now they had the source of the energy used – but… how? A relic from the Collaborate? Older?

Who were the mysterious escorts? 

The thoughts followed them back to their ship, and further still – even as the Reforged Guard scattered across the Eventide League, seeking repaid favors and interested parties, Kye sat in their study, watching the stars.

They felt as if they had half of the puzzle – this was clearly tied to the Director, somehow. But how?

It stayed with them into the night, just out of reach.

ESCAPE (commission)

a commission for radiocabel!

“I’ll have his head for this.”

“Yeah, yeah. Move along your highness, you’re not special in the Icebox. Nobody is.”

Roughly, the guards shoved them further along the ice-crusted gangway – giving Kye their last glimpses of the world beyond iron walls. 

Hyelon was a prison moon of the Compact – a relic of cycles past, marred by ancient ash and frigid skies. It was where the worst of the worst from across Compact space were kept, and… due to being in the wrong place at the wrong time, political prisoners as well. The prison was constructed into the side of a crevasse, sheltered from the bone-stripping frigid winds that blew across most of the exposed surface above. Temperatures outside of the climate controlled complex hovered just around -90C – a perfect barrier to escapes.

The rabbit was hustled through the depths of the prison, regal demeanour replaced with something more closely approaching a coiled viper. Every guard they saw, complicit in the schemes of the Compact, was as good as dead – but all that was forgotten when a familiar face glared back at the them from the bars of their new home.

“Well, well. It seems my aim faltered.”

“As did mine, you misbegotten bastard. I should have killed you when I had the chance.”

“That’s certainly no way to speak to your cellmate,” Maddie purred as the guards slid away, watching them go.

“I do not intent to stay for very long.”

“Perhaps this is one matter we can agree on.” Maddie frowned. “I trust you’ve not become a legendary raider of the Spur in the year we’ve been apart, Lord Celan? Surely you’re here for a visit.

“I am not sharing my business with a traitor.”

“We have naught but time, as I’m sure you’re well aware. While not an olive branch, I simply wish to ensure I’m not pondering escaping a prison with a criminal.”

The glare the Prince gave could have frozen stars.

“I shall take that as a “perhaps”, then.”

“An assassin helping their quarry escape sounds rather far fetched, does it not?”

Maddie sighed. “You are no longer my quarry. My failure to produce you led to… complications. And if you would listen for a moment, I would be happy to explain?”

While still visibly furious, the rabbit took a seat – what little of one there was in the bare monocrete cell. 

“While I personally would have enjoyed seeing the light bleed from your eyes, I no longer have… incentive, to do so. At least, for the moment. I’m to understand you’ve escaped prisons in the past?”

Kye frowned. “Perhaps, but not with assassins. Where are you going with this?”

“I’ve been here for nearly six months, and the schedule is regular. Shipments come in every two weeks, and depart on the third. Mostly supplies for the guards – foodstuffs, rations, stims. The freighters are automated. No crew.”

The white-furred rabbit flashed a grin. “No witnesses.”

“And the hundreds of guards in the Icebox? On Hyelon?”

Maddie simply grinned. 

“…Alright, fine. What are my assurances this plan won’t get us killed, though? How are we supposed to get to the freighter in the first place?”

Maddie pointed out of the small cell at the hallway. “Assassins memorize routes. I know the way, and… let’s just say a few guards gave their lives for the information, hm?”

Kye glared. As much as they wished to the end life of the assassin – as much as they wished to kill them with their bare hands for what they’d done, they… needed their help. 

Begrudgingly, Kye nodded. “Fine. Most of my magic is dampened by this damn device, but I should be able to help… some. When does the freighter arrive?”

Maddie shrugged. “Three days.”

“Great.”

To the surprise of Kye (and Maddie, but they weren’t telling), the plan’s first stages were executed without a hitch. The first guard had been dispatched as silently as could reasonably be, his keys and biopass lifted. The hallways were byzantine but navigable with the aid of the card and Maddie’s memory – and what few items needed to be grabbed off of guards or out of offices were easily obtained with Kye’s limited gravitic attraction.

The problems arose when the freighter landed not on the internal pad, where the others before had – but above, exposed to the wind.

Hyelon required hazcon suits to even think about going outside during a storm – and the racks were empty.

“Well what now?” Kye exclaimed in frustration, staring at the other rabbit with barely hidden fury. “All this for nothing?”

“I… I can’t believe–”

The airlock warning sounded, alerting them of a cycle.

Both dove out of the way, just in time for a pair of guards in the suits they needed to enter carrying crates of rations and medical supplies.

“Phew. Why do we always get the shitty courier duty?” The first guard, a deer, grumbled – his partner trying to shake feeling back into his paws even through the gloves, walking slightly out into the hallway. “I mean, aren’t there nearly two hundred of us here? Why us? Is everyone else just busy?”

The deer trailed off as there was no reply, and turned to see the hallway empty.

On cue, they felt a heavy object hit them from behind – and their world went dark just in time to catch a glimpse of glowing white flowers and furious purple eyes.

“Little more bloody than I prefer, but good hit.” Maddie was grinning, tugging their stolen suit on – shaking the gloves to slip their fingers in.

Kye, disrobing the concussed deer, dragged him into the hallway and left him there. Once the suits were on and securely checked, it was time for the last hurdle.

The freighter.

The door opened. Bitter wind howled inside, ripping at anything unprotected – and the two escapees braved the storm, the landing lights of the interstellar craft shining through the storm.

It was, unfortunately, not unmanned – a guard detail of around ten stood around the landing site overseeing a pair of loaders hefting crates – and Maddie’s plan of sneaking failed almost immediately, proximity sensors tripping when their biosignatures didn’t match authorized personnel.

Maddie leapt into action, blade singing through the blizzard – but Kye, trying to yank a blade over with their suppressed magic, took a round to the neck and spun away.

By sheer chance, the metal round had not found the flesh it sought. The shards of the dampener swirled away in slow motion, caught in the wind – and the might of the Darksea poured through their veins, howling for blood and justice.

Black fire erupted across the pad as the Prince voiced their displeasure, erasing the few guards remaining after Maddie’s spinning assault. Already, the whine of the ship’s engines was rising – clearly someone had made it aboard and was trying to make a getaway.

“No time to waste!” Maddie shouted, pointing. “On the ship, now!”

Wordlessly, Kye followed – their palms wreathed in notlight, ready to leap away at a moment’s notice.

Four more guards died in the trip to the freighter’s bridge, and the Captain’s gurgles marked the end of his final voyage.

Soon enough, the freighter had lifted off with new cargo aboard, and the prince and the assassin once again found themselves at odds.

Gone was the scared, unsure swordsman, though – Kye was powerful.

Besides. Maddie didn’t have a contract.

“Course is set for Holmen,” Maddie said after a few moments, the dark blue giving way to stars beyond the freighter’s windows. “We part ways there.”

“A shame,” Kye muttered sarcastically. “We make such a team.”

“Don’t tell me you’re finally tired of prison breaks?” Maddie grinned, crossing their arms. “But yes, I agree. When next we meet it will be as foes, yet I must admit… it was enjoyable, Lord Celan. You fight well.”

Kye rolled their eyes.

“Mention this to no one. It remains between us, until the other falls.”

“A fair deal.” Maddie grinned wider, offering a paw – and with a shake, the two parted to find their own areas of the ship until the autopilot made port, the soft whoosh of a transition into the Tides washing over them.