Screaming alarms

  Burning metal.

  Aurania scrambled up the ramp, the aftershock of the final orbital blast still ringing in her bones. The air inside the cargo hold was thick with the acrid smell of burnt circuitry and the high-pitched, desperate whine of failing systems. Red emergency lights pulsed, washing the chaos in a frantic, bloody light.

  Raine. Priority one—Raine.

  They rushed over to a large workbench near the elevator, placing the broken CIPHER atop it. Inelius sank to his knees, tears streaming as he stared at the mangled chrome and severed wires of Raine's limbs.

  Brana was already tearing open a med-kit and grabbing tools with frantic, focused energy. "Diagnostics, now!" she barked at Amalia. "I need a stable current of power! Brolgar! That drawer! Thick cable!"

  She hooked Raine up to the ship’s computer systems, and the terminal next to the workbench flared to life. The ship let out a deep, metallic groan, snapping Aurania back to the reality of their situation.

  Sable was getting away.

  "Inelius!" Aurania's voice cracked like a whip through the chaotic haze of grief. "Get us in the air. Now! After them!"

  He didn't move.

  He was still on his knees beside Raine, his upper two hands gripping the edge of the workbench. His mouth was open but no words came out. The ship shuddered again, a more violent lurch this time.

  Another warning klaxon blared out.

  There was no more time.

  Aurania stalked over, reached down, and hauled him into the air by his collar. His body was limp with shock. She pinned his back hard against the bulkhead, growling with a tone cold as ice, “You get in that cockpit and get us in the air. That is an order.”

  For a second, he just stared at her, his eyes wide.

  Then, something shifted. A flicker of the soldier inside fought through the grief, and he snarled, shoving her hand away with a strength that surprised her. He dropped to the floor and sprinted toward the cockpit without a word.

  "I need more power!" Brana yelled desperately. "The hull integrity is critical! Soren, get to the Aether Core! I need everything you've got! Give this ship enough juice to hopefully start patching its own damn wounds!"

  He bolted toward the engine room.

  Aurania sprinted after Inelius, her hooves clanging on the metal staircase. The entire ship’s structure vibrated around her, letting out another deep, structural groan of a vessel pushed past its breaking point. As she reached the upper deck, a primal roar echoed from down below.

  Soren, supercharging the Aether Core.

  She burst into the cockpit just as the ship lurched, the deck tilting violently beneath her. Inelius was strapped into the pilot's chair fighting the controls. Outside the main viewport, the gray sky of Earth was already giving way to the black of space.

  "Hull breach on Deck 4!" a synthesized voice warned from the console. "Atmospheric shield integrity failing!"

  "I'm trying!" Inelius growled through clenched teeth. "She's not responding! The starboard thruster is completely offline!"

  The ship shuddered again, a high-pitched shriek of tearing metal screaming all around them. On the tactical display, the Conservatory ships were already fading dots pulling away in the distance. They were losing them.

  Alarms blared, lights flashed, each one a new wound, a new system bleeding out.

  "We're not going to catch them," Inelius said. He wasn’t giving into grief—his tone was flat. Tactical.

  It was the truth.

  He yanked back on the controls, forcing the dying ship into a slow, clumsy arc. "We have to set down and repair. I’m heading for Earth’s moon.”

  “Why not back to Earth?!” Aurania asked.

  “I don’t know if the power will stay on long enough to not just crash into an ocean.”

  “Fuck,” she spat. “Moon it is.”

  The damaged ship limped through the void, its remaining thrusters firing in short, uneven bursts.

  There was a sharp intake of breath from Inelius, and he pointed. "There."

  A cluster of debris floated between them and the moon. “Do you see that?! That’s part of The Ghost Step! They destroyed it!”

  Aurania leaned forward, her gaze locking onto the screen. Most of it was just twisted metal and frozen vapor, but one large, mostly intact section was tumbling slowly, end over end. Inelius stared wide-eyed at the wreckage.

  Then he jammed a thumb to key the internal comm. "Brana! I’m staring at a big chunk of Lucien’s ship. He had that whole rig upgraded to boost Echo, it’s all CIPHER tech. Could you use that to save Raine?"

  There was a beat of silence from the cargo hold.

  Then, Brana's voice came back. "Theoretically... maybe. The hardware is proprietary, but the base architecture... If I can get my hands on a core memory unit, I might be able to interface it with Raine's systems. But the damage to her neural net is catastrophic. It would be a long shot, Inelius."

  "I’m taking it," he replied firmly. "Clear the cargo hold."

  "This ship can't take another hit!" Aurania protested.

  He shot her a glare and didn’t look away. He yelled into the comm, “Once you’re clear, open the main bay doors.”

  “Whaaat the fuck are you doing,” Aurania said, strapping herself into the co-pilot’s chair.

  "Don’t try to talk me out of this." He guided the wounded ship toward the massive chunk of The Ghost Step's hull.

  "Hold on!" he yelled over the comms.

  The ship lurched as he fired a precise burst from the port maneuvering thrusters. The Cradle of Gravity rolled, the open maw of its cargo bay angling to intercept the spinning wreckage. For a moment, it seemed like they would miss. But he fired another burst, gently nudging their velocity into a perfect sync with the debris.

  The chunk of ship scooped into the cargo bay, crashing with a heavy, metallic scrape.

  "Doors closing," Brolgar's voice called over comms. "We got it."

  Inelius let out a long, shuddering breath and eased the ship back on course. The pockmarked surface of the pale moon grew larger on the viewport. They landed hard, the impact jarring through the damaged frame as they came to a long, skidding halt.

  By some miracle, the ship held together.

  Silence followed, broken only by the hiss of settling systems and the frantic beeping of a dozen critical error messages. Then Brana’s voice broke through. "Okay... she's stable. For now."

  Aurania unstrapped herself and stood, her body aching with exhaustion. She keyed the comm. "Brana, focus on the ship first. Get our core systems back online. I need thrusters, I need navigation, and I need to know this thing will hold together when we punch it. Inelius, you're with her."

  He jumped from the pilot’s chair, his face twisting with fury. "What? No. I'm staying with—"

  She slammed mute and cut him off. “The fuck you gonna do? You gonna stare at her? She's stable—Brana needs your help. The quicker this ship is flying again, the quicker our best mechanic can get back to saving Raine.”

  He just stared back in disbelief.

  She roared, “Move!"

  Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

  He snarled, a raw, wounded sound, but it was directed at the universe, not at her. He slammed a fist into the wall in a flash of helpless rage—then again, and again, and again—screaming the entire time. His shoulders heaved as he took deep breaths, slowly calming down.

  Finally, he turned and descended the stairs without another word, leaving Aurania and the dented bulkhead behind. She took a deep breath, scalding air leaving her flared nostrils as she forced down the stress of command.

  She started back down the stairs.

  As she descended back into the organized chaos of the cargo hold, she spotted Brolgar standing vigil by the workbench where Raine lay once again. He was monitoring her vitals, carefully looking for any way he could improve her situation. She found Amalia back at the Aether Core, already helping Brana—handing over tools, rerouting power cables—whatever Brana needed.

  The ship’s damage was extensive.

  A jagged tear ran along the starboard bulkhead, and several of the main power conduits had been sheared clean through, sparks bursting erratically from their severed ends. Inelius was already there, three of his arms working furiously as he and Brana worked to stabilize a failing power relay.

  His fourth was likely fractured.

  Soren stepped up next to her, looking exhausted. She could feel a war of emotions roiling inside him—guilt, failure, anger, and a desperate need to be useful. "What do you need me to do?"

  "Here," Brana grunted, not looking up from a stubborn access panel. "See if you can leverage this support beam back into place. The frame's warped."

  He nodded, moving toward the buckled beam. Aurania moved to help him as he placed his hands on the twisted metal. They took a deep breath, and pushed.

  The ship screamed.

  A high-pitched, electronic shriek of systemic agony rang out, like the system itself was being tortured. The Aether Core pulsed and sputtered. The lights in the cargo hold flashed violently, then went out. They were plunged into the dim, red glow of the emergency strips. Every active console, including the one monitoring Raine's life support, flatlined for a moment.

  "What the hell was that?!" Inelius yelled, his voice echoing.

  "It's him!" Brana roared, pointing a grease-stained wrench at Soren. "His Aether Dust—it's interfering with the ship's core systems! Soren! Get the fuck away from the damage! You’re making the situation worse!”

  He froze, his eyes locked on the wrench still pointing at him like an accusation. Then his gaze shifted from Brana, to Inelius, then back down the hallway toward the cargo hold, where Raine lay broken.

  He turned and walked away without a word.

  "Soren, where are you going?" Amalia called after him, voice small and worried.

  He didn’t respond.

  “Hey!” Aurania barked at the remaining group. She snapped her fingers. “Focus! Fix the ship!”

  They complied, and Aurania dug in where she could, hoisting a scorched conduit out of the way. She braced the frame as Brana fused it, turning her hands and strength into whatever tools Brana needed to get them stable. But several minutes later, as she was dragging a large chunk of twisted metal out of their path, a cold knot of dread twisted in her gut.

  She felt Soren’s despair through their link—not as any clear thought, but as a wave of anguish. She saw flashes of memory that weren't hers: Thorsul, Thamdir, Kasey, Klix, Jory—Lulu and Enderfield and a burning city on a planet she didn't recognize. And beneath it all, a single, crushing sentiment:

  I keep failing, no matter how much I try to be better.

  She dropped the twisted metal and rushed after him.

  He wasn’t in the cargo hold.

  She took the stairs three at a time.

  Deck 4—not meditating. Deck 3—not in the common room, not in his bedroom.

  Where the fuck is he?

  Then a new, sharp sensation hit her like a gunshot. A physical, explosive pain shot through—lungs trying to collapse, skin searing—agonizing, excruciating, stacked layers of torment.

  He’d gone out the airlock on Deck 2.

  She sprinted, her hooves thundering on the deck plates. She slammed her palm against the airlock control, and the inner door hissed open. She sealed herself in, and hit cycle.

  But it was moving too slow.

  Every second his pain screamed in her mind.

  She grabbed the manual release lever, disengaged its safety, and forced herself to exhale—hard. If she tried to hold her breath, her lungs would explode.

  Aurania yanked the lever down, and all sound screamed silent.

  The last of the air was ripped from her chest as a violent emptiness welcomed her that left her gasping for nothing. A crushing cold seized her, so intense it felt like her skin was on fire. The silence of the void was the loudest thing she’d ever heard, her own heartbeat slamming in her ears. A pressure threatened to crush her skull from the inside out. Her vision blurred, the distant stars smearing into streaks of white light.

  But she saw him.

  He was right there, standing steady on the pale surface of the moon. His back was to her, shoulders rigid with a pain she could feel in her soul. Her instincts drove her toward him like pure gravity.

  She bent her knees and kicked off the doorframe, launching out onto the empty, unforgiving white of Earth’s moon—tears boiling as they welled in her eyes.

  The pain was clean.

  His vision was scoured with a searing agony like his eyeballs were being scrubbed with hot sand. The lack of air was crushing, his lungs attempting uselessly to draw a breath that wasn't there. But he didn't suffocate. He didn’t die.

  He knew he wouldn’t die.

  He just… hurt.

  He stood in the pale dust of the moon, staring out at the scarred, dead face of the Earth hanging in the black sky. It was a perfect mirror for the ruin he felt inside himself. Every failure, every loss—they all replayed in his mind in a screaming loop.

  Raine, broken and burned, because he asked to come see Earth. Tamiyo, Violet, Veolo—taken against their will. Amaryn, her eyes empty and still. Elias, his life extinguished in a flash of light. Nox and the millions of lives lost in The Mandachor Fucking Abyss. Every tragedy they’d suffered in the last year could’ve been prevented if he’d just stayed in that black hole.

  He was a constant—a fulcrum around which calamity pivoted.

  He was the weight that continued to break everything.

  A new pain cut through the physical agony of the void. It wasn't in his lungs or his skin, it was inside his head, a sharp, searing echo of the very torment he was enduring.

  It was her.

  Aurania.

  He spun around, his movements clumsy in the low gravity. Her powerful silhouette hung there against the open airlock. She launched herself toward him, a missile of desperate instinct with no suit, no helmet—nothing but the force of her own will to protect her.

  The sight shattered his self-pity in an instant.

  The golden shards inside him fractured like glass. The silver-green exploded and the Aether Dust flared through his body in a surge of protective terror. He willed himself to move toward her and gravity obeyed—a wake of lunar dust kicking up as he closed the distance. She was still moving, but her body was already succumbing to the brutal physics of the void.

  Her bronze skin, usually so vibrant, had taken on a pale, bluish tint in the harsh light of the distant sun. The moisture in her eyes had already flash-frozen into a delicate, crystalline lattice across her lashes, and a thin trickle of blood from her nose was freezing into a jagged, crimson icicle on her upper lip. Her powerful muscles were convulsing, the veins in her neck standing out as her body fought a war against its own internal pressure.

  She was dying.

  And she was doing it for him.

  He caught her, wrapping his arms around just as she began to drift.

  He pressed his lips to hers in a desperate, clumsy kiss that was more a seal against the void than a sign of affection. The same way he’d screamed crushing water from his lungs, he forced the last trace amounts of air out, pushing it into her in a futile, human gesture against an inhuman emptiness.

  But as he did, something else moved as well.

  The golden shards, once wrapped like delicate petals to contain his power, had fragmented into slivers. He felt some of them pass over his teeth, into her mouth, and through their link, he felt a jolt of warmth.

  Of life.

  Of reality defying power.

  Her eyes, which had begun to glaze over, flashed for a moment. Then he saw the golden slivers dancing within them like stardust. He pulled her back toward the ship, moving through the void with no propulsion other than the fact that he demanded to move.

  And the universe obeyed.

  They stumbled back into the airlock in a tangle of limbs. He slammed his hand against the inner door's control panel, and the outer door began to hiss shut, sealing them back inside their metal sanctuary. The chamber repressurized with a roar of rushing air. They collapsed to the floor, gasping and choking as their bodies trembled with violent aftershocks.

  For a long time, they just lay there, the sound of their ragged breathing the only thing in the universe. His silver-green sphere of power was uncaged in his chest, but for reasons he did not entirely comprehend, it was under control.

  Soren pushed himself up onto his hands and knees, and the glow faded from his hair and eyes. His own body screamed with a pain that was both physical and psychic. Aurania lay on her back beneath him, chest heaving as her body fought to recover.

  For a brief moment, he was terrified she might not.

  But then she was hitting him.

  Punching.

  Slapping.

  Flailing.

  Her movements were uncontained emotion, fists hammering against his chest, shoulders, and arms. There was no focused strength of a warrior. She was frantic and crying.

  "You idiot!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and broken. Each word was punctuated by a blow. "You stupid, selfish, fucking—idiot!"

  He didn't fight back.

  He didn't even raise his arms to block the hits. He just let her vent, absorbing the storm of her grief and terror. He saw the tears streaming down her face, freezing into tiny crystals on her cheeks before melting in the returning warmth of the ship.

  "What were you thinking?!" she sobbed. Her punches began losing their force, becoming little more than open-handed slaps. "Where were you trying to go?! Did you think we wouldn't—did you think I wouldn't—"

  Her words fell apart.

  She broke.

  Her anger shattered into grief. Her shoulders shook with heavy sobs as she grabbed handfuls of his shirt and buried her face in his chest. Her body was wracked with sobs, a storm of emotion that she could no longer contain. He wrapped his arms around her, holding her tight. His own eyes burned as his tears began to fall, anchoring her in the hurricane of her feelings.

  Finally, her sobs began to quiet, her breathing evening out into shuddering breaths. She pulled back, just enough to look up at him, her face a mess of tears and ice and unguarded emotion.

  And then she kissed him.

  It was desperate and hungry, not sexual or lustful—but at her very core, he could feel it in her mind.

  How much she needed him.

  She tasted of salt, the cold of the void, and staggering relief. Her hands were tangled in his hair, her legs wrapped around his torso, pulling him closer, as if she could somehow absorb him into herself and keep him safe forever. When she finally broke away, she pulled her forehead against his, their breaths mingling.

  "You're sleeping in my bed from now on," she said firmly. "I'm not letting you out of my sight."