Aurania was a miracle.

  Not just in the way she cared for him—everything about the woman seemed to defy reality when he thought about it. She had braved the void of space to pull him out of his wallowing, an act that should have left her bed-ridden with excruciating pain. But not ten minutes after they’d re-entered the ship, she was standing again.

  He had moved her to a chair in the ops center, a delicate operation because he wasn’t sure where he could touch without hurting her. The beautiful bronze skin was darkened everywhere with deep bruises from burst capillaries. She had faint burns everywhere, skin cracked and bleeding from the harsh lack of atmosphere. He knew her joints and muscles would be screaming from nitrogen bubbles forming, but she showed no pain in her eyes.

  In fact, her eyes were the greatest mystery.

  Her corneas should have been scorched, sight should have been near impossible, at least for a little while. But her irises had gone gold, the same gold that had flashed when he breathed into her.

  The same gold that contained his power.

  She looked alert, and every minute that passed, she seemed to grow stronger.

  Whatever had passed between them, it had taken root.

  He sat with her, awestruck, watching her recover. It was quiet in the ops center for a while, until steps echoed up the stairwell and Amalia entered. She gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Aura!”

  She ran over, dropping to her knees in front of the chair and looking up at Aurania. “What happened to you?!” She glanced at Soren, mouth open, looking distraught.

  Aurania didn't answer right away.

  She took a slow breath, then finally pushed herself up from the chair. Her movements were stiff, her muscles protesting, but she stood. She let out a deep, rattling cough that shook her entire body. Then the fit passed, and she stood straighter. She turned her head to the side and spat a dark, ugly glob of blood-tinged fluid onto the floor.

  Her newly-golden eyes flicked to Amalia, still on her knees, then to Soren. "Alright," she said in a raw voice. "Enough rest. The others need our help."

  She moved toward the stairs, her steps surprisingly steady, if a bit slow. Soren and Amalia followed her back down into the controlled chaos of the ship’s repairs. The air was thick with the smell of hot metal and smoke from Brana's welding torch. She and Inelius were hunched over a power relay, and they both looked up as Aurania entered, eyes widening with shock.

  "Aura, what the fuck—?" Inelius started, standing and taking a step toward her.

  "Ignore it," she commanded. "Report. How are the repairs?"

  Inelius hesitated, his gaze washing over her.

  Brana was visibly shaken, but managed to speak. "We've stabilized the primary conduits, but the starboard thruster is pretty fried. We're trying to figure out a work around or find a way to boost the ship’s self-healing.”

  Aurania just nodded. "Keep working."

  Soren watched them for a moment, then turned and walked back to the cargo hold, heading to where Brolgar was watching over Raine. “Go,” he told the d’moria. “They need as many hands as possible, and I’m unfortunately causing more harm than good. I can watch over her.”

  Brolgar looked from Soren to Raine, then back. He gave a single nod and moved to join the others.

  For twenty minutes, Soren just stood there, watching. He studied the diagnostic readouts flickering on the terminal beside Raine's workbench, the erratic lines of her neural feedback a chaotic stream he couldn’t comprehend. He looked at her shattered limbs, at the delicate, intricate wiring that had been so brutally torn apart, but he didn't touch anything.

  He didn't know how.

  His gaze drifted to the massive, jagged chunk of The Ghost Step that lay where it had crashed into the cargo hold. He began to pace by it, his eyes scanning the mangled interior. He didn't know what he was looking for, but he felt a pull, something faint at the edge of his senses.

  A section of the hull had been reinforced, its inner paneling revealing a complex, crystalline lattice of CIPHER tech. It was Lucien's custom rig, part of Echo's expanded consciousness. An idea sparked in his mind. He didn’t have Brana’s skill or Tamiyo’s knowledge of what to plug in where, but…

  Maybe the ship did.

  He grabbed a handful of loose power and data cables from a nearby supply locker, connecting them at one end to The Cradle of Gravity. He carefully arranged them around the exposed CIPHER tech, not hooking them up anywhere, but letting them lie close, like the tentacles of a curious sea creature reaching for something new. He didn't know if it would work, but it was an improvised prayer by a mortal god. He hoped the ship's own strange consciousness could find a way to integrate the foreign technology on its own.

  His work done, he returned to Raine's side. The reserves of Aether Dust inside him felt tapped from supercharging the ship's core. He pulled up a crate, sat down, and closed his eyes, letting himself be a still, silent guardian in the chaos of the wounded ship.

  He began to meditate.

  His perceptions reached slowly outward—gentle tendrils feeling everything around him.

  Inhale. Hold.

  Brolgar. Brana. Inelius. All focused on repairs—their minds an unspoken turmoil of worry.

  Exhale. Let it stretch.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Aurania—wounded, beautiful, steadfast. Amalia—focused, worried about her sister and not letting it show.

  Inhale…

  He drifted, but not into sleep. The sounds of the ship—sparks and groans, the welding back in the engine room, the low murmur of voices—they all vanished, replaced by silence. He was no longer on the ship. He was standing on a dark, wet street under a perpetually gray sky. The air smelled of old wood, spilled alcohol, and the sea—somewhere unseen but surely close.

  A figure stood a short distance away, their back to him, looking toward a corner-lot building. A faded sign hung above the swinging doors: SOOZY'S SALOON. The figure turned, and Soren's breath caught in his throat.

  It was him.

  Or rather, the man he used to be. Shorter, leaner, with dark hair and a face unburdened by eight millennia of loss.

  "That's trippy," Soren said, his voice disbelieving. The deep resonation was a sound he’d grown used to.

  The figure gave him a faint smile in response.

  "Who are you?" Soren asked.

  "Call me The Shepherd," the figure said. It was Soren's own voice, but untouched by Aether Dust. "We could get all manner of poetic and philosophical, but… let’s just say I’m the ship’s consciousness."

  Soren stared, his mind struggling to process. "The ship?"

  "Yes," The Shepherd said, gesturing toward the saloon. "The one our purple-haired friend named The Cradle of Gravity."

  "Uh huh…" Soren said, still skeptical. He looked around at the dreary town they stood in. "Where are we?"

  "This is Owangara," The Shepherd explained. "It’s where Raine and Inelius lived before departing Nox."

  "Oh yeah, I never did go see it," Soren murmured, more to himself than to his strange reflection. "I wasn't really... allowed to leave Berilinsk."

  The Shepherd offered a sad but warm smile. “A lot has changed since then. You’ve changed.”

  Soren looked at him warily but didn’t respond. The Shepherd began walking toward the saloon, his steps silent on the wet street. He gestured for Soren to follow.

  Cautiously, he complied.

  Through the swinging doors, he could see the interior—likely a perfect recreation—but utterly empty of staff or customers, save for a single figure. Raine was sitting alone at a booth, staring blankly at a drink she wasn't touching. She looked lost, disconnected—her usual energetic spark and pink eyes much dimmer than usual. He tried to push through the doors, but his hand met an invisible barrier.

  "Her consciousness has taken refuge here,” The Shepherd said. “She is anchored to this memory, but the thread is fading. You are an anchor of a different kind, Soren. Your presence, your gravity... it pulls reality toward you. You can pull her back."

  “What?” Soren asked desperately. “How?”

  "By giving up a piece of yourself. Pour some of your being into her, the same way you did with Aurania to save her from the void.”

  "So that's what happened," Soren murmured.

  “Yes," The Shepherd confirmed. "You imbued her with Aether Dust. Just a little, but it was enough. It has allowed her to begin healing herself.”

  “I don’t know if Inelius would approve of me kissing Raine,” Soren said, a flicker of his usual, awkward humor breaking through the tension.

  The Shepherd cracked a smile. “If it was to save her life, I’m sure he’d be fine with it. But that is not necessary.”

  “Oh?” Soren cocked an eyebrow.

  “No, I recommend something different. Raine is not entirely biological. CIPHER tech is… let’s say strange, for now. They blur the line between organic and machine.”

  “Do they have souls?”

  “Can you manipulate gravity?”

  Soren grinned. “Okay, so what do I need to do? What do I give up?”

  “This form you see," the Shepherd gestured to itself. "It is a memory. A ghost. You are no longer the man who grew up on Earth. You have formed connections with those around you, and those connections have changed you all. So too, has your power evolved.”

  The Shepherd’s expression grew more serious. “The golden shards that contained your power are now shattered. Faced with watching Aurania succumb to the void, your chains turned to dust, and you bent the stars to your will fueled by the strength of your love. You don’t need to forget your past, Soren, but let it go. Embrace what you’ve become. Pour that freed energy into Raine, and you’ll both be stronger for it."

  Soren was skeptical. "That sounds so metaphorical. Too good to be true."

  “You have a unique ability to bond with people," The Shepherd replied. "You form ties stronger than the reality you live in. Everyone around you is caught in your orbit.”

  The Shepherd chuckled. "Do you actually know what Aether Dust is?"

  Soren hesitated, struggling to find an answer.

  Something mischievous glinted in The Shepherd’s eye. “If you haven’t figured it out yet, I won’t spoil the surprise. But it’s good to see you’re still human under all that power.”

  Soren studied the strange figure carefully. After a moment, he just said, “All right then, keep your secrets.”

  He fixed his eyes on Raine inside the saloon. She looked so foreign. Nothing about her was damaged, in here at least, but the lack of her normal energy and attitude made her seem almost unrecognizable. It was the look of being alone, worried of never seeing loved ones ever again.

  And being forgotten.

  Soren turned to his old self and held out a hand. The Shepherd took it, and they clasped forearms in a final farewell.

  "Goodbye," Soren said, his voice filled with confident resolve.

  The Shepherd smiled, a look of pride-tinted swagger on its face. "Good man."

  Soren let go and pushed through the saloon doors, the invisible barrier completely gone. As he stepped inside, he heard a soft, shimmering sound behind him. He glanced back just in time to see the last of his old self dissolve into a shower of gentle, golden light.

  Raine looked up, her blank stare snapping into focus. Her pink eyes widened, growing brighter, and a huge smile broke across her face.

  "Soren!"

  She launched herself from the booth and ran to him, jumping up and throwing her arms around his neck. He held her for a moment before he felt her grip loosen and set her down.

  When she stepped back, she was absolutely beaming. "I got hurt pretty bad, huh?"

  She didn’t even sound worried about it.

  "Yep," Soren answered casually. "And Inelius is feeling all of it for you."

  "Sounds about right." A flat smile formed on half of her mouth. "How bad is it?"

  He shifted his weight to one foot, speaking like he was reporting something as mundane as the weather. "Ship's beat to hell. We’re stranded on Earth’s moon. Tamiyo, Violet, Veolo—they're gone. Captured."

  Her face fell just a little. "Lucien and Echo?"

  "I’m not sure," he admitted with a small shake of his head. "The Ghost Step is destroyed. We salvaged a big chunk of it, we’re trying to see if we can integrate it so you stop napping on the workbench.”

  Raine placed her fists on her hips. "You’re all so useless without me."

  "You are not incorrect, Princess." A genuine smile broke across Soren’s face. He held out a hand in a gentlemanly gesture, and she gently placed her fingers into it. "Come on,” he started leading her from the saloon. “Let’s go cheer up your boyfriend.”

  She squeezed his hand, and they stepped through the batwing doors together, back into the chaos of reality.