Thalyn woke with a jolt, breath catching in her throat. The chamber lay around her, quiet as a grave, the low hum of the ancient machines like whispers lost at the edge of dreams.
She closed her eyes, but the images clawed back—smoke on her tongue, bitter and charred, the sharp scream of metal, the cold bite of betrayal, the fire searing through her legs. Nira's face pale in the dark, her shout rising above the noise, dragging Thalyn from the wreckage while the world spun in agony. The dream faded, but the pain remained.
She sat up, breath ragged, ran a trembling hand over her face. The others lay in sleep, shadows against the vastness of the old stone. Jaxon by the doorway, eyes hard and distant, one hand resting on the hilt of his blade, the other rubbing slow circles on the cold metal of his cybernetic arm.
Thalyn stood, heart drumming in her chest. She paced the chamber, her steps echoing off the stone, fingers brushing against consoles and relics of a lost age. The air pressed down on her, thick and alive. She felt the commander’s eyes on her.
"What's eatin' at you, Thalyn?" His voice was low, rough, but a softness to it, a break in the stone.
She turned, met his gaze. "Nira," she said. "We left her under the rubble. I need to find her. I want to bury her, if I can."
Jaxon’s brow furrowed, his gaze narrowing. “And if you can’t?”
"I’ll be careful," she said, voice steady, though doubt gnawed at the edges.
He nodded slowly, his eyes studying her. “I don’t like it,” he said, “but I get it.”
She geared up, her movements sure, efficient. She pulled the breather mask tight over her face, felt the coolness settle against her skin, the filters purring soft in her ears. She crossed to the heavy, reinforced door, cold metal under her hands. She touched it, and the door hissed open, creaking loud in the stillness.
Outside, the air felt clean, almost fresh, but she kept the mask on. She stepped out, and the door slammed shut behind her. The passage was narrow, walls lined with dark glass panels etched in alien glyphs that seemed to writhe and shift when she wasn't looking. Beyond, the Nether stretched out like a dark ocean, twisted trees clawing at the dead sky, roots tangled in the miasma below.
At the end of the passage, she found a hall. The air here felt different, thick with a strange energy that prickled her skin. She tried the doors, one after another. All refused her except the last. It opened to a small, dark chamber, cold light leaking from the walls.
She entered, eyes adjusting to the gloom. At the center, a throne smaller than the other, cables snaking like roots, a crown resting before it. Two droids stood in shadow. They looked like the guardian they’d fought, but lesser.
She approached the throne, fingers grazing the crown. Before she could reach for it, one droid stirred, stepped toward her. "Do you have any commands, mistress?"
She flinched, a jolt in her chest. “Why aren’t you hostile?” she said, her voice sharp. “The guardian attacked us.”
The droid’s head tilted. “Apologies, mistress. The... guardian did not recognize you among the others.”69Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡPawaA9fxKL
“Why am I different?”
“You bear the mark,” it said.
“What mark?” she asked, frowning.
“The mark we must obey.” And there was no more to be had from it.
Her eyes drifted to the door where they’d fought the guardian. “Can I access that chamber?”
The droid shook its head. “It is sealed, mistress. Inaccessible.”
She turned back to the throne, her hand hovering over the crown. The droid’s voice cut through the air. “It would be wise to return to the central command and complete the sequence before attempting this station.”
She nodded, backed away, and returned to the main chamber. The others stirred as she entered, their eyes following her, wary and curious.
“What did you find?” Jaxon asked.
She told them, her words clipped—the droid, the mark, the sealed chamber. She saw the flicker in Korr’s eyes, the way his fingers twitched, mind already turning over the pieces.
“Why you?” Elara asked softly. “Why are you chosen?”
Thalyn shrugged, but question hung there, curling like smoke. She moved to the throne, felt its cold embrace as she sat, her fingers brushing the crown. She set it on her head, and the chamber began to fade, the edges blurring.
A whisper curled through her mind, light and teasing. “Want your old legs back?” it asked. “Properly augmented?”
And then she was gone, slipping into another life, the cold of the cell walls seeping into her bones.
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