“I don’t envy you right now, but you can trust me a little, can’t you? I mean, we only have three planets to go. We’ll be back at school just in time for breakfast.” I smile at him, unbuckling my harness.
The air outside smells like fresh rain and damp forest, despite it being the largest city and colony on the planet. Tate and I make our way to the tower.
“Let’s hope someone is here and there’s not an imp waiting inside,” Tate whispers. When I shoot him a glare, he chuckles. “Too soon?”
“First off, imps don’t exist. Second, the lights are actually on this time,” I note.
As the sun gracefully descends behind the colony’s skyline, the city comes to life, sparkling with a kaleidoscope of lights that dance across the towering structures. Each time I visit Elran Asari, I am struck by the sheer height of the shimmering glass towers that seem to stretch endlessly into the sky. Personal pods zip through the air, adding to the chaos of the already crowded streets.
In Elran Asari, rain is as common as the sight of the never-ending crowd. Residents here have adopted a rather—unique style. Their daily attire consists of vibrant neon trenches, and they wear their hair in a variety of bright colors—electric blues, fiery pinks, and vivid greens—as if to compensate for the continuous lack of sunlight. Their choice of makeup here is equally extravagant; both men and women adorn their faces with dramatic hues, painting on thick layers of blush and lipstick.
Their fashion choices are a stark contrast to those on my home planet of Kyrr, where our lifestyles revolve around the lushness of the rainforest and the cascading waterfalls that define our landscape. In Kyrr, the colors we wear are influenced by nature, with palettes consisting of forest tones—muted greens, warm browns, light blues, and soft beiges that blend into our surroundings. Clothing is typically functional and straightforward, featuring cotton and linen tunics and skirts, as well as thick sweaters when needed. Leather belts and brooches are also included, allowing for easy movement through the dense foliage and rugged terrain.
“Princess Raea,” Private Johanson greets us with genuine surprise. I wince when I realize I didn’t put my hood up. At least my hair doesn’t stand out here.
The man before me is one I’ve known for many years. His father once served as one of our trusted guards, and it’s hard to forget the fond memories we share of teasing his father and giving him a hard time. Johanson is a bit taller than I, his golden locks shining beneath the bright lights of the control tower, but the scar down his left cheek is new.
He’s wearing the typical uniform of our Terra quadrant, the camouflage fabric making him appear larger than I remember. The insignia of his rank is proudly displayed on his sleeve.
With a deep, respectful bow, he steps forward and extends his hand, presenting a green token. One side is adorned with a tree signet that symbolizes Treon’s landscapes, while the reverse side bears the Kingdom crest.
“Thank you, Johanson,” I reply, keeping my voice warm and filled with gratitude. “Are you well? I didn’t know you had graduated already.”
He beams back at me. “Yes, thank you. I graduated last year and was posted here about four months ago.”
After a few minutes of letting him speak about his new position, I ask him to kindly forget I was here and not tell anyone, logging my name as Cadet Elara Maddix. He nods eagerly, assuring me of his silence, and with another grateful smile, I wave goodbye.
“Here,” Trysten says, handing me a tray of food.
The aroma wafts up, mixing with the faint scent of metal. We are nearly to Ista, and the reminder of Anders and me discovering the older temple and the books on magic brings a fond memory to mind.
Sitting on the launch pad for hours with him had done wonders for our friendship. Not that I’d admit it, but I do miss him. I feel silly since it’s only been a day, but I wish he were beside me. At least his best friend is here. According to the displays tracking our hyperjump progress, we should only have a few more minutes before we drop in.
“Thanks,” I reply, taking the tray.
My stomach grumbles at the sight of food: a melted sandwich oozing with cheese and roasted vegetables. We were supposed to eat after Cresnigan, but food had been the last thing on our minds in the aftermath of events. I sink my teeth into the sandwich and can’t help but groan appreciatively, earning an amused smirk from Trysten.
“So tell me,” I say after I swallow down my bite. “How did you and Anders become best friends?” I take another bite. It’s so satisfying, and I feel like my whole body reacts to the food despite my exhaustion. The energy shot I took earlier has helped, but I know nothing will satisfy my exhaustion like a good rest in my bed.
“Our fathers were close friends. We were raised like brothers in a way. I don’t know, not much to tell,” he says, his words trailing off. The way he avoids my gaze suggests there may be more to that story.
I swallow the last satisfying bite, sad that it’s all gone, and take a long sip of the hot, rich coffee. “Mmm…so good,” I hum. “Were you close with his father?” I’m curious about his relationship with King Aki.
Trysten only nods, something unreadable flickering across his features.
“Fine, no talking,” I tease, sensing his reluctance to dive deeper. I take the last bite of cinnamon cake and return my tray to the cabinet. Clearly, he doesn’t want to talk. Which is fine—it’s not like anything is going on between Anders and me anyway.
The transport rattles violently, each jolt sending me sprawling across the metal walkway. I curse under my breath and catch myself against the hard surface of the cabinets before I risk turning my gaze to the displays. The screen flickers erratically, the marker dancing chaotically within the system’s grid.
“What’s going on?” Tate shouts, his voice barely rising above the cacophony of alarms blaring around us. I struggle to regain my balance as the entire transport feels like it’s being hurled through space.
“We’re still jumping,” I call out, urgency fueling my movements as I race back to the console.
Red lights flash above it, accompanied by a deafening blur of alarms. Trysten is already at the controls, furiously tapping on the glass interface, his eyes scanning the rapidly scrolling code and alerts.
“We’re off course,” Tate yells. The gravity of his words sinks into my stomach.
This isn’t possible. Transports can’t alter their course mid-jump. Iglance at the countdown timer—ten seconds left in this jump. Fear knots in my stomach.
