“I don’t like anything that it is moving you without asking.”
Neither do I, but I can’t deny the truth sitting heavy in my chest. The ship isn’t forcing me forward. It’s assuming I’ll come.
The band of light extends another meter, stopping just short of Rakkh’s feet. He doesn’t step onto it. Instead, he widens his stance, planting himself squarely between me and the corridor like the concept of no given physical form. I feel a strange mix of relief and guilt twist low in my gut.
“Rakkh,” I say softly.
He doesn’t look at me. “If it wants you to go, it will have to go through me first.”
The hum wavers—not alarmed, but recalculating, as if it really does understand my words. The light bends, subtly rerouting around his position instead of confronting it directly. It doesn’t retreat; it adapts. And that sends a chill through me.
“It’s learning,” I whisper.
Travnyk nods. “Yes.”
“Learning what?” Tomas asks.
Travnyk’s gaze flicks to me. “What it can move. And what it must accommodate.”
The corridor ahead brightens again, as if patiently waiting. I take one step forward—slow, deliberate—and stop just behindRakkh’s shoulder. Close enough that I can feel the cool that radiates from his scales.
The ship doesn’t react. The light holds. I let myself breathe. Whatever comes next, it isn’t a trap sprung in panic. It’s a process. And the ship has apparently decided we are finally ready for the next stage.
I just don’t know what that stage will cost.
Air shifts in a slow pulse that brushes my skin like a sigh through sealed lungs. The glow beneath my boots stretches ahead in an even line, and the metal walls curve inward until the space feels more like a vein than a hallway.
Rakkh moves first, because of course he does.
His shoulders nearly graze both sides of the passage; every step lands silent but heavy, steadying the world through sheer presence. I stay so close behind him that his tail brushes my thigh. Travnyk and Tomas follow, quieter now, even Tomas being smart enough not to speak.
The hum changes pitch again—lower, thicker, the vibration rolling through the soles of my boots. My head aches with it. A pressure, right behind my eyes. The sound isn’t just sound anymore; it’s a pattern.
The air cools. The walls smooth to a darker shade, violet fading toward deep indigo, and fine lines of white etching appear under the surface like veins of light through stone. I stop, and Rakkh stops instantly—his wings twitch, half-furling, blocking the corridor.
“What?” His voice is gravel and breath. “What do you feel?”
I swallow hard. “Something’s… trying to start.”
He growls softly, low enough that only I hear it. “Then step back.”
“I can’t.” I press a hand against the wall before I can stop myself. “It’s not dangerous—it’s old.”
The metal under my palm warms. The ache behind my eyes sharpens. For an instant, I smell ozone. And then—the world folds.
Not all the way, and not violently. Just enough to make the air turn too thin, the light too bright, and the ground too still. My vision blurs. Not colors—images.
Flash.
A woman’s hands, pale against glowing metal, fingers flying across a panel made of light.
Flash.
An explosion outside a viewport—fire and debris.
Flash.
A voice, low and fierce, half drowned in static.
