"You are not a difficult book to read, Cody."
"Ouch."
"It was not an insult." I reach across the console and take his hand. "It is one of my favorite things about you."
His fingers close around mine, warm and sure.
And in the distance, growing larger with every passing moment, I can see Brishar.
My heart clenches as the settlement comes into view. Memory had made it grander. In reality, it is a modest cluster of buildings arranged around a central plaza, huddled at the base of the dead volcano that gave it its stone. A protective wall encircles the rest. Not every Cerastean settlement needs such defenses, but Brishar sits alone in the deep desert, far from any aid. Some of the structures have collapsed, victims of time and neglect. Others still stand, their dark volcanic stone weathered but intact.
And there, in the center of the plaza, rising above the other buildings like a beacon…
"Is that it?" Cody asks.
I cannot speak. I can only nod.
The community center still stands.
My building. The first major project I ever designed on my own, the one I poured my heart into, the one I thought I would never see again.
Cody guides the ship in a slow circle around the settlement. I take in the community center, the largest structure in Brishar, rising above the surrounding buildings like a proud centerpiece. It is small compared to the capital's towers, but here, among the modest dwellings, it dominates the plaza. The roofline rises and falls in smooth, rounded waves that echo the dunes surroundingthe settlement. The shape is deliberate. I designed it so that sandstorms would meet no sharp edges to catch against, only curves that guide the wind up and over. The walls are carved with an overlapping scale pattern, a nod to my people's skin, and large windows line every wall in order to flood the interior with natural light. At the front, a single grand archway reflects the shape of the dark mass of the volcano looming directly above.
Tears slip down my cheeks.
"A'Vanti." Cody's voice is gentle. "We're going to land now. Okay?"
I wipe my face with the back of my hand and take a steadying breath. "Yes. I am ready."
He sets us down in the plaza. Through the viewport, the community center looms before us, close enough now that I can see the neglect. Sand has drifted against the entrance. Several windows are cracked, and at least one is missing entirely. The carved scale pattern on the walls has been worn smooth by years of wind and sand in a few places.
But it is standing. It survived.
"Before we head out…" Cody taps a command into the ship's console. "Let me make sure we don't have any unwanted company. I learned my lesson with the keth'ra."
A small drone launches from somewhere beneath the shuttle, and I watch through the viewport as it begins a methodical sweep of the area. It circles the plaza, ducks between buildings, scans the shadows beneath collapsed awnings and inside empty doorways.
"Looking good so far," Cody murmurs, studying the drone's feed on the ship's screen. "No heat signatures, no movement. Just sand and silence."
The drone completes its sweep and returns to the shuttle with a muted click.
"All clear." He meets my eyes. "Ready to see your building?"
I take his hand. "More than you know."
Cody grabs the bag from the storage compartment and slings it over his shoulder, and we step out together into the heat of Ceraste. The air wraps around me like an embrace, smelling of sand and sun-baked stone and the sharp sweetness of sennah blossoms. I remember that it is pollination season.
I lead Cody across the plaza, our footsteps crunching in the accumulated sand.
The entrance is partially blocked by a drift of sand, but the doors themselves are intact. Thick metal slabs inlaid with pieces of petrified wood from the southern fossil forests and small chips of sunstone, carefully arranged to form the twin-sun pattern that symbolizes unity and balance. The light catches inside the sunstone, the amber and gold rippling inside the inlay. I remember how long it took to find an artisan skilled enough for the inlay work, remember arguing that the doors were the first thing people would touch. They had to be perfect.
"Help me?" I ask.
Together, we clear enough sand to push one of the doors open. It groans in protest but swings inward.
I step inside, and my heart breaks open.
The space is exactly as I designed it, and nothing like it at all. Sand has drifted through broken windows, piling in corners and along walls. The great skylight I was so proud of is cracked, a spiderweb of fractures running across its surface. The murals that local artists painted on the walls have faded, their colors muted by time and dust.
