Don’t look back, she told herself. Looking back only makes it harder.
She looked back anyway.
Cass was still there, still waving, still watching. Zach stood beside her now, one arm wrapped around her shoulders. They looked right together—two halves of a whole, unified against whatever the universe might throw at them.
That’s what I want, Alina thought. That’s what I’m choosing.
She turned forward and didn’t look back again.
The main roadout of Border Town was a dusty ribbon of compressed regolith, carved by years of traffic and maintenance. It wound through the valley floor, past processing plants and storage facilities, past the scattered habitats of miners and researchers and engineers who had come to Mars seeking opportunity.
How many of them found what they were looking for? Alina wondered. How many discovered that the frontier doesn’t care about dreams or ambitions or carefully laid plans?
She’d been one of the lucky ones. She’d found her purpose here, her calling, her place in the grand project of human expansion. And now she was leaving it all behind for something she couldn’t explain, couldn’t justify, couldn’t defend to anyone who hadn’t looked into Rhyx’s eyes and seen the ancient depths within.
They wouldn’t understand, she thought. They couldn’t.
But Cass understood. Jeb and Mattie understood. And perhaps that was enough.
The road curved north at the valley’s edge, climbing towards a pass that cut through the mountains. This was the route Jeb had mapped out for her—a path that would take her far from BorderTown, through territories rarely traveled, to the rendezvous point where Rhyx would be waiting.
Three days, Jeb had said. Travel slow, take your time, don’t attract attention. He’ll meet you at the coordinates.
Three days had never felt so long.
The pass was narrow and winding, its walls rising steep on either side. Rust-colored stone caught the afternoon light, creating shadows that shifted and danced as the rover crept forward. There was a stark beauty here, a grandeur that human presence had barely begun to touch.
This is what he knew, Alina thought. This is what he remembers.
Rhyx’s Mars had been different—alive, vibrant, filled with creatures and civilizations now lost to time. But the bones of the land remained unchanged, ancient geology persisting through all the upheavals of planetary evolution. In a sense, he was coming home to a familiar skeleton, even if the flesh had long since rotted away.
We’ll build something new, she promised silently. Together.
The sun was beginning its descent when she reached the coordinates—a flat stretch of ground sheltered by a natural amphitheater of stone. It was isolated, defensible, invisible from the main road. Perfect for a camp.
Alina pulled the rover to a stop and stepped out, stretching muscles cramped from hours of driving. The air was thin and cold, carrying the faint metallic tang that she’d grown accustomed to during her time on Mars. Without her mask, she would have struggled to breathe here—but she’d brought extra oxygen supplies, enough for several days of travel.
Not that I’ll need them much longer.
The thought brought a smile to her lips. Rhyx had explained about the plants in the cave, about the oxygen they produced, about his own ability to survive in the thin Martian atmosphere. Wherever they ended up, she suspected breathing would be the least of her concerns.
She began setting up camp with practiced efficiency—deploying the portable shelter, checking the power cells, arranging supplies for easy access. The movements were automatic, requiring little thought, leaving her mind free to wander.
What would life be like in the outer territories? She’d heard stories, of course—tales of cyborg settlements that operated outside corporate control, of communities built on mutual aid and shared purpose rather than profit margins. But stories were one thing; reality was another.
It doesn’t matter, she told herself. Whatever it’s like, we’ll face it together.
She was securing the last corner of the shelter when movement caught her eye.
A figure in the sky, silhouetted against the setting sun.
Her heart stopped.
Wings. Golden wings, catching the light, turning amber and bronze and copper as they beat against the thin Martian air. The figure was still distant, but growing closer with each powerful stroke.
Rhyx.
She stood frozen, watching him approach. Even from this distance, she could make out the broad span of his wings, the golden gleam of his scaled skin, the impossible grace of his flight. He looked like something out of legend—a creature from the myths of old Earth, transplanted to this alien world where he had once been native.
