Aspect has already launched into the most enthusiastic rendition of a “snore” I could possibly imagine. It sounds more like the dying gasp of a mech being slowly squashed into a dinner plate. And it’sloud.
“Th-that’s enough,” I stammer, then shout it again to be heard over the truly awful (and please, please not accurate, for the love of all things good in the world) snoring.
Aspect lets up and leans back in their chair, evidently pleased. “Kori is—welcome.”
I laugh despite my annoyance. For all Aspect’s quirks and foibles, they continually succeed at their primary purpose: making me feel less alone. The laughter ripples through me like a cleansing wave, brings energy back to my stiff limbs. All at once I feel ready todo this, to really dare to enter the Shadowlands and return with a personal fragment of the nightfolk.
But Chloe will be expecting my memory delivery, and I’ve already been asleep for … only Aspect knows how long.
I take a deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. One last delivery. One last performance of the dutiful daughter, eagerto serve. Then I can take my first step into the other side of the world, where even my mother can’t pierce the darkness to contain me, where perhaps the secret to Aspect’s latent sentience finally lies.
I stand, stretch my arms, roll my shoulders. Tap the pocket at my hip, just to check that the Morpheus sphere is still there. “Aspect, I’ll be right back.”
Aspect does a little hop, their feet clanking. I really need to oil their joints again. “And then—adventure—with Kori?”
I smile so big, it feels comedic, but I can’t help it. “An adventure even you won’t be able to forget,” I say, ducking out of the cockpit.
I deliver the requested memory with a remarkably straight face, but Chloe’s every micro-expression prickles the back of my neck with paranoia. The barest lift of her lips here. A casually raised eyebrow there. “Now don’t fall behind on that math homework,” she says as I leave, and I can’t help but suspect a sarcastic undercurrent, even though she can’t possibly know what I’m up to.
I hightail it back toCharonand to Aspect, proceeding to shove a sandwich into my mouth with both hands while the ship autopilots to the center of the Passage. The tracker embedded in Aspect is set to indicate a casual loop,Charonnever straying too far from home, as though I simply wanted some natural light while wrestling with algebraic amalgamations of letters and numbers. Chloe won’t suspect a thing. At least, that’s what I keep telling myself. I’m too close to a true breakthrough to falter now.
Between my chewing and my being lost in thought, the trip through the Passage should be silent. Should be, but most definitely isn’t, thanks to Aspect’s creaking, squeaking, excitedly twitching joints. I can’t even think of a specific installed Morpheus sphere to blame for that—it’s just Aspect, in all their wacky, wonderful glory. Sometimes I think I’d decksomebody for this mech. Occasionally, I daydream about somehow repairing the irreparable helical engine and leaving Pagomènos altogether, but even in my wildest fantasies, where I settle in a new galaxy beyond my mother’s grasp, Aspect is always there. Wreaking havoc, of course. But lovingly.
Charon’s AI breaks me out of my reverie as the accompanying message scrolls across the viewport.NOW APPROACHING [REDACTED]—that being the Morpheus Market’s entrance. Tapping several buttons on the control panel above, I returnCharonto manual control.
“Sorry, buddy.” I sigh aloud, reaching for the steering lever. “We’re going somewhere new today.”
NEW PATH DETECTED, the ship reports.WOULD YOU LIKE TO RECORD THIS NAVIGATION FOR THE RETURN TRIP?
“Absolutely not.”
There needs to be no record of this trip ever having taken place, save for my memories of the event and (hopefully) Aspect’s increased awareness.
If only to conserve charge, Aspect’s rattling eventually quiets down. We fly in near silence for a while, the only sound beingCharon’s determined engines, faithful across so many trips to the market and back. Given the temperature differential, the wind currents generally travel from the Daylands toward the Shadowlands, so the planet itself bearsCharonforward, audibly smacking against the ship’s rear, propelling us.
After a prolonged quiet, Aspect presses an open hand to the passenger side of the transparent dome. “It’s so—very—beautiful—Kori.”
“Aspect, we’ve flown through the Passage a thousand times. What’s so special about this trip?” Curious, I look away from the navigation controls.
And all the breath whooshes out of my lungs.
This close to the Shadowlands, where the light bleeds away and the dark slithers to meet it, night and day just barely graze each other, astolen kiss, an impossible embrace, shadows entwined with sun. The Cataclysm’s radiation runs rampant in the Shadowlands, constantly replenished and magnified by the nearby asteroid buried somewhere in the night. The lingering light of the Daylands doesn’t merely fade or ebb; it collides with the wall of invisible power, splinters into every color my eyes can perceive.
Waves of undulating iridescence paint the horizon, beginning at the planet’s surface far below and continuing straight up into the atmosphere, beyond where any Pagonian creature dares to tread.
Unlike the Dreamgiver Devotees, I lack the critical spark of belief that this was all crafted by a benevolent god; and unlike the Old Seekers, I can’t bring myself to dismiss it as mere scientific phenomena. Without knowing who or what, without daring to voice the wonder or diminish it with a name, I feel close to something here, or someone—the great Beyond of a galaxy greater than me or my mother or Aspect or Pagomènos itself.
I’m not sure I’ve ever sincerely believed in a purpose for it all like the Devotees. But as the lights dance alongCharon’s wings, painting vanishing masterpieces on the surrounding dome, I feel bigger than blood and bones. Call it faith; call it delusion. Trying to describe it would only weaken it. I press an open palm to the dome, just like my mechanical friend, and we both watch the lights, without a need for words, until the darkness opens its gaping maw and gulps us down.
It’s not as though I’ve never experienced dark. All light in the underground settlement the dayfolk call home is either funneled from the surface or artificial; either way, its presence can be limited as needed.Charoncan reduce the transparent sections of the dome for a comfortable napping environment. Most sleeping quarters in the settlement, whether private or communal, are perpetually lightless to allow visitors to sleep as they see fit.
The Shadowlands are notdark, the descriptor—dark, the opposite ofbright.They’redarknessthe noun, darkness as a presence, a massive,fanged, primeval beast that swallows everything within reach and never, ever lets it go. I knew dayfolk weren’t meant to visit the Shadowlands. But now I wonder, in an instant of raw terror, whether a trespasser will ever be permitted to leave.
The only light source is a massive blue pyre burning in the distance, clearly something built by the people here to prevent them from living entirely without sight. But its light is alien, otherworldly. Instead of putting me at ease, the shimmering blue onCharon’s dome makes me shiver all over.
Or maybe that’s not the only reason I’m shivering.
“So—cold,” Aspect mutters. Their temperature sensors, intended to avoid combustion amidst a boundless desert, were never meant for this opposite extreme.
