The hoverjet cut a clean white seam through the northern cloudbank, its engines purring like a big cat asleep. Below, the Frost Continent unrolled in vaults of blue and silver—pack ice braided with black channels of water, glacial cliffs shimmering under a pale sun. Ahead, the aurora flared in curtains of green and violet, as if the sky itself were breathing.
Valeria Kessner sat sideways in the co‑pilot's chair with one boot on the console's edge, a small field kit open on her lap. The young Soul Reaper's left arm—sleek brushed steel from shoulder to fingertip, on it engraved the number 9—caught the aurora and threw it back in cold shards of color. With practiced motions she disassembled and cleaned a knuckle plate, then clicked it back into the housing until it locked with a soft magnetic kiss.
Valeria: "Where were you?" she asked without looking up.
Selene Virell stood behind her, unstrapped, balanced with the ease of someone who trusted the air not to fail her. Frost feathered the hoverjet's window near her shoulder, growing and receding with each idle breath she took. Mid‑thirties in the file, whispered older by those who thought they knew better, she wore time like a rumor—smooth skin, level eyes, a voice that made people listen because it never bothered to get loud.
Selene (slightly): "Nowhere."
Valeria's ears—triangular, furred—flicked once. She slid the next plate into place. "As long as it doesn't hurt the mission," she said, tone flat, "I don't care."
Selene smiled with only the corner of her mouth. "I know."
Silence settled. It was not awkward. It was simply the shape of Valeria's world: checklists and routes and mission trees branching toward outcomes. The cat‑hybrid's tail coiled and uncoiled around the leg of her chair in absent rhythm, the only fidget she allowed herself.
Selene: "Flight path?"
Selene asked after a time.
Valeria: "Vectoring to Borealis sovereign airspace. Vyrnheim approach corridor." Valeria tapped the glass, and a wireframe city rose—towers carved from glacier, bridges arcing over fjords like frozen ribs.
Valeria: "Primary objective: Borealis logistics node. Secondary: capture a live handler. Null wants names that aren't aliases." She glanced at Selene then, eyes a cold gold.
Valeria: "You have questions."
Selene: "I always have questions. I don't always have answers I trust."
Valeria's mouth twitched—maybe almost a smile.
Valeria: "Trust is not mission‑critical."
"No," Selene agreed, "but it's pleasant when it happens."
Valeria reassembled the last finger segment and flexed the metal hand. Microservos hummed.
Valeria: "The Underworld is threading new lanes through Borealis. Smuggling soul suppressors. Null says they're testing them on border patrols. My kingdom's patrols." The last sentence was clipped.
Selene: "Felidra, your crown city is what—Thraxel?"
Valeria: "Thraxel," she confirmed, eyes on the readouts. "Two ridgelines south of Vyrnheim. We keep the passes clear."
Selene let the frost on the window melt back into clean glass. "You do care."
Valeria finally looked at her. She was young for Ninth Seat, barely near her mid-twenties, and carried it with a severity that didn't belong to the young.
Valeria: "I care about the mission, which is to say, results.
Selene: "And when are the results, people?" Her tone was curious, not rebuking.
Valeria's ears flattened for an instant, then smoothed: "We don't have time to pretend we're something we're not." She closed the field kit and latched it. "You've read my file. No personal life, no attachments, no… complications."
Selene: "I read your file; it was very thorough and told me nothing." She shifted, resting a palm against the overhead. A film of crystal grew and vanished under her touch, white breath on glass. "You know, I can learn people by temperature. Yours rarely changes."
Valeria: "Yours never does; it's always cold-hearted," and turned back to the window.
Selene: "Sorry, but I think this title belongs to you, sweetie."
They flew in easy quiet until the aurora began to thin. The jet's HUD painted their approach: Borealis Crown City—Vyrnheim—emerging from cliff and sea like a citadel poured from winter. Its towers were translucent blue shot through with darker veins, the streets etched into the glacier's back in clean lanes of ice. Wind bells hung along the main avenues; storm shelters ringed the lower levels like the gills of some great frozen creature.
Valeria (murmuring): "Entry granted." The transponder ping returned green. "Do they remember your last visit?"
Selene: "They remember I left without breaking anything; it impressed them. I impressed myself, to be honest."
Valeria (dryly): "Borealis is easy to impress; you nod at a law, and they give you a parade."
Selene's smile curved a little higher this time: "You don't like them."
Valeria: "They stare," she said simply. "Felidra hugs the border; we spill into each other's markets and patrol routes. Borealis pretends not to notice our claws until they need our soldiers."
Selene: "Do you miss it?"
Valeria paused. The jet hummed. A mountain shadow slipped under them. "I don't miss anything," she said, and took them lower.
Selene let it go. She had learned the value of not prying; ice broke when you pressed fingers into it the wrong way. She leaned into the bulkhead and closed her eyes. For a few breaths, her thoughts moved like winter rivers—cold and concealed. The golden chamber had left its taste in her mouth—Midas's smile, like a coin, bit through to test if it was real, his contempt for Null unhidden because he enjoyed the noise it made when it hit the floor.
Valeria: "Touching down."
Valeria sighed loudly: "You asked earlier if I miss it." She spoke. She didn't even bother to turn her head towards Selene.
Valeria: "I do. I miss my family sometimes, or the music we would make." Selene couldn't believe her eyes when she saw Valeria smile.
Selene: "Felidran's music is really beautiful, even though I haven't heard a lot of it."
Selene responded back.
The engine silenced instantly after landing on the dock.
Selene instantly got up from her seat: "Let's get going; I can't stand being in Borealis any longer."